The strangled tone of Paddy's voice made Solomon wish there was something he could do for the man other than add to his numbness. There wasn't. Solomon didn't know how to comfort. The most he could do was be honest, and after the life he'd led that was still an achievement.

Unwillingly he still smiled. Grimly, but with genuine if ironic amusement. "There was a little sickness going around at the time called the Black Death. People didn't keep track of causes back then. Someone dropping dead for no apparent reason? They assumed it was the plague, or one of the myriads of other diseases going around at the time."

Solomon hesitated. His chest clenched in that familiar manner it did whenever he thought too deeply on Skulduggery and his being Vile. "He's ... no longer a threat," he said at last. "It's complicated. Only a handful of people know what happened to him. I'm not going to tell you, but only because it won't help you to know right now. Ask me again in a week or two, if you still want an answer."

There was no way he was going to add that burden to Paddy's shoulders until the priest was good and ready. In the meantime Solomon tried to muster a smile and failed. "Well. This conversation took a turn I wasn't intending, I admit."