Slowly Anton's eyebrows rose. When, he wondered, was the last time Skulduggery Pleasant had had to actively search for words? To amend the ones he'd already chosen? The detective was flippant, but even when wrong he ran with what he'd said and brushed off the inaccuracies. What could possibly be so important about this 'guest' that Skulduggery would be so flustered in describing them?
Especially given the change from 'benevolent' to 'mostly benevolent? And why did it seem almost as if the change in subject to Sanguine was a diversion, in spite of the fact that it was the reason the detective was even at the hotel?
"I see," Anton said evenly. This was ... concerning. If Skulduggery was in some way compromised--and really, was it unexpected that he might be?--then Anton would have to tread carefully indeed. For the Hotel's sake, and for Skulduggery's own. (He acknowledged the pang in his chest at the thought his old friend might be too far gone, and then dismissed it. He would see what he would see.)
"Yes, I do." He reached into his sleeve and showed Skulduggery and his friend--Fletcher Renn, the last Teleporter, the quiet library of Anton's mind provided--the key attached to his wrist. "Valkyrie Cain is guarding your ... guest, I presume?"
Probably with Ghastly and Tanith Low's help. If, indeed, this 'guest' was as benevolent and altruistic as Skulduggery described. They obviously couldn't be a Faceless One, and Skulduggery didn't use those words lightly, cynic that he was--that they all were--but ... well. Skulduggery had just come back from a hell dimension. "What are you going to do, Skulduggery?"
~~~
For several long moments Solomon worked in silence, his gaze trained on the gun as he finished loading it and tucked it up under his coat. The box he closed and locked, and returned to its place under the coffee-table. Then he rose and turned for the stand near the entrance hallway which held several umbrellas and timbre canes.
In the end, there was no way to say it other than matter-of-factly. As bone-tired as he was, the crystal clarity that he could not yet rest enabled him to keep moving. It had been a while, but he knew this state from the war. Having eaten and taken some measure of rest at the church, he could go on for a little while longer.
But the emotion had drained out of him. It simmered without enough heat to either sear him or warm him, and so the words came more easily than he was expecting even after his pause. "My Necromantic cane is currently lying in pieces at the bottom of a barrel of holy water," he said calmly, shuffling the ends of the umbrellas and canes until he found one very specific one. Just one. Where better to hide a special cane than in amongst the ordinary? "I'm the one who put it there."
He slid the cane out from among its fellows with a soft rustle, cradling it in his palms for a moment. It was a timbre cane, smooth and polished and with a metal head and foot. Its weight and heft were nothing like the one imbued with his magic; this one felt almost warm in comparison. The sensation was alien and comforting at once. Similar enough that he felt safer, but ... different. No longer with prickling palms, no longer second-guessing what he held. "No doubt my former colleagues will come looking for me once they realise I've left the Temple. And then they will try to kill me. I have no intention of letting that happen."
With a soft shick he twisted the cane's handle and pulled the hilt of the thin blade hidden inside, ensuring it could be unsheathed smoothly and that the steel was still good before sliding it back in again.
no subject
Especially given the change from 'benevolent' to 'mostly benevolent? And why did it seem almost as if the change in subject to Sanguine was a diversion, in spite of the fact that it was the reason the detective was even at the hotel?
"I see," Anton said evenly. This was ... concerning. If Skulduggery was in some way compromised--and really, was it unexpected that he might be?--then Anton would have to tread carefully indeed. For the Hotel's sake, and for Skulduggery's own. (He acknowledged the pang in his chest at the thought his old friend might be too far gone, and then dismissed it. He would see what he would see.)
"Yes, I do." He reached into his sleeve and showed Skulduggery and his friend--Fletcher Renn, the last Teleporter, the quiet library of Anton's mind provided--the key attached to his wrist. "Valkyrie Cain is guarding your ... guest, I presume?"
Probably with Ghastly and Tanith Low's help. If, indeed, this 'guest' was as benevolent and altruistic as Skulduggery described. They obviously couldn't be a Faceless One, and Skulduggery didn't use those words lightly, cynic that he was--that they all were--but ... well. Skulduggery had just come back from a hell dimension. "What are you going to do, Skulduggery?"
~~~
For several long moments Solomon worked in silence, his gaze trained on the gun as he finished loading it and tucked it up under his coat. The box he closed and locked, and returned to its place under the coffee-table. Then he rose and turned for the stand near the entrance hallway which held several umbrellas and timbre canes.
In the end, there was no way to say it other than matter-of-factly. As bone-tired as he was, the crystal clarity that he could not yet rest enabled him to keep moving. It had been a while, but he knew this state from the war. Having eaten and taken some measure of rest at the church, he could go on for a little while longer.
But the emotion had drained out of him. It simmered without enough heat to either sear him or warm him, and so the words came more easily than he was expecting even after his pause. "My Necromantic cane is currently lying in pieces at the bottom of a barrel of holy water," he said calmly, shuffling the ends of the umbrellas and canes until he found one very specific one. Just one. Where better to hide a special cane than in amongst the ordinary? "I'm the one who put it there."
He slid the cane out from among its fellows with a soft rustle, cradling it in his palms for a moment. It was a timbre cane, smooth and polished and with a metal head and foot. Its weight and heft were nothing like the one imbued with his magic; this one felt almost warm in comparison. The sensation was alien and comforting at once. Similar enough that he felt safer, but ... different. No longer with prickling palms, no longer second-guessing what he held. "No doubt my former colleagues will come looking for me once they realise I've left the Temple. And then they will try to kill me. I have no intention of letting that happen."
With a soft shick he twisted the cane's handle and pulled the hilt of the thin blade hidden inside, ensuring it could be unsheathed smoothly and that the steel was still good before sliding it back in again.