“Skulduggery Pleasant does not have a mind that can be read,” said Wreath. “But it may still be a trick. Some kind of subterfuge. Or …”

“Or what?”

“Or it could really be them, plucked from the Great Stream of life and death. Like fish.”

One of the figures, the ghosts, reached for Skulduggery, snagging his sleeve.

He yanked his arm back. “What do you want?”

“You belong here,” said Ghastly.

“Stay with us,” said Skulduggery’s wife.

A hole was opening in the ground, widening till it filled the narrow street. Some of the figures slipped down into it without alarm. Others saw it, and willingly let themselves fall.

Skulduggery looked back at the Validator. “How is this part of the test? What does this prove? People I’ve known have died? I’ve lived for over four hundred years. A lot of people die in four hundred years.”

“These are your dead,” said the Validator.

“Did you bring them here? What gives you the right to hold them in this place?”

“We’re not just here,” said Ghastly, “we’re everywhere. At all times. We’re with you when you are a boy. We’re with you on your wedding day. The day you die. The day you die again. We see you laughing, and screaming. We see you whole and we see you broken. We see you when the worlds collide and when the darkness falls. We see you surrounded by blood, and fire, and rotting flesh.”

“You see my future,” Skulduggery said, “so you know I have one. I don’t go with you today, Ghastly. But if you want to help me, if you really want to help me, you can tell me how to beat Darquesse.”

“She can’t be beaten,” said Shudder.

“I don’t believe that.”

“It does not matter what you believe,” his wife said.

Her hand closed round his arm, and Ghastly seized his hand. Skulduggery tried pulling back, but now Shudder was gripping him, and someone else, and then another, and they were pulling him towards the hole, and they were losing their faces, their forms merging into one blurred mass that was sinking beneath the surface. Skulduggery cursed and twisted, but could do little as more hands emerged to grab hold. One pulled at his ankle and he went down, and they dragged him, kept dragging him, and he lost his hat and now it was just him, clinging on while dozens of hands reached for him, gripped him, and all of a sudden he slid under and the hole closed up.

Skulduggery was gone.

Fletcher stared. “What … what does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” said Wreath. He sounded genuinely stunned.

“Is he OK?” Fletcher asked. “Where is he?”

Wreath shook his head. “I’m not entirely sure what just happened.”

Fletcher watched the Validator step forward, looking down at Skulduggery’s hat. He reached down to pick it up but froze.