"They will," Gabriel agreed, and then struggled to find a grin. He didn't, couldn't. "But they'll find it hard to get through a cave-in." The knowledge of what Skulduggery's Dark Gods were beat in his chest, but he closed his mouth against it. Not now. It was the wrong time. They needed to get out first. They needed to survive. He turned instead, scanning the planes of the ceiling and the walls. With a twist of his fingers he conjured a piece of chalk; the sigils wouldn't be as ingrained as the ones outside, but the tunnel was narrow enough to make up for it.

As he crouched and began to write in a flowing unbroken script, starting from the floor and working sideways up the wall toward the ceiling, he nodded almost as if to himself. "You said to me once that names are important," he said, "and you were right. Prayers, even mental prayers, are heard by those of us who are near enough; and they are always heard by those to whom they are directed. Putting our names to a prayer is a bit like jumping the queue."

The Archangel glanced over his shoulder, and this time his expression was apologetic. "I'm sorry the thought puts you off your ease, Skul. If it helps, it's not exactly reading minds. We can, of course, but a heartfelt prayer has more to do with the soul, and that is always our concern."