Mortal Coil. Derek LandyЧитать онлайн книгу.
at Valkyrie when he met her eyes. There was a woman beside him, in a black dress that flowed on to the ground at her feet. Her face was covered by a veil, and her hands were gloved.
“He’s here with his sister,” Ravel said, anticipating her next question. “Not his real sister, of course, but another Child of the Spider.”
Valkyrie had seen with her own horrified eyes the way the Torment could vomit black spiders the size of rats, with talons for legs. He also had the disconcerting habit of transforming into a spider himself – a huge monstrous thing that liked to haunt her dreams every once in a while.
“Madame Mist,” Skulduggery said, eyeless gaze on the woman in the black veil. “She lives in Roarhaven now too? Since when? I didn’t even know she was in the country.”
Ravel shrugged. “We really weren’t chatting long enough for me to get the details. I try to stay away from Children of the Spider, you know? They tend to give me the creeps. And speaking of creepy …”
High Priest Tenebrae entered the hall, flanked as always by Craven and Quiver. Tenebrae nodded to Valkyrie as they swept by in their black robes.
“Well now,” Ravel said, catching the nod. “You seem to know more people here than I do.”
Valkyrie smiled. “I’m still going to need some help with the boring ones.”
Ravel laughed. “I’m sure they’d love to hear themselves being called that. In this hall, you have the usual suspects. Sorcerers of particular power or age or standing. That lady over there is Shakra, and beside her is Flaring. You probably know them from the Sanctuary. They were lucky enough not to be there the day the Desolation Engine went off. To their left are assorted sorcerers you may not know – they work behind the scenes mostly, and do their best to stay out of the spotlight.
“Over here we have Corrival Deuce,” Ravel continued, indicating a portly old man in a colourful coat. “He’s more or less retired now, but we dragged him out of his house for this little get-together. He’s a good man.”
“A very good man,” Skulduggery agreed. “We took orders from him during the war. There aren’t many people I’d take orders from. He’s one of them.”
Valkyrie had heard Skulduggery and Ghastly mention Corrival Deuce in their conversations, always with real affection and respect. She decided she liked the old man very much, even though she’d never met him.
“The two people ahead of us,” Skulduggery said, “are Geoffrey Scrutinous and Philomena Random.” Scrutinous had bizarrely frizzy hair and a goatee, and despite the cold weather outside, he was wearing sandals. Random’s appearance was altogether more sober – she had short hair, a warm coat, and none of the beads or rings or bangles that decorated her colleague’s wrists and hands.
“They’re public relations officers – it’s their job to convince the mortals they didn’t see what they thought they saw. The five people glaring at the Necromancers call themselves the Four Elementals. They see themselves as being in harmony with the world around them, and because of this they’re astonishingly self-righteous.”
“The Four Elementals?”
“Yes.”
“But there are five of them.”
“I know.”
“Can they not count?”
“They started off with four, but then Amity, the man with the unusual chin married the heavyset woman with all the jewellery and insisted she be allowed to become the fifth member of the quartet.”
“Couldn’t they just rename themselves?”
“And become the Five Elementals, when there are only four elements? They didn’t want to lose their precious synchronicity.”
“It’s better than everyone thinking you can’t count.”
“That it is,” said someone at Valkyrie’s elbow. She turned, surprised to see Corrival Deuce standing there. She hadn’t heard him approach. “You’re Valkyrie Cain,” he said, smiling. “I’ve heard so much about you. This is indeed an honour.”
She shook his hand. “Hi,” was all she could think to say.
“Erskine,” Corrival said. “Skulduggery. Good to see you again.”
“I didn’t think you’d come,” Ravel said to the older sorcerer.
Corrival barked a laugh. “What, after a solid three weeks of you pestering me about it?”
“I thought I was being subtle.”
“You don’t know the meaning of the word. Where are the others, then? Where’s Ghastly, and Vex?”
“Ghastly hates these things,” Skulduggery said, “and I don’t know where Vex is.”
“Probably having another adventure,” Corrival said with a little sigh. “That boy needs to grow up one of these days, he really does. What about Anton Shudder?”
“Shudder likes to stay in his hotel,” Ravel said. “Besides all the Remnants trapped in there, he also has a vampire guest to contend with. If I were him, I’d want to keep a close eye on things too.”
The memory of Caelan’s kiss came flooding back into Valkyrie’s mind, and she fought against it in vain.
Corrival looked around. “So is this it? Is everyone here? Erskine, maybe you should start the ball rolling. I have places to go and things to do.”
“Me?” Ravel asked. “Why do I have to start it? You’re the most respected mage here. You start it. Or Skulduggery.”
Skulduggery shook his head. “I can’t start it. I don’t like most of these people. I might start shooting.”
Ravel scowled. “Fine.”
He turned, cleared his throat, and spoke loudly. “Everyone who is going to be here is here,” he announced. The other conversations died down, and all eyes turned to him. “We all know why we’ve gathered. If we can elect a Grand Mage today, then we can immediately start work on forming a new Council and finding a new Sanctuary.”
“Before we talk about the new Sanctuary,” Geoffrey Scrutinous said, “I think we should discuss the old one. In particular, I think everyone would like to ask how the search for Davina Marr has been going.”
“As far as we know, she’s still in the country,” Skulduggery said. “Any more than that, I’m afraid I can’t disclose.”
“Why not?” asked the Elemental named Amity.
“It’s an ongoing investigation.”
“She has evaded you for five months already, Detective Pleasant. Maybe we should be entrusting somebody else with the task of tracking her down.”
“Then by all means, Amity,” Skulduggery said, “find someone else.”
“The damage has been done,” the woman called Shakra said in a Belfast accent. “Marr isn’t important, not any more. What is important is how weak we appear. The Sanctuaries around the world are waiting to pounce, did you know that?”
“That’s a slight exaggeration,” Scrutinous said.
“Is it? The Americans have already announced how they will no longer stand by and watch as Ireland struggles against the legacy that people like Mevolent have left us. That’s what they said, word for word.”
“It was a gesture of support,” Amity said.
“No,” Shakra responded, “it was a threat. They’re telling us they’re getting ready to step in and take over if something like this happens again.”
Amity shook his head. “Nonsense. Ireland is a Cradle of Magic. No one would dare disrupt the delicate balance that holds the world in check.”