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

[neutralcollector]

The next time anyone from Skulduggery's little group tried to come to China for anything, she was going to turn them away before they could say a word. Like it or not, she was much more fragile than she was used to being. Minor bombshells like this could very well be what eventually broke her.

Then again, she might not turn them away. She shouldn't, that was for sure. Skulduggery's little group might very quickly become the wealthiest source of information China had ever had. She'd known Solomon was elected an Elder, but no one at the meeting had known he was blind - or even suspected. It implied that he hadn't been led around, even though he clearly needed to be. And as good as Skulduggery was, someone should have questioned Solomon being led around by the hand. Someone should have leaped to the obvious conclusion.

Not so obvious, granted, when it came to sorcery. Even now, China should have guessed the moment she caught sight of Solomon's eyes; but she hadn't, because blindness just wasn't a problem for sorcerers. It was easily healed. Easily taken care of. Oh, it was possible even magic couldn't solve this particular problem, because even magic could only be stretched so far. But even then, Solomon had two different angels to help.

Likely to remain so. A personal choice. Something blinded him - Tenebrae, no doubt - and Solomon was choosing to remain blind. The only possible reason China could think of for that was a new form of magic he didn't want to lose.

It neatly explained her strange feeling of being examined when Solomon looked directly at her. Directly at her. He hadn't needed any help there.

Without a word, and with only the barest of hesitations, China took Solomon's hand and led him gently around the corner to where an armchair and a small table sat next to one of the bookcases. She laid his hand down on the arm of the chair, then stepped back to let him sit down, arms lightly crossed and her face - for once - free of any expression. She used expressions to manipulate. When that was no longer an option, she wasn't quite sure what to do with herself.

"Are you going to try and appeal to my better nature?" she asked wryly.

As a short confirmation test, she accompanied the spoken sentence with a thought. It won't work. Go and ask Skulduggery about the great number of times he's tried.

[peacefullywreathed]

Solomon followed with as much confidence as if it was anyone else leading him. Well, as if it was Ravel leading him, anyway. He had a bruise on that shoulder now. When China left his hand on the chair Solomon ran it up and over the back until he knew its dimensions, and then used both hands to keep those dimensions as he lowered himself into it.

Such obvious blindness. Impossible to be anything other than genuine. The chair, physical objects, were entirely dark to him.

Solomon looked up at her with a faint, wry smile of his own. A slightly puzzled one too, just because of that odd ... resonance. It was like the web had quivered, and he felt the pulse it sent out at him. It didn't quite reach him, belling softly into meaninglessness before it got there. It was familiar, but Solomon had to take a moment to sort out to which sensation it was. After the Cleaver, his understanding of the lifestream was a bit muddled.

"You don't have a better nature," he answered in the meantime. "You don't have a lesser nature, either. You have nothing but a hole ripped out from the centre of you. Like I did."

Last night, Corrival had had a thought that reached for him and made it. In fact, there had been a number of times that had happened, little waves of intent, matching and meeting in the middle between souls. This one had felt somehow directed, though, which was why he'd noticed it, and--

Oh. Solomon tilted his head, lips quirking more strongly in amused bafflement. "Did you just try to think at me?"

[neutralcollector]

Separating emotions from logic was easier this time, fortunately. If it hadn't been, China might have been rendered speechless for a lot longer than was strictly professional.

Not a mind-reader, then, but there was definitely something. Solomon caught her thought, didn't quite understand what it was, answered her in the meantime, and then realised it a second after he finished speaking. Not a mind-reader. Not a mind-reader, but something. A form of magic China had to admit she'd never seen before.

She didn't answer that last question - at least, not obviously. "It won't work. Go and ask Skulduggery about the great number of times he's tried. I have to say, Solomon, it sounds an awful lot like that's exactly what you're doing. Or should I address you properly? Elder Wreath? Are you going to order me to help? I'm afraid that won't work either."

Solomon's words struck her deep. She was speaking to cover that up. Pointless, really. China wasn't quite sure how she knew it was pointless; she just did. Solomon caught a thought. Something told her it wasn't going to be difficult for him to catch that, either.

[peacefullywreathed]

She was scrambling. China Sorrows was scrambling hard, not precisely panicking but near enough. Her web quivered, not like a fly was trapped in it but more than something big and powerful, something from which the spider could only run and hide, was disturbing the web.

Solomon looked up at her calmly, relaxed back in the seat with his arms on the rests. "I'm not going to order you," he said. "That would be rather foolish, and I've been doing a lot of that lately." He grinned. "Exact definitions of which actions were foolish depending on whom you ask, of course." His sightless gaze tracked the vibration travelling down the lines of that web, and without thinking he lifted his hand to feel it buzz against his palm when it followed a silken thread past him.

It was like holding a bee in his hand.

"I'm curious, though. How long do you intend to keep up this pretence?"

[neutralcollector]

China's eyes snapped to where Solomon's hand had risen into the air. It reminded her that he'd appeared in her library without his cane, and while she'd found the connection there laughable at the time, it was now beginning to make more sense. Corrival wouldn't have volunteered Solomon as an Elder if he didn't think Solomon could be trusted. Skulduggery would have objected. Tenebrae did object.

Solomon gave up Necromancy.

Interesting.

Now the curiosity was genuine, and for more reasons than one. Solomon was definitely blind. He also saw definitely saw something, and he was definitely reaching out to touch whatever that was. Something practical, because Solomon Wreath would not give up his sight for a form of magic that wasn't more useful to him.

He'd also been in contact with angels for the last few days, China registered dimly.

"I keep up several... pretences," she replied as smoothly as she could manage - quite impressively, given that she was starting to suspect she might be losing control of herself again. "You'll have to specify which one."

[peacefullywreathed]

Fascinated in spite of himself, Solomon rested his fingers on the quiver of that thread and traced it toward the centre of China's soul. It was interesting, he noted, how the vibration was both stronger and less controlled the nearer he got to it. The web resonated under his fingers, and the hole in the centre shook hollowly, its trailing edges shaking.

It was only then that it struck him that he was, quite literally, touching China Sorrows' soul, manipulating China Sorrows' soul, and stopped short. How much of a trespass was this? It couldn't be anything but one, surely. A little shaken, he curled his fingers and took his hand away, and looked at China as near to the face as he could manage. "The one where you pretend you haven't changed."

[neutralcollector]

Whatever Solomon was seeing, he started tracing it. Like an invisible line in the air. China watched his hand move, brow slightly furrowed, until something reverberated. Not in the air, or in Solomon's hand, but in her.

It felt a little like a hollow object was getting drummed. That sort of reverberation, vibrations traveling lightly out from it, fading before they could do any real damage or even make their presence felt. Barely noticeable, but highly unpleasant. China instinctively jerked backwards with a reactive shudder. "Stop that."

Stop what?

Whatever Solomon was doing. Not mind-reading. Not mind-reading, but something very close to it. Something, if China's own feelings could be trusted, much more invasive than simply reading minds. And her own feelings could always be trusted.

China became abruptly aware that she was leaning backwards, against the shelves behind her, as far away from Solomon as she could manage. She forced herself to calm down, took a deep breath, and pushed herself back upright. "Your magic is different. You're blind. You're an Elder. I'm not the one who's changed, and certainly not of my own free will." She crossed her arms again. "What was that?"

[peacefullywreathed]

Carefully and obviously, Solomon folded his hands in his lap. "My apologies. I'm--this is new to me. I didn't realise what I was doing." Not until he'd already done it. What was it the angels had said? That there was still power to be found in this, beyond the Sight? Solomon hadn't quite taken it in. He should have. Otherwise he might not be unrestrained with trying to touch things he shouldn't be touching.

Like a child, curious and incautious. Rude.

He found himself scanning the library to make sure no one was within hearing distance and then looked up at China. "It's not really different. Just opposite. Necromancy is based on drawing power from death. It involves a lifestream which runs throughout the world, a metaphysical current our souls are added to after we die. I gave up Necromancy, but my magic is still tailored toward death. I can't change that." He shrugged gracefully. "There's more than one way to use death magic, apparently. I can see the lifestream instead. The lifestream, and all the souls in it ... and out of it."

There was no need to look down at his hands, but he spread them anyway, held them up clinically as if resting them on water's surface. It wasn't far wrong. When he concentrated, now, even though he wasn't trying to touch anything from China, he could feel the faintest resonance under his hands. Like a current moving under them. With a furrow in his brow he pushed down on it, ever so gently, and felt the vibration increase.

Faint golden light wisped around his fingers and palms. Golden light he couldn't see. He knew it was there. He knew it because he could feel it in himself, a quiet warmth. His own soul.

"I didn't realise I could actively manipulate it like this." His tone was fascinated and disconcerted in equal amounts. Then, abruptly, he curled his fingers in, releasing the tension on the lifesream, and looked up at her with a piercing gaze. "I wasn't being terribly metaphorical when I said your centre had been ripped out of you, China. Exactly what do you think you're going to replace it with?"

[neutralcollector]

Souls. China really should have seen that coming.

She knew about many of the Necromancy beliefs, of course, lifestream included. It wasn't precisely that she'd never believed in it, but more that she'd never quite seen the importance of it. It didn't much matter to China if everyone's life essence disappeared into a metaphysical river running through all of the dimensions before being reborn as something new. It didn't make much difference if that belief was completely inaccurate.

Now, it did. Now it did and, much like when she tried to use Gabe's name, that simple idea terrified China.

Regardless of whether Solomon meant it or not, this was manipulation on a level surpassing even China. She didn't think that was what was fazing her, though. Not that badly. No, what terrified her was the idea that Solomon had just touched her soul. Not that he could see it, or feel it, but that he could manipulate it. That he could touch and influence any soul, going so far as to spur the effects into the physical world. Golden light. Faint trails of it floating up over his hands, like he'd touched sunlight. Or golden smoke. It vanished immediately as soon as Solomon's fingers curled.

She'd guessed that last part. Rather pointless to pretend she was still perfectly fine when her very soul was on display like that, wasn't it?

She'd guessed it, but she didn't have anything prepared in the way of answers.

She almost fancied she could feel the edges of the tear, now. Something hollow, but also something grating. She could almost feel it continuing to rip. Every moment that passed, every minute she had time to think, every hour she discovered further evidence of irreparable damage to her library. China couldn't deny any longer that her usual charm was becoming something of a facade. Then again, if she'd resigned herself to the loss of her magic, perhaps she'd resigned herself to the loss of her sanity as well. Slowly, but surely. Little by little.

"I'm not entirely sure what was there to begin with," she heard herself saying. She'd made a conscious choice to change, back during the war. This... she didn't know what this was.

[peacefullywreathed]

"Pride, perhaps?" Solomon suggested, with an ironic but sympathetic smile. The smile of someone who knew exactly what she meant. "Everything you were most assured about was proved suddenly wrong. My faith. Your power."

He lifted his chin, turning his head consideringly. "The only difference is that I had a basis on which to form something else. I'm not even sure what it is yet. I'm not sure how far it will go. I'm not sure how much of me it will define. A lot, I imagine. But you." He watched the way her ragged edges caught, tumbling. The gap wasn't widening, but it was shaken, and badly. "You placed everything in yourself and now you've found something against which you can't measure, and it's broken you."

Even knowing what he'd just done, even knowing what he was seeing, Solomon's fingers itched to touch. Here was a power he wasn't expecting at all. Something no one else had. Something ... something with which he had to be very, very careful. Somehow he didn't think the Archangels would approve of his fiddling with peoples' souls. He folded his hands and placed them firmly in his lap. "You aren't going to figure out how to fill that hole by pretending it isn't there."

[neutralcollector]

In that moment, China could feel in stark relief exactly what Solomon was talking about. His changes, his mindset, what he went through - that was what she found interesting. That was where she would have steered the conversation, given the chance. Away from herself. Not because of her self-assurance or her confidence, but because - as Solomon pointed out - she didn't want to dwell on anything being wrong.

But there was so much wrong. With everything, not just with her. Her library, for starters. The world. Her life.

Bliss.

"You've had a lot of time to think about this." A few days could seem like an eternity with the sort of information she and Solomon both just had to absorb, and it seemed he'd done more with the intervening time than China had. "But I have a hard time believing you care about the state of my immortal soul out of the goodness of your heart. Why is rescuing Bliss so important to any of you?"

There wasn't any real fight left in her voice, but that was the thing. There wasn't much of anything left in her voice. It was plain. Direct. To the point. No runaround, no teasing, no misleads. And it... if she was being brutally honest, it didn't feel quite so bad.

[peacefullywreathed]

"The others care because they're genuinely good people," Solomon said simply, and smiled. There was something about that smile, something even he wasn't aware was there. Something wistful, something grim, something almost curious. "I've had ample time to be able to tell the difference. And there is a difference. There really is."

Her web had stopped vibrating, but it was still resonating. It was just a different sensation. Something more receptive than panicked. It was so raw that Solomon had to look away.

"I ..." He hesitated, trying to sort through his own feelings. Those whys he hadn't dared to touch. His hands pressed close against the side of his coat to feel the bulge of the teddy-bear in his pocket. China was being honest. Really, he could do no less. "I could see him in the Cleavers. To be perfectly frank, I'd rather like to not have to go to work and see his reflections, and know that there's a soul in there. Souls are ... far more important than I ever gave them credit for being. It would have been unnerving."

Yet that wasn't accurate either. No, it was accurate--selfish, but accurate. It just wasn't complete. "I'm not a good person, China," he said softly, and the admission wasn't quite as hard as he thought it might have been. After what he'd been through, he had no reason to care so much about his pride. "But I look into the souls of the people who, for whatever reason, have accepted me in the aftermath of everything I've done, and I wish I had a soul that burned as brightly."

"D'you know how beautiful you look right now, pardner? You're all golden."

Even if it was true. Even if it was true ... it didn't feel like it, yet. Gold tarnished. It couldn't have been that easy to clean it all off, and even if it was, it could easily tarnish again. And he didn't want that. He wanted to have a soul he could be proud of. That his father could be proud of. Even though he wasn't sure if he was talking about one father, or two.

[neutralcollector]

Ah, yes. Genuinely good people. The bane of existence. Contrary to popular belief, the motives of genuinely good people were surprisingly difficult to predict. Take Skulduggery, for example. Five years of his life, apparently, notwithstanding, he was a genuinely good person. Noble. Heroic. And completely impossible to understand, let alone to predict.

Bliss. Also a genuinely good person. And someone else China had never been able to get the advantage over, because she'd never quite been able to tell just what he would want in any given situation. Saving her life at Aranmore Farm was enough of a surprise.

He didn't deserve to be stuck within the maze of the Cleavers, any more than Skulduggery had deserved to be stuck in the dimension of the Faceless Ones. China was ready and willing to help with that rescue. She already had been, in fact, mostly outside the knowledge of Valkyrie and the others. What made this any different?

Solomon thought he wasn't a good person. Solomon had no idea. In China's experience, people like the sort of people Solomon thought he was didn't give up their magic entirely. They didn't get captured by their former Temples, presumably tortured for information, remain tight-lipped the entire time, and go on to accept leadership of Ireland despite having one of the most debilitating disabilities a sorcerer could have. And she knew that he remained tight-lipped, without being told. The Temple wouldn't have been able to keep the existence of angels to themselves for long.

Solomon didn't deserve a weight like the Cleavers on his conscience every single day.

China shrugged. "If the angels are to be believed, simply wishing you made different choices might be enough." She was silent for a long minute, and then released an equally long breath. "Corrival could simply destroy all the Cleavers. That would end the spell. He knows that. If he's asking for my help, I assume we're trying something different. Is time of the essence, or can we take a few days to come up with an alternative to the Cleavers?"

[peacefullywreathed]

"If simply wishing were enough," Solomon said, "you wouldn't have a hole through your heart." He smiled wryly, because it was true. If China could simply wish that she hadn't tried to command Gabe's true name, and it made that large a difference, it wouldn't have torn such a large piece out of her.

If simply wishing were enough, Skulduggery wouldn't have to struggle day by day to avoid breaking.

Solomon remained silent, watching with fascination the way China's web began to spin. Not the edges. It wasn't expanding. But something in her centre, at that hole, began to weave together. Not enough to even remotely begin to make the hole go away, but ... enough that most of the trailing edges vanished. This was what the Archangels saw, he realised with a jolt. This was what it looked like when people came to their choices. It made an obvious, tangible difference. China had made a choice, and already it was filling the hole.

Corrival was right. Being told what to do by a nearly all-powerful being and trusting the being enough to do it without asking questions would have crippled them in ways Solomon could barely begin to imagine.

"Gabe, Rafe and Merlin have declined to help for ethical reasons," he said, "but before they did they implied that we might be able to save Bliss's life. So to speak. We need to do two things. Firstly, we need to rebuild the reflections into one, so that one will be strong enough to act as a vessel for Bliss's soul. He'll have a life ... much like Skulduggery's, really. It won't be a real body, but he'll be able to act on the world around him. And you've already brought up the second thing. We need an alternative to the Cleavers. Valkyrie has already gone to ask Kenspeckle Grouse what he can come up with."

He thought for a moment, considering her final question. "I wouldn't say time is of the essence," he said finally. "I'm not sure he even has a full sense of time in there. He won't be harmed, technically speaking, if we take a few days to replace the Cleavers. That's Corrival's order, either way."

But it was a kind of Hell Bliss was in, of that Solomon had no doubt. Whether he could tell the passing of days or not, every moment he was trapped in there would be a painless sort of agony.

[neutralcollector]

That was one of the differences between the good guys and the bad guys during the war. People followed Mevolent's orders out of fear, greed, or an assumed knowledge that there was no other choice. People followed Meritorious because they chose to. People like Meritorious, and Deuce - they didn't command respect. Not in the same way Mevolent did. Their orders were taken differently because their orders were given to men and women who wholeheartedly volunteered to fight. Submitted themselves willingly to that command, giving up entire lives and families to do so.

There was a time China thought them naive. The way she stiffened involuntarily at the words that's Corrival's order was more than enough evidence of that. It was also, however, one of the reasons she withdrew from the war and became neutral. Genuinely good people following orders, being asked to do horrific things, and choosing to do them anyway because they truly believed the world would be a better place without Mevolent in it. Without the Faceless Ones in it.

It had gotten China to thinking. And now, here she was. Now, she didn't really mind following Corrival's order, and not just because it was what she would have done anyway.

Corrival Deuce was going to make a genuinely good Grand Mage. In the same way China was fond of doing what Skulduggery Pleasant asked of her solely for the asking, she suspected she might be leaning towards doing the same for the Council of Elders.

To an extent, of course. One couldn't be a good information broker without being able to keep world-changing secrets.

The thought didn't quite come hollowly this time, either.

China's smile turned genuine by a fraction. That was more like it. This was how she should feel. Proud. Of her position, of her influence, and of her choices. "Combining the reflections," she mused quietly. "That would still be ending the spell. The point of that little exercise was to create as many Cleavers as possible. Casting as many reflections as possible. There was never one reflection copied, which makes this slightly more difficult." She hesitated, then shook her head. "Not impossible, of course. Especially not with a few days to iron out the details."

[peacefullywreathed]

The webbing continued to knit, the edges wrapping up. How strange. It wasn't that the hole was filling in--more that its edges were being sealed. Like sewing a hem. Solomon didn't have much knowledge of handicrafts, but he suspected it wouldn't prevent the hole from filling in--but, apparently, it didn't need to.

For the moment, closing over the raw edges was enough. Scarring, a scar that might always remain, but healed. Not all scars were unworthy of being kept.

"They may not have been just one copied over and over," Solomon observed, "but they were still all facets of the same man. Looking into just one was like looking into fractured crystal reflecting in on itself." Still, Solomon couldn't deny feeling relieved that not only was China willing to come on board, but that there was still a way to fix this. Between China and Grouse, it may not even take very long. His father's soul had been long overdue to move on. Solomon didn't particularly want to see Bliss's soul do the same if it wasn't meant to. "Are you ready to go to the Sanctuary, or is there anything you need to bring with you?" he asked. "With luck, Grouse is already there."

He hadn't seen where Fletcher had gone, and in the magical leys of the library--the ones which still remained--Solomon couldn't sense his soul at all. Either he was with Tanith or he'd left to pick up Valkyrie and the professor.

[neutralcollector]

"Fractured crystal reflecting in on itself." China couldn't quite help a small chuckle. Not just souls, then. Not just the lifestream. Something connected to it, perhaps. It wasn't hard to imagine the Cleavers could be connected to the lifestream. Especially since Bliss appeared to be stuck within them. Still, it was at once strange and gratifying to hear her handiwork described in that way.

"Now?" China bit her lip, suddenly and wonderfully deep in thought. This wasn't like being called to an Archangel's aid. This was, once again, her choice. She liked that. "Oh, I don't see why not. Providing Renn didn't get bored enough to leave entirely, of course."

A hint of bitterness etched itself into her tone this time, but China thought she was well justified in that regard. Her library was her domain. She'd always been able to find whatever she needed within it without effort, be it a book or a person or her assistant. That magic might still exist, but it would be like fractured crystal, and it was cut off from her either way. Now, her library was just a library. A maze of shelves. Catalogued, fortunately, so business had been running as usual, but China still walked among the stacks every now and then, missing the feeling of being connected.

She nearly found herself glad Low was with them. China banished that feeling the instant it reared its ugly head. "He has a mobile, I dare to presume?"

[peacefullywreathed]

"You may dare," Solomon agreed dryly, reaching into his pocket to find the new mobile Skulduggery and the angels had helped him pick up yesterday. The only problem was that he hadn't had all that much of a chance to figure out how its voice functions worked, even though the seller had gone through it with them at the store. Which was why he held it out to China.

"I've no idea where his number is actually located on here, but since Gabe was the one in charge of making sure I had all the appropriate contacts programmed, it's almost certainly in there somewhere." Rafe had volunteered, but Solomon had asked Gabe to do it. The ex-Necromancer wouldn't have put it past the dark-skinned Archangel to lay a few landmines for him to trip.

So it wasn't long before Fletcher and Tanith's souls blipped into view just nearby them. Or, well, it wasn't a 'blip' exactly. It was just about as disorientating as being Teleported himself, except that Solomon could see that was partly a lack of refinement. They didn't blip, but they ... welled. It was like a smear of colour, paint in a fast-moving current, and then they welled up out of that current like an air-bubble.

Solomon rose, fingers of one hand still resting on the chair's arm so he could keep track of where it was, and turned toward them. "Ms Sorrows will be accompanying us back to the Sanctuary. How goes it with Professor Grouse?"

[neutralcollector]

Tanith didn't ask how in the world Solomon got China to agree to help. Either he coerced her, which would be impossible without some sort of blackmail, or he actually managed to convince her as a human being with a brother in trouble. Either way, Tanith didn't particularly want to know. It was a lot easier to dislike China when she didn't have any good in her to speak of, and knowing about any potential blackmail could very well be hazardous to her health.

"He's at the Sanctuary," Fletcher answered. "Didn't take too much convincing."

"He did ask to be paid, though," Tanith added with a smile.

"Paid?" China raised an eyebrow. "Now there's an idea. Would I be paid for my services, Elder Wreath?"

Tanith managed to fight back a grimace. Damn it. "Do you really need any more than you already get?" she asked suspiciously.

"Get from what? I run a library, Tanith. The only money I ever receive is from overdue fines."

"You must get a bunch of those, then," Tanith muttered, glancing pointedly at China's outfit for the day. Even with her magic gone and her world shattered, China Sorrows still managed to look like the most beautiful woman in the world. She never once skimped on fashion or respectability. Not even God could manage that, apparently.

China smiled. "Oh, I do. But I'm afraid I must point out that Professor Grouse has a sizeable income as well."

[peacefullywreathed]

"I'll speak to the other Council members about it," Solomon said blandly. "Alternately, perhaps some sort of trade of services." While some of China's wards were still intact, they were also akin to the tumble-down brick walls of a ruined house. The foundation was there, but most of the library's magical walls were ruined. China could probably use some help getting it properly up and running again.

He knew for a fact that Corrival had already been going over some of the stipends to figure out what money was going where. He knew because the old man had been grumbling at him about them this morning. Skulduggery was getting paid, as a detective, but Ghastly, Valkyrie, Tanith and Fletcher hadn't been. Fletcher had never officially worked for the Sanctuary, to be fair, but Tanith had in the years before they were on the run just this last. No wage, apparently.

She was going to get a nice surprise in the mail come the fortnight's end.

Solomon closed his eyes, lifted his hands and waited the beat for people to put their arms or shoulders under them. The next instant he felt that jarring yank as they left that particular current in the lifestream and were dunked in the one deep underground, within the Sanctuary.

The problem was that Solomon couldn't tell where. He didn't think it was the tailor's office anymore. The voices in it (Kenspeckle's voice, currently) echoed differently, as if the room was smaller or filled with objects. There had to be a better way of doing this.

"Where are we?" he asked, resignation in his tone.

"My office," Corrival answered. "I see you've persuaded the impossible to persuade, Wreath. I knew your new eyes would come in handy."

"Ah, so you chose me as Elder for my looks? Corrival, I'm flattered."

He heard a snort and the sound of a chair thudding on carpet. "Come here and sit down before you trip over something, blind man. The professor was just giving us reasons why emulating the Golem of Prague is a very bad idea."

"It was a very ill-made golem," Kenspeckle snapped as Solomon let Tanith guide him toward the chair Corrival had, apparently, indicated. "There were dozens of ways that idiot could have done things better. Good morning, Ms Sorrows. Apparently they've roped you into this fool's endeavour too."

In spite of the man's scathing words, his soul was lit up like a lightningstorm in high clouds.

[neutralcollector]

"Not quite a fool's endeavour." China smiled one of her brilliant smiles. "That would imply all of us to be fools. And I'm most certainly not one. Are we considering fully capable golems as replacements? That would take a great deal of magic, both to create and to maintain."

That was how they alighted on the idea of the Cleavers in the first place. Bliss's suggestion, initially, while China perfected the details. A large group of hundreds of people free of magic, incorruptible, strong, and fast. It worked; it gave them the edge they needed to win the war, and a solid Sanctuary force besides. Now that the solution had run its course, it was back to the drawing board, and back to the ideas China rejected for luxurious reasons like magic expense.

"We don't need them to think," said Erskine with a frown.

"You'd prefer them to trip over themselves in battle?"

"No. You know what I mean."

"Elder Ravel," China began, her tone of voice obediently not betraying that her use of the full title was done in full awareness of how much it would annoy the Dead Man, "if you want these potential replacements to be anywhere near the level the Cleavers were at, it would require a lot of magic, regardless of how you do it. The Cleavers don't operate on mere instinct. They're so lethal in their cooperation precisely because they think, and they think very quickly. If you're referring to free will - "

She stopped. Her mind shuddered, jerked. Tried to restart.

Skulduggery took the opportunity to speak up. "Solomon, how did you manage to convince her?"

[peacefullywreathed]

"I appealed to her better nature," Solomon said dryly as he arranged himself in the chair, lounging back in it and looking toward China with an ironic smile. She probably didn't even see it, given the way some of her threads were fraying. "His title, by the way, China, is 'Reveller'. Apparently he felt 'Elder' made him sound too old."

"She's right on that too," Kenspeckle said, either unaware of China's issue or simply too deep into the project to care about it. Or possibly he was actually being tactful, though that was unlikely. There was an odd draft away from Skulduggery which indicated Kenspeckle preferred to ignore him and anything he might be responding to. "Golems may be powerful, but they're ridiculously expensive to maintain. To say nothing of clumsy. And inefficient. No, we can do much better than that."

"How then, professor?" Corrival asked. A few of his eels were snapping, but the amusement was equally as strong, which at least was a good sign.

Some of Kenspeckle's clouds darkened, as if the man had deflated. Solomon was all set to watch it, except ... something was trying to draw his attention. A nudge of movement in the lifestream. "Well, I don't know yet, do I? That's why you had to bring the both of us in."

Distracted, Solomon glanced toward that little fishing-hook of colour, but it dissipated before he could see from where it had come. When he tried to follow it, however, his gaze passed over the angels and Merlin watching silently against the wall. Gabe was chewing his lip. Merlin's soul was still and cold, not dirty enough to be called dirty but enough to be off-white. Rafe ...

"The real question is where the limitations to reflections lie," Kenspeckle was saying. "It might be possible to come up with a single biological animation and then generate reflections of that. Of course, even then, it would only be a simple program, I imagine, which would make it less efficient in its thought-process ..."

Rafe was playing with Rubik's Cube, his wings half-cupped around him. Which wasn't all that surprising, really. Except that the Cube was an odd one, where instead of colours there were moving images, and if the angel wasn't careful and quick enough they'd leap from one square to another and mess up his sorting.

Solomon frowned. There was something odd going on here. Rafe was completely ignoring them. He wouldn't do that, even if he'd promised not to interfere. And he was incorrigible. The most likely person to have sent Solomon out a hook, to bend that promise. Therefore, the Cube was important.

If only Solomon knew why.

The Archangel finished the Cube and held it up as if in satisfaction. Now Solomon could see the Cube wasn't really a Cube, but shaped like a castle. It was a familiar castle, like something Valkryie had once pointed out to him on a training session when she'd gotten just a little too tired of being beaten and wanted a distraction. A castle in a film. A film about sorcerers. Solomon remembered laughing at it, at the series in general, because it was so near and yet so far from the truth ...

Harry Potter, that was it.

On the castle's squares were people and objects, the sorts that might be found in a castle. People in robes, broomsticks, cats and owls, paintings. Suits of armour.

Something clicked. Solomon suppressed a smile and raised his eyebrow, and sent a thought at the Archangel. 'Cheater.'

Rafe didn't even look up at him, but one shoulder dipped vaguely sheepishly. Solomon looked up. "Couldn't we used animated suits of armour?" he asked, cutting into something Kenspeckle was saying. "We may not have to create them ourselves, if we can find enough people to sell them to us. Surely the two of you could figure out how to animate and magically protect armour already forged?"

Which, of course, only ran into the same problem of lacking free will. Solomon frowned, his gaze flickering around the room in lieu of moving toward Rafe again. Solomon wasn't going to rely on him. There was something he was missing. Rafe wouldn't make that suggestion, especially under pretence, unless it had real merit. The only problem was that Solomon couldn't tell what it was. His gaze rested on something near Corrival, something which had a faint glow about it. Not like it was magical but ...

But more like the teddy-bear in his pocket. Like Skulduggery's Bentley.

Solomon reached out and picked it up, running a hand across the smooth surface and the back of it. A picture-frame. "What's in this?"

"It's one of Guild's old photographs," Corrival said, sounding bland but with confusion in the way his eels were staring. Confusion and anticipation at once. "It's got a picture of his wife and daughter."

Another click. He turned the photograph toward the company at large. "I can see this. It was special to Guild. It has emotion in it, even though it's inanimate--enough to leave a glow in my Sight." The purpose of armour was to be worn by a person. A knight's armour was nearly sacred, a treasured object. Something into which people poured their heart and soul. "So we use armour that was owned and worn; we create a memory of the person who owned it, so that it has a manner of thought the same way the Cleavers do. Or like Lynott, at the door. We could use statues, too." The last was added in a flash of inspiration at Lynott's mention. "They're sculpted to commemorate people, to represent a being. With enough people to believe in who they represent, maybe they would have enough measure of a memory to have a semblance of free-thought too."

[skeletonenigma]

"Why, thank you, Prophet Wreath," Erskine retorted with a grin. "You actually do look old enough to be called Elder these days."

There was something rather poetic about an ex-Necromancer appealing to the better nature of a manipulator - and succeeding. Particularly when both parties had gone through drastic changes in the past week. Maybe it wouldn't have been so easy if China's brother wasn't the one trapped, but either way, it was a good leap in the right direction. Not to mention Skulduggery could get used to seeing China and not feeling his opinion of her subjectively influenced.

He had no idea if that would last or not. Or whether he wanted it to last or not.

Raphael was solving a Rubik's Cube against the wall, looking for all the world like he'd completely embraced the idea of non-interference and was just bored with the proceedings. Skulduggery knew better. Probably a side effect of this soul connection he seemed to have with Gabe - or perhaps he just knew the Archangel that well already. Either way, when Solomon turned to frown directly at the Cube, Skulduggery knew there was something more going on.

If he'd had a face, he would have had to resist a smirk. Fair enough. Not like he would complain.

... Until, quite suddenly, the suggestion came.

Suits of armour. Animated suits of armour walking around. Something was wrong with that idea. Skulduggery hadn't quite caught up with his subconscious on that point yet, but he knew all too well why the idea unnerved him. And he knew bringing up that discomfort would only put everyone else in the same. Or, in the case of Kenspeckle Grouse, invite dangerous questions. It wasn't until Solomon mentioned the photo that Skulduggery realised what was so very wrong.

Solomon was right. Whenever magic got involved, objects with sentimental value tended to retain a trace of that sentimentality. Powerful objects belonging solely to powerful people, especially when they were so much a part of that person as to be indistinguishable, could easily attain a degree of sentience. In most cases, it was only a matter of time.

Solomon was suggesting a force to replace the Sanctuary Cleavers made up of animated suits of armour, operating off that exact degree of sentience.

Hidden away in the Sanctuary somewhere, its location probably known only to Guild, was Lord Vile's armour.

That was a disaster waiting to happen.

"Statues." Skulduggery couldn't keep this part quiet just to avoid unnecessary discomfort. This was, unfortunately, very necessary discomfort. "Using suits of armour designed to be able to think for themselves, likely hundreds of them in the Sanctuary at any given time? That's just asking for trouble."

Not everyone would get it, but enough did. Valkyrie became very interested in her shoes, Erskine became very darkly interested in the table, and Ghastly's shoulders tensed. The tailor worked to relax them, and cleared his throat with an impressive amount of casualness thrown in, offsetting how practically every one of his limbs was still unnaturally stiff. "Statues, then. How was Lynott created?"

[peacefullywreathed]

It wasn't exactly often that Solomon spoke without thinking. In this case, he was simply in a state of needing to not think too hard on certain things. He'd broken down once, and he wouldn't break down again, but there was still a measure of things he didn't want to think too deeply about.

So the words were out before Solomon realised just what he'd said. And when he had, he froze, his face blanking. He stared down at the frame in his hands, at its gentle glow. It wasn't red. It didn't really have a colour. It still made him think of that vibrating red Scream, the sight of it wreathing around an armoured skeleton seen only in a memory.

Wreathing around the skeleton, and then coming for him like the jaws of Hell.

Solomon swallowed and took a deep breath, slow enough to be discreet. He set the frame down on a piece of desk, fumbling to find clear space. "Agreed. Lynott proves it's possible, at least. We may not even have to buy old statues, simply order a great many statues of famous soldiers sculpted. The fame might be enough despite their newness."

"It's certainly better than golems," Kenspeckle said thoughtfully but rather scathingly. There was a roll in his clouds which indicated he knew something had just happened, he didn't know what, and he didn't want to know. "Wax figures would be cheap, but not exactly durable. And it would need to be able to move. I, however, have no idea how he was made. I'm in biology, not waxworks. Ms Sorrows?"

[skeletonenigma]

China raised an eyebrow. "And you think I would know? I run a library."

"You helped create the Cleavers," Skulduggery pointed out levelly, "you've mastered the language of magic, and you hear about anything going on in the magical community weeks before the Sanctuary does. Are you honestly trying to tell us you have no clue?"

China beamed him one of her trademark smiles, and Skulduggery suppressed a groan. Not quite back to her old self, but close enough to be annoying again. "Well, when you put it that way..." Her smile faded quickly. "I don't know for certain. Guild was very careful with what information got leaked to me, and I simply didn't think the new doorman was worth the effort or the risk. I can, however, tell you how it was probably done. Wax figures that are already made, then given sentience, are easy enough to produce - and certainly the extent of the skills of anyone Guild had at his disposal. You've all seen him, however. He doesn't have a mind of his own. He is not capable of being creative, which is crucial in a fight. He is not Phil Lynott. He doesn't have anything in him that was even remotely in Phil Lynott."

"I don't know," said Valkyrie. "He's getting better at singing."

"Is he? How fascinating. Unfortunately, if you're hoping for these figures to have facets like Wreath is describing, it gets a tad more complicated. They'll act like their real-life counterparts, despite not having emotion or true free will. The long-term consequences could be... problematic. And that's not even getting into the process of making them."

"The long-term consequences?" Ghastly asked. "What do you mean?"

"The same risks are always involved when you grant this type of sentience to an inanimate object. They inevitably start getting ideas. That was one of the reasons we decided to go with the Cleavers."

That was the problem, Skulduggery agreed silently. The figures wouldn't be allowed to have any magic of their own, or any emotion. Nor would they be allowed to perform actions they weren't expressly given. No one with true free will could accept conditions like that for long. And all it took was that one small realisation, some day in the future, for a lot of what the Sanctuary depended on to come crashing down around its collective ears.