Chapter 119, everybody! Bad news, my big computer got a blue screen of death so I've got to send it back to the shop—probably won't get it back before the end of the year so in the meantime I'm trapped on the cruddy laptop so this might be the last update for a while. I'll still keep writing though, so…here's hoping.
For those of you who've been following me on Tumblr, part of this will seem familiar because a bit of it got posted there—still really love Max and Skul's dynamic, it's weirdly entertaining. XD Max is taking refuge in audacity there and…probably behaving exactly how politicians behave so ick. Also that death-trap universe? The Constant from Don't Starve. As for Skulduggery? Yes he has that dichotomy in the books he'll be sassy and wisecracking right up until stuff goes down and then he's very dangerous business until it's done. And to answer Max's question: a long time.
Also yes I've seen that meme around and when the opportunity came up I decided to go for it (initial plan had Max stabbing the guy before I decided that'd still end with him shot). We have a cast-iron doorstop too that has a nice long handle so we can grab it easily, which is why it makes an appearance here and makes Max quote the first How to Train Your Dragon movie.
Angiembabe, thanks for the review! YES, Slifer! :D Here's hoping.
References:
Yu-Gi-Oh! © 1996 Kazuki Takahashi
The Nightmare Before Christmas © 1993 Tim Burton
Skulduggery Pleasant © 2007 Derek Landy (the concept of Head Mages, Skulduggery himself, etc.)
Fried Green Tomatoes (movie) © 1991 Jon Avnet
Don't Starve © 2013 Klei Entertainment ("Say pal, miss me?")
Original characters, + setting © Kineil D. Wicks (myself, not the girl in the story)
So once they got out of the plaza the driving went a lot faster—it was just the issue of getting out of the plaza without running people over, which ended up having a lot of horn-honking and hat-waving and just general yelling for people to get out of the way already! A couple of people, unfortunately, recognized Maxwell, and for lack of anything better to say he told them that the other Administrators spontaneously combusted now scram.
"So while not true, that would be an interesting narrative," Detective Pleasant said as they finally got free of the crowd and were able to speed for the hills.
"Yeah, well, you'd be-ETTer—" Curse as the Bentley came back down from jumping the tracks. "You'd better hope those losers are dead."
"Believe me, no one understands the repercussions of them surviving better than I do," Detective Pleasant said—slowed as they neared a barricade. "Hrm."
"So who gets to baffle their way through?"
Maxwell was the one who lost rock-paper-scissors, rolled his window down when the men with badges approached them. "You mind moving that jalopy? We're trying to get through here."
"The road is closed, sir," the man said—a G-Man, from the badge.
"Excuse you pal I'm an Administrator."
The man balked at that. "I—then—wait, why would you be wanting to get through? You ordered this—we're just trying to do the job you gave us!"
"Hunh," Maxwell noised. "Well let's just say I prefer supervising."
The man hesitated…shook his head finally. "I'm sorry sir, we can't risk it—I'm going to have to ask you to turn around and wait until we're done."
"Can you believe this guy?" Maxwell asked Detective Pleasant, indicating the G-Man. Let's see, starting to have enough juice back, could send the guy to some alternate death-trap universe like that one he had found once before, but that didn't take care of the rest of the goons who all had very functioning guns that killed Magicians just as effectively as they did Commoners. "Oi, you—just so we're on the same page, tell me what it is you're doing. I want to make sure what you tell me lines up."
"You don't know?" the guy asked.
"I do, I just want to make sure you're not trying to pull a fast one. Or did you get the number of the turnip wagon I fell off of?"
"We're taking everyone at Skellington Manor into custody, sir," the man said, starting to sound dubious.
Maxwell noticed Detective Pleasant's hands tighten on the wheel, gestured at him. "Yeah I know hold on—you don't sound sure, pal. Maybe you want to think about sounding sure first."
"Excuse me for being on the back foot, pal," the guy shot back. "Maybe if you didn't drop this on us this morning, we'd—"
"Dan, cool it," another G-Man ordered before shifting his attention to Maxwell. "No one gets through, no exceptions."
"Please, I'm a politician," Maxwell said, gesturing a little. "Rules don't apply to me."
"Administrator Carter," Detective Pleasant noised, tone enough to get him to glance over and take note of the G-Man tapping on his window. Ah.
"All right, fine—turn us around, get me to a café with decent coffee," Maxwell ordered, propping his head up.
"Sir, could you identify your driver?" the drivers-side G-Man asked.
"Again, I'm a politician—I don't know peons. You were letting us go now before we start having serious discussions about your employment."
The G-Men looked sour as Detective Pleasant backed up, a sentiment Maxwell could echo, especially when one ducked into his car and looked like he was getting on the horn with someone.
"So this is a problem," Maxwell observed. "Any ideas? And no, still can't with the transporting."
"Roll your window up," Detective Pleasant ordered.
"Okay," Maxwell said, doing so. "Why, what are we doing?"
"Also you might want to brace yourself."
"Why, what are we doing?"
"And try to stay below the dash, the windows aren't bulletproof."
"Why, what are we doing!?"
Which was when Detective Pleasant hit the gas.
The engine roared, the tires squealed before the front ones hopped up slightly, the force of the forward momentum pressing Maxwell into the seat before he managed to duck below the dash—as predicted, the windshield was peppered with bullet holes before blowing out completely, splattering them with glass shards—
And then a powerful crash as the Bentley tore through the barricade and kept going.
The back window met the same fate as the front, bullets ripping into the backseat as the car sped up the hill—Maxwell finally dared to look out the back right as Detective Pleasant popped back up, whooping at getting through.
"By the way, you people owe me for the repairs on my car," Detective Pleasant said.
"Tell Skellington, I'm not a banker," Maxwell said, squinting forward into the wind and the rain—Detective Pleasant turned on the windshield wipers, probably out of habit, before quickly flicking them back off when they didn't really help. "You couldn't have picked an option that had the windshield still intact."
"They have the way up barricaded, don't doubt they've done so to the other roads, we didn't have time to go hunting for an alternative route," Detective Pleasant said, freeing up a hand to apply at least a little magic to keep the wind and the rain coming in to a minimum. "Unless you had a bright idea you were keeping to yourself. I don't suppose your discipline would let you do this job so I can focus on driving."
"Well I could, but then you wouldn't be able to see out the windshield—oh that's not good."
That being more than a few cars blocking the entrance to Skellington Manor.
"Don't ram those don't ram those," Maxwell chanted, already bracing himself for the inevitable.
"Hold on this is going to get messy," Detective Pleasant ordered.
The way the one car was parked had them basically rear-ending it into the car in front of it, but the Bentley had enough engine that it shoved the both of them out of the way and was mostly up the steps to the front door before Detective Pleasant put the brakes on. Maxwell was already moving to get out—
Yelped and slammed the door when several men aimed at him, glad he had enough magic back that the bullets pinged off of shadows instead of digging into him.
"You couldn't have gone five more feet," Maxwell spat at the detective.
Detective Pleasant ignored that, expression and body language saying that the bantering wiseacre version had shuttered for the day and left someone much colder in his wake.
"I'll draw their fire, you get in there and get the women and children out," he said, tone not leaving room for argument—waited until the bullets stopped before leaping out, firing in quick succession before blasting several more clean off the hill with displaced air.
"Oh great thanks leave me with the easy job," Maxwell groused once he left—tumbled out of the wreck of the car before scrambling up the steps, just barely ducking through the destroyed door before bullets ripped through what was left of the side windows.
"Hey!"
"Oh—oh goodness thank you," Maxwell gasped, tumbling down against the wall and lifting his hands as a G-Man marched up aiming a shotgun at him. "Thank you you have no idea—that crazy detective kidnapped me!"
"Come again?"
"Drove us from the Administration Building to here I think he was planning on using me—I just barely got away from that nut alive!"
Considering said nut was currently outside waging a one-man war against stupendously bad odds, that seemed believable enough to him, but the G-Man didn't look convinced. "You stay right there—Tom, get me some cuffs—Tom!"
"Yeah, Tom! And get an ambulance too!"
The man turned back around—not in time for Maxwell to grab the barrel of the shotgun and slam it into his face, standing as he did so and using his height for better leverage.
"But not for me," Maxwell said, keeping a hold of the gun as the guy sagged to the ground. "Say, pal! Mind telling me how one of these work?"
Unconscious-guy's buddy was happy to demonstrate—Maxwell dove for the dining room as the guy unloaded a ton of buckshot in his general direction.
"Oi, is this how you treat your local politician!?" Maxwell demanded. "Because if so…honestly I'm torn if it was anyone else but me I'd be entertained."
"What's an Administrator doing here?" the guy demanded, rounding the corner with the barrel leading.
"Actually you know what? That is an excellent question," Maxwell acquiesced. "Ta."
So. While there was a form of his shadow-travel that did rip through dimensions and was the one that scared the spit out of Kineil that one time, there was a much more localized version that served him well and generally still freaked people out to boot—personally, whichever one he preferred generally depended upon the day.
The localized one, the one that basically made him a shadow on the wall—or in this case, the floor and then the wall—worked well for this case. One, because then he wasn't limited to where in the house he could go. Two, because bullets didn't work then.
Three, because it was fun to reach back out of the wall, grab the guy by his shirt collar, and then slam him into said wall and watch him fall unconscious.
"So that was fun," Maxwell observed, sticking his head back out of the shadows long enough to consider his options. So on the off chance that Detective Pleasant's attitude suggested a clean thirteen for thirteen, he probably ought to check the rest of the house before making the base assumption that the girls had taken off and leaving him to hide out in another dimension for a few years. How long did that detective hold a grudge, he wondered.
Sounds from upstairs suggested he wasn't going to be that lucky.
Grousing at his situation didn't really help but at least left him feeling like he could do something about how sucky it was—slip upstairs, pause to cackle a moment at the idiots trying to get into a barricaded room (and scaring them badly, making them waste a few bullets) before trying to do so himself. Ah, right, the magically-reinforced room. Next option.
Yes the windows to the balcony were open and thus allowing strange shadows to seep in—popped out to announce himself—
Had barely gotten the say pal out before a woman he didn't recognize screamed and clocked him one—from the looks and feel of it, probably with a cast iron doorstop.
"Who—Max!?"
"Who?" the woman demanded. "Wait, you're one of the Administrators! What are you doing here?!"
"Currently? Regretting not sticking with getting blown up," Maxwell groaned into the floor. Ohhh that had hurt, that had very much hurt—
"Forget him and help me with Kineil!"
"Yes, please," he said, waving a hand in what he figured was the beau's general direction. "I like you all better when you're not around me."
"Jack stay away from him—then what are you doing here?" Ms. Cast Iron demanded.
"The general idea was to get you away from the idiots with bullets," Maxwell said, dragging himself up with the bed and putting a hand to his face—well at least his nose didn't seem broken, but there was definitely some blood and a good chunk of his head felt like it was planning on being bruised later. "Now I'm having second thoughts."
The woman's next comment—indeed, most everything—was cut off by a thundering roar Maxwell felt in his bones. Well that wasn't ominous.
"Jack, stay here," the woman said, handing a boy the cast iron doorstop. "Hit him again if he moves, okay?"
"Okay," the boy said, watching as she ran to the windows.
"I wouldn't get too close!" Maxwell suggested. Looked at the kid. "So."
"Your blood is black," the kid said.
"Yeah that's what happens when you choose my particular branch of magic." Along with a few other quote-unquote benefits that he was ambivalent about on any given day.
"What's your magic?" the kid asked as Maxwell fished around for a handkerchief.
"You're awful calm right now," Maxwell observed, pressing his handkerchief to his face. "Wouldn't happen to be related to some annoying detective, would you?"
The kid nodded. "My dad."
"Well that explains a lot."
A thoroughly-soaked Teana ran back into the room. "We have to get out—Max!?"
"Hi, how're you doing?" Maxwell offered.
"Okay I know Idgy asked already but what are you doing here?" she demanded, a lot of expressions Maxwell couldn't currently decipher flitting across her face.
"So originally I was sent here for cheap taxi fare but right now I'm not feeling all that charitable. Who hit me?"
"Me," Ms. Cast Iron said, dragging Kineil in after her, both of them constantly glancing outside—what little Maxwell could see suggested some big thunderbolts out there, something that the powerful rolls of thunder shaking through the house supported. "Idgy, don't think we want the pleasure."
"Sentiment's exactly the same."
"Okay wait go back to you being cheap taxi fare," Kineil said, finally tearing her attention from outside to him. "I've been on that ride before I don't want a repeat."
"Well I guess the alternative is wait until that nutty detective gets done playing a one-man army out there."
"Skul," Idgy said. "What is he doing out there?"
"Well before I came in he was mostly driving like a maniac. Can we go now? I'm not liking the sounds out there and this getting out of dodge business is a limited-time offer only."
"I'm staying right here," Kineil said. "Because again I reiterate the part where I've been on that ride before and I don't want a repeat."
"What's the ride?" Idgy asked.
"Shadow travel—it's about as pleasant as it sounds, which means not at all."
"It's not a thing people line up for," Maxwell said, standing and scrubbing at his nose. "But seeing as how there's a welcome wagon downstairs loaded with guns, staying isn't exactly the smart choice."
"I'm fine, I'm not dying today."
"Is this a conscious choice or a declaration of fact?"
"I don't know about this," Teana said, rubbing at her head. "I can't tell."
Idgy huffed, looked at him. "Detective Skulduggery Pleasant sent you."
"Yeah. You must be the wife and by the way, I need you to talk to him about his driving."
Idgy nodded. "Let's go then."
"Are we sure this is such a good idea?" Teana asked, looking like panic and hysteria were acting as dance partners in her head.
"The cavalry's here and Skul sent us an escape route—unless you know for sure—"
"I don't, okay!?"
"Then it's the best option we have. Jack, come on."
"Still staying right here," Kineil said.
"Kineil you don't know for sure that you're not going to die by a bullet here."
"I do, actually, and it'd still be better than bumming a ride from Max. Full offense."
"Oi," Maxwell groused at her.
"Don't oi me can you even transport three or four people?"
"Call that one two and a half," Maxwell said, glancing at the kid. "And for the record this isn't going to be very far—probably to the woods, you don't want to head into town just yet, there's a welcoming committee down that way too."
"So long as you can get us out of shooting range we should be fine," Idgy said. "Teana?"
Teana squinched her eyes shut, swaying a little like she was trying to steady herself and was failing. Looked at Kineil. "Kineil?"
"Still staying right here and waiting for everything to play out," Kineil said. "I'm going to have to be dead before I hitch a ride with Max again. Trust me, you'll see why in the next few minutes."
"Is it bad?" the kid asked.
"It's not for everyone," Maxwell admitted. "Although if you listen to some people—"
"Also no offense Max but you look like a good sneeze would blow you over right now," Kineil said.
"Yeah that reminds me later we get to talk about how some people blew out a chunk of the Administration Building."
"Wait what?" came from at least three sources.
"Now wait a minute I want to hear this story," Kineil protested.
"Ah, terribly sorry, but you opted to stay," Maxwell said, grinning at her as he maneuvered to be between the other two women. "You can ask Skellington once he's done doing…whatever it is he's doing out there. Ta."
And with that he tightened his grip on the others and dropped out of there before Kineil's glare could do more than start a dull ache. Gasping and clinging was expected, ground against injuries that hadn't sealed up yet—grit his teeth as he angled for the woods—oi maybe he should have opted for one of those other universes in the shadowy spaces—
Had that feeling cemented when they came out in a wet, rainy, dark road in the woods, not too far from Xohan's place, with several guns pointed at them.
Clapping directed his attention to Administrator Serpine coming out from behind a couple of G-Men.
"Thank you so very much for your assistance, Administrator Carter," Serpine said. "Really couldn't have done it without you."
And then he pointed at them, killing any hope of escape Maxwell might have entertained.
