23. DIABOLICAL DEALINGS (AND WORSE, LAWYERS.)

“For the proice you set”, the demon pondered, “oi could do yer some thumpin good ‘eck ‘ounds to deal with ‘er.”

“You mean hellhounds?” Redrobe questioned.

“Oi knows what oi said mister, oi said ‘eck ‘ounds, and oi meant ‘eck ‘ounds. You don’t want none of those fancy pedigree breeds, bred to look vicious, with ‘alf the boite and less than ‘alf the brains. Oh, and don’t even get me started on those ridiculous burning coats. They need specialist grooming to smooth out their coat, or they go all frizzy; that alone will set yer back a good twenty souls a session. Fireproof dog groomers don’t come cheap. Then, of course, there’s the food cost; they only eats choice cut souls of the damned.....”

“Alright, alright, so what makes heck hounds worth the cost?”

“Well, for starters, no burning coat means they bred with anything that stayed still long enough, and oi means anything, I swears some of ‘em ‘ave lion in em. Which makes for generations upon generations of mean mutts. They may not look all mean and fiery, but they’ll do it roight.”

“And if I want to try something less canine?”

“Well, there’s always diabolic contractors, but you be careful there, ‘ints in the name, they’re contractors. Can’t trust the buggers as far as you can throw ‘em.”

The assembled dark kin thought back for a moment on their ventures into outsourcing with a shudder. That way, they were contracting a contractor to hire a contractor. They were teetering on the brink of the most dastardly, vile, and untrustworthy evil of all, MIDDLE MANAGEMENT. Murder was fair game; the odd pillaging was practically a family tradition for most of them, coming from noble families and all. Arson was fair game, and patricide and fratricide were par for the course.

But there were times when even they had to take a step back and ponder their evil. This was the big leagues; it was time to call in the big ballistas.

They thought for a moment, then started drawing an even bigger circle; as they called forth the most horrifying entity they could think of, it was time to summon their lawyers.

********************************************************************************************Mr Notqyte Forthrite of Hubul, Bubul, Toyle, and Trubbul law firm appeared in a puff of green smoke. He was dressed in a well-tailored red suit (not Santa red, Satan red, this red suit had class and absolutely no tacky fur trim.) His red tie was plain and unadorned apart from a single ruby tie pin in a tasteful cut, and void black hair was carefully slicked back. Surprisingly, the residual smoke didn’t smell of sulphur, fire, or brimstone. But instead, like crisp unfolded new money.

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He had barely left the circle when he began his onslaught. (Nobody could figure out how the hell he knew what the situation was in the first place, it was almost like he entered fully briefed on the conversation that was still ongoing in a cellar of a house he’d never been to. In a clandestine meeting full of people sworn to secrecy.) “My client feels that considering the considerable outlay of souls and the wording of the agreement, a written contract should be formed. Ensuring your continued cooperation until this particular issue is resolved.”

The demon looked about evasively; now lawyers and written bargains were involved. Now lawyers were involved, he was starting to feel nervous. This was a big job in the first place, and the lawyer was eyeing him in a way that resembled the look given to the last pig in a blanket at a buffet, where the alternatives were soggy bhaji’s (they’re always soggy by the time they get to a buffet table, and you know it.) Aunt Muriel’s questionable trifles, or whatever the event promoter had decided would be the only vegan option (it’ll be limp salad, it’s always bloody limp salad.) Not being a foodstuff and all, he did not like that look one little bit. He gave a gulp and decided if he wanted to get out of here with his hide intact, he was going to have to eat a loss.

“Tell yer what oi’ll do then, oi can’t sink infinite cost forever, and even if oi could ‘im upstairs would just fire me to get rid of the contract, quite probably literally, ‘e does ‘ave a lot of fire lyin about. So oi’m willing to settle by offering twoice the contract's worth in services, that’s ten souls worth of work towards dealing with your little princess problem.”

“My client feels that due to the nature of the bargain, and the quality of the souls offered, twenty standard souls would be a fair compensation for time, cost, transportation of the trade goods, miscellaneous expenses etc.”

The demon hesitated, 20 souls was a lot, but this damned bargain was going to cost him a lot more. With a wistful sigh, he thought back on the good old days, when you struck a bargain at the crossroads, and milked the poor sucker dry. He longed for a simpler time when there were no lawyers, but here he was.

“Alroight, you’ve twisted moi arm, twenty souls it is. He reluctantly pulled out the premium services list, handing it over to Redrobe.

Redrobe couldn’t help but smile as he pored over the list now; this was more like it; he skipped over the list of torments and the wishes for wealth; they always had hidden costs. Until eventually, after some pondering, his eyes saw the perfect option. “I’ll take this one,” he said.

“Are you sure?” The Archdemon asked.

“My Client feels,”

“Alroight, Alroight, oi’ll make the arrangements, but just don’t you go saying oi didn’t warn you.”

“Excellent, now that’s all taken care of, there’s just the small matter of my legal fees.

Ten minutes later, the lawyer dematerialised with a snicker. As far as Redrobe was aware, the legal fees were paid cash in full. But they never read the fine print; they never do, (in all fairness, the fine print in question, was contained in a full stop on page four hundred and ninety-seven, of five hundred, in line nine, paragraph five. He'd steered clear of sixes as it felt a tad tacky, and gave the game away, and most people upon attending a contract signing do not carry a microscope with them. Which was, in his opinion, a laughable example of how ill prepared they were.) He owned the souls of the entire coven postmortem now; they were signed up as interns for eternity. He thought back to the shocked look on the Archdemon’s face, with a smug grin. “Amateurs.”