Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 7 - 9. Derek Landy
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“What can I do for you, Mr Sult?”
“Ah, yes, to business. It has come to my attention, Elder Bespoke, that there has been some tension arising between our people and yours.”
“You mean the fight that broke out last night.”
“Yes, sir, I do. I wish to apologise on behalf of the Supreme Council. It is not our intention to make trouble.”
“OK.”
“However, the incident has resulted in three of our operatives needing medical attention.”
“And two of ours.”
“Yes, sir, but, without wishing to offend, it was your men who started the fight.”
“That’s not how I heard it.”
Sult smiled. “I have no wish to contradict you, sir. But we have our report, in which a verbal disagreement escalated into a physical confrontation when one of your men punched the leader of our security team.”
“Who had been making some pretty derogatory remarks.”
“For which he will be disciplined. However, a verbal assault and a physical assault are completely different things.”
“They’re both assaults, are they not?”
“Yes, sir, but—”
“And a physical assault is usually preceded by a verbal assault, and our people are trained to spot this and act accordingly. So while my man may have thrown the first punch, he did not actually start the fight. That was your man.”
“Elder Bespoke—”
“Mr Sult, I have neither the time nor the inclination to stand here and argue this with you. Your guys had a fight with my guys. That’s it. It happens, and that’s the end of it. But if it happens again, we’ll be kicking your guys out of the country.”
“What? You can’t be serious.”
“Tempers are frayed. Patience is short. We have a huge problem that we’re trying to deal with and a prisoner has been murdered while in our custody. I don’t care about a fight in which nobody was seriously injured, and neither should you. There are other things to worry about. Give my regards to your bosses.”
Ghastly walked away. Sult, to his credit, didn’t even try to follow.
Ravel was waiting around the next corner. “Thanks,” he said. “I really don’t like that guy.”
They took the stairs to the lower levels. Cleavers stood to attention when they passed. The corridors got darker and colder and Ghastly had to take out a map to keep track of where they were going.
“Isn’t this beneath us?” Ravel asked as they walked. “This is probably beneath us. We’re Elders. We’re not supposed to look for things. We’re supposed to get things handed to us.”
“It amazes me how quickly you’ve become spoiled.”
“I never liked looking for things,” Ravel grumbled. “You remember looking for clues with Skulduggery? I always hated that. I never knew what was a clue and what wasn’t. I’d look at a room and see a room and he’d look at it and solve a mystery.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” said Ghastly. “You might not be as good a detective as Skulduggery is, but you’re good at other things. Like wearing a robe and complaining.”
“I’m amazing at those things,” Ravel said. “And I order people around really well. This morning, Tipstaff came over with a cup of tea and I told him no, I don’t want tea I want coffee. That was great. I really asserted my authority.”
“Did he go and get you a coffee?”
“No, he said he’d already made a pot of tea so I took the tea because, you know, he’d already made it, but my authority was still firmly asserted.”
Ghastly nodded. “He’ll think twice before making tea again.”
“That he will, Ghastly my friend, that he will. What are we looking for, by the way?”
“Seriously? I gave you the file half an hour ago.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Did you read it?”
“No, I did not.”
Ghastly sighed. “It’s called an Accelerator. It’s a big machine type thing.”
“Great. What does it look like?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is that it?”
“No. That’s a wall.”
“It could be disguised.”
“You’re really not very good at looking for things, are you?”
“I’m good at looking for walls. Look, I found another one.”
They came to a junction and Ghastly stopped walking, and frowned. “This is odd. That corridor isn’t on the map.”
Ravel folded his arms. “Maybe it isn’t there.”
“Maybe the corridor isn’t there?”
“Maybe it’s an optical illusion. Or it’s like Schrödinger’s cat. Until you look at it, it’s both there and not there.”
“But we’re looking at it now, Erskine, and I’m pretty sure it’s there. It just isn’t on the map.”
Ravel shrugged. “It’s an old building. There are tunnels and secret passageways all over the place.”
“But the first thing we did when we moved the Sanctuary was send a team of mages down here to check for things like this. I’m holding the map they made.”
Ravel looked at him. “We sent a team of Roarhaven mages.”
“They left out this corridor on purpose,” Ghastly said, putting the map away. “Skulduggery was right. We can’t trust them. So what’s down here that they wanted to keep secret?”
“Hopefully, it’s the Accelerator, and not just some bathroom they wanted to keep private. We should probably get a squad of Cleavers to go down first, make sure it’s safe and clear of booby traps.”
“Yeah,” said Ghastly. “We probably should. We could go back up and sit on our thrones and drink tea while we wait.”
“Good idea. Safe, too. Tipstaff would approve.”
“He really would,” said Ghastly, and they both started down the corridor.
They found a series of rooms without doors. Those that weren’t empty were stacked with building materials and supplies, and a thick layer of dust covered everything. The power down there hadn’t been connected, so they each held fire in their hands to light their way. Rats scuttled in corners and water dripped into large, cold puddles, and the shadows played as they walked. Ravel stopped.
“I think I’ve found it,” he said.
They stepped into a large room. Most of it was empty space, as dark and as damp as the corridor outside. The Accelerator stood in the exact centre like a giant vase that had burst open from within. Its curved wall bent gently back, the jagged tips almost scraping the ceiling. The front section was open, allowing access into the thing itself, where a white disc rested on its base, forming a slightly raised platform. Circuitry ran like dull veins through the skin of the machine, which seemed almost translucent under the flickering firelight.
Ravel knocked his fist against it. The sound suggested a strange mixture of metal and rubber. Ghastly stepped through the opening, on to the white dais. Hemmed in on three sides, he got an odd feeling of claustrophobia.
“Can’t see how to turn it on,” Ravel said.
Ghastly stepped