Ahdio smiled. "What will you have, gentlemen?"

"You seen Cholly da Gluemaker? We'll make it worth ya while. We got bidness wit' 'im, see?" said the red-faced man, bouncing a coin on his palm.

Ahdio held out his hand. "Maybe."

The man tossed the coin onto Ahdio's broad palm. Ahdio neither spoke nor moved his hand until several copper coins were stacked there.

"He's in the back room. Follow me."

Cholly was watching the door. He noticed the argent hair at once, then he stared at the others. The dark one in red damask silk was the obvious leader, a man accustomed to power as his due.

"What the hell is that?" he wondered, seeing the last of the trio enter through the doorway.

It was shaped sort of like one of the rendering pots in the shop, squat and rotund with thick stubby legs ending in homed, splayed, webbed three-toed feet. It had ears like a donkey, little beady rat's eyes, and a wide froggish mouth full of long yellow-green teeth. Its thick muscular arms hung down so low its knobby knuckles dragged the ground. Its matted, scraggly feathers were the color of iron rust. Topping it all off was something resembling a coxcomb. It had no head or neck per se.

It was ugly.

He gestured for the two men to sit opposite him in the booth. He asked Ahdio to bring a chair and three large beers for his guests.

"Nothing personal, you understand. I'd just rather not sit where I'm hemmed in. We haven't been introduced. My name is Chollandar. And you?" He spoke to the black-bearded man.

"No offense taken. I am called Markmor. This young fool is my apprentice, Marype."

"Does the demon have a name?"

"I'd forgotten you can see his true form. I'm afraid I can't tell you his real name. He does answer, however, to 'Rubigo.'"

"Rubigo it is then." He took a sip of his Baladach wine.

"How much will you take for it?" Marype asked,.

Markmor glared at him. Rubigo snickered at such a breach of manners. Even he knew better.

"I never discuss business until after a sociable drink. I wouldn't think of doing business with a man who won't have a friendly drink with me first. You seem to have some breeding, Markmor. Surely you understand. Perhaps in time your impatient apprentice will learn. If he's like my two, it may take a while."

After what seemed an eternity with the demon standing sullenly by the door, Ahdio returned with a chair. Throde followed with a serving tray. Upon the tray were three pitcher-sized tankards holding perhaps a half gallon of Red Gold each, possibly more. Rubigo plopped down and hoisted a pewter tankard, chugging it into his mouth with hedonistic glee. Throde set the tray down and left.

Cholly sipped his wine and asked, "Is beer all right? It's the best brand he carries. I forgot to ask."

'This is fine," Markmor answered, taking a tankard in both hands. Marype did likewise.

Rubigo drained his in one long, gurgling, slurping pull. When he went to set the tankard down he made a startling discovery-the tankard was stuck to his lips and hands. He squealed in anger. When he tried to rise he found his feathers glued to the chair.

Markmor and Marype realized the trap too late. They too were stuck. Their mouths and hands stuck to the tankards and their robes stuck to the booth. Even their shoes were stuck to the floor. The master wizard's eyes seemed twin flames of amethyst. A growl of rage rumbled in his throat.

There was a puff of sulfurous smoke and Rubigo's tankard clattered onto the wooden floor. An instant later the smoke cleared, revealing the demon standing in the center of the room.

"Nice try, Fat Man. Too bad you didn't know us demons could jump planes just by thinkin' 'bout it. Haw-haw! Didn't nobody never tell ya not to go messin' wit' us? Now you gonna die, boy."

"Are you sure? It seems to me that as long as I have the Theban Talisman you can't touch me. Suppose I used this axe of mine on you. How do you know it wouldn't kill you?"

Rubigo paused a moment. Cholly eased out of his chair and slid his dismembering axe from its iron ring on his belt. He drew the Ilbarsi knife with his left hand. He waited, smiling.

"One way to find out," Rubigo growled, swinging a long arm around to slash at Cholly with green adamantine claws. The hand had three webbed fingers plus a thumb. Cholly ducked easily. The demon was slow. Cholly hacked with the axe.

Rubigo's hand fell to the floor. For a moment it lay wriggling. It vanished. The demon's wrist stopped oozing brackish fluid from the severed stump because the hand was back. He had an ugly laugh. Uh-oh, Chollander thought.

Chortling and drooling, Rubigo circled, intending to play with Cholly for a while before killing him. He lashed out with either hand, his claws raking the air around Cholly but not making contact. The gluemaker stayed calm, ducking and blocking, chopping and slashing at every opening. Once he darted in and managed to plant the axe deeply into Rubigo's chest, only to see the wound heal as soon as he removed the weapon.

Markmor and Marype watched every move of man and monster over the tankard rims.

The hellspawn was wearing the gluemaker down. He was untouched, but he was getting tired and winded. Sweat trickled into his eyes and the salt stung. He slid the Ilbarsi knife into its sheath and shifted the axe to a two-handed grip. He blinked and continued to block and counter and attack. He knew he would have to change tactics before exhaustion caused him to err.

Damn, he thought. I've given him enough blows to kill a squad of men. but his fiendish magic heals him every time. If he was mortal I could take him apart.

Cholly smiled.

Changing back to a one-hand grip on the axe, he used his free hand to reach for the talisman. Yanking the chain over his head he said, "That's enough. This is what you're after. Take it. I can't fight any more. Just take the damned thing and leave me alone. I know when I'm beat."

"That's more like it, Fatso. Youse is good, butcha ain't no match for da ol' demon. Now gimme."

He caught the medallion in the palm of his webbed hand. Now he was going to kill the fat bald man, since there was nothing to restrain him. He looked over to the wizard and apprentice wizard, holding the bauble aloft and smiling. He looked back just in time to catch a sparkle of light reflecting from the gleaming blade descending. Realization flashed in his beady little eyes just before they rolled back into his head.

Cholly picked up the medallion from the lifeless fingers, returning it back around his neck. Next he placed a foot upon the fiend's face and worked his axe free from the skull. Slipping the haft through its ring, he sat back down at the table.

"That was thirsty work." He drew his long knife and placed it between himself and the magicians. He poured himself another goblet of wine and sipped it. He paused long enough to get out his pipe, fill it, and light it from the candle on the table.

He took his time, seemingly ignoring the two prisoners. He would take a puff or two, blow a few smoke rings, and sip at his wine. All the while he kept smiling, sometimes idly playing with the Ilbarsi blade.

"What am I going to do with you?" he said, breaking the tense silence. "If I let you go we'll be right back where we started, except I'll know who you are. I've got better things to do than play hide-and-seek with your hired flunkies and conjurings. I have to work for my living.

"Have you ever seen glue being made? We start with a body. First we strip it naked and inspect for obvious disease. Next we lop off the hands and cut the throat and hang the body head-down to drain the blood. Are you following this? Oh yes, if the client has a nice head of hair-yours would fetch a pretty price, Marype-we scalp it before we hang it up."

He paused to pour himself another serving of wine. Markmor looked nervous and Marype was quite pale.