Fixing Pleasant up didn't take all that long, considering, and soon enough the skeleton's jaw was braced and wrapped. Still, Kenspeckle took just a touch longer about it than he would have--not just because he was being gentler than usual, but to give himself a chance to recover from Gabriel's rebuke. "Don't take that off for at least an hour," the professor snapped when he was done, back to full fighting form--almost, if not for the caution in his touch. "Bone's thicker than flesh. The poultice will take time to work through the calcium, so try not to be an idiot for a little while."
When Kenspeckle turned finally to Gabriel again, his face was unreadable, his bearing straight. His voice was polite. Not reserved, but almost wary. "Are you ready, Gabriel?"
"Yes. Thank you." To the professor's relief, the Archangel had relaxed a bit, enough that the veiled warning was no longer in his eyes and he actually smiled--though Kenspeckle noticed he didn't look apologetic in the least. He had definitely meant to defend Pleasant, then. That brought Kenspeckle back to wondering why? Why would an Archangel rescued Skulduggery Pleasant from Hell? Reprimand the sort of cutting barb Pleasant heard all the time, knew perfectly well how to handle on his own?
With a shake of his head to dismiss such thoughts the professor tugged the trolley closer around the table, his critical gaze taking in the Archangel's wings--both sides. His feathers were a mess, the professor noted. Would that affect Gabriel's ability to fly? he wondered.
"We didn't have time to document your injuries thoroughly last time," he said, turning to business in lieu of actual comfort. As well as he hid it, it would take a little while longer to shake the chill down his spine. "Were there any others, aside from the open wounds?" As he spoke Kenspeckle moved around the back so he could see the gouges left by the Faceless One to re-examine them.
"Yes," Gabriel admitted. "I've--had a headache, because of the noise of the crossing. Last night it became a migraine for some hours. And I think I've strained my whole body from walking in-between dimensions. It was ... well. It was difficult. Wearing, all over."
There were, Kenspeckle found, so very many things wrong with those words. Walking in-between dimensions? Walking!? He settled for asking matter-of-factly and in a voice devoid of judgement, "What caused the migraine?"
"I had to borrow a Sensitive's vision to talk to--someone," Gabriel said carefully. He was hiding something; that much was obvious. Kenspeckle found, quite suddenly, that he didn't want to know. Instead he focussed on the Archangel's wings, laying his hands near the wounds and testing them with his magic, and frowning when he found that although they hadn't grown worse, there was absolutely no evidence of healing. None whatsoever.
"So. Open wounds, which haven't even begun to heal on their own, by the way, a budding constant migraine, and a whole-body sprain, is that about it?" Good Lord. Did angels even know the meaning of the words 'bed-rest'? Despite himself, despite everything, Kenspeckle couldn't keep the faintest mocking edge out of his tone.
Gabriel had the gall to actually stop and think about it. "I'd say that about sums it up, yes."
Kenspeckle snorted, and suddenly all the tension went out of him. "Children," he muttered.
~~~
There was no more surprise left. No surprise, but plenty of apprehension. Since when had China Sorrows ever been at a loss for words? Since now, apparently. Since she had challenged an Archangel.
The fact still sent shivers down Solomon's spine. It only grew worse at the look on China's face, the flatness in her voice, as she said 'him'. At first Solomon didn't know who she was talking about, because it sounded like she was referring to a person separate from Saint Gabriel; then the penny dropped and Solomon's face went blank.
No. She couldn't mean--not Him. Surely not Him. Could she?
"You mean--" His voice came out strangled. He cleared his throat, and still his words were shaken. "You mean G-- Saint Gabriel's ... Master?"
no subject
When Kenspeckle turned finally to Gabriel again, his face was unreadable, his bearing straight. His voice was polite. Not reserved, but almost wary. "Are you ready, Gabriel?"
"Yes. Thank you." To the professor's relief, the Archangel had relaxed a bit, enough that the veiled warning was no longer in his eyes and he actually smiled--though Kenspeckle noticed he didn't look apologetic in the least. He had definitely meant to defend Pleasant, then. That brought Kenspeckle back to wondering why? Why would an Archangel rescued Skulduggery Pleasant from Hell? Reprimand the sort of cutting barb Pleasant heard all the time, knew perfectly well how to handle on his own?
With a shake of his head to dismiss such thoughts the professor tugged the trolley closer around the table, his critical gaze taking in the Archangel's wings--both sides. His feathers were a mess, the professor noted. Would that affect Gabriel's ability to fly? he wondered.
"We didn't have time to document your injuries thoroughly last time," he said, turning to business in lieu of actual comfort. As well as he hid it, it would take a little while longer to shake the chill down his spine. "Were there any others, aside from the open wounds?" As he spoke Kenspeckle moved around the back so he could see the gouges left by the Faceless One to re-examine them.
"Yes," Gabriel admitted. "I've--had a headache, because of the noise of the crossing. Last night it became a migraine for some hours. And I think I've strained my whole body from walking in-between dimensions. It was ... well. It was difficult. Wearing, all over."
There were, Kenspeckle found, so very many things wrong with those words. Walking in-between dimensions? Walking!? He settled for asking matter-of-factly and in a voice devoid of judgement, "What caused the migraine?"
"I had to borrow a Sensitive's vision to talk to--someone," Gabriel said carefully. He was hiding something; that much was obvious. Kenspeckle found, quite suddenly, that he didn't want to know. Instead he focussed on the Archangel's wings, laying his hands near the wounds and testing them with his magic, and frowning when he found that although they hadn't grown worse, there was absolutely no evidence of healing. None whatsoever.
"So. Open wounds, which haven't even begun to heal on their own, by the way, a budding constant migraine, and a whole-body sprain, is that about it?" Good Lord. Did angels even know the meaning of the words 'bed-rest'? Despite himself, despite everything, Kenspeckle couldn't keep the faintest mocking edge out of his tone.
Gabriel had the gall to actually stop and think about it. "I'd say that about sums it up, yes."
Kenspeckle snorted, and suddenly all the tension went out of him. "Children," he muttered.
~~~
There was no more surprise left. No surprise, but plenty of apprehension. Since when had China Sorrows ever been at a loss for words? Since now, apparently. Since she had challenged an Archangel.
The fact still sent shivers down Solomon's spine. It only grew worse at the look on China's face, the flatness in her voice, as she said 'him'. At first Solomon didn't know who she was talking about, because it sounded like she was referring to a person separate from Saint Gabriel; then the penny dropped and Solomon's face went blank.
No. She couldn't mean--not Him. Surely not Him. Could she?
"You mean--" His voice came out strangled. He cleared his throat, and still his words were shaken. "You mean G-- Saint Gabriel's ... Master?"