Paul slept fitfully, the exhaustion and the alcohol competing with his over-excited brain. Mingled throughout was the nameless presence in the dark, there in the half-awake world, telling him meaningless riddles he couldn't remember in the morning.

He couldn't face Joan's grease-rich breakfast, nor the smirks from Jim and Joan, so he and Scarth left early, walking the back streets and parks of London, gradually making their way west towards Balham, Gateway to the South. He bought a ham baguette with the last of his money and sat in Bermondsey Park, watching the normal people walk by. He would need to get some more money, though he didn't know how. He couldn't scam anyone at the Kings Head, not now it was his own doorstep. Still, that would wait. This afternoon he was going to see Ess again. Oh, and get rid of Scarth. Maybe.

He tossed the wrapper and empty drink can into a waste bin and checked his watch. One o'clock. A gentle stroll would get him there by two.

It was barely half past one when Paul rang Oz's doorbell. Oz opened the door, beamed at Paul and ushered him into the living room. If Paul had thought it untidy yesterday, today it looked as though the place had been ransacked. Books lay open scattered all over the room. Every level surface was covered with text books or notepads.

"You're early," said Oz. "Keen, eh? Good man. Me too. I took a sickie today. I started researching your problem last night, and I couldn't put it down. I think we're making progress, but we shall see. Fancy a drink? Scotch? Beer?"

"No, a coffee will be fine, thanks."

"Coffee? Okay. I think I've got a mug on the go could do with freshening up, too, somewhere." Oz looked around vaguely at the mess . "Or maybe I'll just make myself a new cup. Take a seat, I'll be back in a mo."

As Oz left, Paul looked around for a seat. Finally he moved a few books by the telly and sat Scarth on the patch of carpet revealed underneath. He gave up when he saw the three-piece suite, carefully dislodged a few books from the arm of the sofa and perched there. He watched Scarth sit, cross-legged, eyes closed, bobbing his head slightly to the silent tune in his earphones.

Oz reappeared with two steaming mugs. He gave Paul the one which proudly proclaimed him 'World's Best Lover'.

"Here, I found something really interesting. Nearly missed it. Good job I'm so brilliant." Oz looked around at the books. He picked one from the floor, and then produced Paul's book from the top of another pile. He opened them and held them for Paul. In Paul's book was the spell that had summoned Scarth. In the other was an identical spell.

Paul shrugged his shoulders as Oz looked on expectantly. "Yes?"

"They look the same, yes?" said Oz, with the enthusiasm of someone who has a secret he is desperate to share. "But look! Here, and here. Slightly different sigils. And this one here, totally different. This one is a copy from a thirteenth century manuscript. Your one is a much later copy, and if you look really carefully at the page, you can see, it's been altered."

Paul looked closely. Now that it was pointed out to him, it did look slightly different.

"So this means ...?"

"It means, my old son, you were set up. I reckon this was set out deliberately to trap you into summoning, not a demon, but specifically Scarth. You said this Lord Roath character wouldn't take Scarth back?"

Paul nodded. "That's right. Not for at least five hundred years, he said."

"There you go then." Oz leant back triumphantly. "He used you to get rid of the thing. You're the fall guy, the patsy, the mark."

"Thanks Oz. You know how to boost a fellow's self-esteem. So, now you know that, you've got a way to send him back?"

Oz's broad smile vanished. "Ah, not exactly. Not at this point, no, but I'm working on it. And with you here, I'm sure it's only a matter of time." Oz looked into his mug of coffee, avoiding Paul's eye. The doorbell chimed.

"Ah, that'll be the fair Vanessa. Wipe that doleful expression off your face. Chicks dig happy faces."

Oz left the room and returned with Ess. The young couple smiled a greeting at each other.

"Ah, young love," said Oz, beaming over the two like a proud parent. "Seeing you two makes me feel warm inside. Oh, wait, it's not a warm feeling." He gave a thunderous belch. "Oh, that's better." He rubbed his hands together vigorously. "Now, let's see if we can come up with a solution, shall we?"

"Well, now you know the original spell was altered, can you alter the banishing spell, or whatever it's called?" asked Paul.

"I'm afraid not, my young Lothario. It's not as simple as that. The banishment invocation is specifically for demons. It won't work for chimera's, or at least, not the way we want. It'll bind him, probably, but beyond that it's pretty much useless. How did he react when you tried?"

Paul thought back to the night in the supermarket car park. "It was like a force field, I guess. He pushed up against it, but couldn't get past it. Lord Roath had to smudge the circle out with his foot to release him."

"Did you enter the circle?"

"No. I mean, I almost did, by accident, but this Roath character pulled me back just in time."

Oz nodded. "Interesting. Well, if the worst comes to the worst, I have at least one solution."

Paul looked hopeful. "You do?"

"Yes. We repeat the ceremony, but this time you enter the circle at the end of the invocation. Scarth will be decorporealised back to the Pit. Unfortunately, you'll go with him, but at least we'll be safe."

"No!" gasped Ess. "Bloody hell, Oz, don't even joke about that. It's not funny."

Oz shrugged. "This isn't a game of patty-cake, Ess. People have died. You seem to think this creature is a sick puppy, but it eats people. I think Paul is a fine young man, and I would happily accept a beer off him, but if we can find no other solution and people's lives are at risk, we may have to call on Paul here to make the ultimate sacrifice. Sorry, old chum, but you have to understand the stakes. Much as I want to find some other solution, if we can't, then the results will be on your conscience. But, hey, cheer up, you two. If there is another solution, we'll find it, won't we?"

"Who would have altered the book, do you think?" asked Paul.

Oz shrugged again. He had huge shoulders, which made him a particularly effective shrugger. "Beats me, pal, why?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe if we knew who we were fighting, we could have a better chance of winning."

"My money's on this Lord Roath," said Ess. "He seems to be the one with the most to gain. Wasn't he Scarth's master, or something?"

"It's possible," said Oz. "I certainly don't have any better suspects. Or any other suspects at all, come to that."

"The bookseller I spoke to said Lord Roath was ambitious, only came to light relatively lately, in demonic terms," said Paul. "Do you know anything else about him?"

"Not much," answered Oz. "He was first mentioned, erm, where did I put those notes?"

"In France, a couple of hundred years ago," said Paul. The other two raised their eyebrows. "So the bookseller said."

"Yes, that sounds about right," said Oz. "And now he's the lord of the Pit of Pain, you say? I guess that would make him ambitious."

"Who is his enemy?" said Paul. "I mean, does he have any?"

"Of course he does. He's a demon. Demons always have enemies; it's the nature of the beast. You can't be demonic and make friends left, right and centre."

"No, I mean, does he have a specific enemy? Like, another demon, or someone."

Oz gave Paul a long stare. "I can't help but think you are asking for a specific reason, Paul. What are you driving at?"

"I don't know. It sounds pretty lame, when I come to say it out loud." He looked up into the expectant faces of the others. "Oh, alright, but don't laugh."

He told them of the nameless, faceless voice in the dark, and what he could remember of the dreams and the riddles. Oz grunted occasionally, but neither of them interrupted until Paul had finished.

"I was pretty ill when he first came," said Paul, after he had told every detail he could think of. "And pretty restless last night, so it's all probably just nightmares and hallucinations."

"No, I don't think so," said Oz. "Every religion, every mythology and cult, they all have communication through dreams. Half the Old Testament prophets, Saint Paul's revelations, Hindu gods and demons, Australian Aboriginal dream times. If you're a follower of Vishnu, we're all just part of his dream. Just about every communication across the planes comes through dreams. You should have told us."

"Well, I just have," said Paul. "So, who is my enemy's enemy?"

"Haven't the foggiest, I'm afraid," said Oz, cheerfully. "Like I said, there's not much about Roath, no ancient history, apart from this one short-lived cult, then bang! He's Lord of the Pit of Pain. Now, if hell is anything like academia, and I have every reason to believe it is exactly the same, Lord Roath will have made an enemy of every demon that was hoping to be the next department head, so there's not a lot of help there. We could just open up a lexicon of demons and list the lot."

"I can think of one demon that would be ticked off more than most," said Ess.

"Really?" asked Oz in surprise. "I didn't think demonology was your bag, dear. Far too macho and testosterone-filled. I thought Mother Gaia and wood-nymphs were more your thing. Enlighten us. What is his name."

"I don't know his name," said Ess, screwing up her nose at Oz's patronizing tone, "but if I know anything about macho, testosterone-filled men, I would be asking myself, who did Roath replace as Lord of the Pit?"

"Ooh, good question," said Oz. "A very good question, which demands a good answer. Okay, wait, I have it here." Oz looked around the room at the mess of books. "It'll be in the Pseudomonarchia Daemonum, which should be ... no, that's not it ... wait ... ah, here." He picked up a book from underneath a pile, heedless of the small avalanche he created. "Interesting chap, Johann Weyer," he said, leafing through the pages. "Did a lot to document and catalogue demonology. A passionate believer himself. Didn't agree with the witch-hunts of the time, you know."

Really?" said Ess.

"Really. Said witches weren't evil, just mentally ill. In fact, it was him that first coined that phrase 'mental illness'." Oz grinned to himself. "So, anytime you want to lie on my couch, purely for professional counselling, you understand, feel free. Ah, here it is. 'Furcas is a knight and cometh forth in the similitude of a cruel man, with a long beard and a hoary head.' He controlled twenty legions in his time, by this account. So, if our prime suspect is Lord Roath, our main ally may well be Sir Furcas. I must say, Ess's logic does seem to be impeccable."

"Why wouldn't he just tell me that?" asked Paul. "Why all the 'You must guess my name' nonsense?"

"Ah, now that I can explain. With the name comes the power. This is a belief that's prevalent throughout the world. There's a people in the Philippines that even now won't tell a stranger their name, they have to get a friend to say it. Furcas is being cautious. It sounds as if he doesn't want you to get too big for your boots. If he upped and told you his name, you could really work a number on him. This way, he can help on his own terms. 'Help' in this context meaning achieve his own ends. We need to be careful, my friends. It's not for nothing the devil is known as the father of all lies. Meddling with office politics is rarely successful and always ugly."

"Office politics?" asked Paul.

"Well, yes, when you boil it down, that's exactly what it's about. Empire building, back-stabbing, getting one over on the other guy. Whether it's who gets the desk by the window or who rules the world, the principles are the same, just the stakes differ."

"So, how does that help us, then, if we can't trust him?" asked Paul.

"Oh, it would be a sad future for us all if we went around trusting everyone. Let's talk to the guy, see what he has to offer. Maybe he has a plan, a solution to our little problem. Maybe this is all a big scam. Who knows? We can at least listen to what he proposes and make a decision on it."

"Okay, cool," said Paul, patting his pockets. "Wait, I have his phone number here somewhere."

"Oh, sarcasm. How droll," said Oz. "No, we can't phone him, but there are ways and means to summon him."

"No!" said Paul, firmly.

"No?"

"Definitely not. Look what happened the last time. What happens if we summon this Furcas, and he's a hundred times worse than Scarth? Haven't I done enough damage with one demon, I have to summon another?"

Oz pondered this for a moment.

"I understand your reluctance, Paul, and it does you credit. But I can't think of another way. Scarth isn't a run-of-the-mill demon. There isn't any mention of him in any texts I know. If a standard invocation can't rid us of him, I don't know what can. Can you take responsibility for Scarth for the next five hundred years or so? Can you think of a way to get rid of him, other than condemning yourself to an eternity of torture in the Pit?"

"You're right. This is a bloody awful situation, but I don't want to make it even worse."

"Done right, you won't. I can summon Furcas in such a way that you and the free world are safe. Besides, he knows the score. He's been summoned before, according to a dozen accounts through history, and the world hasn't ended as a result. Trust me, Paul. I will summon him so that we can talk, but no more."

"Paul," said Ess. "I know Oz, and he'll lie though his teeth to get a girl in bed, but he wouldn't lie about this. If he says he can do it, then I trust him."

"Just talk?" asked Paul.

Oz held two fingers up. "Scouts' honour," he said.

"You were a scout?" asked Ess.

"Briefly, until I was thrown out after the weekend camp with the Girl Guides. I honestly thought it was my own tent. But enough of that. We've got work to do, my young demon tamers. The witching hour approaches."