Many, many people had wondered why it was that Corrival Deuce was the leader of the Dead Men and not Skulduggery Pleasant. After all, Skulduggery Pleasant had been one of the leaders of the rebellion. After his return, in spite of the changes he'd gone through--both obvious and not--he had still proven himself a capable leader. Even after his second return, after the five-year absence, that held true, though certainly the time in-between his death and that second return were his weakest moments.
Yet he had never once asked for, or been asked, to command the Dead Men.
Corrival had wondered once or twice, early on. Skulduggery was qualified. So was Corrival, and so he hadn't felt threatened. Skulduggery was qualified, but his stability had been somewhat in question, then. Once Corrival had actually become friends with the men under his command, he had stopped asking. Skulduggery, magnificent leader though he was, was better in the field. Corrival had more squads to organise than just theirs, though certainly theirs was the best.
Because Corrival, also, was an exceptional leader. He didn't particularly want to be, but he recognised that it was that trait which made him one, just as it had made Skulduggery one. Corrival was a solider. A retired war-horse, as it were.
As such, Ghastly's news, or implied news, had two effects.
The first was that it felt like Corrival had just been electrocuted. He twitched, violently, and whiskey spilled over the brim of his glass onto his hand. He stared at it for some moments while his brain unscrambled.
Yes, Skulduggery Pleasant had vanished right around the time Lord Vile appeared. Yes, Skulduggery Pleasant had returned, precisely at the time Lord Vile had vanished. Yes, he had been tight-lipped about where he'd been. Fronted up with a jovial demeanour. Been ashamed of some unspoken crime.
No. No, no no no no no. Not Skulduggery. Not Lord Vile. Not all this time.
Corrival was a magnificent leader.
Which was why, while he was being torn apart inside, he very calmly reached out to pick up his hankie and wipe the whiskey off his hand, looking evenly back at Ghastly with an expression as impassive and expectant as any he'd worn during official debriefings during the war.
no subject
Yet he had never once asked for, or been asked, to command the Dead Men.
Corrival had wondered once or twice, early on. Skulduggery was qualified. So was Corrival, and so he hadn't felt threatened. Skulduggery was qualified, but his stability had been somewhat in question, then. Once Corrival had actually become friends with the men under his command, he had stopped asking. Skulduggery, magnificent leader though he was, was better in the field. Corrival had more squads to organise than just theirs, though certainly theirs was the best.
Because Corrival, also, was an exceptional leader. He didn't particularly want to be, but he recognised that it was that trait which made him one, just as it had made Skulduggery one. Corrival was a solider. A retired war-horse, as it were.
As such, Ghastly's news, or implied news, had two effects.
The first was that it felt like Corrival had just been electrocuted. He twitched, violently, and whiskey spilled over the brim of his glass onto his hand. He stared at it for some moments while his brain unscrambled.
Yes, Skulduggery Pleasant had vanished right around the time Lord Vile appeared. Yes, Skulduggery Pleasant had returned, precisely at the time Lord Vile had vanished. Yes, he had been tight-lipped about where he'd been. Fronted up with a jovial demeanour. Been ashamed of some unspoken crime.
No. No, no no no no no. Not Skulduggery. Not Lord Vile. Not all this time.
Corrival was a magnificent leader.
Which was why, while he was being torn apart inside, he very calmly reached out to pick up his hankie and wipe the whiskey off his hand, looking evenly back at Ghastly with an expression as impassive and expectant as any he'd worn during official debriefings during the war.
"Full report, Bespoke."