The Dying of the Light. Derek LandyЧитать онлайн книгу.
opened his eyes, looked around. “Well? Did it work?”
Stephanie pulled her hands back, and folded her arms.
“Oh, it worked,” said Skulduggery.
He was insufferable. Stephanie walked beside him as they made their way through the Sanctuary’s corridors, and Skulduggery would not shut up. He cracked jokes, he told stories, he was by turns smug, arrogant and whimsical and, worst of all, he was paying attention to her.
“I thought you wanted me to talk more,” he said when he noticed her silence. “Can’t have it both ways, Stephanie. I can’t be quiet when you want to sulk and chatty when you want to chat. That’s not how it works. That’s not how I work.”
“I’m not sulking.”
“Well, you’re doing something with your face that resembles sulking. Are you glowering? You might be glowering. Glowering is like sulking only scarier.”
They stepped into the elevator, and Skulduggery thumbed the button for the top floor. The doors slid closed.
“You’re definitely frowning, though,” he continued as they started to move. “Do you know how many muscles it takes to frown, as opposed to the muscles it takes to smile? I don’t. I doubt anyone does. What constitutes a smile anyway? Is it just the movement of the mouth, or are the eyes involved? And to what extent is each muscle utilised? The old homily about how frowning uses more muscles than smiling is entirely redundant unless, of course, you’re talking about the underlying message, and as a message, it’s a wonderful, life-affirming thing that bypasses anything so pedantic as actual, provable facts.”
“Could we go back to the awkward silences, please?”
“We’ve moved beyond the silences, Stephanie. We’re on new ground now.”
“I hate new ground.”
“Do you want a hug?” asked Skulduggery.
“God, no.”
“You’re probably right. I should probably save my hugs for later.”
The elevator stopped and they got out. They approached a set of double doors guarded by the Black Cleaver.
Skulduggery knocked, then nodded to the Cleaver. “Hi.”
The Black Cleaver didn’t acknowledge him.
“I meant to say, I like the new look,” Skulduggery continued. “It’s moody. It’s edgy. It doesn’t really leave a whole lot of scope for anything further down the line, though. That would be my only criticism. You’ve gone from grey to white and now to black and, really, what’s left? You could go multicoloured, I suppose. You could show your support for the gay, lesbian and transgender communities. The Rainbow Cleaver, perhaps? No? Too much? That’s not your thing? Ah, that’s a pity.”
Skulduggery stopped talking. The Black Cleaver didn’t move a millimetre.
Skulduggery resumed talking. “I don’t know if you know this, you probably do, but people here have been around for a few hundred years and, well, things happen. You stop being so fixated on things that don’t matter. The pursuit of happiness, that’s what it’s all about. That’s all I’m saying on the subject. It’s OK to be different, because we’re all different in our own ways. There. Sermon over. Would you like a hug?”
The doors opened. “Are you giving out hugs?” China asked.
“Only to those who need them,” Skulduggery said, leading the way in.
China raised an eyebrow. “Someone’s in a good mood.”
“He won’t shut up,” Stephanie muttered.
China’s apartment was on the top floor of the highest tower in the Sanctuary. White walls and high ceilings. It was a celebration of taste – of art, of culture, of history, of magic. Of power.
China closed the doors behind them. “Should I take it that this good mood means you were successful in communicating with Valkyrie?”
Skulduggery walked up to the floor-to-ceiling windows and looked out over Roarhaven. “You should,” he said.
“And she agreed to Cassandra’s plan?”
“She did.”
China smiled. “Well, that is good news.”
For some reason, seeing recent events brighten China’s mood was even more annoying than Skulduggery’s chirpiness. At least Stephanie had expected Skulduggery’s chirpiness. Some of it anyway.
“In order for the Sensitives to do their part,” Stephanie said, “we’ll need to hold Darquesse in one place for a period of time, right? Have we figured out just how we’re going to do this, or are we simply hoping she trips over and knocks herself out?”
“Such attitude,” said China. “I dare say this one is even more sarcastic than the original. She lacks a certain warmth, though, a quality that made Valkyrie so endearing.”
“I’m not here to be warm or to be liked,” said Stephanie. “I’m here to stop Darquesse and go home. Are you going to help us with that or aren’t you?”
The corner of China’s mouth curved slightly upwards. “But of course, my dear. I do apologise for wasting time with small talk. I believe I may be of some assistance, yes.”
She led them to a large table filled with open books. On a clear space by the edge was a journal, in which was drawn a circle of symbols. Notes were scrawled in different coloured inks, linked by arrows and underlined for effect. Measurements spilled out on to the adjoining page, like an idea that couldn’t be contained.
“For the last few weeks, I have been spending my precious time designing traps,” said China. “This design you see before you is the culmination of my work. It should take a sorcerer’s power and throw it back at her. Once Darquesse enters this circle, her own strength will loop back and stun her, incapacitating her for between five and ten seconds. Because Stephanie is the only one of us without magic, and so the only one who will not be affected by the trap, I suggest she act as bait. Fletcher Renn will be waiting with the Sensitives in a secure location, and when Darquesse is stunned Stephanie can deactivate the trap, the Sensitives can teleport in, and the day can be saved. Can we be certain that Darquesse won’t recover while they work?”
“Cassandra seems confident,” said Skulduggery.
“Splendid. Our entire existence rests on the assurances of a hippy.”
“She hasn’t let me down yet. My main concern is this trap of yours and whether or not it’ll work on someone of Darquesse’s power.”
China smiled. “Oh, my dear, you wound me. Have I ever let you down?”
“Numerous times.”
“I meant today.”
“Then, no. You haven’t. That I know of.”
“So we have our trap,” Stephanie said, cutting across them both, “but we don’t have any way of luring Darquesse into it. Creyfon Signate is still trying to find Mevolent’s alternate reality and until we have that, Ravel can’t be our bait.”
“We don’t need him to be,” Skulduggery said. “Darquesse is after the Hessian Grimoire. All we have to do is break into the Vault and get to it before she does.”
“The Vault?” said Stephanie. “Beneath the Dublin Art Gallery? The one with the vampire security guards?”
“The very same. Security has been tightened since Valkyrie and I broke in six years ago, but it’s nothing we won’t be able to handle.”
Stephanie frowned. “But why do we have to break in? We’re the Sanctuary now. Why don’t we just set up the trap in the gallery, Darquesse will walk in, and we’ll have her. What’s the problem?”
“The