“Guns don't kill people. People kill people.''But guns make it so much easier. Shall we go?”

“Lesson one: expect to get screwed over for the convenience of others on a regular basis.”

“Horst, you are a good man. You have always been so, and your soul is an untrammelled thing indeed.’ Horst winced and interrupted. ‘Ah. Well. Maybe not. There was that business with a lacrosse team…’ Now it was Cabal’s turn to wince. ‘Did anyone suffer?’ ‘Oh, no. Nothing like that.’ ‘Was everyone happy?’ ‘I flatter myself a little to think, yes. Everyone was very nice afterwards, anyway.’ ‘Then shut up. In a world as grimy and sin-ridden as ours, you’re a paragon precisely because your intentions are always good.’ ‘Johannes, I killed a man.’ ‘Pffft.”

“My God. Johannes, are you saying that you’re accepting this task because I asked you?’ Cabal did not reply. Instead he found a loose thread on the eiderdown and fiddled distractedly with it. Horst sat on the side of the bed, embraced his brother around the shoulders with one arm, and rubbed the top of his head with the knuckles of the other. ‘Horst!’ snapped Cabal. ‘I am no longer eight years old!’ Horst kissed him on the top of the head. ‘You’ll always be my little brother, Johannes, even if you look older than me now.”

“No churchmen, I notice. Of course not. What use have they for a world without irrational fear?”

“Not entirely fair?" His voice became that of the inferno: a rushing, booming howl of icy evil that flew around the great cavern, as swift and cold as the Wendigo on skates. "I am Satan, also called Lucifer the Light Bearer..."Cabal winced. What was it about devils that they always had to give you their whole family history?"I was cast down from the presence of God himself into this dark, sulfurous pit and condemned to spend eternity here-""Have you tried saying sorry?" interrupted Cabal."No, I haven't! I was sent down for a sin of pride. It rather undermines my position if I say 'sorry'!”

“Do you smoke, Herr Cabal?""Only to be antisocial," replied Cabal, making no move.”

“Lo!" cried the demon. "I am here! What dost thou seek of me? Why dost thou disturb my repose? Smite me no more with that dread rod!" He looked at Cabal. "Where's your dread rod?""I left it at home," replied Cabal. "Didn't think I really needed it.""You can't summon me without a dread rod!" said Lucifuge, appalled."You're here, aren't you?""Well, yes, but under false pretences. You haven't got a goatskin or two vervain crowns or two candles of virgin wax made by a virgin girl and duly blessed. Have you got the stone called Ematille?""I don't even know what Ematille is."Neither did the demon. He dropped the subject and moved on. "Four nails from the coffin of a dead child?""Don't be fatuous.""Half a bottle of brandy?""I don't drink brandy.""It's not for you.""I have a hip flask," said Cabal, and threw it to him. The demon caught it and took a dram."Cheers," said Lucifuge, and threw it back. They regarded each other for a long moment. "This really is a shambles," the demon added finally. "What did you summon me for, anyway?”

“Guns don't kill people. People kill people.''But guns make it so much easier. Shall we go?”

“They served to remind Cabal - should a reminder ever be necessary - why his social skills were so poor: people were loathsome and not worth the practise.”

“It's a philosophical minefield!"Cabal had a brief mental image of Aristotle walking halfway across an open field before unexpectedly disappearing in a fireball. Descartes and Nietzsche looked on appalled. He pulled himself together.”