"I appealed to her better nature," Solomon said dryly as he arranged himself in the chair, lounging back in it and looking toward China with an ironic smile. She probably didn't even see it, given the way some of her threads were fraying. "His title, by the way, China, is 'Reveller'. Apparently he felt 'Elder' made him sound too old."
"She's right on that too," Kenspeckle said, either unaware of China's issue or simply too deep into the project to care about it. Or possibly he was actually being tactful, though that was unlikely. There was an odd draft away from Skulduggery which indicated Kenspeckle preferred to ignore him and anything he might be responding to. "Golems may be powerful, but they're ridiculously expensive to maintain. To say nothing of clumsy. And inefficient. No, we can do much better than that."
"How then, professor?" Corrival asked. A few of his eels were snapping, but the amusement was equally as strong, which at least was a good sign.
Some of Kenspeckle's clouds darkened, as if the man had deflated. Solomon was all set to watch it, except ... something was trying to draw his attention. A nudge of movement in the lifestream. "Well, I don't know yet, do I? That's why you had to bring the both of us in."
Distracted, Solomon glanced toward that little fishing-hook of colour, but it dissipated before he could see from where it had come. When he tried to follow it, however, his gaze passed over the angels and Merlin watching silently against the wall. Gabe was chewing his lip. Merlin's soul was still and cold, not dirty enough to be called dirty but enough to be off-white. Rafe ...
"The real question is where the limitations to reflections lie," Kenspeckle was saying. "It might be possible to come up with a single biological animation and then generate reflections of that. Of course, even then, it would only be a simple program, I imagine, which would make it less efficient in its thought-process ..."
Rafe was playing with Rubik's Cube, his wings half-cupped around him. Which wasn't all that surprising, really. Except that the Cube was an odd one, where instead of colours there were moving images, and if the angel wasn't careful and quick enough they'd leap from one square to another and mess up his sorting.
Solomon frowned. There was something odd going on here. Rafe was completely ignoring them. He wouldn't do that, even if he'd promised not to interfere. And he was incorrigible. The most likely person to have sent Solomon out a hook, to bend that promise. Therefore, the Cube was important.
If only Solomon knew why.
The Archangel finished the Cube and held it up as if in satisfaction. Now Solomon could see the Cube wasn't really a Cube, but shaped like a castle. It was a familiar castle, like something Valkryie had once pointed out to him on a training session when she'd gotten just a little too tired of being beaten and wanted a distraction. A castle in a film. A film about sorcerers. Solomon remembered laughing at it, at the series in general, because it was so near and yet so far from the truth ...
Harry Potter, that was it.
On the castle's squares were people and objects, the sorts that might be found in a castle. People in robes, broomsticks, cats and owls, paintings. Suits of armour.
Something clicked. Solomon suppressed a smile and raised his eyebrow, and sent a thought at the Archangel. 'Cheater.'
Rafe didn't even look up at him, but one shoulder dipped vaguely sheepishly. Solomon looked up. "Couldn't we used animated suits of armour?" he asked, cutting into something Kenspeckle was saying. "We may not have to create them ourselves, if we can find enough people to sell them to us. Surely the two of you could figure out how to animate and magically protect armour already forged?"
Which, of course, only ran into the same problem of lacking free will. Solomon frowned, his gaze flickering around the room in lieu of moving toward Rafe again. Solomon wasn't going to rely on him. There was something he was missing. Rafe wouldn't make that suggestion, especially under pretence, unless it had real merit. The only problem was that Solomon couldn't tell what it was. His gaze rested on something near Corrival, something which had a faint glow about it. Not like it was magical but ...
But more like the teddy-bear in his pocket. Like Skulduggery's Bentley.
Solomon reached out and picked it up, running a hand across the smooth surface and the back of it. A picture-frame. "What's in this?"
"It's one of Guild's old photographs," Corrival said, sounding bland but with confusion in the way his eels were staring. Confusion and anticipation at once. "It's got a picture of his wife and daughter."
Another click. He turned the photograph toward the company at large. "I can see this. It was special to Guild. It has emotion in it, even though it's inanimate--enough to leave a glow in my Sight." The purpose of armour was to be worn by a person. A knight's armour was nearly sacred, a treasured object. Something into which people poured their heart and soul. "So we use armour that was owned and worn; we create a memory of the person who owned it, so that it has a manner of thought the same way the Cleavers do. Or like Lynott, at the door. We could use statues, too." The last was added in a flash of inspiration at Lynott's mention. "They're sculpted to commemorate people, to represent a being. With enough people to believe in who they represent, maybe they would have enough measure of a memory to have a semblance of free-thought too."
no subject
"She's right on that too," Kenspeckle said, either unaware of China's issue or simply too deep into the project to care about it. Or possibly he was actually being tactful, though that was unlikely. There was an odd draft away from Skulduggery which indicated Kenspeckle preferred to ignore him and anything he might be responding to. "Golems may be powerful, but they're ridiculously expensive to maintain. To say nothing of clumsy. And inefficient. No, we can do much better than that."
"How then, professor?" Corrival asked. A few of his eels were snapping, but the amusement was equally as strong, which at least was a good sign.
Some of Kenspeckle's clouds darkened, as if the man had deflated. Solomon was all set to watch it, except ... something was trying to draw his attention. A nudge of movement in the lifestream. "Well, I don't know yet, do I? That's why you had to bring the both of us in."
Distracted, Solomon glanced toward that little fishing-hook of colour, but it dissipated before he could see from where it had come. When he tried to follow it, however, his gaze passed over the angels and Merlin watching silently against the wall. Gabe was chewing his lip. Merlin's soul was still and cold, not dirty enough to be called dirty but enough to be off-white. Rafe ...
"The real question is where the limitations to reflections lie," Kenspeckle was saying. "It might be possible to come up with a single biological animation and then generate reflections of that. Of course, even then, it would only be a simple program, I imagine, which would make it less efficient in its thought-process ..."
Rafe was playing with Rubik's Cube, his wings half-cupped around him. Which wasn't all that surprising, really. Except that the Cube was an odd one, where instead of colours there were moving images, and if the angel wasn't careful and quick enough they'd leap from one square to another and mess up his sorting.
Solomon frowned. There was something odd going on here. Rafe was completely ignoring them. He wouldn't do that, even if he'd promised not to interfere. And he was incorrigible. The most likely person to have sent Solomon out a hook, to bend that promise. Therefore, the Cube was important.
If only Solomon knew why.
The Archangel finished the Cube and held it up as if in satisfaction. Now Solomon could see the Cube wasn't really a Cube, but shaped like a castle. It was a familiar castle, like something Valkryie had once pointed out to him on a training session when she'd gotten just a little too tired of being beaten and wanted a distraction. A castle in a film. A film about sorcerers. Solomon remembered laughing at it, at the series in general, because it was so near and yet so far from the truth ...
Harry Potter, that was it.
On the castle's squares were people and objects, the sorts that might be found in a castle. People in robes, broomsticks, cats and owls, paintings. Suits of armour.
Something clicked. Solomon suppressed a smile and raised his eyebrow, and sent a thought at the Archangel. 'Cheater.'
Rafe didn't even look up at him, but one shoulder dipped vaguely sheepishly. Solomon looked up. "Couldn't we used animated suits of armour?" he asked, cutting into something Kenspeckle was saying. "We may not have to create them ourselves, if we can find enough people to sell them to us. Surely the two of you could figure out how to animate and magically protect armour already forged?"
Which, of course, only ran into the same problem of lacking free will. Solomon frowned, his gaze flickering around the room in lieu of moving toward Rafe again. Solomon wasn't going to rely on him. There was something he was missing. Rafe wouldn't make that suggestion, especially under pretence, unless it had real merit. The only problem was that Solomon couldn't tell what it was. His gaze rested on something near Corrival, something which had a faint glow about it. Not like it was magical but ...
But more like the teddy-bear in his pocket. Like Skulduggery's Bentley.
Solomon reached out and picked it up, running a hand across the smooth surface and the back of it. A picture-frame. "What's in this?"
"It's one of Guild's old photographs," Corrival said, sounding bland but with confusion in the way his eels were staring. Confusion and anticipation at once. "It's got a picture of his wife and daughter."
Another click. He turned the photograph toward the company at large. "I can see this. It was special to Guild. It has emotion in it, even though it's inanimate--enough to leave a glow in my Sight." The purpose of armour was to be worn by a person. A knight's armour was nearly sacred, a treasured object. Something into which people poured their heart and soul. "So we use armour that was owned and worn; we create a memory of the person who owned it, so that it has a manner of thought the same way the Cleavers do. Or like Lynott, at the door. We could use statues, too." The last was added in a flash of inspiration at Lynott's mention. "They're sculpted to commemorate people, to represent a being. With enough people to believe in who they represent, maybe they would have enough measure of a memory to have a semblance of free-thought too."