The Dying of the Light (4 page)

“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 you poke it?”

“Exactly what I was thinking.” Stephanie grinned, then the grin faded. “Can I ask you a question? It’s about the symbols you have on you. One of the things they do is make sure you can’t be seen by mortals, right?”

“Essentially.”

“But I’m mortal, and I can see you.”

“But you are different.”

“How? I mean, I’m not magic.”

“But you come from magic,” the Engineer said. “You are a thing born from magic, as am I. But, unlike me, you have surpassed your original purpose. You have become a person – much like Pinocchio in the old fable.”

“Pinocchio,” Stephanie said. “Huh. I hadn’t looked at it like that.”

“My creator, Doctor Rote, would read to me at night. That was his favourite story. It is now my favourite also.”

“Aw, that’s actually sweet. You want to be human?”

“Oh, no, not at all,” said the Engineer. “I want to be a puppet.”

She found Skulduggery in the Medical Wing, talking with Reverie Synecdoche. She didn’t get too close. Synecdoche was a nice enough doctor, but she was way too fascinated by Stephanie’s independent existence for it to be anything other than unnerving. Stephanie let Skulduggery talk and hung back, out of the way.

The Medical Wing was adjacent to the Science Wing, and everyone in this part of the Sanctuary was serious and industrious and at all times busy. Apart from Clarabelle. Stephanie watched her work – or at least do something that could be misconstrued as work. She moved with none of the energy of the people around her and carried an empty clipboard, but the look of concentration on her face was fierce, and double that of anyone else. She had bright green hair today.

“Hi, Clarabelle,” said Stephanie.

Clarabelle stopped walking, but didn’t lose that look. “Hi, Valkyrie.”

Stephanie shook her head. “It’s still Stephanie, I’m afraid.”

“Why are you afraid? Did you do something wrong?”

“That’s very likely,” said Stephanie. “You look busy.”

“I know. I’m practising. None of the doctors will let me do anything until I’ve proven myself, so I’m pretending to be busy so that they’ll see I’m really good at it.”

“Do you think that’ll work?”

“I’m fairly confident,” said Clarabelle. “It’s how I got Professor Grouse to hire me. He told me afterwards that he immediately regretted his decision, but by then I’d already moved my stuff in. The doctors here aren’t as much fun. There’s one who looks like a toadstool. You’d imagine someone who looks like a toadstool would be fun to hang around with, but he isn’t. He also doesn’t appreciate being called a toadstool. Even Doctor Nye was more fun than Toadstool-head. Where is Doctor Nye?”

“Prison.”

“When is it getting out?”

“Not for a long time.”

Clarabelle pursed her lips for a moment, then nodded. “That’s probably a good idea. Doctor Nye isn’t very nice. It likes experimenting on things. I heard it once combined the top half of a centaur with the bottom half of a minotaur and the creature escaped, and you can hear it sometimes, roaming the woods at night, howling at the full moon …”

“I’m not sure any of that is true.”

“Still, though,” Clarabelle said, walking away, “it makes you think, doesn’t it?”

“Stephanie,” Doctor Synecdoche called, and waved her over.

Stephanie stifled a groan, and joined them without much enthusiasm.

“I have something for you,” said Synecdoche, rooting around in a desk. “I don’t approve of it, personally, as I’m in the habit of saving lives rather than taking them. But an item was recently discovered buried in the backrooms of the Old Sanctuary, and I was considering your situation and I thought that … let me just find it …”

“My situation?” Stephanie asked.

“Not having magic,” said Skulduggery. “The shock stick is useful, but limited if you can’t recharge it yourself. The Sceptre is unstoppable but, in its own way, also limited. You may not have the space to aim and fire.”

“So I saw something,” Synecdoche said, “and thought of you. Ah, here we are. What do you think?”

She held out a gauntlet made of black metal.

Stephanie’s eyes widened, and even Skulduggery stiffened.

Synecdoche couldn’t help but notice the reaction. “Is something wrong?”

“This is the gauntlet I wear in the vision,” Stephanie said.

“So it would seem,” murmured Skulduggery.

“You’ve seen this in a vision?” Synecdoche asked. “But I just came across it yesterday. I thought you might want it as a last-resort weapon.”

Stephanie frowned. “What does it do?”

Synecdoche hesitated. “The Old Sanctuary was built by a more ruthless breed of sorcerer. This belonged to one of them. It’s called a Deathtouch Gauntlet. When it’s activated, one touch will take someone’s life. Ordinarily I’d have had it destroyed immediately, but considering what you’re going up against, I thought you could use all the help you can get. You said Mevolent pulled Darquesse’s head off and she reattached it, yes? She managed to use her last few seconds of thought to heal herself. With the Deathtouch Gauntlet, there are no last thoughts. Physical death and brain death are instantaneous, so, provided Darquesse doesn’t know what’s coming, she won’t even have the
chance
to survive.”

Stephanie looked at Skulduggery. “If I don’t wear it, will the future we’ve seen be averted?”

“Not wearing the gauntlet will more than likely have no impact whatsoever on the vision coming true,” Skulduggery said. “We’ve seen details of the vision change, but the result is always the same.”

“Well, I’m not wearing it,” said Stephanie. “There. I’ve decided. Can we go see Cassandra? Check if the vision still ends the same way?”

Skulduggery nodded, his voice suddenly brighter. “I’ll tell Cassandra to expect us. Doctor, thank you for your efforts, but it appears we won’t be taking the gauntlet.”

“OK,” said Synecdoche. “But I’ll put it aside for you, Stephanie, just in case.”

“Don’t bother,” Stephanie said, already moving away. “I’ll never wear it.”

hina Sorrows was waiting for them when they entered the Room of Prisms. Thin pillars of angled glass stretched from floor to ceiling, and in the centre of the room sat the Grand Mage herself, elegant in a flowing powder-blue dress, a brooch on her breast signifying her elevated status. Stephanie had heard people say she’d chosen this room to receive visitors because it had more angles with which to reflect her unnatural beauty – her raven hair, her eyes like ice, her perfect features – but Stephanie knew better. China had chosen this room so that she could see anyone trying to sneak up behind her. China was a cut-throat, and only cut-throats know how cut-throats work.

Behind China’s throne – for that’s what it was – the Black Cleaver stood with silent menace.

“Here they come,” China said, smiling. “The only two people who ever bring me any good news. Do you know how depressing that can be? If I were delicate, I’d surely faint with the pressure.”

“You wanted the job,” said Skulduggery.

“I wanted the title, the power, and all those lovely books. The stress I could do without. I think I’m close to getting a worry line on my forehead.”

“How dreadful,” said Skulduggery.

“See? You understand. And so here you are, with good news. Congratulations, by the way, on taking down Ferrente Rhadaman without alerting one single member of the public. Scrutinous and Random have been working overtime to cover up some very sloppy displays. I’m amazed we’re not splashed all over the news. Did Rhadaman have any information on the remaining renegade sorcerers?”

“He didn’t have specifics, but he did say they’re grouping together.”

“Because there is safety in numbers?”

Skulduggery shook his head. “He said someone has been in contact with them. Sounds like a refuge is being offered.”

“I don’t like the sound of that. Do you mean another Sanctuary?”

“I have no more information.”

China sat back, and said nothing for a few moments. “If it’s another Sanctuary offering them asylum, we have to find out which one it is. Since the War of the Sanctuaries, international relations are … precarious. The last thing we need is one of them going rogue and upsetting everyone else.”

The door opened, and Tipstaff walked in. He whispered in China’s ear, and she nodded. When he left, she glanced at Skulduggery and Stephanie.

“Bear with me one minute,” she said.

A man walked in. Tall and lean, unshaven, with dark hair that needed a cut and faded jeans that needed a wash. He exuded an air of menace that was as natural to him as breathing.

“Mr Foe,” said China. “I was beginning to wonder if you would ever get here.”

Vincent Foe looked at them all warily. “Apologies, Grand Mage. I was working on my bike.”

“Well,” said China, smiling, “if your motorcycle has broken down the next time I call for you, I expect you to catch the next available bus.”

Foe’s lip curled at the thought.

China continued. “You would do well to remember that, on a whim, I could have the Cleavers round you up and throw you in a cell and nobody, and I do mean nobody, would raise a single objection.”

Foe brushed the hair out of his eyes. “That kind of strikes me as a potential abuse of power.”

China’s smile deepened. “As I always say, what’s the point of power if you can’t abuse it? You owe me, Mr Foe, and until your debt is paid, you are mine. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry?”

Foe cleared his throat. “Yes. I understand. And how, I wonder, will I know when the debt has been paid?”

“Oh, I’ll be sure to tell you.”

Foe smiled thinly, then looked over at Skulduggery and Stephanie. “You’re OK with this, are you? This is how tyrants are created.”

“What do you care?” Stephanie asked. “You’re a nihilist.”

He shrugged. “Just pointing it out.”

“Mr Foe,” said China, “I’m not done abusing my power.”

Foe gave a little bow. “Once again, my apologies. What enemy is in your sights, may I ask?”

“An old one,” said China. “Eliza Scorn has her Church of the Faceless up and running. I’ve watched her take it over, gather support, build it up, and I’ve waited for the perfect moment to tear it all down. I want to do it properly – not just here in Ireland, but around the world. So I need access to every little secret she has.”

“You want us to break in somewhere, steal her files?”

“I said I wanted this done properly. Above board. No breaking, no stealing. I need a reason to confiscate every last scrap of paper that woman has.”

“So?” Foe asked.

“She wants you to join the Church,” Skulduggery said.

Foe frowned. “But we don’t worship the Faceless Ones.”

“That doesn’t matter,” said China. “One of the rules that were set down when the Church was given official status was that no one with a criminal background could be a member.”

“Ah,” said Foe. “And me and my little gang are all ex-cons.”

“Precisely. You join, we swoop. Eliza loses it all.”

“And then we’re square?”

China laughed. “Mr Foe, you tried to kill me. We are a long way from being square. Leave.”

Foe hesitated, then nodded and walked out.