He counted off the days on his mental calendar; the flow of time here was less familiar, and he sometimes lost track of the days and weeks.

"Two weeks from now, at the latest," he interjected. They were wittering on about trips to London and such. Belial had never liked the place. Too cold.

He missed the desert. Hand still on the beer taps he licked his lips, recalling the blisteringly dry heat with great relish.

"Would you like something to drink with your dessert?" He grinned, narrow and sly. "Booze is always on the house, as long as you have good taste. I charge extra for rotgut."