"Probably not," Skulduggery agreed with a shrug. "But, no harm done."
Metaphorically, at least. Physically, plenty of harm had been done, even if none of it was strictly the direct result of Skulduggery's untimely arrival.
Skulduggery followed Dexter's direction and picked up the cane to hand back to Solomon. Ghastly had taken Tanith's head into his lap, and she was starting to groan with the no-doubt painful return to consciousness. Erskine was tsking and shaking his head at Dexter. "Broken ribs? Broken ribs. Dexter, how many times have I told you not to engage a lethal Russian assassin like he's just another thug in the street?"
"I offered to make you clothes," Ghastly murmured without looking up. "I have a closet full of suits you can choose from. Dexter has a point, Solomon. What was that? Your eyes were gold."
If Skulduggery had eyes, would his have changed colour? He took a moment to ponder that. Lord Vile hadn't had eyes either. Gold was, in Skulduggery's limited experience, the colour of the lifestream, but that didn't mean powerful Necromancy dealing with souls didn't come with its own colour. Black? Red? Skulduggery continued to ponder that as he gently tapped the nonlethal part of the weapon against Solomon's uninjured hand. "Here you go. Good job, by the way. Reclaiming magic in the name of good is very difficult to do."
It was the closest he could get to saying the truth with the others in the room. Because while they all either knew the truth, or had been told enough of it to make the obvious connections, Skulduggery didn't particularly feel like unnerving anyone more than he absolutely had to. Solomon would know what he meant.
Besides, something was still wrong. Skulduggery couldn't quite put his finger on it, but the slight jerking feeling - like his ribs had been hooked - hadn't vanished along with the sieve of black.
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Metaphorically, at least. Physically, plenty of harm had been done, even if none of it was strictly the direct result of Skulduggery's untimely arrival.
Skulduggery followed Dexter's direction and picked up the cane to hand back to Solomon. Ghastly had taken Tanith's head into his lap, and she was starting to groan with the no-doubt painful return to consciousness. Erskine was tsking and shaking his head at Dexter. "Broken ribs? Broken ribs. Dexter, how many times have I told you not to engage a lethal Russian assassin like he's just another thug in the street?"
"I offered to make you clothes," Ghastly murmured without looking up. "I have a closet full of suits you can choose from. Dexter has a point, Solomon. What was that? Your eyes were gold."
If Skulduggery had eyes, would his have changed colour? He took a moment to ponder that. Lord Vile hadn't had eyes either. Gold was, in Skulduggery's limited experience, the colour of the lifestream, but that didn't mean powerful Necromancy dealing with souls didn't come with its own colour. Black? Red? Skulduggery continued to ponder that as he gently tapped the nonlethal part of the weapon against Solomon's uninjured hand. "Here you go. Good job, by the way. Reclaiming magic in the name of good is very difficult to do."
It was the closest he could get to saying the truth with the others in the room. Because while they all either knew the truth, or had been told enough of it to make the obvious connections, Skulduggery didn't particularly feel like unnerving anyone more than he absolutely had to. Solomon would know what he meant.
Besides, something was still wrong. Skulduggery couldn't quite put his finger on it, but the slight jerking feeling - like his ribs had been hooked - hadn't vanished along with the sieve of black.