let me be the one you call / if you jump I'll break your fall

[impudentsongbird]

Book Four: Dark Days
1 | into the breach
2 | finding skulduggery
3 | retreat to the tunnels
4 | into the cacophony
5 | sanctuary in the cathedral
6 | reuniting old friends
7 | kenspeckle's new patient
8 | holy water and disinfectant
9 | objecting to china sorrows
10 | the roadtrip
11 | baffling guild
12 | shenanigans at the safehouse
13 | reassuring fletcher
14 | valkyrie's intervention
15 | solomon's revelation
16 | visiting the edgleys
17 | recalled to the sanctuary
18 | guild's confusion
19 | gabe is busted
20 | the psychic tattoist
21 | envisioning the cacophony
22 | angel's first migraine
23 | the morning after
24 | china and solomon
25 | detectives' council of war
26 | china's foolishness
27 | the collector dethroned
28 | finding crux
29 | skulduggery's vileness revealed
30 | sorrows in aftermath
31 | finding equilibrium
32 | the devil's number
33 | at the carnival
34 | meeting authorities
35 | solomon's confession
36 | the stray soul
37 | sanguine unsettled
38 | solomon's choice
39 | a cowboy underground
40 | in scarab's basement
41 | striking midnight
42 | craven contested
43 | emergency services
44 | on your feet
45 | and don't stop moving
46 | easy recognition
47 | a deuce of an evening
48 | engines roaring
49 | compromising judgements
50 | solomon's conflict
51 | axis turning
52 | thinking circular
53 | blasting the past
54 | reviling vile

Book Five: Mortal Coil
55 | sanctuary unsanctified
56 | shudder unravelling
57 | catching an angel
58 | layering dimensions
59 | dead men meeting
60 | when it rains
61 | power plays
62 | sing on gold
63 | the valley of death
64 | grand aspersions
65 | no evil feared
66 | new days rising
67 | angelic neuroses
68 | step-brothers working
69 | the many sorrows of china
70 | peacefully wreathed
71 | tarnished gold
72 | the secret in darkness
73 | magical intent
74 | scars worth keeping
75 | benefits of a beau
76 | grand magery
77 | lighting the darkness
78 | old dogs and new tricks
79 | flouting traditions
80 | drawing lines
81 | brothers and sisters in arms
82 | channelling angels
83 | return of the carnies
84 | the death bringers
85 | meriting agelessness
86 | knick knack, paddy
87 | give a dog a bone
88 | americans propheteering
89 | the right side of honour
90 | tailored shocks
91 | hosting angels
92 | elders anonymous
93 | rediscovered strays
94 | changings and changelings
95 | a state of reflection
96 | adding hope
97 | the devil's truth
98 | dead mens' hospitality
99 | lives half lived
100 | next to godliness
101 | devilish plans
102 | beached angels
103 | lights of revelation
104 | heroes worshipped
105 | new devilries
106 | angels under the yoke
107 | brains frozen
108 | father, mother, daughter
109 | parental guidance recommended
110 | driven round the bend
111 | ongoing training
112 | privileged information
113 | reasonable men
114 | passing the buck
115 | gifting magicks
116 | strengths and weaknesses
117 | immaturity's perks
118 | priests and prophets
119 | scaling evil
120 | blowing covers
121 | marring an afternoon
122 | lie detection
123 | five-dimensional pain
124 | reliving nightmares
125 | taking stock
126 | sampling spices
127 | sleeping prophets lying
128 | rueful returns
129 | dead men reunion
130 | medically-approved hugs

The life of an angel was a contradiction in changes and stability. On one hand, they understood very well the way the cosmos was shaped by events within it. On the other, they stood at one step apart from it—or at least had, for a very long time, up until their Master's recent wager with Lucifer. Changes in the recent past had, even for angels, been fast and turbulent, but there were none that concerned Raphael more than Gabriel's abrupt reserve.

In the aftermath of the wager Gabriel had been almost the only one to know where their Lord was at any given time, a fact which had put the Archangel very firmly under Lucifer's radar. Raphael had joked that Gabriel ought to arm himself with more jokes or worse clothes to drive the fallen angel away; Michael had offered the peace of the Garden Coast. (Rafe thought his idea was better.)

Either way, even though their Master was fair hidden, every angel knew that they had only to ask Gabriel and the Archangel would pass on a message.

Then Gabriel had simply blipped off the radar himself. Poof! Gone! No one had noticed at first, because, well, they weren't exactly in constant connection. It was just when Raphael had taken a whim to seek out his younger brother that he'd noticed it, and let it be, because there was absolutely a reason for it. Gabe did not just off and vanish, except that once with his self-exile, and that didn’t count.

But when Gabriel had come back, he had been strangely agitated and yet close-mouthed. The younger Archangel had vanished off to wherever their Master was hidden for a long chat Raphael was dying to have listened into, and yet couldn't (but only partly because it would have been rude). Now he was here, floating among the stars and examining a black hole with unnerving intensity.

For a time Raphael watched without letting on that he was there, but eventually Gabriel spoke. “I’d rather you came to join me instead of lurking, brother.”

Absolutely refusing to feel chagrined, Raphael let himself manifest with an arm around Gabriel’s shoulders and ruffled the younger angel’s hair. Gabriel threw a fond, longsuffering glance up at him, but there was something in his eyes, something distracted and sharp, which indicated that Gabriel still wasn’t truly present. Raphael only wished he knew where the other Archangel was.

“Just wondering what you’re doin’ all the way out here,” he said teasingly. “There’s a party going on down there on Earth, Gabe.” There was always a party going on down on Earth. “You oughta be down there bobbin’ for apples and switching up party-hats!”

“I can’t,” Gabriel said quietly, with a sort of seriousness Raphael had, for all Gabriel’s literalness, rarely heard from him. So Raphael fell into the same seriousness, lost his playful accent, and spoke directly.

“Why not, brother? You’ve been reserved of late. I conf—I’m worried for you.”

For a very long time Gabriel said nothing and stared into the slow-turning swirl of the black hole. Raphael waited patiently, his arm still companionably across the other Archangel’s shoulders. Eventually Gabriel spoke. “Did you know, Raphael,” he said, “that the universe you see around you here isn’t the only one our Master has created?”

Raphael was so startled that he couldn’t answer. That wasn’t what he was imagining. He hadn’t been sure what he’d been imagining, but that wasn’t it. “I’m not sure what you mean, Gabriel,” he said after a moment. “Our Lord told me the story of Creation not all that long ago, and he never mentioned anything of the kind.”

Gabriel nodded. “He told me that story as well. And then He asked if I really wanted to know details.” He hesitated. “I … admit, I declined. It’s something He said—about faith. I decided I didn’t need to know details. But it’s true, nevertheless. Just beyond this …” The Archangel reached out his hand and touched that gossamer and unbreakable fabric that supported reality. “There are other universes, even with different versions of us.”

“Different versions of us?” Raphael repeated, appalled and uncertain and entirely confused. How could that be possible? What could their Master want with more than one of any of them? What was going on? Where had Gabriel gone in that time he’d vanished? Then something occurred to him and he smiled with relief. “This is a joke, right?”

Gabriel looked up at him and smiled back with such a gentle understanding that for a moment Raphael felt very small indeed. “No, Rafe. I’m not joking. It was a shock to me too. That isn’t the point, though.”

“Isn’t it?” Raphael asked, feeling as dazed as an angel possibly could, especially when he wasn’t even inhabiting an actual physical body.

“No.” Gabriel returned to watching the black hole intently. “I met some people from other realities. One of them is in a kind of Hell, and he very much does not deserve it. I promised him that, if I could, I would save him from it.”

Which did not in the least explain why Gabe was staring at a black hole, let alone a million other questions Raphael would have liked to ask and for which he couldn’t find the words. Finally he found one. “How?”

“First,” Gabriel said with a sort of tranquillity Raphael had heard in his brother’s voice a million times but never after delivering so turbulent a piece of news, “I’m going to jimmy open a crack in the door through this hole.”

Raphael stared at Gabe, and then at the black hole, and then back at Gabe. He opened his mouth to ask whether their Master knew he was planning this and then closed it, because that was a stupid question. He opened it again to query if Gabriel had asked whether he could go around lifting the sheets and then realised that was also a stupid question, because whether he had or not, their Master probably would have told him to do what he felt was best.

It was equally clear that Gabriel very much planned to go through with this, no matter what Raphael said, and really, did Raphael have the right to object? Surely if this carried a risk, their Master would have already forbidden Gabriel from making the attempt?

“I’ll come with,” Raphael said at last, and this time when Gabriel glanced back the younger Archangel’s expression was startled. A moment later that expression shifted into grateful apology.

“I’m sorry, Rafe, but I’m not entirely certain I’ll make it through, and we can hardly leave Michael here alone.” He grinned. “Did you see what he was wearing last festival day on the Garden Coast? He hasn’t moved out of the eighteenth century yet. How would he possibly handle the rest of the world?”

Raphael laughed out loud, warm but startled, and the sound of it rang through space. Gabriel chuckled quietly beside him, and for a few minutes there was just companionable humour that faded into an equally comfortable silence.

Still, Raphael had a lot of questions. How did Gabriel plan to find his friend, let alone the universe he was in? How was he going to get back? What would he do if he met another version of himself? Or, worse, Lucifer? Finally the Archangel just asked, “Have you figured out how to crack open the door?”

“I think so,” Gabriel said, considering the black hole. “Once I figured out what to look for. I wouldn’t have gotten even that far if it weren’t for some things our Master said.”

Which meant that, in some fashion, this expedition was sanctioned by their Master, Raphael translated, and something tense in him relaxed. “Something do to with this drain here, I’ll bet,” he said, falling into his casual accent once more. “Gonna rip out the kitchen sink, li’l brother?”

“Just to see what’s hiding underneath,” Gabriel said with a grin.

“I’ll try’n keep it open for ya,” Raphael promised, and Gabriel sent him a smile which lit up the very space around them with its brilliance.

“Thank you, Rafe,” he said, and straightened. Raphael took his arm away as Gabriel lifted his hands, not exactly stepping back so much as giving Gabriel space. The youngest Archangel didn’t often reveal his power, but it was always a sight to see, a song to hear, when he did.

As it was now. Gabriel’s voice started deep, lifted high, split and wove and became more melodies than one would think a single being could possibly sing at once. The sound of it made Raphael’s heart soar, made him want to fly and laugh. It was so deep, so light, so resonating that it was physical; it touched the slow turn of the black hole and made it, for just the briefest of moments, still. In that moment Gabriel sent a carefully-aimed bolt of energy into the heart of it.

It was the kind of sight Raphael hadn’t seen in thousands of years, a play of physics and metaphysics which he hadn’t thought possible, let alone imagined. There was an eruption in the centre of the black hole, where gravity was condensed; the cascade of energy plumed upward and was dragged back down as quick, a tear in the fabric of the reality not allowed the time to widen or become a danger.

Raphael didn’t even know Gabe had moved until the younger Archangel was gone, he was so busy staring in awe. With a start the Archangel stretched out his senses and just barely managed to catch a glimpse of his brother shooting toward the hole at speeds few angels could have achieved through such a gravity well. Raphael certainly couldn’t have.

How, he suddenly wondered, was he meant to keep that open if he didn’t even have the speed of thought to track Gabriel’s movements through it?

Desperately the Archangel cast about for something to jam in the door, as it were. There was some dark matter nearby and with a thought he fashioned it into a spear and pitched it toward the centre of the black hole. It struck just as Gabriel flitted through the crack nearly wholly collapsed in on itself; the star’s gravity caught it, pulled it in, and plugged the opening like a metaphysical sink.

Slowly Raphael made every part of himself relax. For good or ill, Gabe was gone on this quest of his, and now Raphael should probably go and round up some of their younger siblings to guard the area. Just in case.


Book Four: Dark Days
into the breach | finding skulduggery | retreat to the tunnels | into the cacophony | sanctuary in the cathedral | reuniting old friends | kenspeckle's new patient | holy water and disinfectant | objecting to china sorrows | the roadtrip | baffling guild | shenanigans at the safehouse | reassuring fletcher | valkyrie's intervention | solomon's revelation | visiting the edgleys | recalled to the sanctuary | guild's confusion | gabe is busted | the psychic tattoist | envisioning the cacophony | angel's first migraine | the morning after | china and solomon | detectives' council of war | china's foolishness | the collector dethroned | finding crux | skulduggery's vileness revealed | sorrows in aftermath | finding equilibrium | the devil's number | at the carnival | meeting authorities | solomon's confession | the stray soul | sanguine unsettled | solomon's choice | a cowboy underground | in scarab's basement | striking midnight | craven contested | emergency services | on your feet | and don't stop moving | easy recognition | a deuce of an evening | engines roaring | compromising judgements | solomon's conflict | axis turning | thinking circular | blasting the past | reviling vile

Book Five: Mortal Coil
sanctuary unsanctified | shudder unravelling | catching an angel | layering dimensions | dead men meeting | when it rains | power plays | sing on gold | the valley of death | grand aspersions | no evil feared | new days rising | angelic neuroses | step-brothers working | the many sorrows of china | peacefully wreathed | tarnished gold | the secret in darkness | magical intent | scars worth keeping | benefits of a beau | grand magery | lighting the darkness | old dogs and new tricks | flouting traditions | drawing lines | brothers and sisters in arms | channelling angels | return of the carnies | the death bringers | meriting agelessness | knick knack, paddy | give a dog a bone | americans propheteering | the right side of honour | tailored shocks | hosting angels | elders anonymous | rediscovered strays | changings and changelings | a state of reflection | adding hope | the devil's truth | dead mens' hospitality | lives half lived | next to godliness | devilish plans | beached angels | lights of revelation | heroes worshipped | new devilries | angels under the yoke | brains frozen | father, mother, daughter | parental guidance recommended | driven round the bend | ongoing training | privileged information | reasonable men | passing the buck | gifting magicks | strengths and weaknesses | immaturity's perks | priests and prophets | scaling evil | blowing covers | marring an afternoon | lie detection | five-dimensional pain | reliving nightmares | taking stock | sampling spices | sleeping prophets lying | rueful returns | dead men reunion | medically-approved hugs

Comments

[peacefullywreathed]

"I thought you had the memory of an elephant," Solomon replied, taking a step forward, "but I suppose it's too much to ask of a man without a brain to remember things clearly." He looked at Valkyrie. "I was believing misinformation for almost a year before Ghastly set me straight," he told her, and this time there was genuine, if resigned, amusement in the curl of his mouth. "Something I said, apparently."

He took another step, the flat palm of his hand sliding along the wall. He didn't trace the carvings; he didn't think he could handle that right now. But he felt them, under his touch, and knew they were there even as he tried to extend the rest of his awareness outward.

There wasn't any need to look at Valkyrie's soul to feel it. Or either of the others. In this small corridor, the four of them together washed against the magic that had made it and seemed to light it up. It was lit up something like a fractured, rainbow disco ball, true, but it was lit. Solomon found, with a touch of surprise, that he almost didn't need guidance at all. So he kept walking.

"Of course," he continued blithely, hardly even really thinking about what he was saying except that he needed to say something, "that begs the question that if Skulduggery's the man without a brain, what does that make the rest of us? I think Valkyrie's a given, but would you rather be the cowardly lion or the man without a heart, Bespoke?"

[skeletonenigma]

Ghastly very nearly laughed at the memory, and he couldn't quite stop a small smile from leaking through. "When Solomon tried to tell me the Faceless Ones used to be a race of creatures serving the Ancients before devolving over the years into mortals, I knew something was wrong."

"In my defence," said Skulduggery, "that's exactly what these carvings look like they're depicting. Also in my defence, it makes more sense than the actual story."

Ghastly shook his head in mock disappointment. He'd had little to no interest in the world of magic as a young man, and still seemed to know more about it than Skulduggery, who'd leaped in with a childlike fervor to absorb all he could. Most sorcerers born into mortal families were like that, particularly in such a strict time period. And yet, Skulduggery didn't seem to care about history beyond what was immediately useful. It really hadn't surprised Ghastly that he didn't know the answers to Solomon's questions. It surprised Ghastly even less that rather than admitting the lack of knowledge, Skulduggery went ahead and lied through his teeth.

The next question, though, was surprising. It caught Ghastly completely off-guard.

"Um." The tailor pretended to think about it. "Neither? Couldn't I just be one of those flying monkey guides?"

Valkyrie burst out laughing, and Skulduggery shook his skull in very real disappointment. "Classics, Ghastly. Even I've seen this one. My roommate in that prison would have been offended. But does this make Corrival the Wizard, or Glinda the Good Witch?"

"The Good Witch," Valkyrie responded as soon as she could draw breath. "Ghastly can be the Wizard. Solomon, you're a tin man who's just gotten his heart back."

[peacefullywreathed]

"Yes, Ghastly does seem more like the Wizard type," Solomon agreed, humour in his voice even though he didn't look around at the others. "Since he's already here with us, we can't be off to see the Wizard. Which means Deuce would have to be the Witch, since it's at his request we're here at all. That would make Ravel a munchkin, I suppose."

There was logic to be following with banter like this. A logic Solomon followed mentally, realised where it led, and realised equally that it was logic he needed to follow. To speak out loud. Humour in dark situations was a trait he and Skulduggery shared.

He'd rarely been in dark situations which were so new and so personal. That was why the logic had to be followed. He tilted his head to look half over his shoulder and said with a grin, "Of course, the real crux of the matter is: does that make Tenebrae the Wicked Witch of the West?"

As luck would have it, he said the words just as the wall fell away under his fingers and he stepped into the Great Chamber, and although his voice didn't echo through the whole room it certainly echoed enough for the people in the immediate vicinity to hear. And laugh. Solomon stopped short, not out of embarrassment, but because now he was looking ahead and out of the corridor, the closeness of the others' souls weren't obstructing his view of the mages in the room. That and he could sense the expanse before him, and really had no clue which way to step.

"Is that offer of being a flying monkey guide still on the cards, Bespoke?" he asked wryly.

[skeletonenigma]

"I think Wizard sounds more stately," Ghastly told Solomon. "I'll stick with that for now."

"One of the Wicked Witch's flying monkeys overheard you, though," Valkyrie pointed out, making absolutely no effort to keep her voice down. "They're onto us."

Craven had been among the few who didn't laugh, lurking near enough to the doorway to see people when they came in, but probably also not standing too far from his Temple's High Priest. Just in case. Skulduggery ignored the expression of utter and pointless indignation on the man's face - at either Solomon's earlier question or Valkyrie's insinuation, it was difficult to judge - and started looking around for Tenebrae.

It didn't take too long to find the Necromancer, standing off to the side along with Nathaniel Quiver. Necromancers did tend to stand out, even as antisocial as they were. Especially for their antisocial tendencies, come to think of it. Insufferable people standing aloof while wearing all black were usually a pretty safe bet.

It was important Tenebrae didn't think Skulduggery knew, of course. It would defeat the whole purpose of the blackmail from before if he suspected. But it was impossible not to mark the occasion with something, and fortunately enough, Skulduggery's face was completely invisible to others once again.

It was a glare. Nothing more, because nothing more was needed, and Gabriel was quite right in pointing out that Tenebrae really had no bearing on what Skulduggery chose to do with his life now. Tenebrae was an answer, that was all. Answers didn't have to mean anything. Facts could be twisted into any which way or shape one needed - including no shape at all. That was what made them so versatile.

"I can guide you," Valkyrie offered. "It's not like there's anything more interesting for me to do."

"I show her history in the making," Skulduggery murmured to Ghastly. "She decides she'd rather lead a tin man around."

"She is a teenager," came Erskine's voice from behind them. "And to be honest, a bodyguard is probably a good idea. I was just coming to suggest it. Valkyrie, Solomon, be careful."

[peacefullywreathed]

"Ah, yes." Solomon's gaze was drawn rather inexorably toward the swell of indignant ants, and he didn't even try to restrain the smirk. Somehow things were easier to manage when he had someone to taunt, even though they were responsible for his condition in the first place. He lowered his voice so that only those in the immediate vicinity--the Dead Men and Valkyrie--could hear, knowing quite well that coupled with the smirk it would only make Craven paranoid. "Did you know Craven's soul looks like an anthill? I wish I had a magnifying glass and some sunlight."

The ex-Necromancer accepted Valkyrie's offer by holding out a hand to find her shoulder, and finding it a moment later when she slid it under his palm. "Of course she does. At least if she gets bored, she can try to lead me into walls. Just keep in mind that I've some cards up my sleeve before you give that any more thought you already were, Valkyrie."

He squeezed her shoulder lightly, though, a quiet thanks, as he turned to Ravel.

"I'm always careful," he said, and tilted his head toward the gathering of souls. It was fascinating in one way, and bright in another; Solomon wasn't aware, but he had faint strain-lines around his eyes already. No headache, yet, though he could feel one in the wings. The car-ride had been too fast for him to be able to dwell on the ocean of colour and rebounds of the passersby, but here, in this magical room, the souls of the mages felt like an ocean wave caught between rocks. Instead of merely watching it, Solomon was in it--on the outside, true, but still close enough that the colour was disorienting.

Either way, it meant he didn't want to look too deeply into it. He could see darkness, and he could see light, and colour and shifting textures between silk and ash. On the other hand, maybe it wasn't at all like a trapped ocean wave. This Sight was almost as much the other senses as it was sight, and few sorcerers, apparently, had souls as pleasing to look at as the ones already in his company.

"I can see Tenebrae," he said. "He's hard to miss." An immovable stone, in the middle of that wash. "And Quiver as well." The bonfire had burned brightly, and now the man's soul look liked clinging ash. As if a forest-fire has ravaged an area, and now all that was left was for the forest to die utterly--or be renewed. "How many people along from them is Deuce?"

He didn't know it, but Corrival had just broken off from talking to someone and turned away with a shake of his head, and was now making his way toward them. Or trying; people kept trying to talk to him.

[skeletonenigma]

Valkyrie wanted to say she hadn't even been thinking of leading anyone into walls, but that wouldn't really have been true. She would never actually do it, not with everything Solomon had been through, but Valkyrie couldn't really deny imagining what it would be like. She was only human, after all. The room was a little too big, though; she doubted she'd be able to get anywhere near a wall without Solomon suspecting something.

"I'm not just a teenager," she muttered, but her tone was only half-hearted by that point. "Where are they - oh."

Tenebrae and Quiver were standing off to one side of a group of sorcerers, not too far away from Craven. And as difficult as it had been to imagine Craven's inner self as an anthill, it was even harder to look at Tenebrae and imagine him deciding to pluck somebody's eyes out. He wasn't nice, not by any stretch of the imagination. But she'd never really pictured Tenebrae as a sadist, either. Torturing an ex-Necromancer, horrible as that was, she could believe. But something so needlessly agonising, devastating, and disgusting? Valkyrie didn't look at Tenebrae for too long; it nearly made her want to throw up all over again.

The next question was a pleasant distraction. "He's..." she hesitated, "about five people along, I think. He's walking toward us. Or, wait, no, someone just stopped him."

"He doesn't look too happy, does he?" Ghastly commented.

Erskine made a noise halfway between a laugh and an annoyed grunt. "Oh, you don't know the half of it. I swear, it's like wartime all over again. He tried to punish me this morning."

"What did you do?"

There was a pause before Erskine answered. "Nothing that warranted punishment, I assure you. At least, not when Corrival's in a good mood. I recommend treading lightly around him. And possibly agreeing with everything he says."

[peacefullywreathed]

It was hard to tell Corrival Deuce just from the description 'he doesn't look happy'. There were a lot of people in the Chamber who didn't look happy. It was also more difficult to tell him from the number of people than Solomon thought, especially when it was 'about', because of the way souls interacted.

This wasn't as clear-cut as Solomon had been assuming it would be.

His eyes searched the general area Valkyrie implied before he saw a soul depart from another and his gaze locked onto it. In spite of the way nearly everyone else seemed to be ... not exactly gathered, but receptive, to it, this particular soul was strangely in-drawn. Whenever someone else reached for it, its outer edges snapped like ... like hornets, almost. Or maybe a school of angry eels. Or, no, like self-aware fly-trap plants. It wasn't like Craven's soul, either way; it wasn't made up of irritability and the unthinkingness of a hive.

Actually, Corrival Deuce was surprisingly understated. Solid, and slow-turning, and stable.

Except where his edges buzzed annoyance.

"Oh good, you're here." He actually sounded harassed, too. "Now that you're here, we can get on with this. If I'm actually going to be nominated Grand Mage, I'd like to be Grand Mage before people start demanding my soul."

"Your soul does quite well in protecting itself," Solomon murmured without thinking, and watched with a tilted head as some of those hornets snapped, subsided, and something like a faint glow of a hearth knelled in Deuce's centre. It looked like amusement. (After only a morning of being around the people he'd been around, he knew what amusement looked like even when it varied by people.)

"Right. Wreath. I wanted to ask: who here don't we want to see become Mage or Elder? I'm assuming the usuals, like the Ne--like Tenebrae and the Children of the Spider, but is there anyone else?"

Oh, so that was why he was there. A glorified lie-detector. Nevertheless Solomon glanced toward the gathering once more. "Actually," he admitted, "aside from the usuals, it's difficult to tell. Souls aren't as self-contained as I was assuming. Interaction causes a lot of crossover. I can't tell which intents belong to whom except the core ones. I'm sure a lot of people in here are lying about their ambitions, but I can't tell who is lying about what."

Yet, he added mentally, and was a little bit startled when there was a resonance between them. Not as if the hornets had caught something. More like sunlight on leaves.

He wasn't sure what it was until Deuce grunted and said, "Yet. From what Erskine's said, this is what you're magic's going to be channelled into now. There's time to figure it out. Speaking of time, Ravel, don't you think you should start the meeting before I start throwing fire?"

[skeletonenigma]

Erskine looked like he was about to say something - something that, knowing him, would be some form of pointed barb - but he froze with his mouth open instead. A rather excellent idea, in Skulduggery's opinion. It also implied that Erskine was almost punished this morning because of something he said without thinking, which wasn't surprising in the least. Skulduggery idly wondered what that something was.

Erskine closed his mouth again, cleared his throat nervously, and nodded. "Yes, Gra - yes. Good idea." He paused, frowning, and stared at the group of sorcerers still chatting in a mixed group. "Hang on. Why am I starting it? Isn't there an Elder for this sort of thing?"

"We could always wait around for one. But that would create a chicken-egg scenario," Skulduggery pointed out.

"A what?"

"Which came first? The chicken, or the egg? We need to start this meeting to elect an Elder, but we need an Elder to start it. We can't have that, now, can we?"

Erskine's frown turned into a glare. "That still doesn't explain why I have to start it. Why can't you?"

Skulduggery half-wished he could still raise an eyebrow. In lieu of that, he simply shook his head. "I don't like most of these people. I might start shooting. Like it or not, Erskine, you're good with people."

He scowled. "I don't want to be good with people anymore. Gabe should have come. He easily has the authority to start this. And he's much better with people than I am. Corrival, why can't you start this? You have seniority."

[peacefullywreathed]

"Because I have a backlog of crossword puzzles to do, thanks to Some People Here who dragged me into this mess, and if I start the meeting I might do it by setting someone on fire," Deuce said, with an odd duality of snapping eels and the hearth in his centre. Exasperated amusement, Solomon decided. "I'm still taking suggestions for whom, and would be very willing to put your arse on the list."

"One might think you didn't want to become Grand Mage," Solomon noted deadpan. "I can't imagine why." The glow dimmed, the eels rose, and before Corrival could snap with words Solomon added blandly, "Did you know you have an eel infestation?"

Eels. Definitely eels. A school of them. It was more amusing that way, especially with the way Corrival's soul paused for a moment in startled incomprehension. "What?"

Solomon lifted his spare hand to prod at one of the eels. It was like a tendril, hovering--something like the way Lord Vile's Necromantic streamers had hovered like little snapping dragons. It recoiled, wisped away, reformed closer in to Corrival's centre. His hand tracked it. "When you're annoyed, you have little eel-like things snapping at everyone from the edges of your soul. It's almost adorable, really."

The eel tried to bite his finger, and Solomon laughed.

"That," said Corrival, "is exceptionally creepy, and I'll thank you not to poke me in the eyes, because I still need them." There was humour in his voice, though. Humour in his voice, warmth in his soul, and the eels had drawn back, more-or-less at rest. "Let's get on with this, shall we, gentlemen?"

[skeletonenigma]

Between Ghastly's face straining not to break composure, Skulduggery's head tilted slightly to the side, Valkyrie laughing, and Solomon actually trying to touch the invisible eels that were apparently wiggling out from Corrival, Erskine gave up trying to tread lightly and smirked. "You said souls interact? You might not have to set anyone on fire then, Corrival. Just go and stand near someone."

"That someone's going to be you if you don't hurry up," Ghastly reminded him. The tailor's tone might have been stern, if his words weren't muffled through a hand he'd finally put over his mouth to try and keep from laughing.

Vaguely wondering what soul-eels might feel like if one could perceive them snapping at their skin, Erskine finally relented and turned to the rest of the room at large. "Can I have everyone's attention, please?" he called out, his voice carrying easily, silencing the scattered conversations almost immediately.

Dear God, he had no idea how to do this. Erskine wasn't a politician. Everyone was looking at him now, which he normally wouldn't have minded in the least, except that they were all expecting him to say something. And probably something profound.

Erskine had spent the last few days getting his mind flipped over time and time again. The last thing he wanted to do was act like nothing in the world had changed, especially with so much attention focused on him.

We have two Archangels living among us, Erskine pictured announcing. He briefly imagined Descry Hopeless standing in a corner somewhere, and nearly burst out laughing. Maybe the inner commentary wasn't such a good idea. "You all know why we're here. We have international pressure on us to elect a new Grand Mage sooner rather than later, and if there are no objections, we may as well elect both Elders to serve with the Grand Mage since we're all here."

No one objected. Or at least, no one said anything. All perfectly expected.

God exists, Skulduggery Pleasant is in love with an angel, and Corrival Deuce has eels for a soul. Take your pick.

This time, Erskine did laugh, even if he managed to stop fairly quickly. It completely ruined any effect he'd garnered of being a responsible leader.

[peacefullywreathed]

"Ignore him," Corrival grumbled, "he's just being himself." The eels were back in full-force, and nearly all of them were snapping at Ravel for messing this up. The rest just seemed to be indignant for general reasons, although, interestingly, they were snapping at each other. "He thinks that he'll get away with not being nominated for anything if he acts the fool."

"Acts it?" Solomon asked, and a few people in the crowd tittered. Some of the eels snapped at him. Solomon resisted the childish urge to poke them.

"Before we talk about anything else," Geoffrey Scrutinous said, "I think we need to talk about the other Sanctuaries, and Davina Marr." Solomon followed the sound of his voice, but he couldn't quite pick where the man was. He could guess, though, and if he had to guess he would say Scrutinous was the one with the soul that looked something like a mirror.

"Someone is already on that, aren't they?" demanded someone demanded.

"Skulduggery's investigating, of course," said Corrival a trifle impatiently. "As for the other Sanctuaries, that is why we're here. That little stunt yesterday--" The sound of clearing throats, snorts and chuckles was almost universal. Corrival raised his voice. "--is what made the other nations decide we needed another leader and fast. The Americans have backed down since we pointed out that Davina Marr was their national, not ours, and a number of the European Sanctuaries have taken up that suspicion. We have some time to figure things out as long as attention is divided between us and the US, but it won't last forever. After the last four years, we need some stability. I vote it not be me."

The last was a grumble, too quiet for anyone except the people in Corrival's immediate vicinity to hear.

"What about that American cowboy you've signed on as a temporary detective?" the same man challenged. Solomon thought it might have been Amity, one of the Five Elementals. "That didn't strike you as suspicious?"

"Just a consummate and impulsive actor who will probably decide to be Jamaican next," Corrival answered without hesitation. "The American liaison had never heard of him. He's not affiliated with any Sanctuary. After the Marr fiasco, I was very thorough with the background-check. You might remember how thorough I am with background checks, Amity." His tone was almost bland, and to stave off a reaction--what sort of reaction it might be, he wasn't sure--Solomon turned to Valkyrie.

"Little stunt?" the ex-Necromancer murmured. He recalled hearing something about some prank, but neither she nor Fletcher had specified what had been done. Most of his time had been spent sleeping or trying not to walk into things while he got used to his Sight this morning.

"All of which means that we need a new Grand Mage, and all the better if we can get Elders out of this meeting too," Scrutinous said. "After the last two years, it's pretty clear Elders are needed as well as a Grand Mage. Some of us have been talking among ourselves, and we'd like to suggest Corrival Deuce as a candidate."

Corrival sighed. His eels drooped. Solomon hid a smile behind his hand.

"He's practically already there," Scrutinous continued. "He was present at Guild's arrest, and has been handling daily affairs since then. He's also the one who handled the ambassadors from the other Sanctuaries."

"If by handling," Corrival said, "you mean accusing the American Sanctuary of deliberately trying to plant a spy in our midst, certainly."

"Be that as it may, some would say you've been more effective in the last three days than Guild has been in two years," someone else spoke up.

"I'd like to know who those people were and ask them how much they've been drinking. Are there any other nominations? Please?" There was an almost plaintive note in Deuce's voice, and yet the general tenor of his soul was resignation. Maybe it was the way the eels drooped, wisped into nothingness, and gathered close into his centre where they segued into the steadiness of the rest of him. They looked almost hangdog.

There was a moment of expectant silence; the others may have been unsure, but Solomon knew who else was likely to volunteer.

[skeletonenigma]

"Oh, yeah." This time, Valkyrie kept her voice down as she spoke to Solomon, so only he would hear. "Everyone in Dublin woke up yesterday morning to find every single tall building painted completely red. And the sorcerers are just as confused as everyone else." She couldn't quite help a grin spreading over her face, despite still sorely wishing she was invited along on the excursion. "And it was all done in one night. It's very mysterious. Skulduggery's doing his best to make sure the perpetrators are brought to justice, of course."

By which Valkyrie meant that Skulduggery was making sure no one else ever found out. How he'd ever manage that, she didn't know. Sorcerers tended not to be overtly curious, but... somehow, she didn't think the sorcerers in this room were going to let go of the red town prank too soon. It was rare the magical communities didn't understand how something worked, after all, and in Valkyrie's admittedly limited experience, people got used to always knowing the answers.

Skulduggery pointed out, when she brought those concerns to him, that it also meant certain sorcerers would be more likely to make something up, just to save face. A lie would get passed around as truth, doing Skulduggery's job for him. Valkyrie reluctantly had to agree there wasn't much point in worrying, either way.

"Because you asked so nicely, Deuce," came Tenebrae's sardonic voice from where he still stood apart, "I am willing to put my own name forward for the role of Grand Mage, even though it will add greatly to my responsibilities and workload."

That triggered a room-wide reaction. Rolled eyes and cruel whispers abounded, and that was just what Valkyrie could pick out. Only a few weeks ago, she would have thought that was unfair; Necromancers had a reputation, yes, but it shouldn't bar them from taking on roles they could perform perfectly well. Now, she was pretty sure she was glaring with the best of them.

Tenebrae could not be Grand Mage. That would be taking Ireland in the exact wrong direction. Was he even qualified? With what they had planned for the Passage, and what he did to Solomon, and how little time he spent outside the Temple? Valkyrie glanced uncertainly at the others.

Erskine recovered from his shock smoothly enough to close his eyes and shake his head. "Still want to turn down your nomination, Corrival?" he asked, for once completely humourlessly.

"I will quit," Skulduggery added with a brief nod. "Become completely freelance. It's not as if I need the money."

[peacefullywreathed]

... Someone had painted the town red. Solomon flashed back to Saint Raphael, to his teasing just after Solomon had been rescued and his bad jokes this morning. "I wonder," he said, and his tone was a mix of incredulity and amusement, but absolutely no actual curiosity, "who could possibly be responsible for that."

He had to work not to make some other reaction during this all-important exchange between mages. When Tenebrae spoke up, however, he couldn't help but laugh. It was unsurprised, not exactly mocking, but almost disdainful. Because there was no way a number of people Solomon could name were going to let that happen. Including himself, now. Amazing how quickly one's perceptions could change.

He was rather startled, however, by the wash of ... he wasn't sure what. Some of it was dark. Some of it was light. It was ... regard, he supposed, directed toward him, and intense--curiosity and disdain in equal amounts, from any number of people in the room. It was something like having oil spilled at his feet.

"I'd still like to, yes. Thank you, High Priest." In spite of his mild, almost polite tone, Corrival's eels rose up, each one aimed in Tenebrae's direction. They didn't snap or otherwise react at all. Something in him shifted, though. Settled. Like a tree slightly uprooted settling back into its soil. "Well, I suppose you should put this to a vote, then."

"Don't let's bother with the pomp and ceremony," one of the voices from previous said. "All in favour of High Priest Tenebrae, say aye."

There were two ayes. One came, loudly, from Craven. The other came, softly but characteristically, from Quiver. Solomon watched the way the ash in the man's soul billowed and reminded himself of the message Saint Gabriel had asked him to deliver if Quiver was there. This might be the only chance they got without having to return to the Temple. The problem would be delivering it in a way that didn't arouse suspicion.

The ex-Necromancer ignored the many, many curious eyes on him. As if he needed to feel them at all, with everyone directing so much attention toward him to begin with. He really hadn't expected souls to interact in such a literal metaphysical way.

"All in favour of Corrival Deuce, say aye." Scrutinous, that time. Voices filled the room, and Corrival's soul slumped a little more. "I think that makes it official."

"Fine," Corrival said with a sigh, "but I'm retiring again as soon as someone more suitable comes along." Even though he, and everyone else, knew how doubtful it was. The only people who would 'come along' to volunteer were people like Tenebrae. "And since Geoffrey was so kind as to let me know you were all going to doom me, I've already got nominations for the other seats on the Council. I nominate Erskine Ravel and Solomon Wreath."

Now there was amusement. Now there was very definitely amusement, and resignation, and all those eels were staring at him. Solomon rather wished they'd seen fit to tell him this earlier. Someone in the Chamber laughed; someone else made an incredulous sound.

Had he thought the regard was heavy before? Now the oil-spill had covered his feet. His grip on Valkyrie's shoulder tightened, and he wished he had his cane. Or his gun. Or perhaps a shield. Some of the regard being directed his way were metaphysical daggers. "I must have misheard you, Deuce."

"You didn't mishear me."

"You missed the part where I'm blind as a bat."

"Bats," Deuce said, "have excellent echolocation."

"I was hoping you'd overlook that part of the analogy."

Corrival laughed. "Sorry, fellas. Erskine, you've been my trusted confidant for years. You, Wreath, I'm still withholding judgement on until I know this little conversion of yours is going to hold, but for the sake of this nomination that doesn't matter."

"It doesn't?"

"I remember you from the war, Wreath. You're a canny man, and more importantly, you're Ireland's man. You'll do what's necessary for the country, and that's what matters. It wasn't Morwenna Crow who betrayed Meritorious."

The last seemed to be added in idle statement, or perhaps reassurance, except that Corrival's eels were turned outward--to everyone else.

[skeletonenigma]

It was in that heavy, pregnant silence that Skulduggery was surprised to discover a sense of relief. Part of him, he realised, had been wondering in the split second between Corrival's announcement of having candidates already, and mentioning the candidates, whether or not he was one of them. Corrival wasn't known for being foolish; but then again, he was very well-known for trying to force people into arrangements they initially hated, but which turned out to be excellent ideas.

This would not turn out to be an excellent idea. Which was why Skulduggery's first thought was one of relief.

It took him a few moments to register who the nominee was, and to look over at Solomon, quietly considering. Ex-Necromancer. Certainly not naive, and no longer in possession of such questionable magic. He'd been ready to kill billions of people for a possibility, however, and while Skulduggery could forgive the transgression, he didn't know if he wanted such a man in control of Ireland.

Yes, he surprised himself. I do.

Solomon had been willing to do something like that not because he was sadistic or evil, but because he was faithful. He always had been. Some people were like that; they needed something to believe in, and when they found that something, they clung on with everything they had. Solomon's faith was shaken down to its very core in the last week, and he'd found something new to cling to. Something much more acceptable. That was the mistake Skulduggery had made, back during Solomon's Surge. He'd mistakenly assumed Solomon was choosing Necromancy out of a misguided attempt at rebellion. If he'd known just how much Solomon needed that unshakable faith, Skulduggery might have tried harder to be someone worth believing in.

Of course, it was ridiculous to blame himself. The fact remained that Solomon became a Necromancer because Skulduggery hadn't been there in time once. It was a foolish decision on Solomon's part. Skulduggery was only human.

It didn't matter that Solomon was now blind. He would be a capable leader. This newfound faith wasn't going to be so easily shaken, and Corrival's logic made sense. One of the Elders had to be someone who at least understood the world of politics, someone who couldn't be accused of being in too tight with Corrival, someone who could be guaranteed to be an impartial party.

Skulduggery didn't bother smiling, because no one would be able to see it. But he nodded, and his tone had a tinge of warmth to it. "I think it's a good idea."

Ghastly's face registered surprise. "You do?"

"Why not? He's a balancing entity. One could argue he's earned it."

"Earned it?" Erskine cut in incredulously. "Because it's a punishment for what he was planning to do, or because it's a reward for surviving being blinded?"

Skulduggery shrugged. "Take your pick."

Erskine and Ghastly were already coming around to the idea, objective though they were both being. The pair exchanged a look of uncertainty, but neither of them said anything else. Valkyrie was already happy with the idea, if her expression was anything to go by. Even many mages in the crowd were backing off, silenced by Corrival's comment about Morwenna Crow.

There would be questions, Skulduggery knew. Solomon would be bombarded with them in the days to come. He'd have to explain what Corrival meant by conversion, not to mention why he was suddenly blind.

And speaking of blind...

As if right on cue, Tenebrae stepped forward. "I object."

And because Tenebrae was objecting, Erskine was immediately defensive. His expression cleared and he turned with a hardening of his eyes. "On what grounds?"

"Solomon Wreath is a Cleric of the Temple. He's my responsibility. Electing him as an Elder of the Sanctuary would completely undermine my authority."

"What authority?" Scrutinous snapped.

"This may be impossible for most of you to understand, but I am in charge of a large number of sorcerers. All powerful, and all extremely impressionable. Most of them know nothing of this world. I must be seen as infallible."

Pretty words, Skulduggery had to admit. Unfortunately for Tenebrae, the six of them knew exactly why the High Priest was objecting. And it had nothing to do with a potential lack of authority.

"That's funny." Erskine's eyes were narrowed. "The last time I spoke to Wreath, he was very clear that he no longer considered himself a Necromancer. Doesn't that remove the problem?"

Tenebrae's jaw clenched. "You do not want to make an enemy of my Temple, Ravel. Wreath is, and always has been, a Necromancer, regardless of what he thinks he is. And you will make an enemy of the Temple if this goes through."

[peacefullywreathed]

Just how many shocks could one man take in the period of two days? Solomon was starting to wonder. He said nothing after Deuce's last statement, simply because he had, at that point, nothing to say. He was rattled, he had to admit, and even though most of the other mages wouldn't be able to tell, his immediate and dry reaction would have said that to the people who knew him.

Never, in any scenario, had he imagined this. The irony was that if it had happened while he was still was Necromancer, he probably would have leapt on it--or been ordered to. Solomon did deal in politics. He frequently didn't like the idiots he had to work with, but he could do it, and had done it, and more than either Ravel or Deuce.

He wasn't affiliated with them. Not much more than today, at least. People knew he was a man after his own agenda. There could be no call for favouritism in the election. The problem was that it put him squarely in the line of fire.

Except, Solomon realised with a jolt, it didn't. If anything, it saved him from it. No matter what Gabe had said or done, Tenebrae would have found ways to have Solomon killed. As an Elder, he would be too much in the public focus. If he died, there would be questions, many of them, and the Temple would be the first place people would look. It was a risk Tenebrae wouldn't be able to take.

Solomon exhaled slowly as the argument swirled around him, trying to ignore the sudden currents of startled and angry souls interacting. At least, he tried, right up until the boil of Craven's anthill caught his attention; Solomon tracked the movement, dimly registering Ravel's almost immediate defence of him. He followed the movement right back to its source and the soul of hard obsidian beside it. Without thinking, his hand pressed against the shape of the bear in his pocket.

He surprised himself by laughing. He probably surprised everyone else as well; it certainly cut through the brewing argument as easily as anything could.

"I suspect this may be a inconceivable concept for you, Auron," he said, looking at the High Priest with the sightless eyes he'd had returned and a smirk lurking at the corners of his mouth, "but you only had authority over me because I gave it to you. That means I can take it back, and I do. And, frankly, if this breaks the impressionability of young Necromancers believing you're infallible, I can only consider that a very good thing." His smile broadened, became mocking. "As for your threats--unlike Ravel, apparently, I'm already considered an enemy of the Temple. What are you going to do if I accept? Blind me again?"

Not kill him. Oh, Tenebrae would want to, to be sure, but if this went through Solomon would be beyond the Temple's reach. There was always the risk that he might consider the scrutiny of the other Sanctuaries on Ireland to be worthwhile, but Solomon doubted the man would take things that far. The Temples considered themselves autonomous; that didn't mean they were. Tenebrae knew that. And he would not want to give up his authority to share it with the Temple of another nation if Ireland was put under pressure.

For his own sake, Solomon should accept. He was startled to find part of him almost wanted to. It hadn't been until just now that he realised he didn't have a clue where to go from here, once he had properly recovered. Why not this?

Why not indeed?

Solomon bowed slightly toward Corrival, almost grinning. "This council willing, I accept your offer, Grand Mage."

"That sounds awful," Corrival grumbled. "Can I be called something else? Crossword Puzzler Extraordinaire, maybe?"

[skeletonenigma]

Erskine was grinning. Amazing, how the objection of one man could change the Elemental's mind so firmly in such a short span of time, but Erskine hadn't taken his eyes off the High Priest while Solomon spoke, and the grin was very definitely there. "Take that," he muttered self-satisfactorily. Tenebrae probably didn't hear, what with the general buzz suddenly filling the room, but Erskine looked pleased with himself anyway.

If Skulduggery was wearing his face, he suspected his smile would have been one of the broadest ones in the room. And that was saying something; not many people may have liked Solomon, but even less liked Tenebrae. And the sight of Tenebrae being practically scolded wasn't exactly doing Solomon's new reputation any harm.

The ex-Necromancer still had a lot of work to do in winning peoples' hearts over, but this wasn't a bad start. And Skulduggery couldn't quite deny enjoying the spectacle.

"Is there any possible way I could decline?" Erskine asked. "And not have to sleep with one eye open for the rest of my life?"

Ghastly clapped Erskine on the shoulder with what looked like a sympathetic smile - sympathetic, that was, to anyone who hadn't known the Dead Men for any great length of time. "Erskine, into every great life, some rain must fall. Sacrifices must be made."

Erskine groaned. "I'd rather lose my skin than have to do this. Alright, fine. I also accept your offer, Crossword Puzzler Extraordinaire. But only if I get to change my title too."

[peacefullywreathed]

It was a shock. Solomon had known, his whole life, that Necromancers weren't well-liked. He had accepted, long ago, that not being liked was a matter of course for the path he'd chosen. It had been a sacrifice he was willing to make; being liked wasn't as important as the things to which he'd dedicated his life.

So the reverberation of his words was a shock. The way peoples' amusement and ... admiration washed through the assembly along with their words and laughter. Some of it was cruel, to be sure; some of it was simply glee at having seen Tenebrae taken down a peg. But the regard had eased. It was lighter than before. It had changed, simply because of a few little words. And it felt warm.

For several moments Solomon stood quietly, stunned by that immense shift. Gratified by it. Pained by it, too; his head wasn't prepared for that sudden spin of colour. The headache had finally decided to make itself known, and suddenly Solomon felt very tired. Oddly elated, but tired. He reached into his pocket for the bottle of water Grouse had given him.

"At least you know where you can get another one," Corrival said to Erskine, and his soul had most definitely softened and lightened at once. "And that depends on the title. It can't be a longer title than mine. I'm the boss. My title has to be the longest."

"What did I just accept doing?" Solomon asked rhetorically, taking his hand off Valkyrie's shoulder long enough to unscrew the bottle. "I'm not entirely sure whether I just agreed to lead a nation or join a children's playgroup. I'm still trying to figure out which would have been preferable."

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery tried to imagine Solomon in charge of a children's playgroup. For some reason, it didn't quite work. The image ended in a very harassed-looking Solomon, with two kids clinging onto his legs, the room around him in tatters, complaining about how the souls of kids had sharp edges and he couldn't quite grab them without cutting himself.

Kids' souls probably weren't sharp, though. If anything, they were as soft as goose down. Or maybe just as varied as those of adults. Skulduggery didn't claim to be an expert. He'd only ever had the one. And her soul would probably have resembled that of a hyperactive puppy. Never tired, always curious, full of unconditional love and anxious to learn as much about the world as possible - even if it meant getting into the worst scrapes imaginable.

"Well, that's not fair," Erskine argued. "There go all my ideas. I was thinking of something in Gaelic. Long and poetic. People would be digging up our civilisation eons from now and automatically assume I was the leader."

Ghastly's eyebrow raised a fraction. "You don't want to be an Elder, but you wouldn't mind being Grand Mage?"

"I wouldn't mind getting all of the credit for being an Elder. I'd just rather not do any of the work. Solomon could be the blind prophet. He could write the book that gets mistakenly treated like gospel."

Sorcerers all around the room were chatting amongst themselves now, and Skulduggery could almost predict exactly when Valkyrie would speak up again. "Does this mean the meeting's over?"

Erskine grinned. "Don't be too hasty. It's up to us to dismiss you now." The grin faded slightly, but not in the way of someone moving past a joke. Rather, it was in the slow way of someone who'd just realised something they'd never quite be able to let go again. "Corrival, does this mean I'm the one signing Skulduggery's paychecks?"

[peacefullywreathed]

"Only because no one would be able to read it and have to make it all up on their own," Solomon pointed out, and wiggled his fingers. "I doubt my writing is nearly as legible when I can't see the page." He bit back the urge to ask the man not to call him that in public. Yes, he wouldn't mind it if more Necromancers started turning away from the Temple, but that didn't mean he was any kind of prophet.

As if he needed more responsibility, let alone being responsible for peoples' souls.

Solomon lowered his hand, feeling for Valkyrie's shoulder, and squeezed it lightly. "I need you to take me to Quiver. Tenebrae and Craven, unfortunately, are going to be likely side-effects, but at least taunting them will provide a good cover."

Kenspeckle had been right: the special water did help. Not enough to ease the headache entirely, with how much he'd drunk, but enough to take the edge off. Enough that he could actually start thinking things through and then wish he couldn't. True, he was safe now. At the same time, he was more in the spotlight than he'd ever expected to be.

Enough. For pure practical considerations, it was the right thing to do.

And, of course, there were other advantages. Advantages he didn't realise until Erskine raised the subject. The realisation spread across Solomon's face as a slow, wicked grin. "Actually, I think that should be me, Ravel. After all, I was something of a detective and-or an information-broker. I'm closer to being in Skulduggery's department. I think I should be his immediate superior."

[skeletonenigma]

"They have books on tape now, don't they?"

"I think they've had those for a while," Ghastly informed Erskine. "In fact, I think they've moved on to voice-activated software. If the Sanctuary upgraded to computers, Solomon would be set."

"Better than that," said Valkyrie. "There's this program where you can talk into a microphone, and a computer writes it all down for you."

"Fancy that." Erskine grinned at Solomon, despite knowing the man wouldn't be able to see it - although Solomon might see a reflection of it in Erskine's soul. Valkyrie still wasn't quite sure how that worked. "You're going to be just as busy as the rest of us."

The last thing Valkyrie really wanted to do was go face Tenebrae with only Solomon at her side. Not that she didn't trust Solomon or anything, but he was... well, kind of fragile at the moment, and Tenebrae was the guy who blinded him in the first place. Luckily, there was a convenient distraction before she had to think of a reason to delay Solomon's request.

"That's hardly fair," Erskine grumbled. "He was your teacher before, wasn't he? Shouldn't it be someone he might actually respect the authority of? Skulduggery, what do you think?"

"I think," Skulduggery replied with an amused tilt of his head, "that if you think I'd respect your authority anymore than I would Solomon's, you're rather more delusional than I thought. But doesn't it defeat the purpose of authority if I get to choose who I answer to?"

"You'll answer to all of us, obviously," Erskine pointed out. "We're just arguing semantics now. And I think I should be in charge of your salary."

Skulduggery looked towards Valkyrie. "We might have to put your plans for a Jacuzzi on hold."

[peacefullywreathed]

"With report-writing, perhaps," Solomon said. "Luckily for me, none of the reports of previous Elders are in Braille. Even if I knew how to read it." Which he didn't. And he'd have to. The thought made him feel at once better and worse. He had to relearn how to read--but at least he'd be able to.

He grinned back at Ravel, tilting his head and watching the way the man's soul curled. It was an odd motion. Warm, like amusement, but with a sly kind of coil which reminded Solomon of a tree-snake. Mostly harmless, but sly, secretive and hidden. "You'd put money into upgrading the Sanctuary just for little old me, Ravel? If I didn't know any better I'd think you liked me."

Because there was a wariness there, too. Less so than before, but still there nonetheless. Solomon sighed theatrically. "I'll have to consider my vengeance more thoroughly, I see. Excuse me and Valkryie, if you please; I've some business to attend to. Ghastly, since you're the person to whom Tenebrae is least likely to object, would you mind joining us and looking suitably intimidating?"

He could have let Valkyrie out of her promise to guide him. He wasn't going to. She had promised, and Solomon had learned, now, how important it was to confront things like this, regardless of how discomforting.

Having Bespoke along was only prudent, however. Solomon was all for prudence.

[skeletonenigma]

Erskine pretended to think about it. "No," he decided eventually. "I don't like you, exactly. I'm just willing to put money into making sure you do your share of the work."

"Vengeance?" Skulduggery asked. If Ghastly didn't know any better, he'd think there was almost a note of concern in that tone. "For what? What did I ever do to you?"

Ghastly could name a few things, but for the sake of not having to remain in this room a moment longer than necessary, the tailor quickly nodded before any response could be made. "Yes. I can look suitably intimidating, certainly. Besides, I'd like my own chance to stare him down."

Valkyrie's expression lightened considerably at the news. Ghastly couldn't blame her. Until this morning, he'd never particularly pegged Tenebrae for the sadistic torturer, either. Things were going to get very interesting around here, what with every Elder knowing about the truth of the Passage, and Tenebrae not being able to verify they did.

[peacefullywreathed]

Solomon smiled at Skulduggery and the semi-shadows that crossed some of his panes. They looked like dust. Or perhaps a spider-web. Through those panes, he saw flashes of memory, clearer than he suspected they would have been in another's soul only because he shared them. (He could see some of them in Ghastly's too.)

"Oh, don't worry. I'll make up a list to remind you; I don't expect the man without a brain to remember all the details, after all. Just do keep in what passes for your mind: Vengeance is sweet."

With a laugh he took a step toward the Necromancers' souls, steaming in the corner, and nudged Valkyrie ahead of him. No one tried to intercept them on their path away, luckily, but they drew a lot of attention. Most of it was simply curious, with a great measure of anticipation once people realised where they were headed. The daggers--no; sharks. Definitely sharks in the water--had subsided, for the most part, but there were still one or two small ones drifting around.

They were too wary of the rather larger, and admittedly gentler, whale Solomon was using as an escort.

As they approached, Craven's ants spilled over, skittering all over the floor. Solomon tracked some of them and, when they drew too close to his shoe, discreetly shifted his foot to step on them. With a puff of something that wasn't smoke, wasn't shadow, was almost like octopus ink, they dissolved. Solomon looked up again and smiled blandly. "Sorry. Something underfoot. Someone here has an insect infestation, apparently. Ants in your thermals, Vandemeer?"

[skeletonenigma]

Valkyrie let out a startled laugh, one that Ghastly very nearly shared - and probably would have, if he wasn't trying to look intimidating. That, he definitely hadn't been expecting. Another trait Skulduggery and Solomon seemed to share; jokes in the face of torture. Or at least in the face of the torturer, and two of the torturer's accomplices.

Craven's expression only made Valkyrie laugh harder. He looked like a man caught between two things he barely understood, suspecting he didn't actually understand either of them, casting around for something to fall back on, and eventually settling into familiar hatred. All at once, Ghastly fancied he could see those ants, scattering out onto the floor.

He'd never expected souls to be so literal, but in this case, he couldn't really complain. The image of ants crawling all over Craven without the Necromancer's knowledge was amusing.

Tenebrae, to his credit, didn't look angry. He barely looked upset. His eyes were fixed on Solomon's sightless ones with a hard stare, but that was the extent of any evidence he was worried. "If you're here to gloat, Wreath, I'd much rather you saved your breath. Don't you have a country to run?"

[peacefullywreathed]

"Where would be the fun in that?" Solomon asked quite directly without any veneer of innocence or brightness at all, but with a slightly twisted smile. It was sardonic and self-deprecating at once. "I think Ireland's in a good enough state to spare me a few minutes of personal time."

Up close, now he could actually see properly, he could see there were hues in Tenebrae's stone he could never have seen before. There was more depth to Craven, as well; not just ants, but an anthill, or perhaps a termite-mound--a large one. Monumental and fragile at once. But it was Quiver's soul that interested him now. Solomon and Quiver had never really spoken much, previously. He was a man Solomon had respected, because unlike most idiots he actually considered his opinions.

That was why his soul looked the way it did. That was why he had understood Saint Gabriel's implication at all, and why it had had the effect it had. Solomon knew what kinds of things Quiver was wondering, without the basic understanding Solomon had had. If angels were real, what about God? What did it mean for the Passage? Should he care?

Did he want to?

Solomon made sure not to spend more attention on Quiver than was needed. The man was in a very difficult place.

"No, Auron," Solomon said mildly, looking back at the man with those unfocussed eyes. Eyes that saw far, far more than anyone would want. He didn't know it, but when he actually looked properly at a person's soul, he seemed as if he was staring into them. "I just want you to remember in the future that, whatever happens, you made me the man I am today." He smiled, a slow smile not smug but assured. "And you may wish you hadn't."

With a light squeeze of Valkyrie's shoulder he turned to step away, but then as if in idle remembrance, he stopped to say back over his shoulder, "Oh, yes. Gabe wanted me to tell you that anytime you like, you can invite him in for some of your exceptional hospitality."

It sounded like a taunt. A threat. A reminder, of what the 'cowboy' knew--whatever it was. The Archangel hadn't specified; only said to ask Skulduggery. But as if by chance, Solomon's glance fell on Quiver, resting on him just a split second longer than was necessary. Ash billowed.

Solomon turned back around and let Valkyrie guide him away.