Last Stand of Dead Men. Derek Landy
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“Well … yes.”
Excitement bubbled inside her. “There’s a robot out there? That is so cool! Can it transform into anything?”
Ravel hesitated. “No.”
“Really?” Valkyrie said, suddenly disappointed. “Wow. You’d think if someone went to the trouble of building a robot, they’d at least make one that transforms.”
“Yes,” said Ravel slowly, “that was my first thought, too. Anyway, it was supposed to stay with the Accelerator, but obviously it wandered off. I can only assume that when the Supreme Council couldn’t find it, they decided to cut out the middleman, plant a few bombs and just hope for the best. Luckily for us, Ghastly was on hand to save the day.”
“Ghastly’s my hero,” said Saracen.
“But before I interrupted them,” Ghastly said, ignoring Saracen, “Sult did manage to transmit an energy reading to the American Sanctuary. If the Accelerator and the Engineer were built together, and we have every reason to believe they were, then the energy reading of one could theoretically be used to track down the other.”
“What does all this matter?” Valkyrie asked. “We’re not going to use the Accelerator anyway, right?”
“The Supreme Council doesn’t know that,” said Ghastly. “All they know is that we have a weapon that we could deploy at any time. It’s our nuclear deterrent: it stops them from doing anything too stupid. But if we no longer have the option of supercharging our sorcerers …”
“They’re free to be as stupid as they like.”
“Sadly, yes.”
Skulduggery looked back to Ravel. “What has been their reaction to Sult’s arrest?”
Ravel gave a shrug of exasperation. “The Supreme Council is demanding Sult’s release, as you can expect. The interesting thing is that they haven’t even attempted to lie about what he was doing here.”
“So they don’t think they owe anyone an explanation,” Skulduggery said. “Then they’ve already decided on war – now they’re just waiting for the instigating moment.”
Ravel sat heavily into his chair. “It would appear so. In response to our refusal to release him, they’re rounding up Irish mages all over the world, accusing them of spying and putting them in shackles. We’ll use whatever contacts and resources we can to smuggle our people back to us, but we don’t have a number yet on how many have been taken. And there’s something you all should know – Dexter Vex was one of the first arrested.”
“Do we know anything further?” asked Saracen.
“Only that he didn’t resist, which is probably a good thing.”
“And what are we doing about foreign agents on Irish soil?” Ghastly asked.
Ravel hesitated. “We’re asking them to leave, and we’re making sure they do. We can’t afford to be as brash as the Supreme Council. If their sorcerers, people we know and have fought beside, see how respectfully we’re treating them despite Sult’s attack, then maybe they’ll have second thoughts about the part they’re playing in all this.”
“Weakness,” said Madame Mist.
Ravel looked at her. “Excuse me?”
“You’re worried about being rude, and so we tiptoe where we should stride. Our enemies will see this as a weakness.”
“They are not our enemies.”
“Of course they are. Friends become enemies in times of war. If we enter into this with timid hearts, we will be crushed. We must stride, we must bellow, we must be merciless. That is how we win.”
“What are you talking about?” Ravel asked, frowning at her. “Win? What might we win? If we defeat the Supreme Council, then what? Do we take over? Do we run every Sanctuary around the world? Why would we even want that? We’re not in this to win. We’re in it to survive. We defend ourselves. If we have to go to war, we strike at key strategic points. We weaken the Supreme Council and we chip away at their support. Then, when their rank-and-file sorcerers have had enough, we withdraw and let them sort it out among themselves.”
Mist looked at him a moment longer, then sat back. “How … noble,” she said, distaste curling the word.
“We don’t want a war, Elder Mist,” Ravel said. “If you find fault in our tactics, I invite you to offer alternatives. If you don’t have any, we may as well work with what we have. Valkyrie, I see you’ve met Saracen. Only believe half of what he tells you. Skulduggery, you’ve been looking deeper into these Warlock rumours. Any progress?”
Skulduggery took a moment to answer. “Our investigation is ongoing,” he said.
“Do you know something you’re not telling us?”
“Yes.”
“Right. Well, at least someone knows something. That’s a nice bloody change.”
“Can we interrogate Bernard Sult?” Valkyrie asked as they searched.
“Why would we want to?” Skulduggery murmured, his gloved fingers rifling through a large box of smaller boxes.
“Because we might get a confession out of him.”
Skulduggery put the large box back on the shelf, and kept looking. “We don’t need a confession. Ghastly caught him red-handed.”
“But a confession might make the Supreme Council back off.”
“Only if they were denying his mission, which they’re not.”
She frowned. “I still think we should interrogate him.”
“Why?”
“To get the truth, the facts … also to gloat.”
Skulduggery got to the end of the aisle, and started down the next one. “Gloating is unbecoming of you.”
Valkyrie trailed after him. “You gloat all the time.”
“Because when I do it it’s admirable and funny. Bernard Sult is a political prisoner. The situation must be handled with great care and sensitivity – neither of which are your strong points.”
“Did … you just insult me?”
He stopped, and looked back. “Not that I am aware. Let others be caring and sensitive, Valkyrie. You concentrate on being effective. It’s what you’re good at.” He resumed his search.
“I can be effective while I’m being caring and sensitive,” she said to the back of his head. “You’ve seen me with Alice. You’ve seen how caring I can be. I’m the most caring person in the world when I’m with her. I’m almost too caring.”
“Let’s not get carried away.”
She glared. “I care. And I’m sensitive. You need to be sensitive in order to be a good big sister.”
“I’ve clearly struck a nerve.”
“No