Mind you, there were some inhabitants of Hell who had no objection whatsoever to the looming presence of the Mountain of Despair. It provided employment to those who were content to ensure that the business of running an empire based entirely on evil, misery, and general demonic activity proceeded as smoothly as possible. A job, in their view, was a job, and, as with most jobs, you just had to find that perfect balance between doing as little as possible so you didn’t get tired, and just enough so that you didn’t get fired.

Two such beings were currently guarding the great carved entrance to the mountain. Their names were Brompton and Edgefast. Edgefast was, strictly speaking, simply a disembodied head,²³ and Brompton was about as much use at guarding as a toy dog on wheels, but they had somehow managed to continue to be employed as guards despite their general uselessness. This was because Brompton and Edgefast were members of the Union of Demonic Employees and Tormentors (Guards Branch), which fiercely protected the rights of its members to lean on their spears and nap any time their eyes got a bit heavy; to take tea breaks at unsuitable times, including during battles, invasions, and serious fires; and not to actually guard anything if they thought that it might place their personal safety at risk. All of this made Brompton and Edgefast as hard to fire as a pair of chocolate cannons. The Mountain of Despair could have been stolen from under their noses and broken down to make garden gnomes and, thanks to the union, Brompton and Edgefast would still have been guarding the place where it once stood, in between taking essential naps and tea breaks.

“Quiet today,” said Edgefast.

“Too quiet for my liking,” said Brompton.

“Really?”

Edgefast couldn’t help but sound surprised. Brompton was the laziest demon Edgefast had ever met. Brompton could fall over and make hitting the ground look like an effort.

“Nah, only joking,” said Brompton. “Not quiet enough, if you ask me, what with you piping up every few minutes about how quiet it is.”

“Sorry,” said Edgefast.

He’d said that it was quiet only once. It wasn’t like he kept repeating the word quiet over and over until nobody could remember what silence had been like.

Edgefast’s nose was itchy. He’d have scratched it, but he didn’t have any arms. It was one of the problems with not having a body. Still, Brompton was very good about making sure that he had a straw through which to suck his tea, and he usually remembered to pick Edgefast up and take him home when they had finished guarding for the day.

“Would you mind scratching my nose for me?” Edgefast said.

“Oh, it’s all about you, isn’t it?” said Brompton. “Me, me, me, that’s all I ever hear. Who made you king, that’s what I’d like to know. Must have been when I wasn’t looking. All right, Your Majesty, I’ll scratch your nose for you. There! Happy now?”