First published in Great Britain by
HarperCollins Childrenâs Books in 2010
Reissued in this edition in 2017
HarperCollins Childrenâs Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,
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London SE1 9GF
The HarperCollins website address is:
www.harpercollins.co.uk
Skulduggery Pleasant rests his weary bones on the web at:
www.skulduggerypleasant.co.uk
Derek Landy blogs under duress at
www.dereklandy.blogspot.com
Text copyright © Derek Landy 2010
Illuminated letters copyright © Tom Percival 2010
Skulduggery Pleasant logo>TM HarperCollins Publishers
Skulduggery Pleasant © >TM Derek Landy
Cover design © blacksheep-uk.com
Cover illustration © Tom Percival
Derek Landy asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of the work.
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Source ISBN: 9780007325979
Ebook Edition © ISBN: 9780007382279
Version: 2017-04-10
This book is dedicated to Laura.
Iâm not going to make any jokes here, because apparently you are the one person on Earth who does not find me even remotely funny.
I am HILARIOUS. Ask anyone. Ask your sister. She thinks Iâm HYSTERICAL (you do, donât you Katie â¦?)
And yet, even though you refuse to recognise my comedy genius, and you refuse to publicly admit how impressed you are by everything I do, youâre still getting a book dedicated to you â because without you, Skulduggery wouldnât have his Valkyrie.
Youâre my best friend and my muse, and I owe you a lot.
(A âlotâ being, of course, entirely figurative, and in no way implies that youâre getting a share of the royalties.)
hen Dreylan Scarab had been locked away in his little cell, heâd thought about nothing but murder. He liked murder. Murder and long walks had been two of his favourite things when he was younger. Heâd walk a long way to kill someone, heâd often said, and heâd kill for a long walk. But after close to 200 years in that cell, heâd kind of lost interest in walks. His passion for murder, however, burned brighter than ever.They let him out of prison a few days early, and he stepped into the Arizona sunshine an old man. They had kept his power from him, and without his power his body had withered and aged. But his mind stayed sharp. Try as they might, the years could not dull his mind. Still, he didnât like being old. He counted how long it took him to cross the road and wasnât pleased with the result.
He stood there for two hours. The dust kicked up and got into his eyes. He looked around for something to kill, then quelled the urge. The entrance to the underground prison was within spitting distance, and killing something while the guards were still watching was probably a bad idea. Besides, Scarabâs magic hadnât returned to him yet, so even if there were something in this desert worth killing, he might not have been able to manage it.
A shape came through the shimmer of the heat haze, solidifying into a black, air-conditioned automobile. It pulled up and a man got out slowly. It took Scarab a moment to recognise him.