Читать книгу Last Stand of Dead Men - Derek Landy - Страница 13

f it hadn’t been for his mother, Ghastly reckoned he’d have taken to running instead of boxing. The bare-knuckle champion of her age, she had taught him everything she knew as he was growing up. To the taunts that followed him wherever he went, to the bullying that came soon after, his fists were his responses. They were the only words he needed.

He’d valued every moment he spent with her when she was alive, and he cherished every memory he had of her when she was gone. Along with his father, she was responsible for the man he became, for the man he was now. A fighter.

But fighting takes its toll. It took its toll on his mother. She’d entered into a fight she hadn’t a hope of winning. And all this fighting, all this arguing and confrontation and playing politics, it was taking a toll on Ghastly now, too. He’d needed his few days off. He’d needed a lot more.

He wondered sometimes what person he would have been if he had chosen running instead of boxing. He could have run from the bullies, then, instead of turning and fighting them. He could have left their taunts far behind. He could have tuned the world out and just focused on his breathing and the rhythm – not of fists on leather, but of feet on track. If he’d been a runner, would he have fought in the war? Would he have become a Dead Man? Would he have lost a year of his life as a blank, unthinking statue? Would he have lost Tanith Low to a Remnant, and then lost her again to a killer?

Ghastly put his head down and ran.

The Sanctuary had so many long, winding corridors in its depths that he could run here for an hour and not see one other person. That’s the way he liked it. Up there, where the corridors were brighter and warmer, he was Ghastly Bespoke the Elder, who had to wear that damn robe and appear respectable at all times. Down here, he was Ghastly Bespoke, the scarred tailor, the man who put on a tracksuit to go running and could sweat and push himself as hard as he damn well wanted.

He ran until he wasn’t thinking of the Supreme Council. He ran until he wasn’t thinking of the Warlocks. He ran and ran and tried to outrun the idea of Tanith Low and Billy-Ray Sanguine, but it caught up with him, ran alongside, and he lost his rhythm and his feet became clumsy and he slowed to a graceless stop.

He stood there, bent over, hands on his knees, sucking in air, and then he straightened, controlled his breathing, started walking. He shook out his arms and legs with each stride. No one would miss him for another twenty minutes or so. Plenty of time to cool down, shower, and pull on that stupid … robe …

He stopped, waiting for the air around him to settle. Once it had fallen back to its natural pattern, he concentrated on the currents and the draughts against his skin, and felt something else, a slight nudging, almost too gentle to notice. Someone was reading the air, keeping track of him. Someone skilled.

Raising his hands, Ghastly formed a vacuum, roughly the size of his own body, and pressed it outwards. Staying very, very still, he sent it rippling down the corridor at walking pace. The gentle nudging moved away from him, following the human-sized disruption. Once the Elemental, whoever he was, was satisfied that the threat had passed, he withdrew his probing little tentacles of awareness.

Ghastly took the stairs slowly down, both hands out to subdue the ripples he was making in the air and to prevent the sounds of his footsteps from travelling. In Ireland, running shoes were called runners. In Britain, trainers. In America, sneakers. The American term was the most sinister, in his opinion, but definitely most appropriate for this situation. At the bottom of the stairs there was a man, standing with his back to him. Now it was Ghastly’s turn to read his surroundings, but he made sure to do it at an even gentler level than the Elemental had managed. Slowly, he used the air to reach past this man with the silenced pistol in a shoulder holster, then round the corner, and down the corridor. He ignored the open spaces he passed, the doorways, and focused on who was standing in the corridor itself. One person, halfway down. Big. Probably male. Another one, at the end, moving around. Fidgeting. Nervous.

Well, OK then.

Ghastly stepped up and wrapped his right arm round the Elemental’s throat, gripped the bicep of his other arm and pressed his left hand against the back of the man’s head. All of this in an instant. All of this before the man could even make a sound, let alone react physically.

Ghastly pulled him back away from the wall so that he couldn’t kick out, make a noise to alert his friends. The man didn’t go for his gun. He didn’t even try to use magic. He just panicked and grabbed Ghastly’s arm and tried to pull it away. But of course he couldn’t, and all Ghastly had to do was tighten up and a moment later the man was unconscious.

Ghastly laid him on the ground. Nothing in his pockets. No ID. No money. Nothing. Ghastly took the pistol, removed the silencer and moved to the corner. He knelt and peeked round.

The big man in the middle of the corridor was looking into the Accelerator Room, the only room that had a light on. Plenty of activity in there, it seemed. Beyond him, at the junction at the other end of the corridor, a second man couldn’t seem to stand still. He had a sub-machine gun on a strap hanging from his shoulder. Like the Elemental’s, it too was silenced. Ghastly stood, stuck the pistol into the pocket of his tracksuit, and stepped into the corridor.

The Big Man was at the midway point, roughly fifty metres away. The Fidgeter was at the end. That meant a hundred-metre dash with two opponents to dispatch without alerting anyone inside the Accelerator Room. Ghastly tried to stop the grin from spreading, but failed miserably.

He gripped the air around him, and broke into a run. He dived forward, brought his hands in and out in front, shot down the corridor like a bullet. The Big Man turned and Ghastly took him off his feet, one hand clamped to his mouth and the other arm wrapped round him, and he piled on the speed. The Fidgeter didn’t even get to look round before the Big Man’s head cracked against his. Both men went down and Ghastly twisted away from them, found himself hurtling towards the far wall. He brought the air in, formed a cushion, bounced off and stumbled only a little when he landed. His first thought was that he had just come close to smashing every bone in his body. His second thought was not to mention that part to Skulduggery, or else the flying lessons would start to concentrate on how to stop instead of how to go faster.

As he knelt by the men, his eyes were on the Accelerator Room door. No one ran out. No one shouted an alarm. His luck was holding. He checked that both men were unconscious, then took the sub-machine gun, made sure it was loaded and ready to fire, and crept back up the corridor. He could hear voices now, snippets of what was being said. Three different people, two male, one female. American accents. One voice he recognised – the one issuing the orders.

He reached the Accelerator Room, and peered in. The man in charge was hidden by the Accelerator itself. The other was tall and thin and Ghastly didn’t know who he was. He’d seen the young woman before, though. She was a Necromancer. What was her name? Adrasdos, or something? He’d seen her with Vex, decades ago, back when everything was nice and friendly between Sanctuaries. She was attaching something to the right side of the Accelerator while the thin man did the same on the other side. They had duffel bags open all around them. Explosives. The man in charge stepped into view, trailing wires behind him. Bernard Sult.

“Nobody move,” said Ghastly.

Naturally, they moved. They spun in shock, but managed to hold still when they saw the gun pointed at them. That was wise.

“Put it down,” said Ghastly, stepping inside. “All of it. Very slowly, very gently, put it all down on the floor. You, too, Bernard. We wouldn’t want any of this to go off, now would we?”

Sult’s face was tight, but he obeyed, and rested the loop of wires at his feet. He straightened, hands up, and the other two did the same. They were all armed with silenced pistols. Ghastly raised his free hand and those pistols floated from their holsters to land gently behind him.

“You kill anyone getting in here?” Ghastly asked.

“We had to render one or two of your people unconscious,” said Sult, “but we don’t take lives if we can help it.”

“Terrorists with principles,” said Ghastly. “I like it.”

“You’re the terrorists,” said Adrasdos, glaring at him with fire in her eyes. “You’re the ones terrorising the world with your casual ineptitude and gross indifference to—”

“Adrasdos,” said Sult, “don’t bother. Elder Bespoke has heard it all before and he remains unmoved.”

Ghastly gave a little shrug. “So what’s the plan here, Bernard? Destroy the Accelerator and vanish before anyone knows you paid us a visit? You weren’t even going to say hi, after everything we’ve been through? You were there when we joined forces to take down Argeddion’s psycho teenagers. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“No, Elder Bespoke, it doesn’t, because I was also here when you allowed Grand Mage Strom to be decapitated in his own quarters.”

“By an English mage.”

“By your would-be girlfriend.”

“Who is possessed by a Remnant. And yet you lot still manage to blame that on us.”

“Oh, it’s not just that, Elder Bespoke. It’s also the fact that you had falsely imprisoned the Grand Mage to keep him from reporting your mistakes back to the Supreme Council. These are not the actions of Elders who can be trusted to run the most volatile country in the world.”

“Mistakes were made, I freely admit that. But no laws were violated. No rules were broken. But this … Breaking into a foreign Sanctuary, assaulting Sanctuary operatives, attempting to destroy Sanctuary equipment … Adrasdos, I know you don’t like the word, but these are acts of terrorism. And you’re all under arrest.”

“I’m afraid we can’t allow that to happen,” said Sult. “And we can’t allow anyone to find out we were here. We’re going to have to kill you, Elder Bespoke.”

Ghastly gave him a little smile. “I’d like to see you try.”

Adrasdos and the thin man rushed him. Ghastly waved his hand and Adrasdos crashed into the wall, but the thin man was too close. Ghastly pulled the trigger. The bullets riddled the thin man’s shirt, but bounced off his skin, and a single push sent Ghastly hurtling back into the corridor. He hit the wall, fell to the floor, left the gun there as he scrambled up. He ducked under the thin man’s punch, and sent a left hook to the body in return. As expected, it was like hitting a boulder. He dodged a wild swipe and curled his fingers, felt the air forming battering rams around his knuckles, and when he punched again he sent a column of air into the thin man’s jaw.

The thin man staggered.

Ghastly hit him again, and again, those battering rams crunching into the thin man’s ribs enough times to make him cover up, and then Ghastly went for the head. The thin man was too used to being the strongest person in the room. He’d never bothered to learn to fight. Ghastly went for the chin and then punched at the knee, and while the thin man was trying to work out what the hell was happening he snapped his palms against the air and the space between them rippled, and the thin man flew backwards.

Ghastly reached for the fallen sub-machine gun, but a shadow lashed at him, curled round his wrist and yanked him off his feet. He rolled, glimpsed Adrasdos running at him, shadows pouring from something she was holding. He lunged at her and they went down. She cracked an elbow into his nose and his vision went blurry. He found her right hand, keeping the weapon away from him as they rolled. He couldn’t even see what it was. It looked like a knife handle.

Adrasdos wriggled out from underneath him, went to kick him as she got to her feet, but he grabbed her foot, held it as he stood. The shadows writhed round the knife handle, grouping together to form a machete. She swung and he stumbled, letting go of her, barely dodging the black blade. The more shadows that writhed, the longer the blade got, and it nicked his shoulder and cut his arm and it was going to end up in his head if he didn’t stop this. She swung and he stepped in, trapped her arm under his and fired a right cross into her jaw. She collapsed, the blade of shadows melting away as the handle skittered across the floor.

Sult was pressing the last of the explosives against the Accelerator when Ghastly returned to the room.

“Not one more step,” the American said, holding out a grey box. His thumb rested against the silver switch. “There are enough explosives in this room to take out this machine five times over. You do not want to make me twitch.”

Ghastly kept his hands down by his sides. “We haven’t even completed our study of the Accelerator,” he said. “We know it supercharges sorcerers, we know it’s a source of energy, but we don’t know how to properly harness it yet. We don’t know what else it can do. And you want to destroy it?”

“I admit this sounds incredibly childish,” said Sult, “but if we can’t have it, then you can’t, either. It’s too unpredictable. And, let’s face it, the supercharged sorcerer aspect would give you an unfair advantage if hostilities were to give way to all-out war.”

Ghastly laughed. “Practically every Sanctuary in the world, apart from those in Africa and Australia, is on your side – and you want to talk to me about unfair advantages? We’re outnumbered so greatly that it’s not even worth calculating.”

“This is very true,” said Sult. “So let the Supreme Council come in. Form a partnership. You can still run your country as normal, for the most part. We’ll just be here to ensure that you’re making the right decisions.”

“I seem to remember that we’ve had this discussion before. It didn’t work out for either of us.”

“Sadly, I must agree with you there.”

“If you flick that switch, you could start a war.”

“Only if they have proof it was me.”

“Still plan to kill me, do you? You brought four sorcerers with you and they all have concussions. I’d say your plans are foiled – unless, of course, you’re planning on doing it yourself …?”

Sult smiled, and laid the grey box on the floor. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“Me, too,” said Ghastly, and took the gun from his pocket and fired. He hit Sult twice in the chest and Sult dropped.

The grey box floated to Ghastly’s free hand, but before he closed his fingers around it he glanced at the silenced pistols at his feet, the ones he’d taken from their holsters. Only two of them. But there were three when he’d—

The bullet hit him in the shoulder and Ghastly spun, stumbled, fell, the grey box falling. The harsh whisper of the missing silenced pistol accompanied another bullet that whistled by his ear and now Ghastly was returning fire, his gun barking loudly in the confined space of the room. Sult dived for cover and Ghastly scurried backwards, firing all the time. Sult kept moving. Ghastly ran out of bullets and Sult popped up and the gun shot from Ghastly’s hand into Sult’s face. Sult staggered, blood pumping from the cut on his forehead.

Ghastly used the air to launch himself across the room. They collided. Sult threw an elbow and brought his gun up. Ghastly grabbed his wrist and the gun barrel, twisted the gun from Sult’s grip and slammed it into his face. Sult punched Ghastly’s shoulder, and the pain from the bullet wound lanced through him. He dropped the gun and almost sank to his knees. Sult hit his shoulder again and the world darkened, and then an elbow hurtled towards him and the dark world tilted and spun. The ground bounced into his side and he rolled against it, pushed away from it, everything moving too fast with the sound muted.

Sult hit him, again and again. Ghastly’s left arm went numb. His right was OK, so he threw it, caught Sult just as he was coming in with another shot. It wasn’t perfect but it’d do. Ghastly fired another into the ribs, but felt the body armour beneath Sult’s shirt. Now Sult was pushing against him, tangling his legs, and they fell with Sult on top. The blood from his forehead splashed on to Ghastly’s cheek. Two punches came down, but Ghastly moved his head just like his mother had taught him all those years ago. One of the punches clipped his ear. The other missed altogether, hit the ground instead. Sult cursed in pain, pulled his hand back, and Ghastly heaved him sideways.

They wrestled there for a moment. Ghastly hung on and didn’t let go. Again, just like his mother had taught him.

When you’re rocked, hang on for dear life until you can see straight. Then let go and let him have it.

Ghastly pushed Sult away and they got to their feet at the same time. The world spun, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been. Keeping his left arm tight to his side, Ghastly whipped out a right jab, followed it with another, feinted with a third and went low with a hook that lifted Sult. Gasping, Sult backed off, his knees shaky, holding his hands out to ward off Ghastly as he closed in.

Sult came to a stop by stepping on the grey box. His heel crunched down on the silver switch. There was a small device attached to the explosives on the Accelerator. It beeped.

Sult’s eyes widened.

The device beeped again and again and faster and faster and now it was one long continuous beep and Ghastly reached out with the air and yanked Sult off his feet. The moment Sult passed him, Ghastly pressed both hands against the air to form a shield and then the room was filled with fire and thunder and the shockwave hit the shield and Ghastly was launched backwards into the corridor. Sult hit the wall and Ghastly hit Sult and they collapsed in a tangle and Ghastly sprawled to a stop.

Eyes blinking. Eyes. Blinking.

Alarms. Shouts.

Alarms.

Hands gripping him, pulling him up, Ghastly sitting now, smoke everywhere. People and Cleavers. Ravel, in front of him, shaking him, speaking words.

“—hear me? Ghastly? Can you hear me? I need a doctor over here! My friend’s a vegetable!”

Ghastly felt his mouth twitch into a smile.

“Oh, good,” said Ravel. “He’s not completely gone. Where’s all this blood coming from? Ah, he’s been shot. Of course he has. Typical.”

Doctor Synecdoche hurried over, knelt by him, pressed something against his wound. “Elder Bespoke,” she said, “can you hear me? Can you tell me what day it is?”

“I don’t know,” Ghastly mumbled, “I’m sorry …”

“We need to get him to my lab as quickly as possible,” said Synecdoche. “He needs a CAT scan and a—”

Ghastly shook his head. “No, I mean, I don’t actually know what day it is. It was easier keeping track of days when I had my shop, but ever since I became an Elder …”

“The days become a blur,” finished Ravel, nodding. “He’s OK, Doc. I’ve seen him walk away from bigger traumas than this. Help me get him standing.”

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea, Grand Mage,” said Synecdoche. “He could still be suffering from—”

Ravel sighed, grabbed Ghastly’s right arm and pulled him to his feet. “See?” he said while Synecdoche quietly freaked out. “Not a bother on him. Although you should probably call round to see him later for some private consultation.”

Ghastly did his best to smile at her. “Doctor, thank you, I’ll make my way to the Medical Wing in a moment. Maybe you could treat some of our prisoners while you’re here?”

“Of course, Elder Bespoke,” she said, and was immediately lost in the crowd of Sanctuary personnel.

“She likes you,” Ravel whispered.

“Do not start,” Ghastly responded. He turned as Sult was hauled to his feet by a pair of Cleavers, his hands shackled behind his back.

“Bernard Sult,” said Ravel. “I take it you’re responsible for this mess?”

Sult glared at them both. “I have Level 4 mindguards in place. We all do. Your Sensitives will get nothing from us.”

“We don’t really need anything,” said Ravel. “The fact that you’ve been caught red-handed trying to destroy Sanctuary property will be enough of an embarrassment to the Supreme Council, believe me.”

The defiance in Sult’s eyes diminished somewhat. “What do you mean,” he said, “trying to destroy?”

Ghastly frowned, too. “The Accelerator is salvageable after a blast like that?”

“See for yourselves,” Ravel said.

Ghastly limped to the doorway and Sult came after him, his arms held by the Cleavers. Sanctuary Elementals worked to clear the acrid smoke from the room. The Accelerator stood tall and proud where it had always been. A little scorched, maybe, but definitely in one piece. One of the Elementals placed a hand to the scorch mark and wiped it clean. Just a little soot. Astonishing.

“When they built it,” Ravel said from behind them, “they built it to last.”