Dumpster swayed up to Paul, a gormless grin across his face.

"Streak, me old mucker, me mate. You all right?" He spread out an arm and wrapped it around Paul's shoulders, hugging him with rib-cracking bonhomie. "Want to know why we call him 'Streak'?" he asked the assembled audience. "'Cos he's just a long streak of piss." Dumpster laughed, an action that involved his whole body, including every one of his chins. "But he's my mate, he is, and a bloody good Kung Fu whatsit, arm wrestling, thingy."

He slipped his arm up around Paul's neck and held him in a headlock that threatened to crush several vertebrae with friendship.

"And what do they call you, Sunshine?" he asked, releasing Paul and staggering towards Roath.

Roath looked at Dumpster in utter disgust.

"Go away," he said. It shouldn't be possible to put so much distain, menace and contempt into two words, but Roath managed it with ease, with room left over for a little cold anger around the edges.

Dumpster straightened, turned towards Paul and winked, suddenly sober. Then, without warning, he spun and slammed the beer bottle over Roath's head. The air instantly filled with an acrid smell.

"Consider yourself anointed," said Dumpster, with satisfaction.

"What?" said Roath, momentarily surprised.

Time, it is said, is that property of the universe that prevents everything happening at once. For a few brief seconds Time turned its back, and everything happened at once, while at the same time appearing to slow into eternity.

"No!" cried Ess. "We needed the bottle!"

"You never said," said Dumpster.

Roath took a long breath through his nostrils, then sneezed violently.

"You dare to try and enslave me?" he roared. "You will know pain no living creature has endured before!" He brought his hands up, his fingers starting to describe a complicated dance in the air.

Even before the first shards of glass hit the floor, Oz was already moving. It took a second or two for a man of Oz's stature to build up speed, but once in action he was like an ocean-going liner, a massive demonstration of Newton's first law of motion. He lowered his shoulder and hit Roath with the force of a rugby scrum on the five-yard line and thirty seconds on the clock.

Roath staggered back, his arms momentarily pinned to his sides. He twisted, leant back and allowed Oz's momentum to carry him past. Oz clung onto Roath's jacket, spinning over Roath's hip as his feet tripped over Roath's outstretched leg. Roath shoved, and Oz fell sprawling on his back onto the concrete beyond.

Roath turned towards Paul. "I will ..."

Paul never discovered what Roath would, as Dumpster hurled a fist the size of a ham into Roath's face. Roath staggered back.

Dumpster didn't float like a butterfly and sting like a bee; he floated like continental drift and stung like galaxies colliding. He swung another fist in a long, slow roundhouse that would take the head off a normal person. Roath stood his ground, taking the blow on his chin as though it were a caress from a small child. He smiled with cold cruelty. Dumpster swung his other fist. Just before it connected Roath raised an arm, stopping Dumpster's blow dead. Roath's other hand moved faster than the eye could follow, and Dumpster dropped to one knee, his arms wrapped around the personal universe of pain his stomach had become.

As soon as the two big men launched their attack on the demon lord, Paul turned and ran to Ess.

"We need another bottle!" he said.

Ess looked dismayed. "We don't have one."

Paul glanced at the magic circle. Inside lay the tub of ice-cream, with its snap-seal lid. Scarth was ignoring it, staring at the fight.

"Scarth, throw me the tub!"

Scarth didn't seem to hear.

"Scarth!" yelled Paul. "The ice-cream. Throw it."

Scarth suddenly launched himself towards his former tormentor, rebounding off the magic circle as though it were a solid wall. He leapt again, scrabbling at the invisible force field, yowling like a tomcat defending its territory.

"Scarth!" It was no good, Scarth was deaf to Paul's shouts, and stepping inside the magic circle was out of the question. Could solid objects even pass through it, or would the tub simply bounce back?

Paul snatched the ever-present cotton bag from Ess's shoulder and up-ended it onto the ground, shaking it by the corners to evict the last recalcitrant item. He dropped to his knees and scrabbled through the pile.

"Hey, that's personal stuff," said Ess, dropping to her knees to join Paul, snatching at various girly items the significance of which Paul could only guess.

Paul's eyes raked at the mess of items in front of him, his fingers scattering scraps of tissue and cosmetic unguents.

"What's this?" he asked, snatching at a white plastic container.

"It's what I keep my contact lenses in," said Ess.

"That'll have to do. What do ... you wear contacts?"

Ess gave him a look that wordlessly expressed the opinion that, in the middle of a battle with demonic powers, when they and their friends could be eternally damned to pain and misery, the discussion of each other's medical prescriptions could wait until later, if they had a 'later' in which to get to know each other better. Which, when all was said and done, was quite an expressive look.

"Right, bottle. Read the spell."

Ess shook her head.

"It needs to contain some of the potion."

Paul looked back at the fight. Dumpster still knelt in front of Roath, winded. Roath was muttering something, his hands carving complicated sigils in the air. Between Roath and Paul lay a wet patch, where Dumpster had smashed the bottle over Roath's head.

"Read it," he screamed, diving forward.

Roath had almost completed the spell when Oz charged into him from behind. Turning to face his new assailant, Roath stumbled over the still-kneeling body of Dumpster and fell onto his back. Oz tumbled on top of him. He wrapped his hands around the demon's throat and squeezed as hard as he could, cutting the invocation short. Roath pulled Oz's hands away as though he were merely pulling undone a bothersome bowtie, and tossed him to one side. Oz scrambled to his feet, but Roath was faster. While Oz was still bending Roath grabbed him by his rope belt and heaved. Oz flew through the air, twisting and flailing, then hit the concrete ground with stomach-turning thud. He wheezed wordlessly for a moment, then lay still.

Roath waved his hands again, then saw Dumpster rise to his feet.

"You stupid insects. Know when you are beaten."

"Ain't beaten yet," said Dumpster, hoarsely. Raising his fists in a boxer's stance, he moved on Roath. Roath shook his head in disbelief, then threw a backhanded punch at Dumpster's head. Dumpster managed to get an arm up to block it, but it had little effect. The blow landed with such force that Dumpster was knocked sideways. He hit the floor with a grunt, then lay there holding his arm.

"Now," said Roath, turning back towards Paul and Ess. Paul froze, lying prone on the ground, contact holder held to the small puddle on the floor. Ess paused her incantation, still kneeling before the contents of her shoulder bag, finger marking her place on the sheet. "I shall leave you alone," he pointed at Paul, "but you will spend eternity on Earth knowing the bitch is my toy in the Pit. Her fate will be used to terrify the bravest souls in my domain." He winced. Scarth's howling had reached a pitch that was impossible to ignore, like the screaming infant ten minutes into a transatlantic flight. Roath roared at Scarth in the guttural snarling that passed for their native language. Instead of cowering in fear, as he had done in the presence of Furcas, Scarth redoubled his efforts to break free.

"Command the abomination to be silent," Roath ordered Paul.

"How can you call your own child that?" shouted Ess.

"Child?" Roath sneered. "That is no child, it was a cancer cut out of some mare, a growth that should have shrivelled and died in the dark."

"Don't you dare talk about him like that!" Ess was shrieking in rage, the sheet of paper in her hand shaking .

Roath gave a short laugh that contained no mirth at all. "Or what?" he sneered.

Ess bent down and grabbed a packet from the mess in front of her. "Or I shall use this."

"What's that?" he asked, suspiciously.

"Wet wipes," said Ess, triumphantly. She leant sideways, and scrubbed at the chalk circle with the damp tissue.

Suddenly free, Scarth launched himself across the ground, sparks flying as his talons scrabbled for grip on the concrete. Six feet from Roath he leapt, hands raking at Roath's face as his clawed feet ripped his shirt to tatters. Roath grabbed at the bundle of fury, trying to pull Scarth off, but for every limb he grabbed, another three slashed and tore. Scarth's screaming became muffled as he sank his fangs into Roath's forearm and he shook his head like a terrier worrying at a towel on a washing line.

For a few seconds, Paul and Ess stared, amazed at the spectacle, then in unison suddenly woke up to the task. While Ess continued her chant, Paul scrabbled at the spilt potion, flicking it into the plastic container with his finger, smearing the potion around the inside of the cylinder and lid.

As the fight continued, Roath slowly leant away from Paul, until he was almost horizontal. His feet started to lose their grip, and he began sliding towards Paul. Each time he tried to invoke a magical gesture, Scarth was there, biting and clawing at any part of Roath that he could reach. Finally, Roath managed to grip Scarth by the scruff of the neck and throw him in a large arc across the loading bay. Only then did he seem to notice his situation.

A bright light emanated from the plastic container, holding Roath in its beam. Roath's body distorted like the image in a hall of mirrors, his feet becoming tiny as he neared the opening. Paul gripped the plastic in both hands, trying to hold it as firmly as possible without getting his fingertips near the beam of light. Roath screamed and twisted

In the background, Scarth landed in a ball on the floor, then launched himself into the fray again, scrabbling across the ground on all fours as he accelerated towards Roath.

With a sudden pop, Roath disappeared. Paul slammed the lid shut and heard the satisfying click as the seal snapped into place. Scarth continued his acceleration, cannoning into Paul's prone body and knocking Roath's new prison free.

Scarth skidded to a stop on all fours, his face inches away from the lens container. He screamed at the innocent-looking cylinder, he face contorted with rage, flecks of foam dripping from the corner of his mouth, beating the ground with his fists. Ess and Paul rose to their feet, then subconsciously backed away from the enraged beast.

"Scarth?" Ess's voice was quiet and shaky. Scarth turned towards her, took a pace forward and screamed. Ess staggered back. He turned his head from side to side, regarding Ess and Paul in turn, like a wild animal deciding which prey to attack. Then in a sudden motion he swept up the canister and scooped it into his mouth, swallowing hard. He stood up, looked at Paul defiantly, screwed up his face and farted a ten-second note. When he opened his eyes, the beast had gone and the old Scarth was back. He looked around the loading bay.

"Ice-cream?" he said, pointing at the tub and looking at Ess. Ess nodded. Scarth ambled into the almost-a-circle and picked up the box. He sniffed it experimentally and then bit off a corner.

"No, you take the lid off like ..."

Scarth glared at Ess, and she fell silent. After a moment Scarth returned to the tub, sliding a long purple tongue into the hole he had made.

Paul came up to Ess.

"I suppose that's as good as being at the bottom of the sea," he said. "Better, probably."

Ess nodded, staring at Scarth. "He was so ..."

Paul reached for her hand. "Yeah. It's why we had to do it, Ess. I mean, this world is no place for him, really it's not. Could you imagine it?"

She leant into his shoulder. "I don't want to. Oh, Oz! Dumpster!"

The two ran forward. Oz lay on his back, face screwed up in pain.

"I'm fine," he whispered. "Winded. Dumpster."

Paul stepped over to Dumpster. Dumpster's face had lost much of its ruddy glow.

"Bastard broke my arm," he said. "Where is he?"

"He's ... gone," said Paul.

"Ha! Run off, did he? Good job too. Was just about to kick his arse."

"Yeah, we won. Good job, Dumpster. I owe you, big time."

"Fifty quid you said, yeah? I'd have done it for twenty. God, but he was a hard bastard. Longest fight I've had in bloody years. Jesus, the trouble and strife is going to bend my ear when she finds out I've been fighting." He laughed weakly. "Rather face ten of your demons than her when I'm in the doghouse."

"Just you lie still," said Paul. "We'll get an ambulance."

"Oh shit! The hospital puts a cast on my arm and she'll go mental. She'll break my other arm. Still, you'll know all about that soon enough." He nodded towards Ess. "She's a keeper, mate, just like my missus when she was her age. She'll give you grief, no doubt about it, but they're worth every moment."

"Yeah, well, I'll get Ess to phone for an ambulance, okay?" said Paul, embarrassed.

Meanwhile Ess was kneeling over Oz.

"We did it, Oz. We trapped him."

"Of course. I had every confidence in you," he panted. "Give me your hand, girl, and get me off this cold floor, will you?"

Oz took hold of Ess's proffered hand and tried to pull himself up.

"Oh, oh, oh, no!" he wheezed, easing his grip and lying still again. "Sorry. Bit more than winded, I think. Can't breathe."

Ess looked at his barrel chest. He was breathing in short, shallow movements.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

Oz gave a pained smile. "Only when I breathe."

"Just wait. I'll dial 999."

Oz nodded. Ess returned to the pile of her possessions and fished out her mobile phone. She looked over to Paul. He held thumb and little finger to his head and nodded at Dumpster.

"Hello? Ambulance service, please."