Last Stand of Dead Men

by Derek Landy

  “That is correct,” said Donegan.

  “And if Mantis does find out that the Engineer is here, and if it does come with its army, you don’t really have any defences to … defend yourself with.”

  Gracious nodded. “An accurate summation. What part was the stupid question?”

  “That’s coming up,” Fletcher said. “If Mantis attacks, you’ve got that rock cliff behind you so there’s nowhere to run, either.”

  “Waiting for the stupid question …”

  “Well … I mean … If they come, you can’t fight and you can’t run. You’ll be trapped.”

  Gracious looked at him. “That wasn’t even a question.”

  “You’re quite right,” Dai said. “When Mantis attacks, we’ll be overwhelmed. The Keep will be surrounded, and they’ll breach our pathetic wall with laughable ease. At which point they’ll realise that all these people they’ve seen moving around are, in actual fact, really cheap Hollow Men.”

  “By which time,” said Donegan, “Gracious, Dai and I will have run back to Nye and Clarabelle and the Engineer, and we’ll call for you. Then you come, and you teleport us to safety.”

  “But what’s the point?” Fletcher asked. “Why lure them here in the first place if … oh.”

  Gracious smiled. “Look. He’s getting it.”

  “So they’ll be here,” Fletcher said, “in this terrible position with no defences and no escape, and they’ll turn round …”

  “And realise that the Dead Men have moved into the valley behind them,” said Donegan, “and they have an army with them.”

  Fletcher grinned. “That’s pretty smart.”

  “That’s why they’re called tactics,” said Gracious, “and not …”

  The others looked at him. Gracious just shrugged. “Fletcher, you want to go talk to a robot?”

  Fletcher grinned. “Sure.”

  Gracious led him into the Keep, the inside of which was not quite as disappointing as the outside. The walls held up the ceiling. The floors held up the walls. It was a good system.

  The only room that had anything in it looked like a mad scientist’s garden shed. It was small, cramped, and full of beeping machines and wires running everywhere. Doctor Nye had to almost bend double to move. Clarabelle waved as Fletcher walked in. She stood beside a six-foot robot.

  Its metal surface was battered, and deep scratches ran over the magical symbols soldered on to its sculpted torso. It was also not exactly here. There were small gaps in its body, like a jigsaw missing some of its pieces that somehow managed to stay together. Within those gaps there was a blue glow, which turned white the more Fletcher stared. Its head was smooth, and had a smiley face scrawled over it.

  “That is so cool,” said Fletcher.

  Gracious was practically giggling with excitement.

  Nye looked round, looked back at the Engineer, and sighed. “Clarabelle,” it said, “did you draw a smiley face on the robot?”

  Clarabelle furrowed her brow, like she was searching for the perfect lie. Then she brightened, and said, “No.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “No, Doctor.”

  “Do you know who did?”

  “I think it was one of the Hollow Men.”

  “I think you’re lying.”

  She sagged. “It just looked sad, standing there without a face. Now it looks happy.”

  “It looks ridiculous.”

  She brightened. “Ridiculously happy?”

  “No,” said Nye, “just ridiculous. Mr Renn, aren’t you going to say hello to our mechanical guest?”

  Fletcher peered closer. “Is it working?”

  Gracious nudged him. “Ask it that.”

  Fletcher cleared his throat, and stepped towards the robot. “Excuse me,” he said, “are you operational?”

  The Engineer turned its head towards him. “I am,” it said, its voice undoubtedly robotic but surprisingly warm. “I was reactivated forty-three minutes ago. My available systems are back online.”

  Fletcher looked round to Gracious. “Do Skulduggery and the others know about this?”

  Gracious nodded. “They’ve asked me to get all the information we need. Engineer, are you ready to answer a few questions?”

  “Yes I am, Mr O’Callahan.”

  “The Accelerator,” Gracious said, “can it be shut down?”

  “Yes. In doing so, a locking mechanism will seal it from use. Once deactivated, only I can activate it again.”

  “Would you have any objection to shutting it down?”

  “Not at all. That is my purpose. In the event of the Accelerator’s activation, I am to facilitate its deactivation before it is too late.”

  “Well, OK then,” said Gracious, smiling broadly. Then he frowned. “Wait, before it’s too late to do what?”

  “The Accelerator’s power is on a constant loop,” said the Engineer. “With every loop, the power builds, and the stronger the link to the source of all magic becomes. Eventually the Accelerator will overload, delivering a boost to every magical being around the world.”

  “A boost,” said Gracious cautiously. “Like the boost it gave to Kitana Kellaway and her friends?”

  “I’m afraid not. Their power was merely tripled, and while my creator could not calculate this accurately, he estimated that an uncontrolled overload would result in a boost to between ten and twenty times a sorcerer’s current level.”

  Nye looked around, its small eyes widening. “But a boost that big would drive all sorcerers insane.”

  “My creator believed this was a possibility, yes.”

  “So the Accelerator is a … a time bomb,” said Gracious. “A doomsday device.”

  “Not intentionally,” said the Engineer. “A nuclear reactor has carbon rods that can shut down the fission reaction at any moment, preventing a catastrophic meltdown. You may think of me like those carbon rods. I am what prevents the Accelerator from being a bomb.”

  “Except you didn’t,” said Gracious. “Because you weren’t around.”

  “I got bored.”

  “You’re a machine.”

  “Machines can become bored, too.”

  Gracious looked suddenly concerned. “My toaster is bored?”

  “Perhaps,” said the Engineer. “I do not know many toasters. My cognitive functions are perhaps a little too sophisticated for my own good. But I can still switch off the Accelerator before it reaches catastrophic levels, if you take me to it.”

  Gracious let out a sigh of relief. “See that? There’s a threat, and now it’s averted. That, I think, qualifies as a victory for the good guys.” He turned to Fletcher, held up his hand. “High five!”

  Fletcher looked at him. “Really?”

  “Don’t leave me hanging, man.”

  Fletcher gave him a high five. It really hurt.

  “Mr Engineer,” Gracious said, “would you be so kind as to accompany us back to the Sanctuary and deactivate the Accelerator?”

  “Of course,” said the Engineer. There was a pause. “Hmm,” it said.

  “That didn’t sound good,” Fletcher said warily.

  “Apologies,” said the Engineer. “A part of me seems to be malfunctioning.”

  Nye swivelled its head on its long neck. “What did you say?”

  “My memory-processing unit is malfunctioning,” said the Engineer. “I am afraid that I cannot access the relevant protocols.”

  “Let me see it,” said Nye. “I’ll fix it.”

  The Engineer shook its smiley-faced head. “I am afraid it will not be that simple, Doctor. A self-diagnostic reveals the unit to be irreparably damaged.”

  Fletcher stepped forward. “Wait a second, so now you can’t shut down the Accelerator?”

  “Not without my memory-processing unit being replaced.”

  “There is no replacement,” Nye said angrily. “This is a one-of-a-kind piece of technology. Give me six months and I might be able to reverse-engineer it, but—”

 
“I am afraid you do not have six months,” said the Engineer. “In a matter of weeks – without my processing unit, I cannot be any more specific than that – the Accelerator will overload.”

  Gracious looked at Fletcher. “So now we’re back to the end of the world? I take back my high five. This is not a high-five situation.”

  “May I offer a possible solution?” said the Engineer.

  “Please,” said Gracious. “A possible solution would be awesome right about now.”

  “My creator, Doctor Rote, had many scientists working on different aspects of the Accelerator, and therefore me, at the same time. They did not know how their projects interacted, or what they would combine to form, but the woman who designed my brain made a prototype before she started work on the finished version.”

  Fletcher frowned. “You have another brain somewhere?”

  “In essence,” said the Engineer, “yes. It is not as advanced as the one I have been using, but the memory-processing unit could be salvaged from the prototype and used in place of my own.”

  Gracious clapped his hands, delighted. “See that? Problem averted. We are good. I don’t mind telling you. We are good. So, Engineer, where is this prototype brain of yours?”

  The Engineer looked at him. “It currently resides in the Sanctuary in London, England.”

  “Oh,” said Gracious, and looked like he might cry. “Oh, good.”

  utumn brought with it shorter days and darker evenings. It swept the warmth of summer to one side, replaced it with grey skies and chill winds like some great switch had been flicked. Grey skies to match grey moods, Valkyrie reckoned, in everyone around her except the Dead Men. There had been moments over the past few weeks – during the ambush in France, at the raid in Moscow, after the battle in Arizona – where she genuinely thought that these men had probably never been happier than right now. They had a clear purpose once again. They were fighting for something. They were warriors, and they were back doing what warriors did.

  Making war.

  She didn’t say any of this out loud. It wasn’t because she didn’t want to make them feel bad – it was merely because she didn’t want them to start questioning her. The fact was, despite the fighting and the killing and the sheer discomfort of being at war, she was enjoying herself. She hadn’t yet been forced to seriously injure anyone, she hadn’t been seriously injured herself, and they hadn’t failed even one of their missions so far. Sure, things hadn’t always gone according to plan, and they may have missed one or two opportunities along the way, but they were striking fast and getting out of there before the enemy could counter. They were winning. Sort of.

  Sometimes it was hard to tell which side was in the lead. The Supreme Council forces were massive and overwhelming, but slow to move. The Irish sorcerers stayed in small groups and darted in and out – sometimes with Fletcher’s help, sometimes on their own. They’d suffered some losses, some crushing defeats, but they kept going. Like Shudder said, you stab a giant enough times with a tiny knife, sooner or later he’s going to topple over.

  Not that the Irish were the only side using this tactic, of course. General Mantis and his few hundred soldiers may have been denied the reinforcements they’d been expecting, but so far they were successfully evading capture in Ireland – and they hadn’t yet taken the bait and attacked the Keep. Skulduggery suspected that they were hiding among the mortals, and every so often they’d regroup, hit a target and dissipate back into the cities and towns. Except for Mantis himself, of course. A creature like that would have to stay hidden.

  For the last few days, their base camp had been an old hotel on the outskirts of Frankfurt. There were twenty Irish sorcerers staying here, plus three Americans and four Germans who had decided to follow their conscience. Valkyrie crossed the dark courtyard, saw Tanith through a window and stopped, peered closer. Tanith was leaning back against the wall while Ghastly worked at her boots. Ghastly said something and she laughed, and at her reply he smiled. He put the first boot on the ground and she slipped her foot in, balancing herself by resting a hand on his shoulder. He knew, of course, that her balance was perfect. He didn’t object to the hand, though.

  Sanguine walked in, stopped suddenly when he saw them. Tanith took her hand from Ghastly’s shoulder, used it to pick up her second boot. She pulled it on while standing on one leg, chatting away. Sanguine glared at Ghastly. Ghastly gazed back, and stood, and when he moved he brushed by Tanith gently. Sanguine went for him.

  Valkyrie stopped herself from rushing in. Even Tanith didn’t try to break up the fight. Sanguine hit Ghastly and Ghastly hit Sanguine. They crashed over furniture and rolled on the floor, and Ghastly was first up and he clipped Sanguine as he rose. Three more punches followed and Sanguine staggered, then his hand went to his pocket and his straight razor flashed.

  Tanith grabbed his wrist, held it in place. Stern words, softly spoken.

  Sanguine shook his hand free, but didn’t resume his attack, and a moment later he stormed out of there. Tanith looked at Ghastly, but he turned away, and Tanith shook her head, and followed Sanguine out of the door.

  “Spying is rude,” Skulduggery said from Valkyrie’s shoulder.

  “We have loads of spies,” she said, annoyed that once again she hadn’t even heard him approach.

  He nodded. “And they are very rude people. Who were you watching?”

  “Ghastly and Tanith and Sanguine. Ghastly and Sanguine had a fight.”

  “Did Ghastly leave him alive?”

  “Yeah. Tanith stepped in before it could get any worse. She’s changed, don’t you think? She’s getting more like her old self. I think the real Tanith is re-emerging.”

  “From what I know of Remnants, I’m afraid that’s not possible. If it seems like she’s back to her old self, then she’s pretending. Which, by itself, isn’t necessarily a sinister development.”

  “You think she’s doing it to try to be our friend again?”

  “She doesn’t want to be our friend,” Skulduggery said, “she wants to be your friend. She knows you’re Darquesse. In her eyes, you’re her messiah. Her idol. Who wouldn’t want to be closer to their idol?”

  “Well, if that’s what she’s trying to do, at least we can trust her to a certain degree.”

  “To a certain limited degree.”

  “You’re worried that I might start to think of her like I thought of the old Tanith, aren’t you? Well, I won’t. No matter how much I might want to.”

  “I wasn’t worried.”

  “So you didn’t come out here to check on me?”

  “No, I came out here because we’re about to decide what to do about the Accelerator problem.”

  She looked at him. “If we shut down the Accelerator, you won’t be able to power the Cube, and the Cube is the only thing that’s going to be able to hold Darquesse.”

  “I’m afraid, for the moment, we don’t have a choice.”

  “For the moment?”

  “I’ll think of something, Valkyrie. I always do. Now, enough dawdling. Fetch Fletcher and drag him to the briefing in ten minutes?”

  “The briefing,” Valkyrie said, giving a salute. “Yes, sir.”

  “Dear God. That was the worst salute I’ve ever seen.”

  “Oh, you’re exaggerating.”

  “It was like someone slapping a dead fish across their forehead. Please don’t salute again. It doesn’t suit you. Just give that cute little impish grin of yours from now on, OK?”

  She grinned. “What, this one?”

  “No,” he said, “the cute one.”

  She glared and he walked off, chuckling to himself. She walked the other way, climbed the stairs to Fletcher’s room. She walked in to find him freshly emerged from the shower, wearing a towel around his waist and looking at himself in the mirror.

  Valkyrie sighed. “You’re never going to change, are you?”

  Fletcher turned, and her smile faded. The scar cut across the left side of his midsection, and stoo
d out red and raw against his wet skin.

  “Doctor Synecdoche says it’ll fade in a few weeks,” he said.

  She nodded. “Keep applying that stuff they give you. Does it hurt?”

  “No. Itches, though.”

  “I remember. That burn the wraith gave me is already fading. It doesn’t even sting any more.”

  He nodded, didn’t say anything. It was odd, seeing him with his hair flattened by his shower. Made him seem vulnerable, somehow.

  “You OK?” she asked. “We haven’t had a chance to chat since this all started. You know, about Myra and everything.”

  He shrugged, started laying his clothes on the bed. “What’s there to chat about? We dated, she was an enemy agent, she tried to kill me. It’s funny. While I was recovering, that’s all I could think about. I wasn’t able to teleport anywhere or do anything, so the same things kept running through my head. Why did she do this? What’s wrong with me? Poor little Fletcher. Boohoo. But then, when I was through feeling sorry for myself, I got angry. She murdered Hayley and Tane. Murdered them, like they were nothing.”

  Valkyrie leaned back against the wall. “I know,” she said, suddenly feeling drained.

  “I still can’t understand it. I don’t understand how it’s possible. Hayley and Tane. They were my friends. They were your friends. They were cool and funny and so much fun to be around. But because they were the ones to tell us that the war had started, because they happened to be there when we found out, she killed them. As easy as that.” He snapped his fingers. “How is that possible? How is it fair? What kind of person do you have to be to kill two people who have never done anything to harm you?”

  “We’ll find her,” Valkyrie said.

  “How? She’s not even a sorcerer, as far as I can tell. She’s just an assassin. A mortal assassin. How are we going to find one of those?”

  “She was used once, maybe she’ll be used again. When she does, we’ll hear about it. Then she’ll pay.”

  He grunted. “She made good muffins, though.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find another muffin-maker just as good as she was. And maybe this one won’t try to kill you.”

  “Well, that’ll just be weird.”