Serah Santimano

“Kipps is the worst, though. He really hates us, doesn’t he?’

‘Not us,’ Lockwood said. ‘Me. He really hates me.’

‘But why? What’s he got against you?’

Lockwood picked up one of the bottles of water and sighed reflectively. ‘Who knows? Maybe it’s my natural style he envies, maybe my boyish charm. Perhaps it’s my set-up here – having my own agency, no one to answer to, with fine companions at my side.’ He caught my eye and smiled.

George looked up from his comic. ‘Or could be the fact you once stabbed him in the bottom with a sword.’

‘Yes, well, there is that.’ Lockwood took a sip of water.

I looked back and forth between them. ‘What?’ I said. ‘When did this happen?”
― Jonathan Stroud, The Whispering Skull

“Being diplomatic, I’d say Kipps was a slightly built young man in his early twenties, with close-cut reddish hair and a narrow, freckled face. Being undiplomatic (but more precise), I’d say he’s a pint-sized, pug-nosed, carrot-topped inadequate with a chip the size of Big Ben on his weedy shoulder. A sneer on legs. A malevolent buffoon. He’s too old to be any good with ghosts, but that doesn’t stop him wearing the blingiest rapier you’ll ever see, weighed down to the pommel with cheap paste jewels.”
― Jonathan Stroud, The Whispering Skull

“Hey, Flo! It’s Lockwood!’

Silence. The figure straightened abruptly; I thought for a moment it was going to turn and run. But then the voice came again, faint, hostile and guarded. ‘You? What the bloody hell do you want?’

‘Oh, that’s fine,’ Lockwood murmured. ‘She’s in a good mood.’ He cleared his throat, called out again. ‘Can you talk?’

The distant person considered; for a few seconds we heard nothing except the sloop and slosh of the river along the shore. ‘No. I’m busy! Go away.’

‘I’ve brought liquorice!’

‘What, you’re trying to bribe me now? Bring money!’ More silence; just the sucking of the water. Away in the haze a head was cocked to one side. ‘What kind of liquorice?”
― Jonathan Stroud, The Whispering Skull

“Lucy,’ Lockwood said, ‘the last time I saw body language like yours was when we were chatting to Martine Grey about her missing husband, and afterwards found him at the bottom of her freezer.”
― Jonathan Stroud, The Whispering Skull