Everybody started talking at once, and at top volume—even the councilors. I've been in the middle of a mob before, and it's a terrifying thing. You never know when something will happen, and then the bodies start dropping. It didn't matter how tough you were. If the mob came for you, you were going down, and there was nothing you could do about it.

  Ignaz was shouting and banging on the table. Franz was trying to stop him from destroying his mug. Stefania, Vladimir, and Father Yaqub were huddled together, trying to hear each other over the noise. It was chaos. Complete chaos. Until a single voice boomed over the crowd noise.

  "Militia to me! Militia to me!" Arthur was standing on his stool, hands cupped around his mouth. There was a lad of maybe 14 holding onto his leg, helping him keep his balance.

  His yell had the intended effect. About a third of the men pushed through the crowd to stand before the old man, which took the wind out of the chaos. Partially because a good number of those arguing stopped to answer the call, and partially because the rest now saw a block of their toughest neighbors arrayed before them.

  "This is a council meeting!" he yelled as the crowd quieted down. "This is where we discuss serious topics that affect our homes and our lives. We selected these citizens to manage the affairs that we don't care to deal with, and we owe them sufficient respect to do so. The militia will escort out anybody who can't wait their turn to be recognized," he turned to the council table, "assuming the council authorizes us to do so."

  In the fastest motion, seconding of the motion, and unanimous vote in history, Arthur's proposal was accepted. Even Father Yaqub cast an 'aye' vote.

  The next few hours were brutal. Villager after villager stood up and spoke their mind, and I had to answer the same question time and again as they kept asking the same things. No taxes meant no taxes. No, I would not requisition their animals. Yes, if bandits came, I would defend them. On and on and on it went. It was so dark outside by the time they were done that I couldn't see the villagers that I knew congregated just outside. It seemed that most of the village had collected as news of what was being discussed filtered out to the last people who didn’t know. Finally, it came time, and Ignatz called the vote.

  "Sir Chuck, we appreciate your coming to our fair village and deigning to call it your own. However, we have governed ourselves since our founding and have no need of a lord above us. Because of this, I vote nay."

  "Oh, Ignatz, you're a stubborn old fool," Stefania admonished him. "This is a deal where we can't lose. We gain a trained Knight of the Order of Light, and what does it cost us? A bit of pride to let him call himself Lord Protector? That's nothing. He's even put in writing that he disclaims the right to tax us. This is a bargain if I've ever seen one. I vote aye."

  "I also vote aye," chimed in Franz. "I see no downside to this deal, and if Stefania sees the same, then I'm confident that I haven't missed anything. Aye, aye, aye."

  Vladimir had participated the least in the discussion, much in contrast to the ordinary business of the night, where he weighed in on everything. "Nay." No explanation. Just a punch in the gut with one word. All eyes turned to Father Yaqub.

  He hesitated before standing up, then paused as he collected his thoughts. His lips moved in a silent prayer before he stood up straight and looked straight at me. "This is an issue that will affect the village for all time. To invite someone, even a paladin of the Light, to be Lord Protector is a serious decision, even if there is a paper where he claims to disclaim the usual rights of lordship. My charge is the spiritual well-being of this village, not the secular issues. This decision is outside of my remit, so I must abstain."

  My stomach dropped even as he sat down. The vote was 2-2-1.

  I had failed.

  * * *

  Mum saw me walking down the road before anyone inside the cottage. He was standing by the time I got there, concern written on his face.

  "Cigar?"

  I couldn't help but smile. He knew that I wanted some of his cigars, but somehow he was never around when I thought about it. I was convinced that it was some demonic superpower warning him of danger. I gratefully accepted and realized that I had no lighter. Or matches. Or any other way to make fire. Yet somehow we'd managed to light the lone candle we could afford each evening. I pondered this new puzzle and was about to ask to use his coal when the answer appeared before me. A flame emanated from his fingertip.

  "That's not going to leave a flavor, is it?" I asked even as I drew the flame in. I didn't actually care; I just wanted him to know that I wasn't a noob.

  "No, Master Chuck, I assure you. Although I will say that it took me a few hundred years to suppress the sulfur taint, but now it's as good as cedar."

  "Hmmm. Hmmm." I let loose an enormous cloud of thick smoke as I savored the flavor. "Nebuchadnezzar Aristophanes Aloisius Hieronymus Chrysanthemum, where do you find these magnificent specimens?"

  He positively beamed with pride when I called him by his full name, note to self. Apparently, casual disrespect came at a price. I'd be sure to save it for special occasions. I didn't want him to get full of himself. Well, any more full of himself.

  "I have a source. It's been supplying me with these for a long time."

  I closed my eyes and tried to relax my shoulders, which caused my spine to crack but little else. I wondered if sleeping in my armor would be uncomfortable. It seemed like a lot of effort to take off tonight. "Where do they come from?"

  He hesitated, as I'm sure he didn't want to tell me. I wouldn't press him so long as I got a few once in a while, but I was curious. "A faraway land that I've never been able to locate. They originate somewhere named Cuba."

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  I opened one eye and looked at him. "Cuba?"

  "Yes, my lord. A mysterious jungle island named Cuba. I have no idea where that is, despite searching for a long time."

  I closed my eyes again and let out another puff of aromatic smoke. "Hmmm. So how do you get them? Wait, let me guess. You've got a contact, you clever bastard, don't you?"

  I could feel the pride radiating from him. "No, my lord, I have a contract." He beamed with pride. "These things were appearing in the infernal dump by the boxload when I discovered them, and I offered to remove them for a modest fee. Nothing in the contract said that I had to destroy them, although I'm sure that's what the dump manager thought I'd do.

  "Somebody somewhere collects them and sends them all to hell, where I collect them and store them. I've been collecting them ever since I stumbled upon them, except for a few years recently when they mysteriously stopped. Even bound some dreg demons to do the scutwork for me. Now that was a genius contract on my part!"

  "Hmmm. And you've been collecting them for about sixty years now, right?"

  "How… How did you know that?"

  I looked over at him and noted that his eyes had gone wide, afraid that I knew something he didn't. Something important. Because that's when US customs started to seize them. "How many cigars have you collected over the years?"

  "I'm not entirely sure. A lot."

  "Define 'a lot'."

  "Do I have to?"

  "No, but it will negatively affect my opinion of you if you don't."

  He pondered that for a few moments before answering. "Somewhere between one fifty and two hundred."

  "Noooo. No, that doesn't work. That's not enough."

  "Million."

  "Million?"

  "Million."

  We sat in silence for a few minutes after that. "I am impressed, Mum. I am really impressed. Well done, you fiend. Well done."

  * * *

  I spent an hour sitting on the porch and smoking with Mum. I saw the shadows of the rest of my crew pass in front of the window occasionally, and, despite there being only one candle in the house, that in the kitchen, I could tell exactly who was who from the silhouette. They came around frequently at the beginning until Elanthe parked herself in front of the window and shooed them away. Bless that girl for watching my back. She was fast becoming someone I couldn’t live without.

  I stood up, stretched, and bade Mum goodnight. I mumbled something about figuring out a better sleeping arrangement for him, but he waved me off, stating the alternative for him was a bed of red-hot pokers, so he was content with what he had. I knew he was lying—he's a devil, it's in his nature, but I let it slide. I meant it, though.

  By the time I entered the house, Elanthe had slipped out of the front room. I made a mental note to mention that I appreciated how she looked out for me next time I could do so discreetly. If she didn't want me to notice this night, I'd not mention it. To my surprise, the only person in the kitchen when I got there was Pemberton.

  "Sir! Sir, I'm sorry this evening didn't go well for you, but I have good news."

  "How do you know it didn't go well for me?"

  "Captain, please. Don't insult my intelligence. I've been going over the original property contract for Thornwell. Mum did quite the job on it, even if it is riddled with mistakes. You do know that he wrote it, don’t you? See, he actually got a survey done, so we know the bounds of the tract. The creek on one side, the road in front of the church on this side—" He could tell that I wasn't interested in the details and wisely shifted to his point. "Well, suffice it to say that it’s very structured, even if it is riddled with typos. In transferring the village to the baker in Prague, he opened a window of opportunity."

  "He did?"

  "Yes!"

  "Am I going to have to ask you what it is, or are you going to tell me?"

  "You see, captain, in this volume of infernal property law,” he pointed to a dusty tome open on the kitchen table, it is quite clear. After 199 years of tax delinquency, the property reverts to 'administrator status'." He waited for my reaction as if I should know what that meant.

  I decided to ask my most well-thought-out question. "So?"

  "So that means that the property is technically unclaimed. Under an obscure and rarely used bit of infernal law, you already have a quasi-legal ability to simply claim the village as your own. You don't need the council or anybody else's approval." He beamed.

  "But you haven't told me to do it, so there's a catch, right? There's always a catch."

  "If you were a student of mine, I would be quite proud. Of course, there's a catch. There’s always a catch. While you'll be the legal owner of the village, so far as Hell is concerned, the village's status will change from 'unclaimed' to 'territory in rebellion'."

  "Which is bad."

  "Oh yes."

  "Very bad."

  "Oh yes."

  "How bad exactly?"

  "Any demon that can collect a horde can try to subjugate the territory by force. If they do so, you lose your claim."

  "Pemberton, I'm confused." I ignored his pleased look. "Why would I claim it just to change it from one status to another that amounts to the same thing, and any horde of demons can just take it from me at will anyway?"

  "Oh, you haven't spoken to Calista yet, have you? I don't want to step on her report, but she found signs that demons have been scouting the south bank of the river very recently. As in today, recently. They're getting ready to move in."

  "Why is it that the more information I get, the more confused I get. Who is getting ready to move in?"

  "It is one of Lord Azgoranthee's minions who is no doubt working to undermine the Demon King's authority. Vorghammul the Destroyer is his name."

  "Are we sure? I mean, that's very specific."

  "He carved his entire name into a tree. Do you realize how hard it is to carve curved letters into trees?"

  "We don't stand a chance against a handful of demons, let alone a horde." I looked around to ensure nobody was listening before I leaned in and whispered, "We'd have a hard time handling a horde of Mum's in a fight."

  Pemberton almost but not quite succeeded in suppressing his smile. "Indeed, Sir, your squad is not gifted so far as combat is concerned."

  I sat back and scratched my head. "If I were to stake my claim to the village, how long would it delay a warband from invading? Wouldn't the change in status interfere with their plans while the paperwork got processed? That sounds like something Hell's bureaucracy would do. Could we use the status change itself as a weapon?"

  "Yes, Captain." He positively beamed.

  "If it's my village, then I could, say, charge a toll to every demon who wished to cross the bridge, no? Then they'd either have to go home and get a grixload of dimes, or contest the claim, no?"

  "Captain, I believe you have got a gift for this kind of thing. A simple status change might be ignored, but to violate an authorized toll—I tell you, you've got the knack. We could delay any invasion by at least three days while they sort out the paperwork. Five, if there's a holiday."

  I leaned into the hallway and yelled at the front porch. "Mum! Get in here. I need a contract drafted."

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