The three of us pushed open the door into the Long Horns' main bar area. It was packed, as per usual.

  “Location,” muttered Creville.

  We made our way through the tables and chairs, approaching the bar cautiously. Well, I was feeling cautious. Neville was smiling and nodding to people as we passed, and Creville was scowling at the decor.

  “Could do so much more with the place,” the barman from Longbottom grumbled as I rang the bell on the counter and prepared myself.

  Beville appeared and smiled for a moment, then his jaw dropped open as he saw me glittering away.

  “Ch-Champion of the Light! I’ll have your room prepared immediately. No… That shit hole isn’t good enough. You can have my apartment, I’ll sleep in one of the rentals. What can I get you to drink? On the house.”

  Now this was more like it. Free was my favourite word.

  “I’m not stopping here tonight, but thanks. I’ll have a glass of GJ if you’re offering. Gentleman, what would you like to drink?” I asked my companions.

  “Floutweather’s Pale? How the hell did you get that miserly old git to sell you a barrel?” demanded Creville.

  “He’s a brother in the light,” Beville said with a shrug, pulling a pint of the foamy stuff and passing it to his brother. Cousin? I wasn’t entirely sure of their relationships.

  “So am I. He wouldn’t sell me a drop. I’ll take the same, brother,” Neville said eagerly.

  A glass of amber liquid appeared in front of me as if by magic, which was quite possibly the real explanation for its miraculous delivery, and Beville returned to his pump for another ale.

  “So, how’s things, chaps? I heard about the siege of Baginton and how Bo–Bulb’s Champion saved the day.” He glanced at me like a schoolgirl looking at a crush. “And I guess Longbottom is now part of your realm, Lord Champion?”

  “Yeah. Bulb kind of screwed me at Baginton, but I guess being his champion has its perks.” I took a sip of my drink and put it down on the counter. It was time for the unpleasant process of negotiating how much I’d have to spend to get access to this site. “I’ve got a proposition. These two are already on board, and I gather they’ve already given you the bare bones of the deal?”

  “They have. Bo–Lord Champion… I’d join you if I could, but the local powers-that-be won’t take kindly to a portal network in the capital.”

  “Ah. About that.” I slid the document I’d gotten Light Invincible to sign across the counter and let him leaf through the first few pages.

  “This… this resolves that problem. Excellent. I’m in.”

  “Try some of these.” I produced the basket of still-warm pastries and placed it on the counter. “The muff-crusts are exquisite.”

  He took one and had a nibble, then devoured the rest in seconds. “Good!” he mumbled as he reached for another. God bless Jenny and her baked delights.

  “We’ll be operating a kitchen out of the dungeon with portal links to every pub. Keeps the costs down so we can offer great food at even better prices.” I was starting to sound like an infomercial. “That and the footfall will jump considerably; we’ve got numbers on that.” Dammit. I was meant to be a monster, not a marketer! Although in some ways, both roles were equally evil in most people's eyes. That’s another hit to my karma.

  “With the Quaestors accepting it, this becomes both better and worse,” Beville said sadly.

  “Why?” Why, indeed. Nothing ever just worked.

  “The Horn’s clientele… they’re largely outremonde or engaged in the grey market.” He shrugged and produced a glass to polish. His brothers slash cousins had put their beers down and also produced glasses and rags of their own. I felt like I was at a convention or a cult meeting. “The Quigglings tend to avoid this place, and I suspect my customers would like that circumstance to continue.” He squinted at the cup in his hands and began buffing out an imaginary smudge.

  “Define the grey market?”

  “You know… Not necessarily all paid up on their taxes, trading in exotic or restricted artefacts and items. Mmff mfff.”

  “What was that last part?” I asked.

  “Look, they’re not all nice people. But they need a place to do business, and I’ve brought more than a few of them back into the Light,” Beville said defensively.

  “Hah! I knew it! The holier-than-thou crap was all bullshit,” Creville crowed, earning a glare from Beville.

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  “You can’t save people unless they’ve strayed,” he muttered.

  “Is this why that snake Seb is still working here?” I demanded.

  “He’s… let’s take this into my rooms.” Beville put the glass down, summoned a spare barman he had lying around and led us through the back rooms to his own apartment.

  It was… dull. There were no paintings, pictures or knick-knacks. Grey walls—who paints their walls grey?— and plain wooden furniture filled the room. The only hint of an extravagance was an elaborate metal sculpture that looked a lot like…

  “That’s a bloody light bulb!” I exclaimed as I realised what the overly intricate and ornate lump of art deco was meant to be. It was perched atop a simple wooden table in the corner of the room with candles and incense burners clustered around its base.

  “I am a true devotee of the Illuminant one.”

  “I don’t think Illuminant is a word.”

  “It is.” Huh. He was right.

  “How can we accommodate these lost souls of yours but still bring you into the fold of Bobco?” I asked, cautiously settling into a comfy armchair. Ever since my first run-in with Tim, furniture was a threat. Screw mimics and their snapping teeth, telling the truth with no filter was far more dangerous.

  “Bobco?” asked Neville.

  “It’s not been set in stone,” I said. “So, the buy-in price?” I braced myself and did my best to mentally sedate the Greed-goblin.

  “I’m in.” Beville’s eyes shone with zeal. All three of the brother/cousin tag team had sat down and produced glasses to polish. I was feeling a little left out.

  “How much?”

  “Nothing.”

  Greed did a backflip and started touching himself. Lust got annoyed and attacked him for stealing his schtick.

  “Ok. That works for m–”

  “Beville, it wouldn’t be right. Besides, we haven’t addressed how to deal with the… alternative lifestyles of your customers,” Creville interrupted. “Think of the family.” He waggled his eyebrows at his possible brother.

  “Am I missing something?” I said with a glare at the barlord of the Empressesses Head.

  “Bob, the de Sackville’s are a business enterprise in our own right,” Neville said.

  “No, you’re mammals… You took that cash I paid and put it in some sort of fund?”

  “Sort of. It’s voluntary, but both Creville and I made generous donations to the Young Barlords’ Association with the buy-ins you paid us. It was good for you as well! We mentioned what a good opportunity it was to join up with you,” Neville said, raising his hands defensively as I shot him a grade-three glare, a glittering glass held up in one hand and a rag in the other.

  This was all rather besides the point, I realised. I didn’t care if they used it for paddles and tickling feathers; the money was theirs to do with as they wanted after I got what I wanted, and Beville was offering to sign up for nothing. A warm glow suffused me.

  “Welcome to the company, Bev. How about we put the portal… Say, that coach house out there doesn’t get much use, does it? How about we turn that into a kind of portal room? It might not be quite as good for getting thirsty people to pop in as they pass, but it would keep the Quaestors—you called them Quiddlings? It would keep those bastards outside and let your shadier customers keep on being shady.” I am a genius. Screw you, Seb, you alcoholic, foul-mouthed, traitorous teenager!

  “That might work,” Beville said thoughtfully, polishing his glass as he reclined in his leather chair. “But what about Seb?”

  “Fuck him. He betrayed… I have it on good authority he can’t be trusted,” I hastily corrected.

  “I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that.”

  “Nothing ever is. What pain in the cloaca bullshit do I need to deal with this time?” I wasn’t sure if it was IMPS spreading its evil memetic presence across my life, or just crappy luck, but nothing was ever bloody easy.

  “The Enterprise.”

  “Uh, like beam me up, Scotty?” I wondered.

  “You know Scotty?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, lovely fellow. Likes his paddlings to be–”

  “I think we’re thinking about different people,” I growled.

  “The Dalgliesh Business Enterprise, that’s what I was referring to,” Beville said hastily.

  Shit. I’d been planning on steering clear of the miniature sociopath this trip to the big city. Next time we met, I’d be eating haggis. Well, I’d be eating haggis-eater after I figured out a way to deal with Big Kenny. The one-eyed giant loomed large in my worries. I had an evolution in the bag, but I had a sneaky feeling one more wouldn’t make a difference against the evil ninja. He might not be able to kill me, but I was pretty sure he could handle anything I threw at him as well.

  “What have they got on you?” asked Creville with a remarkably unpleasant smile. Brotherly love.

  “Nothing! Well, nothing on me personally. But business is business and… well, they have a lot of interests in the area. I do a lot of trade operating as a safe house of sorts. The Armaments Guild has taken an interest in his assets recently, and things have gotten tense.”

  “Tense?” I asked. This was good. I could use tension, and if those pricks in the guild were putting pressure on Dalgliesh, and I cut off his supply—a notification pinged up in the corner of my eye.

  Do you wish to break the contract with Peter Dalgliesh? Y/N

  Hmm. I clicked no. System-enforced contracts could inflict some nasty consequences on humans if you broke them, and I didn’t fancy losing access to my evolutions or my dungeon. Dammit.

  “We need to work with them,” I grumbled. “But kicking Seb out is a must. He can go run with the feral Outremonde kids. Dalgliesh can send a new watcher.”

  “He’s just a boy!” Beville objected. I gave him a flat look.

  “How much does he drink, and what were the last four words he said to you?”

  “A lot, and I believe it involved stuffing something spiky into my urethra, whatever that is,” Beville admitted.

  “We need a better class of criminal in this city, Bev. There’s no reason they can’t be positive influences on society.” I clapped my hands together, causing a splash of shining sparks to explode around me. “We can make it happen. Respect. Honour. There’s no need to be beholden to a Glaswegian midget with anger management issues! We can take this city and make it what it used to be.”

  “You’re suggesting a war with the underground?” Creville asked nervously.

  “Yes! What have they got that we don’t?”

  Neville held up a fist and began raising fingers as he ticked off each point. “Hardened criminals. Connections. Legal loopholes. Deals with the authorities. Noble connections.” He raised his other hand and continued raising fingers. “Established partners. Massive investments. Absolute ruthlessness. Big. Kenny. And finally, and I saved this one for last for a reason: Mrs Sanderson.”

  “Ah. That’s fair. I really don’t want to mess with Mrs Sanderson, but Seb has to move out, and we use the coach house for the portal. Now, Bev, my old mucker, I’ll get Kat to bring through the paperwork, but in the meantime… Can you recommend an auction house?”

  “Buying or selling?”

  I scanned down the list of laser-themed junk in my pocket dimension. “Very definitely selling.”