LITMIR.BIZ

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country needs you,” Flaring said.

      “My country needs better taste.”

      “You’re the only one who can do it.”

      “This is ridiculous,” Corrival said. “I don’t have the experience or the training, and I’m always getting into arguments. Not many sorcerers agree with my point of view, you know.”

      “Even so,” said Philomena Random, “you’re one of the few people who could bring the Irish magical community together in its time of need.”

      “Nonsense. There are plenty of others.”

      “We don’t make this suggestion lightly, Corrival. We’ve considered this a great deal.”

      “And all you could come up with was me?”

      “I’m afraid so.”

      “But I’m really enjoying my retirement. I get to sleep in every day. I do crossword puzzles and eat cakes.”

      “Duty calls, Corrival.”

      “Then we’ll vote,” Flaring said. “Right here, right now. Let’s forgo the usual pomp and circumstance and have it as a simple aye or nay. All those in favour of High Priest Auron Tenebrae as the new Grand Mage, say aye.”

      Craven and Quiver both said aye. Tenebrae clenched his jaw against the overwhelming silence.

      “OK then,” Scrutinous said. “All in favour of Corrival Deuce as the new Grand Mage, say aye.”

      Ayes filled the room. Only the Necromancers and the Roarhaven mages stayed quiet.

      Scrutinous grinned. “I think it’s decided.”

      “Fine,” Corrival said. “I’ll accept the position, on the condition that as soon as someone more competent comes along, you’ll all let me retire in peace.”

      “Agreed,” said Amity. “So now we need to talk about nominations for the other two seats on the Council, and where the new Sanctuary is going to be built.”

      “Don’t need to start building,” the Torment said in his dreadful croaky voice. “We have a Sanctuary, ready and waiting.”

      “In Roarhaven?” Tenebrae said, disgust in his voice.

      “Yes,” the Torment glared back. “A fine building, built especially for this purpose.”

      “Built for a coup that failed,” said Ravel.

      “That may be so,” the Torment said, “but the fact remains. There is a new Sanctuary building with all the rooms and requirements. Do any of you have any proper objections, apart from the fact that it’s outside your precious capital city?”

      There was silence.

      “It’s a good suggestion,” Corrival said. Valkyrie looked at him in surprise. She wasn’t the only one. “The fact is,” he continued, “it’s there, and it’s available. And if someone sets off another bomb, we won’t have to explain it to the civilian authorities. And as for the other two seats on the Council, I already have my nominees. I nominate Erskine Ravel and Skulduggery Pleasant.”

      Someone barked a laugh. Valkyrie turned to Skulduggery, really wishing he was wearing a face so she could see his reaction.

      “Ah,” said Ravel.

      “Oh,” said Skulduggery.

      “Sorry, fellas,” Corrival said, “but if I have to suffer through this ridiculousness, then so do you. Both of you are controversial figures, but I fought with your unit on the battlefield, and I’ve never known such bravery and honour. Erskine, you like spending money way too much, but you’ve been my trusted confidant for the last hundred years, and I don’t think there is anyone who is going to deny that you would make an excellent Elder. You’re wise when you need to be, and impulsive when you have to be.

      “Skulduggery, my old friend, I daresay a lot of people are going to object to your nomination.”

      “Myself included,” Skulduggery answered.

      “You make more enemies than friends, which isn’t saying an awful lot, but you also make the difficult decisions. You always have. That’s all I’m going to say on the matter. The rest is up to the voters. As duly elected Grand Mage, I now call a halt to proceedings, as I have a crossword to do and some cakes to eat.”

      Without waiting for a response, Corrival turned and walked from the room.

      “I was not expecting that,” Ravel said in a low voice.

      “I’ll vote for you,” Skulduggery said, “so long as you promise not to vote for me.”

      Ravel grinned. “And let you miss the fun? Not on your life, dead man.”

      As they were walking for the Bentley, Valkyrie caught sight of a pretty blonde girl standing by a long, black car. “Back in a minute,” she said to Skulduggery, and jogged over to the girl, trying her best not to smile too broadly.

      “Hi Melancholia,” she said brightly.

      Melancholia scowled. She was four years older than Valkyrie, tall, and she wore black Necromancer robes. From the very start, Melancholia had never made a secret of the fact that she despised Valkyrie utterly. Valkyrie, for her part, thought this was astonishingly amusing, and revelled in the many opportunities she had to annoy the older girl.

      “What you doing?” Valkyrie asked, smiling a friendly smile.

      “I’m standing here,” Melancholia responded, not looking at her.

      “And a fine job you’re doing of it, too. Do you know where Solomon is? He said he was going to come today, but I didn’t see him.”

      “Cleric Wreath is on an assignment.”

      “Cool. What kind?”

      “I don’t know.”

      “Is it exciting?”

      “I don’t know.”

      “Right. So you’re just waiting here for the others, then? Waiting for ol’ Tenebrae?”

      Melancholia stiffened. “You should show more respect for the High Priest. You should use his full title when referring to him.”

      Valkyrie shrugged. “High Priest Tenebrae just takes so long to say, you know? I usually just call him Tenny. He likes that.”

      “If you were truly one of us, you would be severely disciplined for such behaviour.”

      Valkyrie frowned. “Do you really talk like that, or are you just putting it on?”

      Melancholia finally looked at her. “You are mocking me?” she snarled.

      “Is that a statement or a question?”

      Melancholia was taller than Valkyrie, and she loomed over her. “I should punish you myself, on behalf of the High Priest.”

      “I don’t think Tenny would like that very much.”

      “You are not our saviour.”

      “Solomon seems to think I am.”

      “Cleric Wreath has spent too long out in this decadent world. He’s lost his objectivity. He looks at you and he sees the Death Bringer, whereas everyone else looks at you and sees a pathetic little child.”

      Valkyrie grinned. Despite how sinister it sounded, the Death Bringer was a title that she was beginning to actually like. She found Necromancers creepy on a very fundamental level – Solomon Wreath aside – but even so, it was nice to be thought of as a possible saviour. Certainly, it was a change from having to think of herself as Darquesse. The chance, no matter how slim, that instead she might turn out to be the Death Bringer was a source of comfort to her. Two possible destinies

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