“I don't understand...” Manoach looked at the fallen demon. It had changed from inky black to almost transparent, shot through with a smattering of darkness like ink dripped into water. “Wait. You're him aren't you?”
Harold made a short bow, unable to repress the smile that insisted of relieving his face of the tedium of glumness. “Harold Waterman, at your service. Though not, if you don't mind. It's only an expression. I thought Jasfoup had told you who I was when you met him in the Tattered Moon.”
“I didn't believe him. Who would expect such a minor demon to be the companion of Lucifer's son?”
“I was given to understand my father chose him especially.” Harold stooped to pick up the legionnaire. It felt different to the mortal spirits they'd been pulling out of the golems, more akin to soft toffee than the liquid goo children played with. A stray wonder of what would happen if he bound one of these to an homunculus passed idly through him mind. He shook it off and dropped the demon in a pocket. It was too weak to do any damage. “Shall I give him a call?”
Manoarch's retort was too hasty. Harold wondered why. “I'd be pleased if you let Gillian up now. She must be terribly bored, being held down like that.”
“Of course. My apologies.” He signalled to the demons and they slid away, slipping back inside him with the silence of the abyss. “By all means, take her back with my blessing. You'll see she is quite unharmed.
Harold raised an eyebrow as a question as Gillian swung herself off the altar.
“I'm fine.” She took his proffered hand. “They were uncomfortable but did me no damage.”