Читать книгу The Dying of the Light - Derek Landy - Страница 9

oarhaven was a young city – barely more than three weeks old. It had grown from its humble beginnings as a small town beside a dead lake to a wonder of architectural brilliance in the blink of an eye. Constructed in a parallel reality and then shunted into this one, it overlaid the old town seamlessly. Roarhaven’s narrow streets were now wide, its meagre dwellings now lavish. Its border was immense, proclaimed with authority by the protective wall that encircled it, a wall that used tricks and science and magic to shield it from prying, mortal eyes. At the city’s centre was the Sanctuary, a palace by any other name, resplendent with steeples and towers and quite the envy of the magical communities around the world.

This was to have been the first magical city of the New World Order. Others would follow, as per Ravel’s plan. When the Warlocks started killing mortals and the mortals needed saviours, the sorcerers would swoop in, beat back the horde and be hailed as heroes. They would prove themselves invaluable allies against the newly-discovered forces of darkness. Sorcerer and mortal would stand united. And then, slowly and subtly, the sorcerers would nudge the mortals to one side, and the world would be theirs. But what was that quote Valkyrie Cain had heard once, that Stephanie now remembered?

No plan survives first contact with the enemy.

The Warlocks had come in numbers far greater than expected. They took down the shield, smashed the wall and breached the gate. To even the odds, Erskine Ravel sent Accelerator-boosted sorcerers to fight them – but these supercharged operatives proved to be as much a threat to their own side as to the enemy. And then Darquesse appeared.

In the chaos that followed, many more people died. The Warlocks, having seen their leader killed, scattered and withdrew, nineteen supercharged sorcerers fled, and Darquesse inflicted the punishment of all punishments upon Erskine Ravel.

Roarhaven survived, but the dream had been broken.

Now, sixteen days after the battle had ended, only a fraction of its lavish buildings were occupied. Its streets were quiet and its people humbled and scared and ashamed. They had been promised glory and dominion; they were told they were going to claim their birthright as conquering heroes of the world. What a shock it must have been to discover that they were the villains of this little story.

Stephanie had no sympathy for them, however. They may have seen themselves as lions, but they flocked like lambs.

She hadn’t made up her mind about the city, though. Yes, it was impressive and in places beautiful, and the emptiness of it all added a certain eerie quality she found she liked, but it took the Bentley eight minutes to get from the city gates to the Sanctuary. And that wasn’t because of traffic – there was barely any to speak of – but because of the ridiculous grid system they’d used to arrange the streets. It would have been fine if those eight minutes were filled with conversation, but this morning Skulduggery was in one of his quiet moods, so Stephanie sat in silence.

They got to the Sanctuary – or to the palace that the Sanctuary had become – and took the ramp down below street level, where they parked and rode the elevator up to the lobby. No expense had been spared to remind visitors that this was where the power lay. The lobby was a vision of statues and paintings, white marble and deepest obsidian. Grey-suited Cleavers stood guard, their scythes gleaming wickedly.

The Administrator walked to meet them. “Detective Pleasant,” Tipstaff said, “Miss Edgley, Grand Mage Sorrows will be ready to receive you shortly.”

Skulduggery nodded as Tipstaff walked away, already checking his clipboard for the next item on his to-do list. Skulduggery waited with his hands in his pockets, standing as still as any of the statues around him. Stephanie wasn’t nearly so patient, so off she went, glad for the chance to get away from him. He had his moments of levity, moments when the old Skulduggery would emerge, but they were few and short-lived. His mind was on other things. His mind was on Valkyrie Cain.

She didn’t need to be around him when he was thinking about her.

She left the marble and the brightly-lit corridors and entered the area that had become known as the Old Sanctuary, what remained of the original building with its concrete walls and flickering lights and dancing shadows. Not many sorcerers bothered coming down here, and that’s why Stephanie liked it. Those other sorcerers looked at her uneasily. To them, she was the reflection of the world-breaker, the cheap copy of the girl who was going to kill them all. They didn’t trust her. They didn’t like her. They certainly didn’t value her.

She stepped into the Accelerator Room.

“Hi,” she said.

The Engineer turned. The smiley face that Clarabelle had drawn on to its smooth metal head was still there, and gave the robot an endearingly cheerful expression. Parts were missing from its sigil-covered body, and in those gaps a blue-white light pulsed gently, almost hypnotically.

“Hello, Stephanie,” the Engineer said. “How are you today?”

She shrugged. The Accelerator stood in the middle of the room like an open vase, the uppermost tips of its wall almost scraping the ceiling. Circuitry ran beneath the surface of its skin, crackling brightly. It drew its power from a rift between this world and the source of all magic, a rift the size of a pinprick that the machinery had been built around.

“It’s getting brighter,” she said.

“Yes it is,” said the Engineer. “Every time the power loops, it grows.”

It had originally given them twenty-three days, eight hours, three minutes and twelve seconds until the Accelerator overloaded. Tasked with extending that deadline if at all possible, it had tinkered with the machine, re-routing its power flow and usage, until seven more days had been added to the countdown. But that brief moment of breathing space had been swallowed up as time marched onwards.

“How long left before it all goes kaboom?” Stephanie asked.

“Fourteen days, seven hours and two minutes,” the Engineer said. “Although the sound it makes will not be kaboom. If and when the Accelerator overloads, the sound will more than likely be a very loud fizz. Possibly a whump.”

“Right. So not very impressive, then.”

“Indeed. The effects, however, will be most impressive.”

“Yeah,” Stephanie said. “Every sorcerer in the world boosted to twenty times their normal level of power and driven insane in the process, effectively dooming the entire planet. That’s damned impressive, all right.”

“Sarcasm is your forte, Miss Edgley.”

She smiled. “So nice of you to say, Engineer. So, has anyone come forward yet to offer their soul in exchange for shutting it down?”

“Not yet.”

“They’re probably busy.”

“That is what I have surmised.”

“We have two weeks left. I’m sure there’ll be a queue of volunteers once word gets out.”

“Undoubtedly.”

She laughed. “You’re a cool robot, you know that?”

“Possibly the coolest. You are damaged?”

“Sorry?”

“Your face. It is bruised.”

“Oh,” she said, “it’s nothing. Just another perk of the job.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No. Not really. Only when I poke it.”

“Seeing as how pain is not generally sought after, why would you poke it?”

“Exactly what I was thinking.” Stephanie grinned, then the grin faded. “Can I ask you a question? It’s about the symbols you have on you. One of the things they do is make sure you can’t be seen by mortals, right?”

“Essentially.”

“But I’m mortal, and I can see you.”

“But you are different.”

“How? I mean, I’m not magic.”

“But you come from magic,” the Engineer said. “You are a thing born from magic, as am I. But, unlike me, you have surpassed your original purpose. You have become a person – much like Pinocchio in the old fable.”

“Pinocchio,” Stephanie said. “Huh. I hadn’t looked at it like that.”

“My creator, Doctor Rote, would read to me at night. That was his favourite story. It is now my favourite also.”

“Aw, that’s actually sweet. You want to be human?”

“Oh, no, not at all,” said the Engineer. “I want to be a puppet.”

She found Skulduggery in the Medical Wing, talking with Reverie Synecdoche. She didn’t get too close. Synecdoche was a nice enough doctor, but she was way too fascinated by Stephanie’s independent existence for it to be anything other than unnerving. Stephanie let Skulduggery talk and hung back, out of the way.

The Medical Wing was adjacent to the Science Wing, and everyone in this part of the Sanctuary was serious and industrious and at all times busy. Apart from Clarabelle. Stephanie watched her work – or at least do something that could be misconstrued as work. She moved with none of the energy of the people around her and carried an empty clipboard, but the look of concentration on her face was fierce, and double that of anyone else. She had bright green hair today.

“Hi, Clarabelle,” said Stephanie.

Clarabelle stopped walking, but didn’t lose that look. “Hi, Valkyrie.”

Stephanie shook her head. “It’s still Stephanie, I’m afraid.”

“Why are you afraid? Did you do something wrong?”

“That’s very likely,” said Stephanie. “You look busy.”

“I know. I’m practising. None of the doctors will let me do anything until I’ve proven myself, so I’m pretending to be busy so that they’ll see I’m really good at it.”

“Do you think that’ll work?”

“I’m fairly confident,” said Clarabelle. “It’s how I got Professor Grouse to hire me. He told me afterwards that he immediately regretted his decision, but by then I’d already moved my stuff in. The doctors here aren’t as much fun. There’s one who looks like a toadstool. You’d imagine someone who looks like a toadstool would be fun to hang around with, but he isn’t. He also doesn’t appreciate being called a toadstool. Even Doctor Nye was more fun than Toadstool-head. Where is Doctor Nye?”

“Prison.”

“When is it getting out?”

“Not for a long time.”

Clarabelle pursed her lips for a moment, then nodded. “That’s probably a good idea. Doctor Nye isn’t very nice. It likes experimenting on things. I heard it once combined the top half of a centaur with the bottom half of a minotaur and the creature escaped, and you can hear it sometimes, roaming the woods at night, howling at the full moon …”

“I’m not sure any of that is true.”

“Still, though,” Clarabelle said, walking away, “it makes you think, doesn’t it?”

“Stephanie,” Doctor Synecdoche called, and waved her over.

Stephanie stifled a groan, and joined them without much enthusiasm.

“I have something for you,” said Synecdoche, rooting around in a desk. “I don’t approve of it, personally, as I’m in the habit of saving lives rather than taking them. But an item was recently discovered buried in the backrooms of the Old Sanctuary, and I was considering your situation and I thought that … let me just find it …”

“My situation?” Stephanie asked.

“Not having magic,” said Skulduggery. “The shock stick is useful, but limited if you can’t recharge it yourself. The Sceptre is unstoppable but, in its own way, also limited. You may not have the space to aim and fire.”

“So I saw something,” Synecdoche said, “and thought of you. Ah, here we are. What do you think?”

She held out a gauntlet made of black metal.

Stephanie’s eyes widened, and even Skulduggery stiffened.

Synecdoche couldn’t help but notice the reaction. “Is something wrong?”

“This is the gauntlet I wear in the vision,” Stephanie said.

“So it would seem,” murmured Skulduggery.

“You’ve seen this in a vision?” Synecdoche asked. “But I just came across it yesterday. I thought you might want it as a last-resort weapon.”

Stephanie frowned. “What does it do?”

Synecdoche hesitated. “The Old Sanctuary was built by a more ruthless breed of sorcerer. This belonged to one of them. It’s called a Deathtouch Gauntlet. When it’s activated, one touch will take someone’s life. Ordinarily I’d have had it destroyed immediately, but considering what you’re going up against, I thought you could use all the help you can get. You said Mevolent pulled Darquesse’s head off and she reattached it, yes? She managed to use her last few seconds of thought to heal herself. With the Deathtouch Gauntlet, there are no last thoughts. Physical death and brain death are instantaneous, so, provided Darquesse doesn’t know what’s coming, she won’t even have the chance to survive.”

Stephanie looked at Skulduggery. “If I don’t wear it, will the future we’ve seen be averted?”

“Not wearing the gauntlet will more than likely have no impact whatsoever on the vision coming true,” Skulduggery said. “We’ve seen details of the vision change, but the result is always the same.”

“Well, I’m not wearing it,” said Stephanie. “There. I’ve decided. Can we go see Cassandra? Check if the vision still ends the same way?”

Skulduggery nodded, his voice suddenly brighter. “I’ll tell Cassandra to expect us. Doctor, thank you for your efforts, but it appears we won’t be taking the gauntlet.”

“OK,” said Synecdoche. “But I’ll put it aside for you, Stephanie, just in case.”

“Don’t bother,” Stephanie said, already moving away. “I’ll never wear it.”