She looked up and caught my eye. Mother Connell never forgot a face and never took any good-bye as final. Her scarlet lips pulled back to reveal yellow teeth, and she beckoned me over with one meaty hand. Her voice was deep and harsh, like a dog growling.

"Hello again, Mr. T. Been a while. Still looking for your Shanghai Lil?"

"That was long ago, in another land, and besides, the wench is dead," I said. "I understand you're letting in elves these days?"

Her smile disappeared in a moment. "Hard times, Mr. T. Decadence and debauchery isn't what it was. I blame television."

"Tell me at least you didn't let him pay you with faerie gold."

She cackled briefly. "Not likely, Mr. T. He had a Master-Card."

"How very appropriate," I murmured. "Where can I find this elf, Mother Connell?"

She stabbed a meaty finger at the back of the room, her heavy underarm swinging ponderously. "In the smoking section, Mr. T. Do us all a favour; get him the hell out of here. He's lowering the bleeding tone something awful."

"Well, naturally," I said.

I waggled my fingers in a good-bye, and she grinned back at me like a shark scenting blood in the water. I turned away, with a certain sense of relief, and moved off into the cavern, drifting deeper into the depths of the Dragon's Mouth. No-one paid me any attention, as they all were sunk deep in their own personal heavens and hells. But one man saw me, and knew me, and came striding daintily out of the smoky mists with his professional smile of greeting fixed firmly in place. No-one knew precisely how old the Host was, or even if he was, technically speaking, human; he'd been with the Dragon's Mouth since it opened, over a century and a half ago. The Host was there to make you feel welcome, to see to your every need, and to see that you got everything that was coming to you.