were pleasant, but they were overbalanced by an equal number of real stenches, like the wagon we passed full of rotting vermin. I was afraid to guess whether the pathetic corpses were destined for the trash heap, or the kitchen of a local restaurant. I'd learned to eat almost anything during my thin years as a would-be thief and apprentice, but my palate would never accommodate such foods as Pervish cooking or Deveel snacks-on-a-stick, guaranteed to give you a stomach ache you'd never forget, if you survived digestion.

A Trollop with plenty of green-tinged cleavage showing over the top of an inadequately-laced tunic started to give Wensley the eye, but I caught her gaze and shook my head. Recognizing me, she gave a sultry smile, tossed her moss-green hair, and turned to the next prospect, an Imp wearing a loud suit and flashing far too many rings and neck chains for a pick-pocket-heavy ambience like this one.

"Not a wizard. He's my best friend," I corrected Wensley. We were lucky to hear that Aahz was on Deva. Tananda, my friend who was, coincidentally, also a Trollop as well as a trained Assassin, was at home in our old headquarters. Bunny assured me Aahz also made it his pied-a-Terre whenever he was in the dimension. Tananda had steered us toward a beer garden offering seasonal brews, some rows over from our office.

Oom-pah-pah music assaulted my ears as we walked into the tavern. I'd been by myself so long on Klahd that I forgot it was Weisenheimerfest on Deva. Deveels in leder-hosen, with perky little green hats tilted on their heads be- tween their sharp little horns and kegs on their shoulders, made their way between the broad wooden tables. Decorated pottery or metal mugs hung from pegs all the way around the wooden gallery. Below, people from all kinds of dimensions sat on the benches, some holding up their tankards for a refill, many taking a snooze under said benches after their long-awaited annual overindulging