The creature was mostly snake now, its massive body coiled beneath the Demon, resting on six muscled legs and balancing by the four small wings that sprouted from behind its horse-like skull. Qeteb gazed down on the scene below him, and smiled.

Millions of creatures clustered about the shores of the lake, parting only when Raspu began to move slowly towards the line of hills where the witch Gwendylyr had made her stand. The creatures howled and screeched, now grovelling on the ground when Raspu passed, or when they thought their Great Master might look down on them from his hilltop.

Their blackened mass spread from the shores of the lake, past the pile of rubble that had once been Sigholt, and up a gully which Qeteb supposed led to Gwendylyr.

At the head of the mass several Wing of the Strike Force — and Qeteb thought they looked very pretty with their ethereal bodies and sparkling jewel-like wings — kept back the worst of the tide, but Qeteb could also see that within hours of Gwendylyr failing, as fail she must, the pretty flying creatures would be overwhelmed.

Qeteb laughed, and turned his head so he could see his opponent on the adjoining hilltop.

There DragonStar sat the Star Stallion, the Alaunt crouched about the stallion's hooves, baying and growling at the Demon who laughed at them.

"A wager, StarSon?" Qeteb called, but DragonStar ignored him.

He felt sick to the stomach. This would be the first test, the first confrontation.

Strangely enough, although of all the five witches Gwendylyr was the most unversed in matters of power, DragonStar had the most confidence in her. But this meant, conversely, that if Gwendylyr failed, then it was unlikely that any of the others would succeed.

DragonStar concentrated on the sight of Raspu moving through the crowd of demented creatures.

"What is the trap, StarSon?" Qeteb called. "What will the poor girl try to frighten the Demon of Pestilence with?"

A choice, thought DragonStar, but this is not what he told Qeteb.

He raised his head, and smiled sweetly, and he called across the gully between them: "She will offer him the position of butler, Qeteb. How will he manage a household of fractious servants, do you think?"

Qeteb stared at DragonStar, then looked for Raspu. He had vanished.

One moment he had been passing through the ranks of the adoring, slavering creatures, the Strike Force soaring and dipping prettily — and mostly uselessly — overhead, and the next he stood alone before the door of a great house.

Raspu blinked, and scratched absently at a particularly virulent pustule that had just appeared on his left cheek.

He looked up, and then around, very carefully.

A great moor stretched out to either side and behind him. It was a featureless sweep of fog- and cloud-wrapped rolling hills, its only adornment low gorse bushes and struggling, spiky grass.

A wall of sleet was moving in from the south-west.

Raspu grunted. He would not let the distraction of such beauty affect his concentration.

He returned his stare before him. The door was very ordinary, set in a featureless wall of grey stone that stretched as high and wide as the Demon could see. The door itself was some five paces high and two wide, fitted into a great arch with a tree carved into the door frame and a man and a woman similarly carved on either side of the door; the woman was holding an apple.

Curved iron hinges — slightly rusted in this atmosphere — supported the considerable weight of the door. An iron knocker, in the shape of an imp's head with glowing red eyes, was centred on the wood.

Raspu stared at the door.

He waited.

The shower of sleet moved closer.

Raspu waited.

A gust of cold air struck him squarely in his naked back, and Raspu shifted impatiently.

"Ahem," he said.

Nothing happened.

Raspu's eyes narrowed in furious concentration. He threw all his power at the door.

It trembled, but did not budge.

Raspu screamed with impatience. "Let me in!"

The door remained quiet, and Raspu's face tightened, malformed, then relaxed.

He sighed, leaned forward, and banged the doorknocker several times.

Instantly, the door swung open, and there stood Gwendylyr. She was dressed in a stiff black gown, tightly buttoned from its high neckline down the whale-boned bodice to the starched and snowy apron tied firmly about her waist. Sensible brown polished boots peeked out from beneath the perfectly straight hem of the dress.

Gwendylyr's hair was pulled back into a severe bun, and her face was scrubbed and earnest.

Not a hair was out of place.

"Thank goodness you've come!" Gwendylyr exclaimed, and, reaching forward, hauled Raspu inside.

The door slammed shut.

Chapter 48

Gwendylyr's Problem

"I have such a problem," Gwendylyr said to the Demon, hurrying him through the mansion's foyer. Raspu was so nonplussed he still could not speak, nor resist Gwendylyr's efficient bustling.

"It's the staff," Gwendylyr continued, moving Raspu towards an inconspicuous green baize door set behind the sweeping grand staircase. "I don't know what to do with them. That's why I'm so glad you're here!"

Raspu opened his mouth, but couldn't think what to say. This was not quite what he'd expected.

A flash of lightning, a clap of thunder and a clash of powers yes, but not... not... not this.

"My last butler couldn't cope," Gwendylyr said. "And, to be frank, I don't really blame him. The help are simply frightful."

"I don't know what this is all —"

Gwendylyr threw open the green baize door, and propelled Raspu through with a none-too-gentle shove in the small of his back.

She did not appear to notice the slime of his encrustations left on the palm of her hand.

Beyond the door was a long narrow stone corridor, all functionality and no beauty. Small doors opened off at infrequent intervals along its length.