Chapter Text
“Millie – Millie, please slow down!”
“Ah, nonsense, Moxx – you gotta have more attitude on the road than the other drivers, else you’ll never get anywhere!”
Another streetlight buckled and crumpled under the wheels of the I.M.P. van as it rampaged down the street (and, occasionally, sidewalk). Millie craned forward over the steering-wheel, swerving through traffic and pedestrian alike.
“I-I think we might hit someone if we carry on like this!” cried her husband Moxxie, curled up in terror on the seat beside her. Aww, he was so cute when he was peeking through his fingers like that!
“I’m usin’ the horn, silly – that’s what it’s for, after all!” she replied, taking a shortcut around the corner – well, you weren’t going through a red light if you dodged around the lights altogether! “Besides, we’re not gonn’ be late for this, babe – that would be unprofessional of us!”
Moxxie clung to the seatbelt, his imp-red skin taking on a pale tinge. “I think we also have get there alive – ugh, yes, yes sir, yes I’m still here!”
The phone in Moxxie’s hand lit up as he switched it to speaker-mode; through it, Millie heard her boss Blitzø scrambling for control of the office-phone. “Loony, Loony baby, you’re doing a wonderful job sweetie, you can have the phone back just as soon as I figure out what the fuck is going on over there!!!” he yelped, “Moxxie? Moxxie, you bitch, I’m the boss of this company and I should be able to go meet any client I want!”
“Sir, please!” Moxxie replied, exasperated, “The client specifically said they didn’t want you there, and besides, Millie and I can handle – ”
Moxxie was flung against the window, pressing up against the glass as Millie was forced to make a sharp left. “Oops! Sorry hon, nearly there!”
“…Can handle it.” he continued from the corner of his mouth. “Besides,” he added, peeling himself off with a ‘pop’, “You have plenty to do at the office! What about all the insurance documents that need signing?”
“That’s bullshit, I did all that crap a week ago!”
“Sir, you spelled your name wrong on them a week ago, they’ve all been sent back – look, just get Loona to help you – ”
“I don’t do paperwork, possum.” drawled a distant voice at the end of the line.
“Loony doesn’t do paperwork!” agreed Blitzø. “And neither do I! I didn’t open an office to sit and do files and forms and shit, I get paid to kill people, and I don’t like being told not to kill anybody!”
Moxxie fumed; “Then go do one of the other jobs! There must be a job you can do whilst we’re on this one?!?”
“I don’t wanna go alone…”
“Then take Loona!”
“I don’t do dirty-work, possum.” “Loony doesn’t do dirty-work!”
“What DOES Loona do?!?”
Blasting the van up and over a construction-ramp, Millie’s hands clenched on the steering-wheel. “Moxxie sweetheart, I gotta concentrate on the road, would you mind keepin’ it down a little?”
Moxxie looked up from his phone, his yellow eyes widening as he saw they were sailing through the air. “MILLIE!!!”
With a thundering crash, the van returned to tarmac, snaking through the outskirts of Imp City and out towards the more affluent areas of the Pride Ring.
“What was that?!? What’s going on?!?” yelled Blitzø, “Is she fucking up my van? Damn it Moxxie, I told you to drive!”
Millie scoffed; “It’s fiiiine, Blitz – anyways, the last time Moxxie drove, it took nearly a whole weekend to get to my folks’ house! This client lives up in the fancy part of Pride, so they must be someone rich and famous; bein’ late’s just not an option!”
Privately, Millie had been wondering that since they’d gotten the call this morning. Some fancy-talking imp had rung up the office and requested an urgent job – the client was to be met immediately and the work was to be carried out by the end of the day. No name was given, and strict instructions were given that on no account should Blitzø either attend the meeting or be any way involved with the work in question. So, here they were – Team M-and-M, out on a mission alone!
“Aww, Moxxie, ain’t this gonn’ be nice?” she cooed, “Jus’ you an’ me, doin’ it all by ourselves?”
Her husband, partly-crumpled next to her, returned a shy smile. “Y-Yeah, I guess it is… It’s like turning a work-day into a date!”
“ARE YOU TWO GOING TO BE FUCKING EACH OTHER ALL DAY?!?” Blitzø blared down the phone, “IS THAT IT?!? HAVE YOU MADE THIS JOB UP JUST SO MOXXIE CAN GET HIS ASS – ”
Moxxie deftly hung up, removing the battery and tucking the phone in the top pocket of his blue velvet tailcoat.
The roads were a lot calmer out here – Imp City had given way to rolling countryside estates, with many more imps tending to lawns and sprucing up flowering hedgerows. “Haven’t we been round here before?” Millie asked, “Ain’t this near where that Prince who’s bangin’ Blitz lives?”
Moxxie peeked up. “Hey, yeah! Stolas definitely lives somewhere around here, but surely it wouldn’t be him? After all, if he wants something done in the human world, he can do that himself – we even used his grimoire, before we got our Asmodean Crystal!”
Millie nodded. “An’ if it was, there’s no way he’d ask Blitz to keep out of it – why, he’d be more likely to ask for just Blitz!”
“Maybe it’s a surprise for Blitz? Oh, or maybe he’s just trying to get us out of the way so he and Blitz can, um – well, you know – but then wouldn’t he want Loona out of the way as well?”
The van turned into a large driveway, a broad expansive path flanked by finely-crafted topiary. Before them loomed an enormous navy-blue mansion – definitely not Stolas’ place. Parking up outside the front entrance, the two imps disembarked, looking up in wonder.
“…Any ideas?”
“Not a clue…”
A well-dressed butler imp bustled up towards them, eyes closed and nose upturned. “You must be I.M.P.,” he remarked dryly.
This one was coming off awfully snooty – just the sort of thing which made Millie’s blood boil. “Did the sign on the van give it away?” she snarked, hand on hip.
The butler frowned, glancing between her and Moxxie. “Well, at least one of you dressed appropriately to receive Lord Ospex’s guest…” he sighed. “Follow me.”
“Whoa there, mister!” Millie intervened, stepping in front of him and squaring up. “Jus’ what exactly d’you mean by that? Where I come from, imps say what’s on their mind!”
The butler’s thick white moustache twitched as he was halted in his tracks. “Uff! Well, if you’re going to visit aristocracy – ”
“The caller never specified aristocracy,” said Moxxie pointedly. “They asked for I.M.P., this is what I.M.P. looks like – minus one or two other members…”
“Yeah – ” Millie jabbed, inched from him, “So less o’ the remarks, or I’ll bust your butler ass six-ways-from-Sloth, y’hear?”
“Ehe, um…” Moxxie was giving her that ‘things-are-getting-a-bit-heated’ look. “Perhaps a point for next time! Lead on…”
Relieved, the butler moved around her and carried on, leading them into the opalescent entrance-hall and down a long, lavish corridor. Oh, that pompous little ass! She ought to whoop him something fierce, see how well-dressed he felt when she was done with him!
To be honest, this whole place made her feel on edge – any place like this, in fact. It was fine for Moxxie – he’d always known how to talk to fancy folk, he always dressed so smart, he even loved all this high-and-mighty portraiture on the walls. Millie was a country-girl, a born farmhand – all this gilded finery was as far away from a farm as you could get, and one or two of the stares from the servants running about the place were making her feel mighty unwelcome…
She felt Moxxie squeeze her hand. That charming, adoring smile of his beamed at her as they walked down the corridor – one which, here and now, said “We’ll come back later to kick his ass if you want”. She put her chin up, just like Mama taught her. These fancy-pants jerks were just mad they were serving a puffed-up aristocrat instead of making their own way like her…
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of bickering coming from a room up ahead; one female voice she recognised, along with another she was unfamiliar with.
“…Mum, I look like a toilet-roll cover. I literally look like a cake.”
That was Stolas’ daughter, Octavia Goetia! Millie exchanged a puzzled look with her husband; was she the guest of this resident ‘Lord Ospex’? What was she doing here?
“Darling, just let them try to adjust it a bit more – you might like it when it suits your shape…”
“I haven’t got a fucking shape!”
The door was launched open, knocking Moxxie clean off his feet. Out marched… well, Millie assumed it was Octavia, but honestly it was hard to tell. The avian princess was wearing a large, pouffy ball-gown in pale pink, covered in feather-like ruffles and more lace than a cobbler’s shop. Her feathery hairstyle, usually splayed out beneath a beanie, had been brushed straight, and her face was a sheer picture of loathing beneath painted blush and rosy eyeshadow.
Moxxie looked up from the floor. “Princess Octavia!” he blustered – Millie gave him a hoist by the shoulder so he could get his footing. “So good to see you again! You look, ah, enchanting?”
Dangerous game, telling that to someone who felt anything but. “We’re here to help, miss!” Millie chirped, giving her a big smile and standing to attention. “We didn’t realise it was you who hired us?”
Octavia’s disgust briefly melded with confusion. “What? No, I didn’t hire you, I don’t even live here – Oh, will you fuck off?!?” she snapped at the seamstress following her, needle in hand. “That’s it, I’m going to get all this stuff off me – hope it’s me you two are here to kill, if I don’t drown in this dress first…” Snatching her hat back from the seamstress, she stormed past them towards the stairs, cursing as she repeatedly trod on the girthy skirt at every step.
“Huh…” Moxxie scratched his head. “If she’s not the client, who is? I don’t see Stolas around here anywhere?”
“Of course you don’t.”
That second voice was back, burning with a low fury behind them. The two assassins wheeled around on the spot, looking up at the speaker. There, in a similar gown to that which so vexed her daughter, glaring down at Millie and Moxxie with eyes like glowing coals, was Princess Stella Goetia. With a flick of her talons, she shooed away the butler and the seamstress, who scurried from her sight.
“My good-for-nothing, pathetic excuse for a husband wouldn’t dare interrupt the time I have with my daughter – and even if he had that much of a spine, he certainly wouldn’t have enough to turn up here himself. Speaking of which, I assume my instructions regarding the…” She paused as though fighting the urge to retch. “…other imp were made quite clear?”
Ohhh, now it made sense – if Stella was the client, the very sight of Blitzø would likely prompt her to rip him to pieces. “Yes ma’am,” Millie replied, “You won’ see hide nor hair of him!”
The towering, white-faced avian sniffed, drawing herself up – she easily stood at over twice the imps’ height. “Good – because if I ever do, he’ll be the next taxidermied creature in Octavia’s collection!” Millie eyed Stella as her feathers ruffled out wide with rage – oh, Millie believed her alright… “Follow, imps.”
With a flurry of her veil-like curtain of silver head-feathers, she strode further along the corridor. Beside Millie, Moxxie looked ready to faint.
“She’s the client?!?” he hissed, tottering after her. “We can’t do this – we have to get out of here!”
“Relax!” Millie whispered sharply, “Sure, Blitz ain’t in her good books, but that ain’t our fault? Let’s just see who she wants killin’ and get to work, huh honey?”
Ahead of them, Stella pulled open a door to an adjacent study and proceeded inside. Within, the room consisted of a broad wooden desk and shelves bearing hundreds of antique volumes – not only that, though, the room was also host to around a dozen inky-black creatures vaguely resembling spiders. Around the imps’ size, they were horribly slimy and dripped oil wherever they walked, and bore the heads of grey, mopey-looking humans, their flesh half-melted and yet somehow unnaturally boring to behold.
“Ignore the lawyers,” Stella remarked of them, sweeping behind the desk as the creatures filed through stacks of paper, droning and groaning as they did so. “Divorce is a bitter pill to swallow, but if Stolas thinks I’m not going to have the best Hell has to offer, he’s as naïve as he is unfaithful.”
Millie eyed the bizarre demons. “They must have a lot of competition down here…”
“Th-Thank you, ma’am – your highness!” Moxxie stammered, bowing low before the princess. “It is our honour to serve nobility such as yourselves, and we hope that our services will please both you and your daughter – she is looking so… well.”
Stella raised an eyebrow, the lengthy black wings of her eyelashes shuttering with an unimpressed blink. “Oh, of course, you’ve met…” she hissed, “When my so-called husband was too busy breaking everything I owned to look after her. The thought of her stuck in that wretched cesspit of a city in the human-world – ugh, I could have murdered him for being so reckless…” Again, Millie believed her.
Rolling her eyes, Stella continued. “Octavia is making her debut at court in a week, and Stolas hasn’t prepared her for it in the slightest! She is in line to be Queen of the Ars Goetia aristocracy, and this will be her first opportunity to establish herself – all the Goetias who matter will be present, and even some from other aristocracies; so it must go absolutely right for her. I will not allow anything to get in her way or diminish her confidence – she must be able to stand tall amongst courtiers, or they’ll exploit her ruthlessly. That,” she explained, tapping her talons sharply, “is why you are here.”
“Don’t you worry, ma’am!” Millie exclaimed, “Jus’ give us the word and we’ll kill any human up there who might cause trouble for her – or if you need someone sendin’ to Hell to help her out!”
“Killing isn’t the point,” said Stella sharply. “There’s an art gallery on Earth, some rat-infested cloud of smog called ‘London’ – the lawyers will give you the details. You’re going to go up there and retrieve the yet-to-be-unveiled main exhibit, then you’re going to bring it to me undamaged and unused.”
“Um, ma’am? Your highness?” Moxxie interjected, stooping low with his hands clasped submissively. “It’s not that we don’t wish to serve, but we’re really more in the business of assassinations, murders, th-that sort of thing – ”
Stella suddenly stood, lunging forward across the desk as her tidal-wave of a dress blasted everything off it; her petite, snarling beak thrust so close to Moxxie that he stumbled backwards and dropped. “I have better options than you if I want someone dead, you wretched little creatures!” she snapped, her eyes a pinkish inferno, “But they can’t get to the human world – that seems to be something unique to your absurd crew of thugs, and it’s not as though I can ask my treacherous husband to use his grimoire! You will retrieve that item, you will bring it back here in one piece, and if it’s in any way damaged by the time it gets here, you’ll suffer for it. Are we clear?”
Ooooh, how dare she speak to Millie’s Moxxie like that! Every bone in her body was screaming to ask just who in tarnation this princess thought she was, but they’d promised Blitzø they could get this done; besides, it was the kind of thing Moxxie would suggest could be good for business. Instead, Millie bit her tongue, but it took a whole lot of biting to say nothing to this swannish aristocrat.
With a whimper, Moxxie nodded. “Y-Yes ma’am! Thank you for your business!”
A butler imp scurried close to his mistress, offering her a platter of skewered mice in an effort to calm her. Stella slowly sat back down, gazing imperiously and drumming her talons on the wrecked desk. “Good. Now get to it – the item’s needed before sundown.” she added, flicking her long silver plumes behind her shoulders. “The other imp is to know nothing, and if you even think of breathing a word of it to Stolas…”
Pinching a skewered mouse in her talons, she swallowed it whole and snapped the stick between her thumb and forefinger. “…you’ll sorely regret it.”
---
Moxxie stooped over double, hands on his knees as he hyperventilated by the van. “Oh crumbs, oh gosh, oh no – this is bad, this is SO bad – !”
He felt his wife’s hands rub soothingly against his back, though it did little to stop the heaving sensation in his chest. “Now, don’t you go gettin’ yourself in a panic, Moxx – you were so eager to make this a special mission this mornin’! Remember, just the two of us? Team M-an’-M?”
“We didn’t know who the client was then! You’ve heard Blitz talk about her, she’s – she’s – ” Well, he couldn’t remember the exact chain of misogynistic expletives Blitzø had used last time, but he was pretty sure the word ‘psycho’ had come up at least twice.
“She’s a client, like all the rest!” Millie urged him, nuzzling the back of his neck. “You wanna throw up, get it all out of your system?”
He popped an antiacid, but hadn’t fully-swallowed it by the time he replied; “Hrk – No, no think I’m alrighfff…” he spluttered through a mouthful of foam. “I – I really wanfffed to get thish one righfff, you know? Prove to Blifffsh I can do ifff…”
“Now look here, mister!” Cupping his cheeks, Millie held up his face to hers. “You always do a good job, Moxx – and I’m right here with you. Together, we can do jus’ about anything – ain’t that the truth?”
Ah, those big yellow eyes of hers! That determination, that energy, that confidence! She was his moon and sun, she was the only one – for him, oh his Millie…
“…Thafff’sh the fffruth.” he sighed, his cheeks tingling as he gazed on that smile, leaning in. “Ahhh, Millie – ”
“Ah, no smooches, hon, you’re all fizzy.” In a flash, the Asmodean Crystal was in her hand. “Let’s get to that art gallery and show these frilly fancy-asses who they’ve hired!”
---
Loona felt her eyebrow twitch. Reading Blitzø’s handwriting wasn’t easy, but doing so from the other side of her desk whilst he held up the placard in question made her want to put a hole in the wall. “Easy now Loona, a deal’s a deal…”
Leaning forward and squinting, she answered the phone. “…“Good m-morning, sir-stroke-ma’am” – what the fuck, Blitz?!?” she hissed, putting her palm over the speaker.
Blitzø’s eyes widened, turning the placard around. “Shit, sorry sweetie, Moxxie said that one out loud, I just wrote it down – just pick one!”
Trying her best not to bare her clenched teeth, the hellhound growled back; “How am I supposed to know if it’s a ‘sir’ or a ‘ma’am’ when I’ve just picked up on this asshole?!?”
Tinny noises burbled from the phone – Blitzø hurriedly changed placards, gesturing for her to continue. Damn it, this was painful, but she couldn’t take looking at his stupid hopeful face anymore. “Uh, shit – sorry, uh, that was… the other receptionist. She’s new, we’re training her,” said Loona into the phone, reading the next placard.
‘Diz iz IMP. Hoo mahy wee hlp u 2day?’
Fuck. “This is IMP. Who may – fuck, how may we h-help you today?”
The gruff male voice on the line barked back; “Huh? This is the right place, yeah? The murder-guys?”
By now, Blitzø had his next placard ready; ‘Hu mahy wee kll 4 u?’
“Uhh…” Shit, the caller wasn’t fucking asking about that yet! “Yeah – I mean, yes sir, we’re the…” What the fuck did ‘I.M.P.’ stand for again? Someone must have mentioned it at some point, but she couldn’t remember anything from those mind-numbing meetings which hadn’t already turned to white noise.
Blitzø leaned closer. “You’re doing great, Loony!” he whispered, climbing up onto the desk and shoving the placard towards her face; “Are you having trouble seeing the words – ?”
Rage bubbling up, Loona seized the placard and scrunched it down against the desk to let her see the poster on the wall behind him – ‘Immediate Murder Professionals’!
“We’re the Immediate Murder Professionals! Who…” Oh shit, oh fuck, she needed that placard back! Pushing Blitzø off the desk, she tried to flatten it out with her elbow whilst keeping the phone close to her ear. “…“may… we kill for you?””
“You okay, lady?” the voice guffawed in reply, “Maybe you should put me on with someone who’s panties are a little less twisted, huh?”
Her teeth clenched, lips curling with the effort of not telling this asshole to shove a porcupine up his dick so his wife could finally feel something when he fucked her. A… deal’s… a… deal!
“N-No sir, I’m fine – ” She glanced at a note taped to her computer – “thank you”. Ugh, Blitzø’s dopey starry-eyed expression made her want to hurl. “Who may we kill for you… please?” Damn it, was that right? Was that where that went?
“Alright, you smart-ass bitch – ” the caller fumed, “It ain’t my fault I got the wrong fuckin’ number, this is what I.M.P. put on their shitty fliers, so don’t fuckin’ waste my time with pranks – ”
“What? This isn’t a prank – ”
“Can it, broad! I oughta come find you and pull your spine out through your – ”
Creaks and cracks splintered from the phone as Loona’s grip tightened. Claws already scoring lines down it, Loona locked onto another note. “SIR – we here at I.M.P. do not tolerate unkindness towards our staff – ” Did Moxxie fucking write this one too? Yeah, it was readable, must have been him… “If you continue to be… “de-rog-a-tory” towards me, I’ll have to “terminate this call”!” She was on her feet – it wasn’t clear when it had happened, or when the desk had tipped over, or when she had risen so high on her hackles, but she hadn’t – been – rude – yet – !!!
“Ohhh, think you’re pretty fuckin’ hilarious, don’t ya?!?” the caller roared, “See how funny ya think it is when I – ”
“I’M HANGING UP NOW – GOODBYE!!!” With a snarl, she tore the wire in two with her teeth. Fur on end, she bounded over the table, charging on all fours to the punching-bag hanging from the ceiling; having promptly ripped it off its chain, she slammed it to the floor and began furiously goring out the stuffing.
Out of the corner of her red-filled vision, she saw the desk tilt up just enough to let Blitzø crawl out from under it. “Heh… agh… oh man, and I just had my back fixed up after Stolas insisted on that trapeze-shit…” Coughing, he crawled up beside Loona, patting her gingerly on the shoulder. “Great job sweetie, you’re doing just perfect! Daddy’s very proud of you – j-just make it to closing-time like this, and you’ve won the bet …”
Spitting out stuffing, Loona felt a migraine coming on. This would be a long day…
---
Millie’s hand clasped tightly around Moxxie’s as the two of them darted amongst crowds of humans. This ‘London’ was worse than Imp City – dizzying criss-crosses of people so rude they’d last all of five seconds in Wrath, and so pompous they’d be sent straight to Pride when the stinking smoggy air of this city eventually killed them. More than once, Millie had been forced to drive her elbow into the back of someone’s knee to get them to budge, and Moxxie’s initial attempts at navigating via polite requests had been met with screeching hostility. Oh, and the noises the humans here made! If you were lucky, one might sound like Princess Stella (or, more rarely, Princess Octavia) but for the most part they communicated in a near-incomprehensible jumble of grunts and groans – it definitely wasn’t hard to tell that these things all used to be apes, and a few of them seemed to be moving towards something more porcine…
A snag tugged on her arm. “C’mon Moxx!” she called, trying to pull him further along the underground train station. “This gallery’s gonna be open any minute, we gotta beat the crowds!”
Moxxie’s head popped above the cluster of humans wedged around it, gasping for breath. “These crowds are beating us!” he panted, “What is wrong with these people?!? These are the ones who used to have an empire?!? I’ve seen riots with more decency! And what are those things hobbling around all over the floor?!?”
Millie fumed; sticking her knife into a few backs, she soon had Moxxie moving again – the crowd barely reacted to the trio of screaming victims bleeding all over the floor, save for an ‘Oi, keep it down!’. “They’re pigeons, Moxxie.”
Moxxie stumbled forward after her, his eyes wide with horror. “That’s a pigeon?!? I thought they were like doves! Oh, Satan, look at their feet! They’re so diseased!”
After climbing a few more labyrinthine flights of stairs (“The maps! How is anyone supposed to know where these trains are going?!?”), shivving a few more blundering jerks (“Ew, you’ve facking bled on me!”) and dodging more of those ratty half-feathered creatures (“Facking move, you ‘orrible little shits!”), Millie finally hauled a battered-looking Moxxie onto the street outside.
“It’s barely any better out here…” Moxxie sighed, brushing dust off his clothing. To disguise themselves as the sorts which would attend a fancy art-gallery, the two had donned appropriate attire – purple suits with white accents, complete with oversized sunglasses. Unfortunately, their horns poked through torn holes in the large berets completing the look, but Millie had found that so long as you made half an effort, humans were unobservant enough that magical human-forms weren’t necessary.
“Jus’ look at ‘em all!” Millie huffed, “If we weren’t on the job, I’d be teachin’ ‘em all a thing or two! The internet said this city’s supposed to be cultural – I’ve seen more culture in hog-slop!”
“I just can’t believe this is where ‘Phantom of the Opera’ first debuted… Andrew Lloyd-Webber can’t possibly work here – no genius could work here!”
They staggered on, reaching an enormous stone building flanked by columns – the sort of place an old fancy aristocrat might have lived a few hundred years earlier – overlooking a park. Slipping into this rare patch of greenery, the duo stole onto a park bench.
Pulling out the note given to her by one of the lawyers, Millie glanced up. “This looks like the place… Some kinda Hallowe’en exhibition?”
“‘Baron Vidiel Exhibition’…” Moxxie read from the long banners outside the entrance. “‘Master of the Macabre’. Where’ve I heard that name before?”
Millie shrugged as he narrowed his eyes in thought. “Don’t ask me, I ain’t into art.”
Her husband nearly choked, agape. “Millie! Art is the expression of the soul!”
“I thought music was?”
“Music is but one language, Millie! Oh, it’s the greatest, without contest, but all forms are deserving of love!”
Millie raised an eyebrow. “I don’ see what’s so good about slappin’ paint on somethin’, that’s all. Music I can listen to!”
“Paintings can be looked at!”
Millie knew how to bring this conversation to an end; she nuzzled up close to his ear, gently squeezing his arm. “I got you to look at while I listen to music~!”
He faltered, spluttering as he immediately blushed, his conviction melting into a silly sheepish grin. “Aha, see? I slapped some pink right on you there!” she teased, “Does that make me an artist, sugar?”
Her husband tittered a goofy little laugh, sharing a smooch. “You are a work of art, Millie…”
Hopping up, the two sneaked out across the park, then ducked into a nearby alley. With a quick shuffle through an air vent, Millie proudly opened a side-entrance from the inside and welcomed Moxxie in. That done, it was nothing for the two of them to enter the enormous exhibit-halls thronged with a whole lot of pretentious arty-types. These disguises had been right on the money – good thing, too, as there were a lot of green-lensed security-cameras here, and something was definitely weirding Millie out about them…
“Hey Moxx,” she asked, sticking close to him as they peered around, “What do you think Stella meant by ‘unused’?”
“Hmm?”
“She said “return the item undamaged and unused”. ‘Undamaged’ I understand, but how do you ‘use’ a painting?”
Moxxie frowned. “I’m not sure… I’m also not sure why Princess Stella would want something from an art gallery – she has plenty of valuables, but I’ve never heard of her taking an interest in culture. Maybe it’s a weapon of some kind? Look – it’s not just paintings here…”
He was right; though there were a great many paintings of tremendous size, there were plenty of statues, sculptures and even displays of clothing. “I mean, I don’ like any of it…” said Millie, cocking her head. “But I guess this ‘Baron Vidiel’ fella must be pretty good if he can do all kinds of stuff?”
“He certainly has an unusual degree of range…” said Moxxie, clearly bothered by something. “In fact, it’s far too much range – who excels like this in so many different fields of art? It’s almost as if – ”
“OOH!” Millie’s eyes alighted on a pair of paintings which had just become visible, her expression blossoming into a wondrous grin as she grabbed him by the collar. “Moxxie, come lookee!”
Ploughing snooty snobs aside, Millie barged right to the front, hopping with excitement. “Oho, now these are fun! Look – this one’s got a guy murderin’ his son with a spear!” she squealed, holding Moxxie’s face up to see; “And this one’s got a big spooky giant eatin’ a guy! Look how creepy their backgrounds are – all dark and dank-lookin’ – hey, they’re both about someone killin’ their son! Wow, their eyes sure do stare right atcha, huh?”
Moxxie glanced between the two from between Millie’s hands. “Waaait… wait a minute!” Plucking himself free, he dashed over look at the descriptions. “‘Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan’ – ‘Saturn Devouring His Son’ – I’ve seen these before!” he exclaimed, “They’re not new or recent, and they certainly weren’t painted by any ‘Baron Vidiel’!”
Millie was miles away. “Ohhh, they’re so gruesome! You were right Moxx, art is fun! Look at all the blood spatterin’ in the floor in this one – ooh, but the way the flesh is tearin’ in that one! He’s eatin’ him up like jerky!”
Her enthusiasm was breached by rude guffaws from behind her. Wheeling around, she saw a cluster of exhibition-goers, clad in suits of ludicrous colour and dour winter-wear, waving about flutes of bubbling green champagne. “Excuse me?”
One of these oily-haired city-slickers looked down at her, speaking more through his nose than his mouth; “I was just listening to your base observations – how did someone like you get on the guest-list? Your analysis is embarrassing…”
Millie was halfway towards her knife already, but Moxxie noticed just before the gorefest could commence. “‘Undamaged’! ‘Undamaged’!” he whispered urgently to her, “We still don’t know which one we’re retrieving!”
She clenched her jaw so hard she could have bitten through steel. “You’re lucky my husband’s here, mister!” she snarled at the snoot.
“And might I add – ” Moxxie continued, squaring up to the bunch, “That you seem to be so lacking in artistic appreciation that you can’t even tell that these were not painted by Baron Vidiel! They’re both from the nineteenth century, and they were painted eighty years apart! Baron Vidiel would have to be over two-hundred years old! They’re not even in the same style!”
For a moment, the group looked confused, as though Moxxie’s words had given them pause for thought – however, it quickly passed, and they soon returned to ridicule. “Listen to him!” one of the women chortled, “These are all new works! Baron Vidiel is an inspiration, his work is an incredible insight into the darkness of the human mind! It highlights the inevitability of social cannibalism and the folly of religion!”
The two imps glanced at one another – nah, she didn’t need to know…
Stepping away, they ducked into a corridor. “Those sons a’ bitches!” Millie seethed. “Jus’ where do they get off treatin’ someone like that? I oughta stab n’ devour them, stick that in a painting!”
“How can art-lovers be so snobbish?” Moxxie sighed.
“But listen – if what you said was right, then Baron Vidiel couldn’t have made those paintings…” Millie pondered, “And if that’s true, I’ll bet there’s all kinds of things that aren’t really his either! These humans just seem to think he did!”
“That would explain all the different styles and forms,” Moxxie reasoned, “But some of these are famous! How would anyone be convinced that one person created all of them?”
Millie nodded. “Somethin’ real fishy’s goin’ on… I say we find this ‘Baron Vidiel’ an’ get some answers! Then maybe we’ll find out what the mystery exhibit is we’re supposed to get! Darn lawyers, I ain’t ever heard of one bein’ vague about what they want before…”
---
“Black hole, black hole – suckin’ out my weary soul…
You never cared, you make me sick,
I’m fallin’ through this endless pit…”
Octavia opened one eye as her bedroom door opened, glaring at the imp poking his head through. This new butler Lord Ospex had hired whilst she and Mum were staying here really wasn’t doing very well, but at least he hadn’t made the same mistake as one of Mum’s old butlers – trying to use earplugs when she was in a bad mood. After he’d misheard her instructions for the cook, she’d forced the imp to eat the entire incorrect meal with Wrath-Ring chilli-peppers mixed into it, then forbade him from drinking anything until she’d had the correct food prepared and brought to her. He’d started recording Mum’s instructions after that…
Trying not to groan audibly, she took out her earphones. “What is it?”
“Princess, Her Highness requests your presence in the garden?”
Octavia stopped trying. “Ugh… Alright, tell her I’m coming…”
At least he didn’t hang about and make her follow him this time. As soon as the door shut, Octavia half-slid off her bed, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her long cardigan and wrapping it around her. It felt so good to be back in normal clothes after all those ball gowns; she had hated every single one of them, no matter how much Mum tried to tell her they suited her. Even once they’d moved past pink and tried a few in black or grey, she’d still felt like a… well, like a princess. Frankly, the idea that in a few weeks she was going to walk into a room full of people wearing something even close to one of those massive stupid dresses made her want to jump off a bridge.
Ignoring the scattered photographs of other avian demons looking so annoyingly happy in their mountains of lace and fluff, Octavia sloped out of the room and down the corridor. Why couldn’t she be more like Mum? Mum loved these big silly ball-gowns, she looked like she’d been born in one. Still, even if she didn’t, she was probably scary enough that no-one would have dared tell her. Sometimes, Octavia wished she could be scary enough to get people to shut up about stuff, but these days, she’d settle for ‘confident’…
A few dreary moments later, Octavia squinted her way out into the early-afternoon sun. Sure enough, she could already hear Mum laughing away with her friends, the snickering long-feathered Lord Ospex himself and the tittering rubenesque Lady Augury. Apparently some nobleman from Lust had spent a few days too many in Greed and had lost an embarrassing amount of money on a foolish bet…
“…And then – ” she heard her mother regale with relish, “The sorry wastrel goes begging, begging to Lady Disia about it, grovelling in the most pathetic way you can imagine, and tells her that the debts would have to be paid by selling his family heirlooms, and that he couldn’t bear the shame, and asking if she could sell off her prize-winning nightmares instead!”
“Ohohoho, drag, man! The shame!” “Ooh, the scandal!” Ospex and Augury hooted with relish.
As Octavia rounded the corner, her mother caught her eye, rising from the ornate garden-table where she and her friends were taking tea. “Octavia, darling!” she greeted her, wiping away a tear of laughter, “So glad you’ve come to join us!”
Guided by the shoulder, Princess Stella led her daughter to the last available chair, where Octavia dutifully slumped. “You asked me to come here…” she grumbled.
Stella didn’t acknowledge the comment, fluttering back to her own seat in a flounce of feathers. “You’ve been out of my sight all day – there’s really no point in these weekends if we’re don’t have fun together…” she remarked, pouring tea into the fine-china cup before her. Octavia eyed it – it really wasn’t her thing…
“I thought the two of you were trying on dresses earlier?” Augury enquired, her frame prim and upright (though her dress looked so tight around the waist and legs it was hard to see how else she could have sat).
Stella took a cupcake from the tray between them all. “No fun so far, I’m afraid – Octavia isn’t used to wearing court-apparel yet, are you dear?”
“Sure aren’t…”
“It takes a while to develop one’s style,” Stella pressed on, spearing the entire treat on her fork, “She doesn’t suit her mother’s, so we’ll have to keep trying.”
“Oh, but Octavia!” said Ospex, his long thin face framed by the slender, high-hunched shoulders of his silk pinstripe suit. “Your mother has such blinding taste!”
For fuck’s sake, was she ever going to get away from this subject? “Yep, she does… just, not for me really.”
“Aha, well don’t take your foot off the gas!” he jibed, “Your debut isn’t far off now!”
This conversation was slowly growing an iron ball in her stomach. Maybe if it grew heavy enough, it would just pull her through the ground and out of here…
“Don’t worry, Ospex…” Stella reproached, pointing the cupcake at him. “Stella Goetia always has a plan when it comes to aesthetic. Octavia will be magnificent.”
What was she talking about? A ‘plan’? Octavia didn’t have a clue what she was on about, her plans so far had simply comprised trying on more dresses. Unfortunately, her mother didn’t elaborate, instead plucking off the whole cupcake in one bite and enjoying it behind a knowing smile.
“Ohhh, here’s an idea!” Augury giggled, “Octavia, what do you think about this? Lord Festid, one of the Ars Saffalus aristocracy; goes to Greed, gambles away a third of his fortune, then returns to his wife Lady Disia and asks her to sell her racing-nightmares to pay off the debts!”
Well, it was a change of subject. “What do I… think?”
“On the one hand,” Ospex chipped in, leaning back and crossing his loafers, “He could sell his family heirlooms – that branch of the Ars Saffalus is renowned for its antique Angelic Weapons – but they’ve been in the handed down for centuries, you dig? Talk about a dark stain on the family’s reputation. On the flip-side, what kind of man demands his lady give up such an esteemed passion for to cover his own faults?”
Octavia frowned at the question. “Seems like a pretty dark stain on a family’s reputation where a husband asks his wife to give up something she’s passionate about…”
Stella daintily tapped the drips from her spoon on the edge of her teacup – unlike her friends, who leaned in eagerly to hear her answer, Octavia’s mother seemed content with a small smirk. “Hmm-hmm – why indeed should she be expected to put up the fallout of his failures? You have a good heart, Octavia…”
“Ah,” Ospex countered playfully, “But Stella my dear, what if Lord Festid were to protest that it would be just as much of a bummer for him to lose his prized possessions?”
Stella glanced Octavia’s way. “Go on, dear – I think it’s your opinion Lord Ospex is seeking here…”
Hold on… was this some kind of test? Of course – aristocrats lived and died by how they presented themselves, and a massive part of that was what they said. Fine, fuck it – she’d just be honest.
“He probably should have thought about that before he fucked off to Greed and lost his fortune then,” she replied with a shrug. “I don’t see how it’s her problem – given they’re married, she’ll have to put up with his losses as well. Think she’s going to be suffering enough without paying to keep his precious bloody weapons. He already looks like an idiot, may as well save himself from looking like an arsehole too…”
Her mother let out a crisp, barking laugh – “Ahaha! Let’s hope he has that much dignity, at least!”
Her friends chuckled along with her, sipping their tea. “Well, that’s just an F-A-B way to put it,” remarked Ospex, “Right on…”
“So glad to hear you wouldn’t let a man walk over you like that, Octavia,” Augury purred, “Your, ah, sense of flair might not match your mother’s, but you have certainly inherited that from her!”
A flicker of discomfort pulsed through her. Was Augury referring to Dad? She felt like she’d been doing well for a moment there, but that particular wound still felt kind of raw… “Mum wouldn’t let anyone walk over her,” she replied neutrally, keeping up eye-contact with the owl-lady, “I’m hoping I’ve inherited that, too.”
For a moment, Octavia thought her mother’s expression had altered; her laughter had foundered for barely an instant, her glowing rose gaze seemingly detecting something in Octavia – had she allowed her discomfort to become visible?
“Oh yes, I never told you!” Stella cut in swiftly, putting a hand atop Octavia’s – “Ever since the divorce was announced, you wouldn’t believe who’s been sniffing around?”
“Uhhh…”
“Lord Ciriex!”
That name sounded familiar… “Didn’t you used to know him when you were, like, my age?”
“Not as well as he would have liked…” remarked Ospex slyly. “He was quite crackers for your mum, the poor bloke. When he and your parents all came of age, he was bleedin’ beside himself – I think he was hoping the marriage would fail before it began!”
Stella scoffed. “Weren’t we all? Still, it was flattering to have someone willing to pine over me properly…”
Octavia reeled with incredulity. “He was open with you about it? He knew you were engaged, right?”
“Of course he did,” said Stella, “But your father always moped when we were seen together. You know he cried when he first saw what I looked like? Well, Paimon thought it was all very funny, but it didn’t get much better after that. Ciriex spent years dropping a hint here and there about how the kind of devotion he would offer me if he were in Stolas’ place.”
Augury snorted. “And then the duel…”
The three aristocrats cackled. “Yes! Yes, the duel!” Stella cried, “A few weeks before the wedding, he challenged Stolas to a duel for my hand!”
“He what?”
“It was hilarious!” she continued, batting her hand in hysterics. “He – he declared it in front of everyone! Stolas didn’t know where to look, he looked like he was going to lay an egg! And Ciriex, he’s no prince; if Stolas had any sort of spine, he would have accepted just to lay waste to the upstart! And obviously I’d never let on that I was interested in him, I was to be a married woman – though any gifts of his were gratefully received…” she added. “Stolas tried to talk him out of it, but he was quite insistent!”
Octavia hadn’t heard Dad mention this before! “Dad fought in a duel?”
Stella sighed, smiling wide at the memory. “Oh, no, Paimon had a word with Ciriex’s family and, well, the next day there was a lengthy letter of apology waiting for me when I awoke, and a much shorter one for Stolas.”
“Ciriex was lucky your grandfather was busy leading the Ars Goetia legions through the Ring of Wrath at the time,” Augury hooted, “If he hadn’t been so wrapped up in seizing territory from the Ars Flagellum aristocrats, he probably would have stepped in to duel Ciriex on Stolas’ behalf!”
“Oh, I doubt it,” Stella withered, “He probably wanted Stolas to show some backbone of his own in the matter… Still, Octavia – now that your father no longer intends to have anything to do with our marriage, Ciriex has been paying me plenty of attention again.” She tossed her long silver plumes, holding herself proudly. “I suppose some things never fade…”
“B-But what if he’d won?”
Stella giggled. “That would have been very flattering, but what were we just talking about, Octavia? I wouldn’t have let him take me from my duty – we mustn’t allow men to be that way with us. Besides, more than anything, it would have been incredibly fucking embarrassing for Stolas; probably why his father intervened…”
Octavia fumbled with her fingers. “Did you think about it?”
“Think about what?”
“You know… if he’d won. He seemed like he was offering you… I dunno, stuff you and Dad don’t really have…”
Her companions were quiet, seemingly waiting on Stella’s response. “…It was an entertaining idea, but I didn’t feel anything for him.”
“You didn’t feel anything for Dad…”
“I was optimistic, darling,” Stella replied, her tone hardening for a moment. “And yes, perhaps it would have been a bit more fun than being married to a passionless husk like Stolas – but as I said, I had a duty, and as you said, some things are burdens to be borne for the good of the family. Still, now he can fawn over me all he likes without worrying about Paimon!”
Mirth immediately returned to the table, the trio of aristocrats heartily resuming afternoon tea. For Octavia, it felt strange – Mum and Dad had both been stuck in their marriage since they were much, much younger than her. She’d never found out why the same hadn’t happened to her, but she was beyond grateful for it – the thought of it made her retch, and nothing would prompt her to crawl into a hole faster than the idea of two people fighting a duel over her.
Her reverie was broken by the presence of the butler at her mother’s side. “Your Highness? The croquet set is ready at your leisure.”
Stella wolfed down the last cake and stood with a start, excitedly perusing the open case of long mallets the butler offered. “We shall play at once!”
“…Croquet…?” Octavia repeated – unholy shit, that sounded dull…
Stella grinned wickedly as her talons closed around a mallet, but as she lifted it from the case, it was revealed to be no ordinary sporting-tool – a great mace-like weapon of a thing, crafted of elaborate rose and silver metal, adorned with feather-iconography and ringed with lethal-looking spikes – it was more of a warhammer than a toy.
“Not the sort the plebeians play…” she drawled, holding the glimmering instrument in her hands. “Carnage Croquet!”
---
Millie slinked past the suited guard emerging from the gallery’s back-rooms, Moxxie scrambling behind her as they sneaked inside. So, this ‘Baron Vidiel’ somehow had everyone convinced he was this important so-an’-so, that he’d made all these fancy works of art? Well, if what Moxxie said was true, that made this baron a liar, didn’t it?
“I don’ like it, Moxx,” she grumbled, diving under a table with him to avoid a passing cleaner. “That prissy princess wants somethin’ here, the prize exhibit – but everythin’ here is stolen! Well, not stolen, I guess, but – ”
“Oh, no, Millie!” Moxxie wailed – she had to give him a nudge to quieten down. “…If credit for art is stolen, it’s like the art itself is stolen! But it doesn’t make sense – these works here are famous, everyone should know he’s a fraud…”
“An’ it still doesn’t explain why Stella would want anythin’ from the human-world…”
The cleaner moved on, and the imps flitted out from beneath the table. Scuttling down a few corridors and around a corner or two, they kept their eyes peeled for any signs of an office (after all, that was where the worst sins tend to be committed). These dull, wooden walls and floors cast echoes from every direction, but Millie had grown up around hell-hogs – she could pick any one of them out from the centre of a herd! And right now, she was picking out the snootiest tone in this whole place; had to be the boss…
“Well, well, well… This shall make a fine addition to my gallery!”
“You hear that?” she murmured, pulling Moxxie to the wall as she craned around the next bend. “Sounds important…”
Moxxie nodded. Crouching low, the couple peered towards the sound of conversation, expecting to see two humans… they were half-right. “That’s Baron Vidiel?” Moxxie gasped, “He’s not a human – he’s a demon!” He wasn’t wrong; standing talking to young-looking artistic-type was a short, strange-looking being which, unless Millie was very much mistaken, was from the Ring of Envy.
Millie’s Mama had a saying “Envy is the only sin which brings no pleasure”. Well, if Mama had ever seen this particular demon, she’d feel pretty vindicated in that remark. Millie could tell that this ‘Vidiel’ was of Envy just by looking at his shabby emerald tailcoat, its shoulder-ruffles frayed and its ‘silver clasps’ little more than discarded belt-buckles. His similarly-buckled shoes were without toes – not simply to accommodate the long claws of his lizard-like feet sticking out of his tights, but because the ends of these hose (as Moxxie had once told her at the theatre) had simply worn away. His rotund frame was wrapped up in a shirt and waistcoat which would have been made of the finest silk were he from Pride, but instead was a drab grey wool – even the massive ruff worn around his neck and styled like a spider’s web, though billowing enough that it nearly surpassed his shoulders in width, comprised lace so ugly-looking it might actually have been made of cobwebs.
Vidiel himself was unfortunately well-suited to such loathsome attire. Like all nobility hailing from the same Ring as Prince Leviathan, he shared the sea-serpent’s affinity with deep, murky waters – just as one could pick out the Goetia aristocracy by them all being ‘avian’ demons, the Baron was a therefore ‘pescan’ demon of the Umbrix aristocracy. His pointy face was framed by splays of aquatic fins like a lionfish, though his wide, grinning mouth was more akin to a shark’s. True to one more used to the depths than sunlight, his scales were near-white, only gently tinged green here and there – particularly at the tips of his fingers and toes, each of which bore one knuckled segment too many. Together with the algae-green eyes behind his little circular glasses, they gave him a grasping, vicious appearance. Most hideous of all was the third eye; like an anglerfish, it craned above his forehead on an arching tendril. The eye itself was a black orb of swirling mist, a green slit of a pupil which furiously darted about, glaring contemptuously at anything and everything even when he appeared calm and smiling – oh, you could take the baron out of Envy, but there was no disguising the envy in the baron…
Right now, the object of all three of Baron Vidiel’s eyes’ attention was this artistic-looking human; though Vidiel was only a little taller than Millie (perhaps around Blitz’s size), he was clearly the dominant force in the conversation. “A wonderful painting!” he purred in a low, hungry growl – his accent was as crisp and refined even as Prince Stolas’, albeit dripping with malevolence. “I should be so proud to have created such an exquisite piece…”
The human seemed confused; holding the painting in their thin, willowy hands, they flicked their long, neon-blue fringe from their forehead. “B-But your lordship, I created it? It’s a visual representation of my relief when my friends accepted me after I came out?”
The Baron narrowed his eyes. “Ah, so you’re a little more stubborn than the rest…” he glowered. He reached for a silver pocket-watch chained to his waistcoat, flicking it open and holding it up before the artist’s face. “Now, listen.”
At once, the artist stopped in place – it appeared as though they were still looking at the Baron’s face, but the quietly-ticking watch interceded their gaze. “You remember that you described those feelings to me, don’t you?”
“…Yes, I… I guess so…”
“And then I made this wonderful painting based on your experiences, didn’t I?”
The artist frowned. “…I… I thought I made it…”
“No, no, no!” the Baron chuckled, his toothy grin growing wider around his pointed snout. “You know you couldn’t paint anything magnificent enough to be shown to me? Why, your work has been rejected from every institution you’ve applied to…”
Even as they remained transfixed, the human seemed to deflate. “It has…”
“So there’s not a chance you would paint anything like this, is there? You’ve never produced anything worthy of comparison to my art…”
“…No… I haven’t…”
“Give me my painting.”
With a dull, slack expression, the human handed over the painting. The Baron clutched it eagerly, keeping the paper unfurled to gloat more openly over his prize (though it was nearly as large as he was). “Very good!” he chirped suddenly, snatching his pocket-watch shut and stowing it away. “Saline, would you escort our guest back to the gallery-floor please? I must choose a frame for my latest creation!”
Millie saw the Baron beginning to move; the two imps pulled back, diving into a nearby storage-closet. Once the door slammed shut and cast them into gloom, Millie mulled over everything she had just seen – things were starting to add up around here. “Gosh, Moxx! Guess that explains – ”
“That MONSTER!” Moxxie exploded, bursting with such unrestrained rage that he immediately knocked an avalanche of cleaning-supplies all over him – still, it didn’t stop him. “He’s using hypnotism! That poor, hard-working artist has been thoroughly robbed of their work! MILLIE – !” he cried, clutching his wife by the shoulders and wailing from beneath the mop-bucket on his head. “We have to help them! This is a matter of artistic integrity!”
Oh, now he really was far gone – Millie knew she’d have a hard time talking him out of this… “Hey, alright now, alright now…” she murmured, rubbing his arms soothingly (whilst delicately removing the bucket). “Don’ you get yourself all worked up, Moxx! Now I know you’re lookin’ at all this as an artist, but we got a job to do, ain’t we?”
“But – but – ” her husband spluttered; she quickly cupped his cheeks in her palms, scooting in close.
“Ain’t we, sweetheart? ‘Team M-an’-M’, right?” she implored him with her biggest smile. “I know it’s sneaky as all heck what this creep’s up to, but we’re just here to accomplish our mission and get the monies – ain’t that right? Showin’ Blitz we can get it done without him? Besides, if we screwed it up ‘cause we got distracted, you know you’d never hear the end of it from Loona…”
Moxxie sighed. “Okay… I just feel bad about it, you know?”
“Then let’s steal his prized exhibit, sugar,” she said with a grin. “Let’s get this for Princess Stella an’ show this fishy freak how it feels!”
Moxxie drew himself up – there was her hubby! “Yeah! Let’s make it hurt for him!”
With a squeak, Millie nuzzled in and gave him an excited little smooch. “I love it when you talk about hurtin’!” she giggled. “Sounds clear – let’s go!”
Springing out, they hurried towards the office-door in the now-vacant hallway. A few bent hairpins later, the imps had the door unlocked and their way clear.
The office itself was largely unremarkable – or at least, it would have been, were it not for the fact that the fine oak desk and chairs were simply surrounded by piles of cash. Huge stacks of bills, topped with treasures, jewellery, gilded ornaments and all things of absurd expense – even a few actual gold bars!
Stood amongst the absurd hoard, Millie turned to look at Moxxie, beaming wide and gleeful. “…It’s a stash!” she yipped, eyes gleaming. “Ooh, Moxxie, there’s more money here than – ”
“More money here than I’m willing to leave unprotected!”
The two imps spun with a start. There in the doorway stood the Baron, glaring wickedly at them through his tiny darkened glasses…