Deep in the bowels of the queen's palace, the kitchen was aflurry with demons preparing for tonight's feast, and Pheth hated every minute of it. He averted his eyes as Buldumech chopped off the heads of bleating imps, drained their blood, and sliced their green flesh into edible portions. He cringed as Mardero dropped squirming slugs into a boiling broth of leek and radish. And he nearly lost his gorge when Alath removed a tray of steaming cow eye sweets from the oven.

Staring up at the stars, I hear the footsteps with plenty time to spare. Two sets, trying to sneak around behind, in the dark beyond the glow of my dying fire. Graham Masters shimmers into view and opens his mouth to warn me, but I just nod and slip my pistol from its holster. So many times, desperate people will try their luck on a hapless traveller. It ain’t the first time for me. Won’t be the last.