"If that was supposed to be comforting, Ravel, you fell far short of it," said Solomon, a touch more shortly than he would have only yesterday. Ravel had tried to have him murdered. Twice. Solomon wouldn't usually take it personally, except that it was personal. Ravel had acted like someone who might become, if not a friend, than at least a trusted colleague.

The worst part was, as ridiculous as it was, that a part of him felt almost ... left out.

He heard the sound of someone clapping a hand to someone else's shoulder, and caught a glimpse of Hopeless doing so to Ravel in the mind-reader's own turning soul. "Don't fight it," said Hopeless. "I'd have thought you knew better than to fight it after nearly three centuries with us, but since it's been a while, I'll forgive you. By the way, if you fall over, you'll probably fall on Rover. Just in case that makes a difference to your decision."

"For the record, I don't mind Erskine falling on me," Larrikin chirruped up. "Erskine has a very nice arse for falling." There came the sound of a slap muffled by clothing. Solomon sighed, and rolled his eyes, and got to his feet.

"If you're all done with your metaphysical orgy," he said sardonically, "might we all attend to our other pressing business?"