The Dying of the Light. Derek LandyЧитать онлайн книгу.
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