Skulduggery tried to imagine Solomon in charge of a children's playgroup. For some reason, it didn't quite work. The image ended in a very harassed-looking Solomon, with two kids clinging onto his legs, the room around him in tatters, complaining about how the souls of kids had sharp edges and he couldn't quite grab them without cutting himself.
Kids' souls probably weren't sharp, though. If anything, they were as soft as goose down. Or maybe just as varied as those of adults. Skulduggery didn't claim to be an expert. He'd only ever had the one. And her soul would probably have resembled that of a hyperactive puppy. Never tired, always curious, full of unconditional love and anxious to learn as much about the world as possible - even if it meant getting into the worst scrapes imaginable.
"Well, that's not fair," Erskine argued. "There go all my ideas. I was thinking of something in Gaelic. Long and poetic. People would be digging up our civilisation eons from now and automatically assume I was the leader."
Ghastly's eyebrow raised a fraction. "You don't want to be an Elder, but you wouldn't mind being Grand Mage?"
"I wouldn't mind getting all of the credit for being an Elder. I'd just rather not do any of the work. Solomon could be the blind prophet. He could write the book that gets mistakenly treated like gospel."
Sorcerers all around the room were chatting amongst themselves now, and Skulduggery could almost predict exactly when Valkyrie would speak up again. "Does this mean the meeting's over?"
Erskine grinned. "Don't be too hasty. It's up to us to dismiss you now." The grin faded slightly, but not in the way of someone moving past a joke. Rather, it was in the slow way of someone who'd just realised something they'd never quite be able to let go again. "Corrival, does this mean I'm the one signing Skulduggery's paychecks?"
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Kids' souls probably weren't sharp, though. If anything, they were as soft as goose down. Or maybe just as varied as those of adults. Skulduggery didn't claim to be an expert. He'd only ever had the one. And her soul would probably have resembled that of a hyperactive puppy. Never tired, always curious, full of unconditional love and anxious to learn as much about the world as possible - even if it meant getting into the worst scrapes imaginable.
"Well, that's not fair," Erskine argued. "There go all my ideas. I was thinking of something in Gaelic. Long and poetic. People would be digging up our civilisation eons from now and automatically assume I was the leader."
Ghastly's eyebrow raised a fraction. "You don't want to be an Elder, but you wouldn't mind being Grand Mage?"
"I wouldn't mind getting all of the credit for being an Elder. I'd just rather not do any of the work. Solomon could be the blind prophet. He could write the book that gets mistakenly treated like gospel."
Sorcerers all around the room were chatting amongst themselves now, and Skulduggery could almost predict exactly when Valkyrie would speak up again. "Does this mean the meeting's over?"
Erskine grinned. "Don't be too hasty. It's up to us to dismiss you now." The grin faded slightly, but not in the way of someone moving past a joke. Rather, it was in the slow way of someone who'd just realised something they'd never quite be able to let go again. "Corrival, does this mean I'm the one signing Skulduggery's paychecks?"