Last Stand of Dead Men. Derek Landy

This will both cut the less traditional means of communication and foil any future-reading. Sensitives are not combative by nature, however, and so we may find it difficult to find sorcerers willing to deal with … soft targets, I believe the phrase is.”

      “With good reason,” Kribu said. “You’re talking about murder.”

      “I realise that,” Illori said. “In which case, I suggest we send mercenaries.”

      Mandat frowned. “What mercenaries?”

      “Unpleasant ones. They’re Irish, though, so they stand a better chance of remaining unnoticed while they track their targets.”

      “And you don’t think they’ll switch sides and join their fellow countrymen?” Wahrheit asked.

      “Vincent Foe leads a small group of nihilists who would really like to destroy the world,” Illori explained. “While they’re waiting for their chance, however, they accept jobs like this for money. They have no loyalty to anyone except each other, and even then their loyalty only stretches so far. At the moment Mr Foe’s colleagues are languishing in prison thanks to Skulduggery Pleasant and Valkyrie Cain, but if I give the word, they will be mysteriously freed. Providing no one here has any objection to this course of action?”

      Illori looked at Kribu, and watched her jaw tighten. Targeting the Sensitives was a sickening but necessary move. There’d be time enough to feel bad when all this was over.

      “Very well,” she said, when no one objected.

      “Grand Mage Bisahalani,” said Ode, “the last time we spoke in private we discussed a certain …”

      “Yes,” said Bisahalani, “of course.”

      Wahrheit did not look happy. “Private discussions are not part of the Supreme Council’s agenda, gentlemen. Please – elaborate.”

      Bisahalani clasped his hands behind his back, the way he always did when he was about to discuss unpleasantness. “There is a single individual capable of turning the tide of this war in whichever direction he chooses. Unfortunately, despite his nationality, we have reason to doubt that he will side with us.”

      “Who are we talking about?” Kribu asked.

      “His name is Fletcher Renn. He’s the last Teleporter. Twenty years old, born and raised in London, but when his natural aptitude for magic made itself known he was, for all intents and purposes, taken in by the Irish Sanctuary. That is where he received the first part of his training. He is currently in Australia, where he continues his studies.”

      Mandat frowned. “And you think he’ll side with the Irish if they ask?”

      “That’s where his friends are. Also, from what we’ve heard, he and Valkyrie Cain were involved.”

      “So he’s definitely on their side,” said Wahrheit.

      “I’m afraid so.”

      “He must be targeted.”

      “He already is. If there is no objection, the kill order will go through.” Bisahalani looked round the room. No one spoke. “Very well,” he said. “The order is given.”