Jasfoup tapped one ebony claw against the screen of his bloodberry, shook it and pressed a few more buttons, hissing all the while like a kettle going off the boil.
Harold tried to ignore him but the irritation was coming off the demon in waves. “What’s up?”
“I've an intermittent error on my PDA.” The demon shook it again. “It's annoying.”
“Want me to have a look?”
“You think you can fix a PDA that operates in five dimensions plus two other's whose very existence would warp your intellect into a cross between a brontosaurus and an ant? A piece of equipment some of the oldest intellects on the Nine Planes would have trouble logging onto, you, who finds intellectual stimulation in counting the gravy stains on a café tablecloth?”
“Yes.” Harold let the insults slide past. “Fresh pair of eyes and all that. What error are you experiencing?”
“I've got dropout on the signal. There's an error message I've never seen before.”
Harold squinted at the tiny screen. The problem with the Bloodberry, and why it never caught on in a big way amongst the elohim* was its twenty-four inch screen. The problem was it had been reduced to two inches, so what might have been twelve-point text on a twenty-four inch screen was now was now fourteen pica high on a two inch one. He'd need a microscope to read it, even if it wasn't already in the Tongue of the Abyss. “What does it say?”
*Fallen Elohim, obviously. The angels who never rebelled eschew any technology later than lobster-plate armour and Damascus steel with the possible exception of milk chocolate. If Heaven ever Fell it would be from the collective weight of obese cherubim.