Last Stand of Dead Men

“Likewise,” Valkyrie said. “Although Skulduggery never mentioned what discipline you studied.”

Saracen’s smile turned to a grin. “I know things.”

“But you said you’re not a psychic.”

“You don’t have to be a Sensitive to know things.”

“So … that’s your magic? Knowing things is your power?”

“Knowing things is a result of my power.”

“OK. No offence, but that vagueness is really annoying.”

“I know. Dexter has been trying to figure out what I can do for over three hundred and fifty years. Seeing the annoyance in his eyes is just about the most hilarious thing I’ve ever experienced.”

“Does anyone know what your power is?”

“Erskine,” said Saracen. “About twenty years before the war with Mevolent ended, I was poisoned. I was dying. I was on my sickbed and Erskine was the only friend I had in the place, and in a moment of weakness I told him what I could do.”

“But you survived.”

“The next morning I started to recover. Dexter likes to say that it was the burden of this secret that was killing me, and only when I told someone was that burden lifted. I think that’s the reason we’re still friends. He wants to be around if I ever get sick again.”

“And do you know … everything?”

“Not even close,” Saracen said. “After you.”

The Cleavers opened the doors for them and they joined Skulduggery and the Elders just as Tipstaff was handing Ravel a note. Valkyrie looked at Ghastly. He caught her eye and winked, and she smiled.

Ravel took a moment to read the note, then looked up. “All right, then,” he said, “before we get on to Bernard Sult and what this means, I have to ask Skulduggery and Valkyrie if Tyren Lament or any of his sorcerers ever mentioned anything about the Engineer?”

Valkyrie frowned. “What engineer?”

“The Engineer,” said Ravel. “The Sensitives were able to get a few snippets of information out of the mind of one of Sult’s people before the psychic block went up. The Supreme Council has been doing a little research into the Accelerator, it seems, and they came across a mention of this ‘Engineer’.”

“So who is he?” Skulduggery asked.

“Not who – what. It’s a machine. Apparently it’s the only way to deactivate the Accelerator.”

“And where is it?”

“No one knows. It wandered off.”

“How can it wander off? It’s a machine.”

“It’s humanoid, has an independent brain and is most likely sentient in a—”

Valkyrie’s eyes bulged. “It’s a robot?”

“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.”