Читать книгу Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 7 – 9: The Darquesse Trilogy - Derek Landy - Страница 13

hastly had never been in this room before. It was the same concrete-grey drabness as every other room in the Sanctuary, but this one had a big table in its centre, shaped like a toad. It probably wasn’t supposed to look like a toad, it was probably supposed to resemble something grand and inspirational, but in Ghastly’s view it succeeded only in resembling a grand and inspirational toad, and that’s where he left the matter.

He sat on an uncomfortable chair to the right of Erskine Ravel, the Grand Mage. To Ravel’s left sat Madame Mist, her slender frame draped in the Elder robes they all wore, her face hidden by that black veil. They must have looked a sight. Grand Mage Ravel, looking like he should be wearing a tuxedo, flanked by a scarred man and a veiled woman. Ghastly wondered if any of the other Councils around the world looked half as odd as they did. He doubted it.

Right now, he was sitting across from representatives of two of those Councils, and they both looked perfectly normal, if perfectly solemn. Ghastly wasn’t even listening to what was being said. Small talk was not his forte. He’d had a boxer for a mother and a tailor for a father – what did he know of the small talk of politicians and bureaucrats? He waited impatiently for them to get to the point of their visit, and when they finally reached it, he wasn’t at all surprised.

“You’ve been having some problems with your sorcerers, we hear,” said Grand Mage Quintin Strom of the English Sanctuary. Like most Grand Mages, with the obvious exception of Ravel, he was grey-haired and lined and old. Still immensely powerful, though, and somewhat humourless.

“I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed,” said Ravel. “Our mages are all doing fine.”

Strom’s eyebrows rose slightly. He was a good actor. “Oh! In which case, I apologise. It’s just that we’ve had reports of disturbances in practically every corner of the country. You’re saying these reports are inaccurate?”

“I’m not saying that at all,” Ravel said smoothly. “But the problems are not our sorcerers.”

Strom nodded. “Ah yes, we heard that, too. Something is affecting the mortal population here, yes? Dreadful, dreadful business. If you need any help—”

“Thank you, but no,” said Ravel. “We have it under control.”

“Are you quite sure? I don’t mean to condescend, Grand Mage Ravel, but I have a lot more experience running Sanctuaries than you do, and there is no shame in accepting assistance when it is offered.”

“Thank you for clarifying,” Ravel said.

The man beside Strom cleared his throat politely. He was young and American, Ghastly knew that much. “Unfortunately,” he said, “things may not be so simple. The purpose of a Sanctuary is to oversee the magical communities and protect mortals from the truth. If even one Sanctuary fails in its obligations, the success of every other Sanctuary will amount to naught. To use a horribly overused phrase, the chain is only as strong as its weakest link.”

Madame Mist stirred. “And you are saying that we are this weak link?”

“Oh, heavens, no,” said the man. “All I’m saying is that this Sanctuary has had more than its fair share of crises to deal with. Given the pressure you’ve been under, even the strongest link will strain.”

“So you are saying we’re the weakest link,” said Ravel. “I’m sorry, but who are you again?”

“Bernard Sult,” said the man. “I’m a Junior Administrator for Grand Mage Renato Bisahalani.”

“And why are you here?”

“Sult’s here to help,” said Strom. “You know the American Elders, they always think they’re far too busy to take care of things personally. But what he says is true. It’s not something we like to talk about, but the fact is that Ireland has been the source of a great deal of anxiety around the world. It’s in our best interests, of course, to make sure you’re strong enough to withstand anything that comes your way.”

“We don’t need to be propped up,” said Ravel.

Sult shook his head. “I assure you, that’s not what we’re saying. But if everything that has happened here in the last ten years had happened somewhere else, say Germany, would you be confident in their ability to handle it alone? Or would you feel the need to lend some support?”

Ravel said nothing.

“The other Sanctuaries are worried,” Strom said. “They want reassurances that you are prepared and that you are capable. And so I am among the three they have elected to act as their representatives to—”

“I’m sorry,” Ghastly said. “What?”

Ravel was frowning. “They elected you? When? In what forum?”

“It was a private meeting,” Strom said, “where we all came together to voice our concerns.”

“Without inviting us.”

“We didn’t want it to seem like an attack. We wanted to voice our opinions, not intimidate you. During the meeting, the decision was taken to approach you with our concerns. Grand Mage Renato Bisahalani of the American Sanctuary, Grand Mage Dedrich Wahrheit of the German Sanctuary and I were elected, and it was decided that I should come here, representing the interests of the Supreme Council—”

Ravel laughed. “That’s what you’re calling yourselves? The Supreme Council? Well, that’s not intimidating at all, is it, Ghastly?”

“Sounds positively cuddly,” Ghastly responded. “So here you are, as the spokesman for the Supreme Council, to tell us what, exactly?”

“We’re not here to tell you anything,” said Sult. “We’re just here to offer our help should it transpire that you need it. As Grand Mage Strom was saying, the other Sanctuaries need reassurances.”

“That’s no problem,” Ravel said. “Go back and reassure them that everything is fine.”

Strom smiled sadly. “If only it were that easy. Erskine, we have been tasked with verifying, for an absolute fact, that you and your Sanctuary are ready for whatever happens next. And I have to say, this business with the mortals does nothing to boost our confidence in you. I gather a werewolf was on the loose last night. A werewolf. We fear, and again we mean no disrespect, that your relative inexperience shows through at times like these.”

Ravel nodded. “But I’m still not entirely sure what purpose the Supreme Council actually serves. You want reassurances, but don’t appear satisfied when we give them. What more do you want?”

“We need to verify your competence for ourselves.”

Ravel looked at Ghastly. “What does that sound like to you?”

“Sounds like they want to watch over us and tell us what to do. Which makes no sense, because as everyone knows, each Sanctuary is its own watchdog, answerable only to itself.”

“Times have changed,” said Strom. “We can’t take the chances we used to take. In the past six years alone you’ve had Serpine and Vengeous and the Diablerie trying to bring the Faceless Ones back. You’ve had Scarab’s attempt to murder eighty thousand people live on air. You’ve had a Remnant outbreak which threatened to spread across the globe and, only twelve months ago, the Necromancer’s messiah turned up with the intention of killing three billion people. If this Darquesse lunatic really does start her Armageddon here in Ireland, that’s seven world-changing events one after the other. How do you expect us to react, after all that? The Sanctuaries are afraid that one of these days your people aren’t going to make it in time.”

“Before you protest,” said Sult, “let me ask you a question. If you didn’t have Skulduggery Pleasant and Valkyrie Cain on your side, would we even be alive to have this conversation right now?”

“Detectives Pleasant and Cain work with the full support of this Sanctuary and its mages,” Ravel said quietly. “It’s a team effort.”

“You support them, but they do the work,” said Sult. “And they’re not always going to be around, or they’re not always going to be quick enough. They’ll make a mistake. They’ll slip up. And when they do...” Sult trailed off, and Strom continued for him.

“Administrator Sult’s point is merely that you can’t put the security of the world on the shoulders of two people. Sooner or later, it’s going to crush them. We’re simply offering you support, Erskine. If we feel your Sanctuary is strong enough, then that is what we’ll report back and the matter will be forgotten.”

“And if you don’t feel that we’re strong enough?” Mist asked.

“Then we’ll help you. We’ll supply you with Cleavers, with sorcerers should you need them. There is also, I suppose, the option of sharing responsibility.”

Ghastly fixed him with a look. “Meaning you’d take over.”

“No, of course not. We’re here to help, for God’s sake. We don’t have an ulterior motive.”

“And if we don’t want you here?”

Strom looked hurt.

“I’m afraid we’d have to insist,” said Sult. “And I mean no disrespect when I say this, but the Supreme Council has been granted certain powers of veto and authority that I’m sure we can discuss at greater length later on.”

“Certain powers,” Mist said, “that were not agreed upon by us.”

“This is true,” Sult admitted. “If you want to deny us access, that is your right. However, such a move could cut you off from the rest of the world. You’d be isolated. Alone. With no one to call on for help should you need it.”

“That sounds like a veiled threat, Mr Sult.”

“I apologise. I only meant to stress the seriousness of the situation.”

“I think we’re beginning to grasp it,” said Ravel. “We’ll need to discuss your... proposal before giving an answer.”

“Of course,” Strom said, and both men got to their feet. “We have sorcerers and Cleavers standing by, ready to help in a purely supportive capacity, but we can only keep them in place for seven days. After this day next week, our offer of assistance must be withdrawn.”

“And then?” said Ghastly.

“And then we’ll have to take more decisive measures.”

Strom and Sult bowed slightly, and walked from the room.

“So not only do we have a threat,” Ghastly said when they were gone, “now we have a deadline, too.”

Ravel sank back into his chair. “This is going to be trouble.”