"I'll speak to the other Council members about it," Solomon said blandly. "Alternately, perhaps some sort of trade of services." While some of China's wards were still intact, they were also akin to the tumble-down brick walls of a ruined house. The foundation was there, but most of the library's magical walls were ruined. China could probably use some help getting it properly up and running again.
He knew for a fact that Corrival had already been going over some of the stipends to figure out what money was going where. He knew because the old man had been grumbling at him about them this morning. Skulduggery was getting paid, as a detective, but Ghastly, Valkyrie, Tanith and Fletcher hadn't been. Fletcher had never officially worked for the Sanctuary, to be fair, but Tanith had in the years before they were on the run just this last. No wage, apparently.
She was going to get a nice surprise in the mail come the fortnight's end.
Solomon closed his eyes, lifted his hands and waited the beat for people to put their arms or shoulders under them. The next instant he felt that jarring yank as they left that particular current in the lifestream and were dunked in the one deep underground, within the Sanctuary.
The problem was that Solomon couldn't tell where. He didn't think it was the tailor's office anymore. The voices in it (Kenspeckle's voice, currently) echoed differently, as if the room was smaller or filled with objects. There had to be a better way of doing this.
"Where are we?" he asked, resignation in his tone.
"My office," Corrival answered. "I see you've persuaded the impossible to persuade, Wreath. I knew your new eyes would come in handy."
"Ah, so you chose me as Elder for my looks? Corrival, I'm flattered."
He heard a snort and the sound of a chair thudding on carpet. "Come here and sit down before you trip over something, blind man. The professor was just giving us reasons why emulating the Golem of Prague is a very bad idea."
"It was a very ill-made golem," Kenspeckle snapped as Solomon let Tanith guide him toward the chair Corrival had, apparently, indicated. "There were dozens of ways that idiot could have done things better. Good morning, Ms Sorrows. Apparently they've roped you into this fool's endeavour too."
In spite of the man's scathing words, his soul was lit up like a lightningstorm in high clouds.
no subject
He knew for a fact that Corrival had already been going over some of the stipends to figure out what money was going where. He knew because the old man had been grumbling at him about them this morning. Skulduggery was getting paid, as a detective, but Ghastly, Valkyrie, Tanith and Fletcher hadn't been. Fletcher had never officially worked for the Sanctuary, to be fair, but Tanith had in the years before they were on the run just this last. No wage, apparently.
She was going to get a nice surprise in the mail come the fortnight's end.
Solomon closed his eyes, lifted his hands and waited the beat for people to put their arms or shoulders under them. The next instant he felt that jarring yank as they left that particular current in the lifestream and were dunked in the one deep underground, within the Sanctuary.
The problem was that Solomon couldn't tell where. He didn't think it was the tailor's office anymore. The voices in it (Kenspeckle's voice, currently) echoed differently, as if the room was smaller or filled with objects. There had to be a better way of doing this.
"Where are we?" he asked, resignation in his tone.
"My office," Corrival answered. "I see you've persuaded the impossible to persuade, Wreath. I knew your new eyes would come in handy."
"Ah, so you chose me as Elder for my looks? Corrival, I'm flattered."
He heard a snort and the sound of a chair thudding on carpet. "Come here and sit down before you trip over something, blind man. The professor was just giving us reasons why emulating the Golem of Prague is a very bad idea."
"It was a very ill-made golem," Kenspeckle snapped as Solomon let Tanith guide him toward the chair Corrival had, apparently, indicated. "There were dozens of ways that idiot could have done things better. Good morning, Ms Sorrows. Apparently they've roped you into this fool's endeavour too."
In spite of the man's scathing words, his soul was lit up like a lightningstorm in high clouds.