"I'm not that drunk yet," said Solomon. Nicely buzzed and vaguely uninhibited, yes, but not so drunk as to be incapable of making accurate observations. "By the way, you can never fight him. Ever. I don't care what your new adoptee might have happened to do or how badly he might need you to cover for him, you can't fight Bakura."

It was a sudden assertion, but a very calm one--the sort of calmness that only came from being uninhibited. Actually, he felt like he could really use another drink, but Skulduggery had taken his glass and Solomon was sober enough that the distance was enough of a deterrent to getting one, shadows or no shadows.

"He's another you," he added a little belatedly and very longsufferingly. "And it would be very, very bad if the two of you had to fight each other."

The only difference between them was that Bakura had far more control; which, frankly, was unnerving all on its own. But if Skulduggery was ever recognised as a combatant by the khajbit--well, everyone on the turtle could say goodbye to living.