Lily and Kyri directed their riding spawn through the gates. They brought the spawn to a hitching post off to the side.

“We get off here,” Lily said.

Lawrence grunted as he climbed down. His legs were sore. Parts of him he didn’t know he had hurt from riding.

“We’ll go inside, now,” Kyri said. She led the other two into the throng of off-duty demons traipsing inside. “Try not to get lost. Mind your manners around the [Lords]. And keep a sharp eye.”

“Best stay close, Lawrence.”

Lawrence would have rather liked to take a nap on something soft. Alas, they had work to do. And they were low on funds, if they had any. Lawrence knew he was broke. He now regretted paying all his gold to Frost. He kept his mouth shut and followed the two women.

Most of the demons present were of the humanoid variety. Drones, fiends, and a few beasts made up the larger ones. Imps and machinists flitted or scurried. Lawrence had expected more machinists than normal, what with the technology boom. What was the name of the city? Dalheim or something? Bah. No matter. He did not intend to stay.

The doors yawned. Not hyperbole, as a giant’s oversized mouth formed the opening. The giant had transmuted itself into a once-mobile fortress vaguely resembling a turtle, as much as a sentient stone quadruped siege engine could. Lawrence passed between its tombstone-like teeth. Its tongue was gray and rough. The line of demons proceeded down its throat.

Lawrence tugged Lily’s sleeve.

“What?” she shrugged him off in annoyance.

“We need to talk about this,” Lawrence said, speaking fast. Ahead of them, Kyri stopped walking. She turned around, also in annoyance. Both women received shoves from the proceeding demons, unceremoniously kicking all three of them from the line. Both women curled their lips at the strings of saliva dripping from the mouth’s walls.

“What is it now, Lawrence?” Kyri said with undisguised irritation.

“This is a trap.”

“This is the procession to the party,” Kyri snapped.

“No, this is the mouth and throat of a big fat demon.” Lawrence kept his voice down. “Think. The iliaster requirements are immense. It’s a Mobile Fortress. Any giant with the Mobile Fortress Skill has it on his back, not in his belly. I saw gun turrets and towers on the shoulders. More iliaster.”

“So?”

“Kyri,” Lily said, quiet. “He may not be wrong. There must be another entrance. A side door?”

Kyri considered it. She shook her head.

“No. No way they would wipe out so many of their own. You’re being paranoid. Let’s go.”

“Come on, Lawrence.”

Lily and Kyri rejoined the crowd. Lawrence wavered for a moment. In the end, he decided that faustian or not, it was better to be with acquaintances than alone in this place. He cut part of the line to rejoin them.

The demons passed into the throat. The rocky tongue turned to scarlet flesh. A deep, pounding, rhythmic beat made itself known. It was the giant’s heartbeat. Twitching eyes set in the walls watched them pass. Saliva dripped from the ceiling in long strings.

The tunnel widened. The throat matter turned pink as they passed into the esophagus. Demons spread out. Lawrence found Lily and followed her. The esophagus branched off in different directions. Lawrence saw bony, stomach-pointing spikes protruding from the walls and ceiling. Of course, he realized, anatomy of a sea turtle. Fewer imps flew here. The fiends walked.

Kyri chose the middle path.

“Is there a significance to which?” Lily asked.

“Yes. They all lead to different stomachs,” Kyri gestured at the next intersection. Previous esophagi merged here before splitting off again. Some took circuitous paths. Some direct. All had pink, slippery flesh for the floor. All had eyes and spikes along the tunnels. “We’re looking for the right stomach. If you pay attention, you’ll see the devils and housefellows in some. Captains in another.”

“Do levels matter?” Lily peered through a circular portal. A ring of sharp spikes extended from the rim toward the center. A drone stepped up to the ring. It tapped one spike. All of them folded down, allowing the drone to pass without harm. Past him, Lawrence saw ivory outgrowths carved to look like feasting tables. Demons reclined on cancerous masses of flesh.

“Like your Job levels?” Kyri queried. “No. Only your corporate rank matters here. It is like in the mortal worlds. No one cares how old you are or your education. They only care about where you sit in the company’s hierarchy. This way.”

Kyri ignored the bone doorways to what Lawrence presumed were secondary stomachs. He sniffed the peppermint oil on his wrist. Kyri kept following the biggest, widest tunnel. She tried to keep as straight a line as possible. More than once, Lawrence thought to turn aside, or explore a side tunnel. Perhaps the best feasting hall was more hidden? Instead, Kyri ordered him to stay the course.

“How much further?” Lily asked.

“Not far. We’re looking for the main stomach. It’ll have the most powerful [Lords] and their servants.”

“I just gotta say,” Lawrence commented. “This is really gross. We’re, like, inside a gargantuan demon. And it’s not eating us.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Kyri warned. “The main stomach is safe enough, but not all the secondary stomachs are. You were half-correct in your hunch. Yes, some of the secondary stomachs are sacrifices. But the demons inside are weak or lazy. They will not be missed.”

Kyri went down a long tunnel. It travelled in a circle around what Lawrence thought was the perimeter of the place, like a sea turtle. The fort’s structure seemed to have a sea turtle’s anatomy. Spiky outgrowths prevented escape. This tunnel’s difference was having no other branches.

They passed fewer demons. The drones had elaborate tattoos like tie patterns, often going without clothes, not as if they needed it. The fiends wore armor. Several wore the head of a powerful foe on a helmet or hook, either as armor or a trophy. The imps had clipboards. The machinists were fully mechanical, or possessed so many cybernetics they looked like steel porcupines composed of spare parts from a garage.

They were all higher-leveled, and thus higher-ranked. More levels meant a higher daily soul unit requirement, which was easily accomplished from rank. Despite the higher-leveled and better-equipped monsters, Lawrence saw few humanoids.

Kyri was the only succubus. No incubi. Lily was the only half-infiltrator, even discounting her Siren Job. Lawrence saw few humans, but they all wore iron collars, leashes, and ragged loincloths. These were not the Slave Leia costume. These slaves and servants were uplifted from nothing. They owned nothing. They looked at Lawrence with fear.

The demons looked down their noses at Lawrence. Lily, he thought they could tell was further along than he was. For Kyri, they stepped aside. Kyri paused at the rim of a colossal circular hole. No teeth encircled this one. The flesh-floor was pink. The walls were slick and shiny. Twice as many eyes decorated the walls. They all flitted between Kyri and Lily before settling on Lawrence.

Lawrence felt the deep pounding of the demon’s heart through the floor.

“Here we are,” Kyri said. She walked through the hole. Lily followed without hesitation.

Lawrence gulped. He hesitated. The demon nearest him sniffed hard. It was a beast, a nasty goat-thing with tentacles for arms and a cluster of stinking mushrooms on its back.

“Hrr, Caster smells your fear,” the goat-thing told him.

“I am not afraid,” Lawrence lied. He strode through the door. He halted for a moment as the light and sound hit him like a wave. Demons lounged around pieces of ivory ground flat. Male and female slaves attended them. A wide stage took up one side of the room. Some human sex slaves danced on it, but no one paid them any attention. Most demons were more concerned with the endless buffet carried in by an army of slaves. Plates and trays were piled high with spawnmeat and plasmic iliaster.

“Hrr, keep moving, yes?” the beast growled. “Why are you even here? Why aren’t you in chains like the rest of your kind?”

“I’m a faustian.” Lawrence stepped aside. He bowed to the goat-thing.

“Hmph. Caster is too.” The goat-thing gave him a slant-eyed look, appraising. “What level are you?”

“Does… it matter?” Lawrence returned the look. They had a staring contest for a moment. Each sized the other up. Lawrence felt the demon’s will probe his own. He pushed back. He felt the demon’s will retreat.

“Caster apologizes.” The goat-thing jerked its chin. “It is rare he meets someone with the Gift in this dung heap of a Ring. Would the boy join him for a drink?”

“Uhm,” Lawrence looked around. He couldn’t see Lily or Kyri anywhere. He swallowed. He remembered to keep breathing and to take slow, deep breaths. He turned his attention back to the goat-thing. “Sure. Why not?”

“Hmph.” The goat-thing sniffed hard. “This way.”

Lawrence followed the beast to a table near the back. This one sat on an elevated platform. It was part of a U-shaped ring running the perimeter. Drone supervisors occupied all its seats. They were big. High-level. Lawrence could tell because they’d taken Size Increase Skills, which were specific to Breed and not Mutations.

The goat-thing snapped an order to an attending imp. The creature darted away. It returned a moment later dragging the leashes of a dozen slaves. Lawrence noted these were all human and mortal. They all had mutations, sure, but not more than a few and not more than the most basic. The results of high Corruption.

The imp directed the slaves to arrange themselves on the fleshy, slick ground. The first mortal lay flat on his back. The next mortal, a woman, lay likewise but with her feet next to the first’s head. The imp made five or six of them lie that way, with their hands down, unmoving.

The beast sprawled out on top of them. Lawrence swore he heard one of the slaves begin gasping for air, but the demon ignored it.

“Seat for you, mi’lord?” the imp asked Lawrence.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Hrr, don’t be ridiculous,” the beast said. “Make him a chair.”

“Yes mi’lord, Caster.” The imp jerked the leashes. A male slave knelt on all fours. A large-breasted female knelt behind him. Another slave crouched under the table, a footrest. Lawrence hesitated. Claret would not be pleased. However, when in Rome….

Lawrence perched on the edge of the ‘chair.’ Next to him, the beast opened its mouth. An attending slave put an iliaster-soaked chunk of spawn-meat in it. The demon slowly chewed.

“As you have heard, his name is Caster,” the demon said between bites. “He is Dalheim’s resident [Faustian]. Level twenty-two. Very powerful, you see. He can tell you are at least as strong as he. Will the boy tell him the boy’s name?”

“Booker,” Lawrence lied.

“Well, then Booker. Pleasure.” The beast glanced at him. “Relax. Isn’t the boy going to eat?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Ah, his palate too refined? Or perhaps… he wishes for mortal fare? Caster apologizes for our lack of preparations. He is afraid Dalheim does not possess yet gardens with mortal fruit.” The demon called for the imp. “Bring Caster a cup of bloodwort tea.”

“At once, mi’lord.” The imp dashed away.

“Have you been in Dalheim long?” Caster asked.

“Just arrived.” Lawrence looked for Lily or Kyri. He saw a raven-haired succubus laughing at an obese drone’s joke. Her hand rested on his arm. He was the biggest demon in the place. Lawrence didn’t see Lily. “I don’t mean to encroach on your territory or anything. My, uh, traveling companions thought it best to find a local [Lord] to impress. Instead of, yanno, finding jobs.”

“Hrr, Caster sees some merit in the companions’ plan. Still, one wonders if perhaps there are other alternatives. Given the recent setbacks to the west and north, there are many who would not doubt the efficacy of currying favor over another [Lord].”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Caster watched for Lawrence’s reaction. The vague language and big words took him a moment to decode. His gut told him the language was similar to the way a certain alien [Senator] had once casually interrogated Lawrence. It was the treacherous ground of politics.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow you, sir. I have a specialized skillset. I am looking for a powerful noble to serve, for plain reasons. My companions likewise. That’s Kyri, our Face,” Lawrence nodded at the only succubus in the place.

“A malcubus. Caster sees. The sex one is indeed a beautiful specimen, yes? Quite charming, Caster is sure. Yet the reputation of such species is the malcubi often amass power lying on their backs. Caster wonders how the boy came to own a trinket such as she. Family heirloom, perhaps?”

“I don’t own her,” Lawrence said. He frowned. “We’re traveling together. I, uh, don’t really know where she came from.”

“Hrr, to be united by the bonds of friendship is a fragile alliance at best,” the goat-demon mused. “Caster wonders what would happen if the boy were to come to a serendipitous caucus with certain choice members of a delightful choir.”

Lawrence did not know what to make of this. It was all weird words and adjectives. The demon spoke fast and easy. Its head faced away from him toward Kyri. He wasn’t certain what was happening, but he knew enough military lingo to know the opposite words were employed when meaning something.

‘It’s contained’ meant ‘it’s hit the fan.’

Lawrence replayed the words in his head following the rhythm. Once he was sure he got the demon’s rhythm of speaking down, he repeated it slower and paid attention to the actual words. He did the math.

“Kyri is a former noble from the Seducer corporation. Fallen from grace, sure, but she still has her contacts. And her heir: Lily. Lily is a half-demon [Opener]. She’s trying to help her mother get revenge. And then there’s me. I’m the [Faustian] they have keeping them safe. We are all Contracted to each other.”

“Except the boy and the [Lady], yes?”

“Well…” Caster had him there. Lawrence took a different tack.

“Sir, if I’m threating you, you have my apologies. I have no ambition to usurp your job or anything like that,” he raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Kyri thought this would be a good place to get in good with a [Lord], just because of the banquet. Before we found out about that, we just wanted supplies and safe passage down to Tears.”

“Hrr, safe passage to Tears and no ambition to steal Caster’s position?” the demon looked at him.

“Yes.”

“Swear it?” The demon raised a tentacle.

“Yes.” Lawrence used the Contract Voice. It was only level one; it had no strength in the eyes of demons.

“Very well.” Caster relaxed. “Caster will introduce the boy to Dalheim’s [Lord]. If the boy does Caster a service, Caster promises an invitation aboard the great ship.”

“You mean the big cruise ship docked outside?”

“Hrr, just so.” The demon nodded. “Many nobles in waiting. Much desire for incubi, yes?”

“Kyri is a succubus.” Lawrence frowned. “I didn’t think it was possible to change one’s sex.”

“Just so,” Caster agreed. “Many nobles. Few [Faustians]. Caster content with small-land minor lord. Caster wary of Lower Rings politics. Hmph. A boy may have more success. Many lords require assistance.”

“I dunno how much help I can be in a political setting,” Lawrence admitted. “I’ve got one ritual for telling the truth, but it takes time to cast and it’s an AOE. Not much use for telling truth off the cuff. And I can’t [Detect Poison]. I envisioned being more of a consultant or a Three Keys guy.”

“Caster knows of many uses for a boy [Faustian]. Come. Assist Caster with a service, and Caster will reciprocate.”

“Does Caster agree to a Contract?”

“Caster agrees to a strength-50 Contract. The boy must serve the [Lord] of Dalheim in a delightful manner. Once the service is performed, Caster will provide invitations for the boy’s traveling companions, yes?” Caster rose from his bony bed. The slaves had hard muscle and knobby bones, not cushioning fat, but the demon did not seem to mind.

“Okay.” Lawrence rose from his own chair.

“Slaves,” the demon announced. “The slaves may partake of the meal while the boy and Caster are gone. Feast on the delightful dinner. Come, boy.”

Lawrence followed the goat-demon around the u-shaped table. Obese drones sipped their agony-wine. At the far end of the table, the biggest, fattest drone shifted upright on his divan. It stretched its hands toward the ceiling. Caster slowed. The chatter quieted.

“Officers of Dalheim,” the fat monster’s voice boomed across the great hall. “We have come here today to host a Baron of the Gourmand. [Lady] Josephine, heiress to the Delightful Choir, and our new ally. Provider of delights unseen by even the jaded courts of Auric Cat.”

Lawrence paused. He glanced at Caster, but the goat-demon held up a tentacle.

“This partnership would not be complete without our faithful servants. Long have they toiled under lash and yoke. Now it is time they shared in the glorious bounty offered by the Swarm. Mortals, you may now enjoy the feast. Eat your fill, my delightful people.”

The [Lord] clapped. All the other demons present began clapping. The mortal slaves looked around in some confusion. This food? The juicy meat and the iliaster? The cups of wine? This was all theirs?

“Eat and enjoy this delightful feast,” the [Lord] ordered. His voice held an echo of compulsion. At last, the order slipped into the empty minds of the slaves. One by one, the slaves sampled the food.

“Hrr, is good, yes?” Caster asked a man.

“Such tastes,” the man moaned. He shoveled spawnmeat and iliaster into his mouth.

“Ah but wait!” the [Lord] called. “I have just been made aware. Mortals cannot consume iliaster, and spawnmeat is not as delicious as one may think.”

A few of the fatter demons rumbled agreement.

“The great heiress [Lady] Josephine has graciously opened the stores of her ship to us. Bring in the food.” The [Lord] lifted his pizza-box-sized hand and waved.

Mortal servants filed into the room. Each of them wore a black robe, actual shoes, a brass collar, and an oval mask made from black velvet. The masks had slits for their eyes and nose, but no mouth. No straps held the masks in place. Each servant carried a brass bowl almost as large as they were.

A second army of liveried servants marched in. They cleared away the tables. The first army set their bowls down. Each bowl was piled high with actual fruit and vegetables. Lawrence’s eyes widened.

“Hrr, [Lady] Josephine is most wealthy, yes?” Caster observed. “And generous. Glass gardens are common on Seventh, less so on Second. A show of power, indeed.”

“I’ll say.” Lawrence finally saw Lily. She sat with her back to him. She had her pants off. Instead of legs she had a muscular mermaid tail complete with fins. She was engaged in an engrossing conversation with a familiar-looking blue-skinned deviless. Lawrence’s heart skipped a beat. He looked around. He saw an upright rhinoceros with a wide, Hutt-like head stuffing its face with spawnmeat.

“Hrr, does the boy have a problem?” the beast studied his face.

“No. No problem.” Lawrence shook his head. He opted for casual. “Shall we go?”

The beast dipped its head. It finished its circuit. It led Lawrence to the left-side of the biggest demon present.

The [Lord] was a drone. It sat on a purple divan with its legs splayed out to either side. Its fingers lay interlaced atop its massive, sagging belly. Many rolls of flesh and fat protected its organs, which Lawrence recognized as a variant of the Armor Mutation. Long claws extended from all four hands and feet. The demon had a wide, flat mouth like a giant catfish.

“Great [Demon Lord]—”

“Spare me the formalities, beast,” the lord looked down at Caster. “This is a time of feasting and celebration. Do not bother me with business.”

“Hrr, the boy has offered to perform a great service for Caster. The boy is a powerful [Faustian], rich with Will, certified pure.”

“Indeed?” the lord cast an appraising look over Lawrence. “A pure [Faustian] able to match you in a battle of wills? Rare indeed. Boy. To what service have you agreed?”

“Um.” Lawrence sweated bullets. “I—I told him I’d serve for the, uh, the [Lord] of Dalheim in… the exact words were a ‘delightful manner.’ In exchange, invitations for my traveling companions would be handed out so they could get on the yacht. Miss Josephine’s yacht.”

“Really? You agreed to this?” the lord looked surprised. “And who are your companions?”

“Kyri the succubus, Lily the half-infiltrator [Opener],” Lawrence hesitated. He took a chance. “And a small mercenary outfit called Parasol Parade. They’re led by a blue lady. I think her name is, uh, Miss Bloodwort. My Lord,” Lawrence added. He bowed at the waist.

“Parasol Parade are your companions?” the lord blinked again. “Indeed? They did not inform me they acquired a [Faustian]. I would not imagine they would give you up so easily. No matter. It is your decision. I will have the invitations sent at once. Are you aware of your duties pertaining to your service?”

“I am not,” Lawrence admitted. “Caster wasn’t forthcoming. He was sort of vague about details. I, uh, didn’t really understand it. But my friends need me. Therefore, I will serve.”

“As you wish. What is your name, mortal?”

“Hrr, the boy told Caster his name is Booker.”

“Lying is a sin, child,” the lord said. “You are terrible. Though given you are an Adept, I understand why. Caster? You are dismissed. Do not return until I call.”

“Caster understands. The [Lord] is most gracious.” He dipped his head once. He went back to his spot. The lord waited until the goat-demon was out of earshot.

“Name, Job, and level, mortal,” the lord ordered.

“Lawrence. [Faustian]. Level is…” he hesitated. “Mid-fifties. Caster said my will was stronger than his. I didn’t think his was all that strong, and he’s only in the twenties.”

“Hmm.” The demon jerked its chin. “I am Lord Gulosus. I have sixteen levels in the [Lord] Job. Thus, I am quite powerful.”

Lawrence had his doubts about Lord Gulosus’ power. Cersei Lannister once talked about power. One either had it or they didn’t. Power had laws, forty-eight, in fact.

“Sit with me, mortal. Tell me of yourself.”

“Not much to tell,” Lawrence said. “I’m young and strong. My party is looking for a patron. We have an [Opener], and female malcubus, and me. And those mercenaries,” he added. “Parasol Parade.”

“Indeed. Is it this malcubus?” Lord Gulosus lifted his hand. Pinched between his fingers and claws was one copper-skinned woman.

“Hello, Kyri.” Lawrence waved.

“Human,” Kyri huffed. The demon holding her was not gentle. “What are you—”

“Your services are no longer required,” Lord Gulosus informed. He flicked his wrist and tossed Kyri bodily across the room. She screamed, drawing several malicious laughs from nearby demons. She landed on a drone’s swollen belly, bounced once, and rolled off.

“May I ask what services she was, um, trying to perform, sire?”

“You may. She believed I had an interest in pleasures of the flesh. The only interest I have is sampling the delights of mortals.”

There was that word, again. A creeping dread began growing in Lawrence’s gut.

“But come. There is no reason to speak of others. Let us speak only of each other, and of this great banquet. Eat,” the demon commanded. “This course is for servants. Eat your fill.”

Lawrence took a seat on the demon’s left. The chair seemed built for someone diminutive. Lawrence sat low to the floor. No doubt the demon enjoyed looking down on people. Lawrence swallowed the indignity and reminded himself he had a job to do.

“Try the grapes,” Lord Gulosus ordered.

Lawrence grabbed a cluster of yellow-green fruit. Each grape was the size of a marble. He broke one off the stem. He gave it an experimental squeeze.

“Eat,” the demon said. It’s voice had a second layer, as if two people spoke. Lawrence felt pressure emanating from the monster, as if its presence forced the air aside to make room. Lawrence’s stomach gnawed.

He popped the grape in his mouth. He rolled it around for a second. The texture was normal. He pinned it between his teeth and bit down. He felt the skin break. Juice flooded his mouth. It tasted good. Better than good. Wonderful. Like a slice of heaven.

He’d been living on barely drinkable water and hard tack. There was no comparison. It was better than anything he’d eaten. Even better than Mom’s home-cooked meals.

The significance of those thoughts were not lost on Lawrence. Mom was a witch. She borrowed emotions from others and infused them into things—her craft—and used the craft to benefit people. Mom’s food tasted better than a world-class chef because she literally cooked it with love.

And this demon food tasted better than a mother’s love? Madness. Lawrence shook his head. This needed thinking. The smart thing to do was stop eating and consult with Kyri and Lily. Actually, neither of them would have much to say besides ‘food taste gud.’ Lawrence thought of Doofy’s simplistic worldview. Sometimes Lawrence envied the simple-minded.

“Stop thinking, human,” Lord Gulosus ordered. His pressure threated to swamp Lawrence’s mind. It wasn’t an attack of will—those were like sword thrusts; directed, personal. This was more like… heat from a blazing heat lamp. At this distance, it scorched. “Stop thinking and eat.”

Lawrence shoved another grape in his mouth. He chomped down. Juice ran down his throat. He began shoveling food into his mouth. He paused long enough to chew, to savor. But it was not enough. He took a bite from the dish in front of him. More slaves rotated the dishes. The bowl of grapes went away.

In its place sat a bowl of apples. The sides were red like lipstick. Lawrence grabbed one at random. He bit down on the top. Juice and fruit filled his mouth. It was tart. It was sweet. It reminded him of honey. Servants rotated the bowls. Lawrence plucked more fruit. Oranges. Clementines. Chopped watermelon. Pears. Dragon fruit. Pomegranates. Passion fruit. Lemons.

And the vegetables. Good, wholesome food. Corn, beans, squash, cabbage, zucchinis, carrots. Wheat—an endless variety of bread. Little of it was prepared into actual recipes. A small part of Lawrence’s mind considered how much money a professional chef could make. Anyway, he got back to the quite serious business of the feast.

“How is the food? Is it good?” Lord Gulosus asked. His wide mouth curved up in a half-moon.

Lawrence nodded, too busy to talk.

“Why so much clothing?” The demon looked over his poncho.

“It’s cold outside.”

“But it is not so cold in here, is it?”

Lawrence paused. He looked up and sideways at the demon. “Why? Do you like my poncho?”

“Not at all,” Lord Gulosus shook his head. “I only meant to point out you are sweating. This is a feast of enjoyment. If you are not comfortable, perhaps you should remove your clothes? The outer layers, at least. So you are more comfortable. Look at me? Do I have such need for clothes as you do?”

Lawrence swallowed.

Lord Gulosus continued without waiting for an answer. “I confess. I do not understand the mortal fascination with clothes. When it is cold? Yes. When it is hot? No. It is getting hot now. All these subjects of mine in this confined space. Look at your companion. Already she has shed her clothes.”

Lawrence looked where the demon pointed. Kyri lounged at a feasting table. She was topless. She chowed down on a chicken leg surrounded by huge, muscled fiends.

“I give you my word as Lord of this place. No one will touch or attempt to steal your garments. But come, it is socially acceptable to be free in this place. Is it not appropriate for mortals in your country to abide by the social customs of those places you visit?”

Lawrence could not see a way around it. And besides, it wasn’t like he was stripping down all the way. No way was he going to do that with women present. He took a deep breath. When in Rome, you do as the Romans do. The phrase originally referred to the Pope. It concerned a holiday the Pope celebrated but the visiting nobles did not. In the nobles’ city, they did not celebrate the holiday. But the Pope did. Therefore, when they visited on the holiday, they were made to celebrate.

Lawrence pulled the hem of his poncho out, up, and over his head, careful not to catch his glasses. He slid off the woolen cloth and folded it on a chair next to him, so at least it would be off the gross floor. He looked around before taking another deep breath. He saw no women nearby.

Lily sat with Parasol Parade on the opposite end of the room, so far away he could barely see. Her shoulders drooped. She looked relaxed. The blue lady sat next to her, the cat lady on the other side. They all had their outer coats off and their shirts untucked.

Lawrence felt the demon looking at him. It was more than peer pressure or social convention. It was a Skill. Unlike an attack of one’s will, Lawrence did not have the training or experience to defend himself. It surrounded him like a cloud of poison.

Lawrence’s fingers undid the buttons of his shirt. He folded it and lay it next to him. He was more comfortable without it. He mopped the sweat from his brow. Yes, Lord Gulosus was right. It was nicer to be without wool. He couldn’t imagine how uncomfortable the furry demons must feel.

A pang of hunger shot through Lawrence’s gut. He began shoveling food into his mouth. He was so hungry. And the food was so good. He ate until he couldn’t eat any more. The waistband of his jeans felt too tight. He undid his belt and the top button. There. Much better.

Lord Gulosus clapped his hands. The bowls of fruit and vegetables went away. Out came the real food. Pastas, casseroles, soups, roasted steaks. Sauces galore. Fish, chicken, pork, and beef. The rarer cuisines, Lawrence had no names for. Alien recipes, using alien plants and animals, on occasion a dungeon monster.

He realized he was hungry again. He began eating. He went slower this time. He tried pacing himself, but it wasn’t long before he shoveled the food in. The waistband of his jeans slackened. Lawrence looked down. He was still hungry, but… he shook his head. He’d think about it later. Right now, he was eating.