'Binding promise to an Archangel.' Part of Corrival very much wanted to ask for details about that, because if there was anything that could secure China Sorrows' unbreakable bond Corrival wanted to know what it was. That was something relatively trivial compared to the rest, of course, but still.
Of more interest was the way Ghastly spoke. As if it was accepted that Gabriel was actually everything he said himself to be, and not just a false demi-god like the Faceless Ones. Not only that, but as if China accepted Gabriel as everything he said he was, which was a feat even more difficult given how she'd turned her back on said false demi-gods. The part about Crux? Not encouraging. Mentally Corrival made a note that 'Gabriel' might be more akin to the Faceless Ones than Ghastly was aware, if his presence could break Crux utterly and make both Ghastly and China Sorrows accept things so readily.
Each of the rest of the names were members of Skulduggery's little band, or associated enough with him that they weren't likely to go off half-cocked. Most likely they were waiting for Ghastly himself to make the choice. Prave ... was a concern, but one easily confirmed.
"I know Prave," Corrival told Ghastly without thinking, and then paused as he remembered exactly how he knew Prave. The old soldier had the grace to look slightly embarrassed as he moved to his phone. "It was Erskine's idea last time he came up," he said gruffly, picking it up and dialling. "The man was Bored with a capital 'B' and he needed something with which to occupy himself which didn't include destroying my house."
Someone picked up. Corrival put it on speakerphone and set the handpiece down. "Hello?"
"Hello, dear," Corrival said, leaning on the counter with his arms folded, his glass still held loosely in one hand. He spoke in a breathless, wispy voice more suitable to a grandmother with a serious smoking problem. "How are you today?"
There was a pause, and when Prave spoke next his tone of voice gave the impression he had consciously straightened up with supercilious dignity. "Ah, Carey. How are you today, my dear?"
Corrival heaved a sigh which could have meant anything. "Oh ... My son's off gallivanting again. Why, the little darling gave me such a nice letter from Burma just the other day! I do think he's making headway. He's sold at least two boxes of biscuits since he's been gone!"
The pause, this time, was greatly pregnant. "Ah, Carey, I don't suppose you recall that little conversation we had earlier?"
With a tilt of his head, Corrival flashed a wink to Ghastly. "Which one would that be, dear?"
"The part about, ahem, biscuits. And Faceless Ones. They don't ... they don't really mix."
Comically Corrival's eyes widened. "Oh, are you sure, dear? From what you've said we're in such dire straights, you see, and churches do so well in funding themselves with biscuits."
"Yes, but ..." Prave's voice seemed to fail on him. There were some mumbling sounds, but it was difficult to hear them through the static. Even so, a few were audible--'deal', 'today', 'awful'.
"What was that, dear?"
"I said, ahem, Carey, this really isn't a very good time ..."
"Oh, you should have said so earlier. Tell Grandma Carey all about it, dear. Things are better off the chest, as it were. Why, that's why I stopped wearing a brassiere a few decades ago."
Corrival's straight face would have made Skulduggery Pleasant proud, but his eyes were full of suppressed laughter at the way Prave's voice seemed to fail again. Whatever Corrival said about all this being Ravel's idea, it was very clear the 'old warhorse' had joined in the charade with just as much fiendish delight.
Then, "Skulduggery Pleasant," Prave spat with all the venom of a garden snake. "And his band of cohorts. The church! My church! It's unconscionable, the way that man harasses us. We have rights! Here were are, trying to make a basic living for our small congregation any way we can and the law sees fit to persecute us!"
"That's awful, dear," Corrival said sympathetically. "Young hooligans have no respect for faith these days. Flaunting their weapons and leaving nightclub pamphlets lying around the way they do ..." He tutted.
"If only that was all they'd left," Prave mumbled, and then stopped short as if he'd just realised what he'd said.
Corrival gasped and whispered with an old lady's horror, "Condoms. Oh, you poor man, imagine cleaning up after that! Youths today, going out and having sex all willy-nilly!"
Contrary to 'her' words, 'Carey's voice was oddly relishing, and there came a strangled sound on the other end. "A body! It was a body. They came in here looking for a member of the, ahem, congregation. I trusted that as members of the law they would comport themselves with dignity and left for a hardly a few minutes, and before you know it I have a dead body on my hands! What am I going to do? It's a set-up, that's what it is. Any moment now they'll come busting in here with arrest orders and take me into custody and there goes the church! They're afraid of me, you see." The last was said in a hushed voice. "The government is always afraid of faithful believers."
"How awful," Corrival murmured, and his gaze met Ghastly's. "We can't have that. I'll tell you what, dear. One of my other sons is right now here with me. You toddle off to get yourself a nice calming nightcap for an hour, or two, and we'll take care of it all."
"Well ..." Prave sounded torn. On one hand, here was an answer to all his problems. He obviously had no idea that the elderly and gullible Grandma Carey was anything but the elderly and gullible Grandma Carey. On the other hand, he'd already left the church and come back to a dead body once today.
"Go on, dear," Corrival coaxed. "No one can be expected to not need a little pick-me-up after the day you've had, and you've been so very kind to me."
"Alright. Yes," Prave said abruptly. "I'll go. I'm going. Good night, Carey."
He hung up before Corrival could respond, and without looking down Corrival turned off the speakerphone.
"Well, so much for my nightcap," he said resignedly, and knocked back the whiskey in his glass before setting it down on the table with a thud. "I'd better go get changed into something more suitable for body-snatching."
no subject
Of more interest was the way Ghastly spoke. As if it was accepted that Gabriel was actually everything he said himself to be, and not just a false demi-god like the Faceless Ones. Not only that, but as if China accepted Gabriel as everything he said he was, which was a feat even more difficult given how she'd turned her back on said false demi-gods. The part about Crux? Not encouraging. Mentally Corrival made a note that 'Gabriel' might be more akin to the Faceless Ones than Ghastly was aware, if his presence could break Crux utterly and make both Ghastly and China Sorrows accept things so readily.
Each of the rest of the names were members of Skulduggery's little band, or associated enough with him that they weren't likely to go off half-cocked. Most likely they were waiting for Ghastly himself to make the choice. Prave ... was a concern, but one easily confirmed.
"I know Prave," Corrival told Ghastly without thinking, and then paused as he remembered exactly how he knew Prave. The old soldier had the grace to look slightly embarrassed as he moved to his phone. "It was Erskine's idea last time he came up," he said gruffly, picking it up and dialling. "The man was Bored with a capital 'B' and he needed something with which to occupy himself which didn't include destroying my house."
Someone picked up. Corrival put it on speakerphone and set the handpiece down. "Hello?"
"Hello, dear," Corrival said, leaning on the counter with his arms folded, his glass still held loosely in one hand. He spoke in a breathless, wispy voice more suitable to a grandmother with a serious smoking problem. "How are you today?"
There was a pause, and when Prave spoke next his tone of voice gave the impression he had consciously straightened up with supercilious dignity. "Ah, Carey. How are you today, my dear?"
Corrival heaved a sigh which could have meant anything. "Oh ... My son's off gallivanting again. Why, the little darling gave me such a nice letter from Burma just the other day! I do think he's making headway. He's sold at least two boxes of biscuits since he's been gone!"
The pause, this time, was greatly pregnant. "Ah, Carey, I don't suppose you recall that little conversation we had earlier?"
With a tilt of his head, Corrival flashed a wink to Ghastly. "Which one would that be, dear?"
"The part about, ahem, biscuits. And Faceless Ones. They don't ... they don't really mix."
Comically Corrival's eyes widened. "Oh, are you sure, dear? From what you've said we're in such dire straights, you see, and churches do so well in funding themselves with biscuits."
"Yes, but ..." Prave's voice seemed to fail on him. There were some mumbling sounds, but it was difficult to hear them through the static. Even so, a few were audible--'deal', 'today', 'awful'.
"What was that, dear?"
"I said, ahem, Carey, this really isn't a very good time ..."
"Oh, you should have said so earlier. Tell Grandma Carey all about it, dear. Things are better off the chest, as it were. Why, that's why I stopped wearing a brassiere a few decades ago."
Corrival's straight face would have made Skulduggery Pleasant proud, but his eyes were full of suppressed laughter at the way Prave's voice seemed to fail again. Whatever Corrival said about all this being Ravel's idea, it was very clear the 'old warhorse' had joined in the charade with just as much fiendish delight.
Then, "Skulduggery Pleasant," Prave spat with all the venom of a garden snake. "And his band of cohorts. The church! My church! It's unconscionable, the way that man harasses us. We have rights! Here were are, trying to make a basic living for our small congregation any way we can and the law sees fit to persecute us!"
"That's awful, dear," Corrival said sympathetically. "Young hooligans have no respect for faith these days. Flaunting their weapons and leaving nightclub pamphlets lying around the way they do ..." He tutted.
"If only that was all they'd left," Prave mumbled, and then stopped short as if he'd just realised what he'd said.
Corrival gasped and whispered with an old lady's horror, "Condoms. Oh, you poor man, imagine cleaning up after that! Youths today, going out and having sex all willy-nilly!"
Contrary to 'her' words, 'Carey's voice was oddly relishing, and there came a strangled sound on the other end. "A body! It was a body. They came in here looking for a member of the, ahem, congregation. I trusted that as members of the law they would comport themselves with dignity and left for a hardly a few minutes, and before you know it I have a dead body on my hands! What am I going to do? It's a set-up, that's what it is. Any moment now they'll come busting in here with arrest orders and take me into custody and there goes the church! They're afraid of me, you see." The last was said in a hushed voice. "The government is always afraid of faithful believers."
"How awful," Corrival murmured, and his gaze met Ghastly's. "We can't have that. I'll tell you what, dear. One of my other sons is right now here with me. You toddle off to get yourself a nice calming nightcap for an hour, or two, and we'll take care of it all."
"Well ..." Prave sounded torn. On one hand, here was an answer to all his problems. He obviously had no idea that the elderly and gullible Grandma Carey was anything but the elderly and gullible Grandma Carey. On the other hand, he'd already left the church and come back to a dead body once today.
"Go on, dear," Corrival coaxed. "No one can be expected to not need a little pick-me-up after the day you've had, and you've been so very kind to me."
"Alright. Yes," Prave said abruptly. "I'll go. I'm going. Good night, Carey."
He hung up before Corrival could respond, and without looking down Corrival turned off the speakerphone.
"Well, so much for my nightcap," he said resignedly, and knocked back the whiskey in his glass before setting it down on the table with a thud. "I'd better go get changed into something more suitable for body-snatching."