Last Stand of Dead Men

Ravel glared down at him. “Do you really think we’re in the mood to watch Supreme Council propaganda right now?”

“Well, that’s just it, Grand Mage. They didn’t activate the link. We did.”

The screen pulsed, showing Bernard Sult on his knees. His mouth was gagged and his hands were cuffed behind his back.

Ravel’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell is going on?”

“Elder Bespoke,” Doctor Synecdoche said, hurrying back to Ghastly’s side. “We’ve identified the toxin in Weeper’s blood. It’s venom, sir.”

“What?”

“Spider venom.”

The doors opened behind him and Madame Mist glided in, in perfect synchronicity with Syc and Portia’s arrival onscreen.

Ravel looked at Mist. “What are they doing?”

“I have nothing to do with this,” Mist said, after a moment. “Whatever their plan is, it is theirs alone.”

Ravel turned to Susurrus. “Trace the signal. Find out where they are.”

Syc kept one hand on Sult’s shoulder, keeping him on his knees, while Portia turned to the camera. “The actions of the Supreme Council have led to this. Their repeated breaches of the accepted Rules of Law and Sanctuary Conduct have resulted in the death of an Irish sorcerer while in their custody. This cannot go unpunished.”

Syc took hold of Sult’s hair and pulled his head back. Sult’s eyes were wide and wet with fear. In Syc’s other hand, he held a knife.

“They can’t,” Synecdoche whispered.

Ghastly seized Mist’s arm. “Tell them to stop. Make them stop!”

With a rare show of anger, Mist pulled free. “I don’t know where they are, Elder Bespoke. I assure you, they do not have my authorisation.”

“Well, do they have phones? Call them, damn it!”

“I have been trying, sir,” Tipstaff said from another desk. “Their phones are turned off, and hidden from all scans.”

“You,” Mist said, looking at Susurrus, “disable the link.”

“I can’t,” Susurrus said. “Not from here.”

“So every Sanctuary around the world is watching this?”

“I—I’m sorry, but yes.”

Back onscreen, Portia was talking again. “No doubt our own Sanctuary will publicly condemn us for what we are about to do, even though they will understand why it is necessary. For too long, Grand Mage Ravel has entertained the Supreme Council’s excessive demands. For too long, he has indulged their whims and forgiven their sins. This latest sin cannot be forgiven. And so we offer a life for a life.”

“Don’t do it,” said Ravel, but the words had barely left his mouth when Syc drew the knife across Bernard Sult’s throat.

Ghastly stiffened and there was no sound in the room except for the sound of Sult dying onscreen.

“Let it be known,” said Portia, “that if one of ours is harmed, one of yours will die.”

The screen went blank.

“Turn it off,” said Ravel, his voice low, his jaw clenched. “Tipstaff. Activate the shield.”

“The shield is up, sir.”

“Out. Everyone out.” The room emptied quickly, until there were only the Elders left. “We’ll go to war over this,” he said. “This is everything they needed. This is the excuse they were looking for. A public execution of one of their people. Any sympathy we may have had, any, was washed away the moment that blade touched his skin.” Ravel turned to Mist. “Those two don’t do anything without your permission.”

“So I had thought,” said Mist. “Obviously, I was wrong. You are suspicious of me?”

“You could say that.”

Mist’s veil made it impossible to read her face. “That is unfortunate. Please allow me to repeat myself – I had nothing to do with this. They acted without my knowledge and certainly without my permission. I cannot, and I will not, be held responsible for their actions.”

“They’re Children of the Spider,” said Ghastly. “Just like you.”

“And that makes me culpable? Preposterous. Are you to be held responsible every time an Elemental commits a crime?”

“Children of the Spider are an especially tight-knit bunch.”

“We are no closer than family,” said Mist, “and yet siblings are not held accountable for each other, are they? I had no idea Portia and Syc were going to do what they did, and unless you have evidence beyond mere suspicion, we should be concentrating on bringing them to justice and dealing with the ramifications of this terrible act.”

She moved for the door, but Ghastly blocked her way. “You can’t just walk out of here.”

“On the contrary,” she said, “I can and I am about to. Administrator Tipstaff may not be able to track them, but someone has to, and by the looks of things the rest of you are too busy blaming me to do anything constructive. So if you will excuse me.”

She stepped round Ghastly and walked on, and he just stood there.

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assandra Pharos greeted them from her front door with a warm smile. Her grey hair was pulled back in a plait today, and she wore a loose shirt over faded jeans. She hugged Valkyrie and ignored Skulduggery’s protests until he allowed her to hug him, too.

The inside of the cottage was just as Valkyrie remembered it – a bookshelf against one wall, a guitar tucked into the corner, a large rug on the wooden floor and a sofa that had seen better days. And hanging from the rafters, dozens of bundles of twigs, shaped like little men. Dream whisperers. Cassandra had given Valkyrie one as a present the first time they’d met.

“Do you still have yours?” Cassandra asked, catching Valkyrie’s uneasy look.

“Yes,” Valkyrie said automatically, before she even had a chance to consider telling the truth. She ignored Skulduggery’s tilt of the head, and motioned to the guitar. “Do you play much?”

“Not as much as I used to,” Cassandra said. “I was pretty good, once upon a time. I picked up an old one in the sixties and I was taught by one of the best guitarists of the era.”

“Jimi Hendrix?”

“Angelo Bartolotti. This was the 1660s.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right.”

“It was a whole different instrument back then. But you didn’t come here to talk about my musical past as a Baroque chick, did you?”