It was mildly annoying, spending an entire year trying to stay two steps ahead of Skulduggery's little gang. Guild had gotten sick of it more than once, so he didn't mind admitting that it felt good to finally have a legitimate reason for arresting some of them. It felt good to be standing in this room, watching Bespoke getting handcuffed to the desk, even though he knew it would take highly unorthodox methods to get anything from the tailor. Pleasant had an even more annoying habit of inspiring misguided loyalty.
Guild had the utmost confidence that Marr would get the job done, in any case. She was exactly the unorthodox means the Irish Sanctuary needed.
... Or at least, he did have confidence, until they were both equally flabbergasted by the sudden arrival of Skulduggery Pleasant and the man Guild had seen in his office.
The stranger was hanging off of Pleasant's arm, face twisted in pain, looking just as dirty and ragged as Guild remembered. The same khakis and shirt, now with a cowboy hat stuck on top, as if the pair had been off gallivanting around theme parks while Guild had been going out of his mind trying to find them. He was sure the hat was a new addition, even though the man seemed to speak with a flawless Southern American accent.
Pleasant whirled on the man an instant after they appeared, though he was apparently being careful to remain a support. "Do you want Professor Grouse to blacklist me? Don't get me wrong, I'm flattered you apparently want to stay here so much longer, but I'd rather it was your choice, and not because you're forced to. I'm sure many others do too. Your Father, for instance."
Bespoke, who had been staring at the cowboy hat, abruptly seemed to come to his senses and clear his throat. "Skul?"
"In a minute." Pleasant's movements had grown more gentle, one hand on either of the American man's shoulders. "Are you okay?"
Guild finally managed to find his voice. "What," he began, injecting as much venom into it as he could, "the hell is going on here?"
Pleasant turned to face him. "Language, Thurid. Trust me. Language." He paused, expressionless skull pointed in Marr's direction. When he next spoke, his voice was underlined with shock, which Guild felt was much more appropriate for the bizarre situation. "Marr? What are you doing here?"
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Guild had the utmost confidence that Marr would get the job done, in any case. She was exactly the unorthodox means the Irish Sanctuary needed.
... Or at least, he did have confidence, until they were both equally flabbergasted by the sudden arrival of Skulduggery Pleasant and the man Guild had seen in his office.
The stranger was hanging off of Pleasant's arm, face twisted in pain, looking just as dirty and ragged as Guild remembered. The same khakis and shirt, now with a cowboy hat stuck on top, as if the pair had been off gallivanting around theme parks while Guild had been going out of his mind trying to find them. He was sure the hat was a new addition, even though the man seemed to speak with a flawless Southern American accent.
Pleasant whirled on the man an instant after they appeared, though he was apparently being careful to remain a support. "Do you want Professor Grouse to blacklist me? Don't get me wrong, I'm flattered you apparently want to stay here so much longer, but I'd rather it was your choice, and not because you're forced to. I'm sure many others do too. Your Father, for instance."
Bespoke, who had been staring at the cowboy hat, abruptly seemed to come to his senses and clear his throat. "Skul?"
"In a minute." Pleasant's movements had grown more gentle, one hand on either of the American man's shoulders. "Are you okay?"
Guild finally managed to find his voice. "What," he began, injecting as much venom into it as he could, "the hell is going on here?"
Pleasant turned to face him. "Language, Thurid. Trust me. Language." He paused, expressionless skull pointed in Marr's direction. When he next spoke, his voice was underlined with shock, which Guild felt was much more appropriate for the bizarre situation. "Marr? What are you doing here?"