“I know of no traitor by such a name,” said Mrs. Abernathy. “I know only of the traitor Abigor, who has taken arms against the commander of Hell’s forces. If he surrenders to me, and orders his demons to lay down their weapons and disperse, then I can promise him … nothing at all, actually. Regardless, he is doomed. It is merely a matter of how deep in the great Lake of Cocytus I choose to inter him.”

“He also demands that you hand over the boy, Samuel Johnson,” said the captain, as if Mrs. Abernathy had not spoken. “He is an interloper, a pollutant, and an enemy of the state. Duke Abigor will ensure that he is imprisoned securely, that he may do no further harm.”

“That too I refuse,” said Mrs. Abernathy. “Is there anything else?”

“Indeed there is,” said the captain. “Duke Abigor orders you to reveal the whereabouts of the portal between worlds, a portal that was opened without the knowledge or approval of our master, the Great Malevolence, and threatens the stability of this realm.”

Mrs. Abernathy said nothing for a time, as though composing a suitable response. Eventually the captain of the guard grew tired of waiting.

“What answer should I bring to Duke Abigor?” he said. “Speak now, lest he unleash his wrath upon you.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Abernathy, “you can say—oh, never mind, I’ll let you work it out yourself.”

From her back emerged her lethal tentacles. Before the three riders could react, they were enveloped, and within seconds they and their horses had been ripped apart. Mrs. Abernathy gathered up the remains, crushed them into a ball of flesh and bone, leather and metal, then hurled it in the direction of Abigor’s lines. The mess rolled as far as Abigor’s mount, where it bounced off the horse’s front legs and came to rest.

“I think that was a ‘no,’” said Abigor. “I was rather hoping it would be. Jolly good. Carnage it is, then.”

The Watcher moved swiftly through the Mountain of Despair. The arches and alcoves that had echoed with laughter and mockery during Mrs. Abernathy’s last visit were now silent. The creatures that dwelled within them retreated to the shadows, fearful of drawing the attention of the Watcher to themselves, and only when it had passed did they peer out at it. It was a long time since the Watcher had walked through those great halls, but the memory of it had remained. Its presence in the mountain was a reminder of an older order, and as it walked it seemed to grow larger and more powerful, as though feeding upon an energy meant for it alone.

Chancellor Ozymuth waited for it at the end of the causeway. He raised his staff and the Watcher halted.

“Go back, old one,” said Ozymuth. “There is no place for you here. Your time is over. A new force rises.”