Not a pleasant sight, but one Jack rejoiced in nevertheless. ‘They’ll have you yet,’ said the Yattering. ‘Who will?’ ‘You know,’ it said, hesitantly. ‘Name them.’ ‘Beelzebub,’ it answered, proud to name its old master. ‘The powers. Hell itself.’ ‘I don’t think so,’ Polo mused. ‘Not with you bound to me as proof of my skills. Aren’t I the better of them?’ The eye looked sullen. ‘Aren’t I?’ ‘Yes,’ it conceded bitterly. ‘Yes. You are the better of them.’ It had begun to shiver. ‘Are you cold?’ asked Polo. It nodded, affecting the look of a lost child. ‘Then you need some exercise,’ he said. ‘You’d better go back into the house and start tidying up.’ The fury looked bewildered, even disappointed, by this instruction.‘Nothing more?’ it asked incredulously. ‘No miracles? No Helen of Troy?
