"He may have mentioned it once or twice," Solomon said, "or three, or four, or a dozen. He was very proud of that hat." He went on about that hat the very same way he talked about his Bentley today, except that the hat retired soon after that debacle.
Talking about that hat, and that crash, brought back more details of memories which had been hazy for years. Memories Solomon hadn't thought about in literally centuries, because they had hurt too much. Memories he'd shut away to convince himself they didn't hurt, that he didn't care. Dusty, cramped, now with the dust being properly wiped off.
They hadn't gone to the docks intending to sail a boat. They'd gone to the docks to meet Ghastly. Because Skulduggery wanted to introduce Solomon to his best friend. Solomon closed his eyes for a moment and mentally rearranged the memories, comparing the now and the then and was startled by the rush of warmth and regret at the contrast.
The Skulduggery back then had been practically glowing with pride and eagerness at the meeting. Solomon had been too young, too used to his father's restraint, to quite recognise it. Later, he'd been too hurt and embittered to see it.
Regret, Solomon was finding, was a very constricting emotion. It tightened his chest, left a lump in his throat and a burn in his eyes which he'd rathered not experience and couldn't deny either. "He was so excited about that meeting," he murmured, his tone edged with that nostalgic, regretful awe of something unremembered for so long that it was a revelation on its own. "He kept on teasing me about a 'surprise'. I think he was more excited than I was."
How different would things have been, if he'd only held on a little while longer? If he'd only trusted Skulduggery a little while longer? What sort of magic would he be using now, if he'd never been a Necromancer?
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Talking about that hat, and that crash, brought back more details of memories which had been hazy for years. Memories Solomon hadn't thought about in literally centuries, because they had hurt too much. Memories he'd shut away to convince himself they didn't hurt, that he didn't care. Dusty, cramped, now with the dust being properly wiped off.
They hadn't gone to the docks intending to sail a boat. They'd gone to the docks to meet Ghastly. Because Skulduggery wanted to introduce Solomon to his best friend. Solomon closed his eyes for a moment and mentally rearranged the memories, comparing the now and the then and was startled by the rush of warmth and regret at the contrast.
The Skulduggery back then had been practically glowing with pride and eagerness at the meeting. Solomon had been too young, too used to his father's restraint, to quite recognise it. Later, he'd been too hurt and embittered to see it.
Regret, Solomon was finding, was a very constricting emotion. It tightened his chest, left a lump in his throat and a burn in his eyes which he'd rathered not experience and couldn't deny either. "He was so excited about that meeting," he murmured, his tone edged with that nostalgic, regretful awe of something unremembered for so long that it was a revelation on its own. "He kept on teasing me about a 'surprise'. I think he was more excited than I was."
How different would things have been, if he'd only held on a little while longer? If he'd only trusted Skulduggery a little while longer? What sort of magic would he be using now, if he'd never been a Necromancer?