Devious frowned. “I'm not sure what you mean.”
“There must be a theatricals supply shop for stage magicians. How does one get started otherwise? Flash-bangs and smoke machines and what have you.”
Devious caught his hand and gave it a little pat. Is that, Harold wondered, the root of the word 'patronising' rather then the more recognise 'catering to patrons'? Either way, Devious was going to get a thump if he wasn't careful.
He had the misfortune to catch the sight and sounds of Dill cracking the corpse's head on the concrete floor as if it were an egg. Oddly, it did give off a hollow sound, right until the moment it cracked, allowing Dill to peel off the bits of shell and scrabble for the brain inside. He looked up and caught Harold's glance, then shuffled round to face the corner. Gillian had her hands clanped over their daughter's eyes and ears.
“There must be a way to get out of here. “Devious?”
Harold pointed the the pair of sliding doors at chest height. “Can you open those lift doors?”
“I can give it a go, sir. I'll go and do that now, shall I?”
“Yes, please. And without the smoke, for preference.”
“Yes, sir.” Instead of the swirl of smoke, Devious used the more regular method of opening a door into the imp tunnels and vanished.
Harold looked up at the sudden noise. The distant light of the lift was starting to expand.
Jasfoup gripped his lapel. “What did you do?”
“Nothing. I just asked Devious to get the doors open.”
“You fool. He's just called the lift. We'll all be crushed.” Jasfoup frowned. “Well, you three will. I can portal out.”