The Empty Grave (Lockwood & Co. #5)(69)

I stared across the street. ‘This happens every night? I’ve never seen it before.’

‘Yeah, it’s funny how often one doesn’t see things that are right under your nose,’ the skull said. ‘So … what shall we talk about? I know! Lockwood. He’s in his element now, isn’t he? Enemies closing in. Endgame afoot. Nice for him! He’s chirpy.’

‘Nonsense. He’s worried sick, like the rest of us.’

‘Is he? Then he hides it well. If it was me, I’d say he’s more than content with the way it’s going. Suits the trajectory he’s been on ever since his parents croaked. Oh, you can pout all you want, but you know it’s true. Going out in a pointless blaze of glory is just how he’d like it: saves him the hassle of doing the boring, complex stuff – you know, like going on living.’ The face grinned knowingly at me.

As usual, the fact that the skull was precisely echoing my own thoughts gave an edge to my irritation. ‘That is such a lie,’ I said.

‘Isn’t.’

‘It so is.’

‘Yes, it’s our intellectual debates I’m going to miss when you’re dead,’ the skull remarked. ‘Hey … unless they stuff your skull in with mine in an extra-special double jar! Then we could bicker happily for all eternity. How about it?’

But I was still angry with the ghost; all day, Lockwood’s cheerfulness had propelled us onward in our work, and all day I’d been worrying about him for exactly the reasons the skull described. I scowled. ‘You’re disgusting.’

‘So sue me. Or let me out of this jar. I won’t bother you again.’

‘Not a chance.’

The face retreated sullenly into the depths of the greenish murk. ‘There. You’re as selfish as Lockwood. He uses you to get what he wants, and you use me.’

I snorted. ‘That’s not true. Any of it.’

‘Of course it is. You couldn’t blow your nose without me to guide you. You’re desperate for me to stick around. You’re happy to take advantage of my raw intelligence and charm, and at the same time you’re too frightened of me to even let me out of this cruel prison. Come on, just deny it.’

I couldn’t deny it. I said nothing.

‘If you trusted me,’ the skull said, ‘you’d break my jar right now. And look – there’s a hammer right beside us!’ A pile of Kipps’s tools lay on the windowsill; we were in the middle of fixing barricades here too. ‘One quick swing, and I’m out! But you won’t, will you? Because after all I’ve done, you still don’t trust me, and you’re scared.’

‘Well,’ I said slowly, ‘maybe I am. But I think you’re scared too.’

‘Me?’ The ghost pulled a series of faces, each one more eye-poppingly incredulous than the last. ‘Baloney! How do you make that out?’

‘What are you doing here, Skull?’ I said. ‘What keeps you tied to this dirty old piece of bone? I’ll tell you what I think. I think you’re frightened of letting go; I think you’re frightened of doing what you ought to do, which is give up this world and finally go on into the next. You’re always boasting about how you’re different from other ghosts, how it’s all about your conscious desire for life and blah, blah, blah, but I think your fear of death is the real emotion here. Or why not do it? Why not head off? I bet you could. I bet you could break the connection.’

The face had grown pale and nebulous as I spoke, and I couldn’t read its expression. ‘Join the lost souls drifting on the Other Side?’ it said softly. ‘But I’m not like them.’

‘Oh, but you are,’ I said. ‘I’ve seen you there, don’t forget.’ When Lockwood and I walked in that dark and freezing place, I’d caught a glimpse of the ghost in its full bodily form. Far from being a grotesque face crammed in a jar, it was revealed as a pale, sardonic-looking youth, thin and spiky-haired. He’d still been tied to the spot where his skull sat in our world, but apart from that was little different from the rest of the inhabitants of the Other Side. ‘You could break the connection,’ I said again. ‘You don’t have to be stuck here.’

‘Yeah, well.’ The skull sounded just as grumpy as I felt. ‘The circumstances for that certainly haven’t happened yet. I’ll let you know when they do.’

I shrugged. ‘Fine. And I’ll let you know when I decide to let you out.’

‘If you could see your way to doing it before your brutal death, I’d appreciate it. Which means sometime tomorrow.’

‘I’m not going to die.’

‘That’s what I said too.’

Despite such dark predictions, the night passed without incident. No one attacked us in our beds, and the only disturbance was George calling for cheese on toast at five in the morning. Dawn came at last, and we met again for breakfast. The kettle had only just boiled when a furious knocking sounded on the kitchen door and Flo Bones appeared, looming like a haunted scarecrow at the window. She bore ominous tidings and a rather crumpled box of chocolates for George.

‘Excuse the brown stains on the cardboard,’ she said, brushing at the side of the box. ‘Just a bit of river mud. I didn’t pass an open drain, or I would have washed them off on the way here. Well, I see you’ve all been busy. What’s that tripwire thing halfway up the steps?’