LITTLE Murmur stuck his head out the door and sniffed the air. 'Smells like snow, yes it does?' he muttered to himself.
The skies above were filled with low, dark clouds that had hastened the fast-gathering winter twilight. They hovered heavily, as though weighted down and rendered indolent by their load.
Still frowning, the little demon passed out into the overgrown back garden of his home. He did not like snow. Snow reflected the light. Snow made everything pure and white. Angel-white. This thought brought into his mind something he had been trying not to think about all day. The angel in the churchyard-in his churchyard.
As he fiddled with the end of his tail, he scowled fearfully down the path. He dithered, kicking absently at the winter-browned grass. All the teachers at Hell's Gate had told him a real demon spends all his time making mischief and planning mischief. But that was hard work. And you did not even get compensated if the demon-work was done in your own time. Today was Saturday, so there was certainly going to be none of that.
'Lying on the old mayor's tomb-slab, that is how we shall spend our night?' murmured Murmur, creeping onwards along the path.
Murmur always hoped that any problem would fix itself, and in this, he was no different. With the optimism of the lazy, he had succeeded in convincing himself that the angel was more than likely to have gone by now. Surely one of his own kind would have found him and rescued him, wouldn't they??
Creeping through the gap in the tumbledown wall, he fearfully peered around the corner. A light glowed in the murky darkness.
Uttering a squeak of annoyance, Murmur balled his baby-clawed hands into fists and stomped his cloven hooves. 'Still there, it is, still there!' he hissed. 'The horrid, horrid sunlight, the sweet-'
His words ended in a shriek as a large, white snowflake alighted on his cheek like a wet kiss. Turning his beady little eyes upwards, he saw more of the pristine flakes fluttering down from heaven.
'They are after you, Murmur, after you!' he gibbered, leaping and dodging in an effort to avoid the icy snowflakes. 'The white ice butterflies loves the angels, and the angels loves them!'
Then the snowflakes stopped falling. The silence of the winter night was deep. No sound stirred in the darkness. The little demon scuttled over to the protective shelter of the sullenly huddled evergreens in the churchyard corner. The glow emanating from the well was still visible through the tangle of bare branches and dead weeds, and a waft of sweet perfume reached Murmur's barely-hooked nose on the damp, icy cold air. No longer was the churchyard a peaceful retreat. Not while that thing was there. There was nothing for it. The angel had to go.
Little Murmur began clip-clopping up and down under the dark trees. Smoke and steam such as would have made Mammon proud curled forth from his ears and nose. Mammon would have been less proud if he had heard his son's musings.
'Maybe if I get the tear from the eye of the fair Sophia the angel will be able to fly away and leave my churchyard,' he muttered to himself. 'But it would mean getting close to the little sunlight again?' He paused with a thoughtful little finger to his lips. 'I'll have to smell him, see him?how my eyes will water and sting?'
He resumed his pacing. 'Then again, if the sweet sunlight stays, I'll forever be looking at that sickening glow and smelling that choking, sweet stink. Argh, so sweet it is, so stinking!' He put his fingers on his nose to peg it shut. Already he felt sick.
'What about telling one of the big demons about the angel? But then he'll know you skulk about down here all the time, you fool! He'll see your tracks, your scratchings upon the stones? No, I must get rid of the angel.'
Bold with his resolution, the little demon trotted back along the path. Once he had parted the leafless dogroses and hazel boughs, he passed through to stand before the well.
Although his little red eyes still watered and stung, the light shining from the well did not seem quite so bright as it had the first time. Holding his nose firmly together, he sidled up to the well's edge. The angel sat huddled at the bottom, hugging his drawn-up knees and seeming to shiver. His feathered white wings were a twisted tangle behind him.
'Hey, angel!' Murmur shouted roughly.
The startling sapphire eyes were upon him in an instant. 'Oh help me, please!' cried the angel, staggering slightly as he got to his feet.
The little demon saw that the angel's shimmering silk robe was smudged with the mud at the well's bottom, and that his wings and pale golden hair were wet and bedraggled. But he tried hard not to feel pity.
'So then, where might I find this fair Sophia you were yabbering on about last night?' he asked carelessly, striking his best callous pose.
The angel's face lit up with joy. 'She dwells in the town, in the large house built of white limestone!'
Murmur staggered before the brilliance of this golden smile. As his eyes watered and stung, he shielded them with his hand. 'Don't be so reticent!' he squeaked. 'What house? I've never seen no large white limestone house!'
The hope lighting the angel's face did not dim beneath these rude words. 'It faces the park in front of this ruined church, and you will know it for the flowers. Tended by the beautiful maiden, they grow in its garden even in winter. There is no more beauteous or sacred dwelling in all of Briarwood. You will know when you see it, Murmur, you will!'
The little demon sniffed loudly. He was not entirely convinced. But that would have to do. 'Alright, angel, I'll try to get one of her tears. Don't want you littering my churchyard any longer than necessary!' But without meaning to, his tone had softened a little.
'Oh thank you, thank you!' cried the angel, his eyes growing even brighter and more radiant-a thing Murmur had not thought possible. 'The angels will not forget this, Murmur, never!'
The little demon replied to this with a disquieted grunt, and turned to go.
'My name is Sengriel,' the angel voice called after Murmur, 'and I will be indebted to you forever, dear friend!'
The little demon's hairy goat legs sped up. He did not like what he was hearing. Although he was careful not to step on any sharp stones, Murmur trotted quickly through the churchyard. Picking his way between the tall trees, from which little scraps of demon-cloth still hung, he kept darting fearful eyes left and right, up and down. But on this night, the trees stood still and silent. With his cape intact and his ruff still straight, he emerged out into the open with a surge of relief. The sweeping expanse of muddy grass now lying before him was empty.
Once he had swivelled his beady eyes all around and seen nothing but silent trees and darkness, Murmur gingerly stepped out. With many a backwards glance over his shoulder, the little demon then scuttled across the open ground.
Upon reaching the opposite side of the lawn, he was confronted by a small lake. He almost had begun to panic about having to skirt all the way around it, when his eye alighted upon a little bridge that arched over the lake's narrow middle.
'Just what we need!' he gibbered to himself, making for the path leading to the bridge.
With nervous, hurrying hoof-beats, the little demon trit-trotted quickly onto the wooden bridge.
But when he reached the middle, a voice cried, 'Who dares to cross my bridge?'
It was a cutting feminine voice, and it had come from under the bridge. The little demon uttered a shriek of fright and leapt clean up off the boards. When his cloven hooves clattered back down again, he scrabbled for grip as one hoof went forward and the other sideways.
'What sprite dares to cross my bridge!' cried the voice a second time.
'Who-who is t-there?' Murmur gibbered fearfully, then quickly stuffed his little fingers into his mouth to still his chattering teeth.
There was a watery splash from below, and a pale, white hand appeared on the railing right beside Murmur. As the demon watched in terror, a pale-faced young woman looked up at him, pulling herself partly out of the water. Her long, dark brown hair streamed down over her slim white shoulders and chest, wet, dripping and tangled with riverweed.
'St
ay away, river nymph!' hissed the demon, although his shaking and scrabbling rather spoiled the effect.
'Oh Murmur, don't you want to come and play with us?' she whispered, gazing up at him with large eyes of liquid blue.
'No I don't!' he squeaked, shrinking back from her pale, wet hand. 'You water sprites know we demons can't live in water!'
'But no one crosses my bridge without paying their duty,' she replied, and her almond eyes narrowed a little.
'It is us demon who rule the darkness!' shrieked Murmur. 'We go anywhere it pleases us to, water sprite or no water sprite!'
'Kiss my hand and I shall let you pass, Murmur,' said she, her voice cool as the clear, icy water she lived in.
'Argh, I'm not touching you! You're all wet!'
'Then you shall not pass.'
'I shall so; just watch me!'
And with that, the demon galloped forwards. Water rained down upon him instantly, getting heavier with each onward bound. Laughing and mocking, a score of water nymphs just as pale and wanly beautiful as their sister splashed the water up with their hands. The little demon skidded to a stop.
'Wait till the great Satan hears about this!' he shrieked, wagging what he hoped was a warning finger at the teasing hoard.
They merely laughed louder, their clear voices echoing off the water like bubbling fountains. This posse knew as well as Murmur that lowly demons did not have the ear of the great Satan, and that demons had no power over the elemental spirits.
The first water nymph emerged once more from the glassy water beside the demon and put her pale, blue-tinged hand once more on the rail. She smiled a seductive smile that was chilling in its depths.
'Kiss my hand and you shall cross, Murmur,' whispered the dark-haired nymph.
The little demon let out a huff of annoyance. Then he carefully scanned the night-shrouded park. All was quiet. There was no one there but the expectantly waiting naiads.
'Alright!' he muttered sulkily.
He had had enough. The sooner he got the tear from the eye of the fair Sophia, the sooner he could clear that angel out. Then he would have his peaceful churchyard back. Then he would never spend time anywhere else unless he was forced to?
Wrinkling his barely-hooked nose distastefully and standing as far back from her as possible, the little demon bent forward and quickly pecked the river nymph's hand. It was every bit as cold and wet as he had expected-though the watery smell was a surprise.
'Argh, you smell like a fish!' he screeched.
With the speed of a darting minnow, the water nymph seized Murmur by his lacy white ruff. 'You should not have said that, demon. Now I will have to make you pay.' Her lake-blue eyes had ice in their depths.
He stared at her in horror, paralysed with fear and surprise. She looked emotionlessly back at him, and in these glassy eyes, Murmur's reflection stared back at him. She reared slowly out of the water.
As the ice-cold hand locked around his ruff tightened its grip, Murmur took a step back. The water spirit climbed over the rail, lake water streaming from her as she advanced.
Letting out a strangled squeak of terror, the little demon took another step back, then another. Then his back felt resistance as it met the opposite rail. The river nymph pushed her demon-clutching hand forward.
And suddenly Murmur was plunged into frigid water. When he bobbed to the surface, spluttering and cursing, he floundered to the bank and hauled himself out. The bank was slick and slimy, so the little demon had to stake his pitchfork into the ground for grip.
Once safely away from the water, the little demon looked back. The dozen or so river nymphs all were watching him and laughing, the sound of their mirth bouncing off the lake like a high waterfall falling into its pool.
After shaking his pitchfork at the water sprites (which only increased their mirth), he let out a 'harrumph' of annoyance and walked onwards. Water dripped from his cloak and his doublet, from his wet curls and his drooping, askew ruff. It did not, however, drip from his cap. That is because it had fallen off and was now being used as a plaything by the laughing naiads, who tossed it amongst themselves as though it were a ball.
Little Murmur barely even considered what he would say to his mother about the loss of yet another cap. He thought only about getting the tear and then getting the angel out. In no time he had crossed the garden bed and the pavement and was crossing the street.
In this leafy suburb there were many fine houses, but only one house Murmur was interested in. He trotted quickly along the sidewalk. Houses of brick and of wood he passed, houses with lawns and with bare garden beds. Then a front garden filled with a profusion of colourful blooms appeared before his beady eyes. He clattered to a stop and looked up at the house graced by this vision. It was a square, two-storey building of white limestone.
The little demon turned and trotted all the way up its paved path, stopping before the door. Then he rapped upon it with his little pitchfork. At first there was only silence, but then the sound of shuffling footsteps came from inside. The door swung open, and an elderly manservant looked out. His age-lined face was further furrowed by a frown, and his lips made even thinner by a slight annoyance. His watery eyes squinted right over the demon's head.
While the man was puzzling out at the dark, empty garden, little Murmur ducked quickly under the arm with which he held the door open and darted inside. He arrived in a hallway where soft gaslight glowed against ruby-red wallpaper and dark, polished wood floor and architraves.
The door closed behind him. 'There is no one there,' called the rather disgruntled-sounding manservant, shuffling back along the hall. 'It must have been those imps from number ten up to their pranks again?'
Murmur flattened himself against the wall while the old servant passed. But the little demon did not notice the coat stand beside him until he almost knocked it over.
The man snapped his eyes towards the sound, and then shook his head despairingly. 'Rats in the roof again! Will we ever catch them all??' he muttered to himself, shuffling tiredly down towards the back room.
The little demon made quick to dart through an ajar door on the right. Bright gaslight hit his beady little eyes with stinging force. Momentarily blinded, he staggered and reached out to guide himself. His hands found a soft silk within their grasp. When Murmur regained his sight a moment later, he stood right behind a young lady dressed in lilac silk-a handful of which he gripped between his little fingers.
The young demon almost shrieked with fear. But she had not, it seemed, noticed anything unusual. She walked forward, and Murmur, his hand frozen with terror, walked forward too. Upon arriving beside a magnificent grand piano, the lady stopped to open the pages of the music book sitting on it. Then she swept her skirt forwards a little, making as if to sit down at the instrument.
The little demon only removed his hand just in time to avoid her brushing it with her own. Thinking quickly, he dived under the piano. But as she began to move her fine, slim fingers over the ivory keys, the demon started to regret his choice. Loud, sonorous notes and chords rolled forth from the instrument directly above his head. The pain in his only-slightly-pointy ears was sharp. Demons hate all true music almost as much as they hate love and goodness.
Murmur stuck his fingers into his ears and screwed his face up in discomfort. Then the young lady took in a full breath, opened her mouth, and breathed it out again as a string of silver song.
As her bell-like voice filled the room, Murmur's fingers fell unnoticed from his ears. The melody was so?nice, he thought dreamily, her voice so beautiful? He sighed and, without meaning to, smiled a little.
Looking around the room finally, the little demon saw that it was a large and opulent drawing room. A fine Turkish carpet of purple and blue covered the floor, green and gold paper the walls, and a glittering glass chandelier hung from the white plaster ceiling. Furnishing the room were a suite of gold-upholstered chairs and sofas scattered with viridian, magenta and plum silk cushions. And lo
oking down upon this luxurious scene were the many fine paintings adorning the walls. Doe-eyed youths, laughing girls, brooding, noble-browed men, all gazed forth from their gilt and wood frames, and beside them saints and gods, heroes and geniuses.
It was all very grand, but none seemed quite so marvellous to Murmur as did the lady's angelic song. When it finished, she kept playing. The tune became a different one, one that sounded like a furtively creeping intruder. Murmur could almost see him. Conjured up by the music, he crept with fearful yet wonder-filled steps, his wide eyes gaping at everything they saw?
'Do you like it?' the lady suddenly asked. 'It is In the Hall of the Mountain King from Grieg's Peer Gynt Suite.'
The little demon let out a shriek of surprise and jumped clean off the floor, banging his horns on the piano above. The shock that travelled down them to his head made him see stars for a moment.
'Oh, did I startle you?' she said, keeping playing. 'Poor little dear, cowering under there. You can come out now. I won't be frightened.'
No human around here except Saint Kriztofer could see demons-it had to be true, Belphegor himself said so! Almost whimpering with fear and with his teeth chattering and hocks knocking together, Murmur shrunk down as small as he could on the floor.
The fair young lady stopped playing and slid off the piano stool to kneel on the floor. Her cornflower blue eyes now looked straight at the cowering demon, who could no longer doubt that she could see him.
Her rosy lips turned up into a kind smile. 'I am Miss Sophia Ashby. What is your name?'
The little demon had been looking at her through the gaps between his fingers, but he now let his hands fall to his sides. 'My n-name is?Murmur,' he faltered, shuffling backwards.
Her welcoming smile widened. 'It is a pleasure to meet you, Murmur. Now won't you come out from there?'
The little demon stared back at the fair Sophia in silence. He was much too afraid to move. She could see him, and that meant she must be a saint. Saints were those humans on the side of the angels who had perfected their characters, purified their hearts, and filled their heads with wisdom. Both angels and demons were visible to their eyes, and they had powers beyond those of ordinary human beings. What exactly these powers were Murmur did not yet know. Senior school was where demons learnt all about saints, although there was an introductory class at junior school. Little Murmur now wished he hadn't fallen asleep in that class.
But how dangerous could a pretty young girl be, even if she was a saint? Surely not very. She certainly looked a sight less dangerous than that nasty, wet, fishy river nymph had.
Emboldened by this rationale, the little demon crawled out from under the piano and got up.
'You poor little fellow, all wet through like that!' cried Sophia, ushering Murmur towards the roaring fire burning in the hearth. 'Here, let me take that off and hang it out to dry.'
Murmur's little red satin cloak was whisked off his shoulders before he could answer, and hung over the back of a chair near the fireplace.
Then she snatched up a fluffy white towel. 'Now that hair just needs a rub- '
The stunned little demon was rendered sightless as she vigorously towelled his hair.
'What darling thick black curls you have, Murmur! My cousin June would give anything for such a lovely head of hair.'
Murmur had forgotten all about saints by now, and he had almost forgotten to be afraid too. No one had ever said anything nice to him before.
'How kind you are, Miss Sophia,' he said civilly, reaching his little hands out towards the warming fire and rubbing them together. 'I must say, you do keep a very fine house too.'
She put the towel aside and sat down on the nearby sofa. 'It is not mine, Murmur, but my guardian's. I have lived here ever since I was a little girl. I am an orphan, you see.'
'Oh,' said Murmur, 'that is sad,' and hoped very much that she would shed a tear.
But her smile remained as bright as ever. 'I do not think of myself as unfortunate. People have their time to come and their time to go, and that is ordained by beings much wiser than us. My guardian may be a somewhat stern and distant man by nature, but he has wealth and is greatly respected for being an upstanding and decent man. Many, many girls have much less than I. I count myself greatly blessed.'
Little Murmur was crestfallen at her seemingly endless sunniness. Getting a tear from the eye of the fair Sophia was turning out to be harder than he had fancied it would be.
'Are you not lonely living here all by yourself except for the old man?' he asked hopefully.
'Lonely? Not at all! I have my books and my music and my flowers, and then there is feeding the ducks when I walk in the park and watching the little children play. And on Sundays Uncle William lets Cousin June visit me.'
'Is there no one else who visits?'
'No, Mr Moore, my guardian is anxious. He does not like me going out to make calls, and he does not like strange people coming to the house.' Her eyes finally turned a little wistful. 'The boy who has moved in recently next door-I have caught him watching me from his upstairs window while I tend my plants and when I sit out in the garden. He seems a nice young man. Sometimes I wish I might be allowed to call on him and his mother and sisters. But Mr Moore does not like to make social calls, and I cannot call myself. He would not approve.' But still her eyes remained clear.
The little demon nodded thoughtfully, staring into the flames as he did. He could think of no way to make the fair Sophia sad, but there was that other occasion humans were rumoured to cry? It was behind the school pitchfork sheds that he had heard about it. Whilst loitering with Beball, Behemoth and their bigger, meaner friends, someone had said that humans sometimes cried for joy. Everyone had been disgusted and disbelieving, but Paimonia had said he'd seen it with his own eyes.
'Why don't you send this neighbour a note?' Murmur suggested carefully, a devilish glint lighting in his beady little eyes.
'His mother or one of his sisters would almost certainly pick it up, and seeing it was from a lady, might tease him or think him engaged in a secret intrigue. I could not do such a thing.'
'You could omit your name from it.'
'Then they would know for certain it was untoward!'
Murmur's little red eyes glowed darker. 'What if I deliver the note to him?'
'Oh Murmur, would you?' she cried, her face shining with excitement.
'It would be my pleasure, Miss Sophia.'
The fair lady had already pulled open her writing bureau and was dipping her pen in ink. 'Dear Mr Christian-oh, but that sounds so formal!' She scrunched the note up and tossed it aside. 'Dear Neighbour, we have not had-no, that is no good!' She started again. 'Dear Neighbour, I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting you, yet I think you do know me. I do hope you have not taken this lack of acquaintance between you and me as being the result of any cold feeling on my part. My guardian, Mr Moore, is an elderly man who does not much like to go out in society, or to have society come to him. I have sometimes glimpsed you looking down at me when I was out in the garden and thought I should like to meet you. If you should chance to be hanging a swing from the tall maple tree beside our fence tomorrow afternoon at three, I will not take it amiss. Very kindest regards, Miss Sophia Ashby. There, that should do it!'
The demon took the folded note from her and carefully tucked it into the breast pocket of his now-dry doublet. 'Excellent. It shall be delivered into his hands right away.'
Then he bowed with a flourish and turned tail. Hauling open one of the room's large sash windows, he vaulted outside with a single leap. Landing on his hooves in soft garden mulch, he sprung away fast and trotted off down the front path.
His delight with his devilish plan was a like a pair of springs attached to his hooves. Bounding along like a frisky lamb, he was soon standing in front of the neighbouring house looking up at its white-painted wooden frontage. Light glowed through the red curtains of the room to the left of the entrance door, but Murmur knew this wa
s not the intended note recipient's room. He continued around to the side of the house, his hooves sinking into the soft lawn turf as he went along. A dim light shone out into the darkness from a window on the house's back corner.
'Now how shall we get in??' Murmur muttered to himself, eying up the window. 'Ah yes, the ivy? We shall climb up the ivy and slip in through the window. Clever we are, very clever?'
In the twinkling of an eye, the little demon was up the ivy and prising open the window of the shining light. It only needed one haft to get wide enough to slide the note through.
After pulling it shut again, Murmur clung to the window ledge and pressed his face to the cold glass. A youth of about eighteen years old sat at a desk in the bedroom, resting his chin on his cupped hand and poring over a leaf of paper. In his ink-stained right hand he held a pen, with which he sometimes scratched out or added a word to his paper. He would then reread the paper, moving his lips as he did. Judging by the young man's wrinkled brow, Murmur guessed that he was not satisfied with his scribblings.
The boy sighed wretchedly and pushed back his chair. He stretched and yawned, finishing by sweeping his glossy dark brown hair back from his face.
'Oh Sophia, Sophia, why can I not capture your charm and grace in my verse?' he sighed, shaking his head despairingly.
'A poet,' muttered the watching demon. 'How pathetic. Why do those silly humans waste so much time on pointless nothings?'
The youth yawned again and got to his feet. He took his jacket off and begun unbuttoning his waistcoat.
'Look at the note, fool,' murmured Murmur, who was starting to tire from hanging on the window ledge.
Having now removed his boots and waistcoat, the boy paused before the mirror hanging on the wall. 'Perhaps she thinks my chin lacking in strength or my nose too thin?or perhaps she has caught me watching and thinks me improper?' He sighed again.
'Never have I seen such a wet rag of a fool!' hissed Murmur, whose little fingers were beginning to ache and burn. 'Look at the loving note here!'
But the love-struck young man was still fretting over his reflection.
The demon kicked the wall with his hoof. 'Over here, fool!'
With a start, the boy turned wide hazel eyes towards the sound. Then he frowned, noticing the folded note at last.
'What is that?' he murmured to himself, stepping over and reaching for the white note upon the windowsill.
'Finally the fool sees it,' muttered the demon, gritting his teeth with the effort of clinging on.
As the boy took the note, he looked out of the window. The little demon could not help flinching, but from the expression on the human's face, it was clear that his eyes passed right through Murmur.
The demon's mouth turned up in a self-satisfied smirk. 'Strong with evil, we are, very strong?'
When the boy's eyes alighted on the words of the fair Sophia, joy spread across his scarcely believing face.
Little Murmur chuckled to himself. 'My work here is done?' Then he dropped off the ledge.
Unfortunately, he had forgotten that he was clinging to a second storey window. The demon plummeted to the ground and landed with a thud, flat on his back. For a moment he saw stars in the murky darkness above, but quickly they vanished.
He dragged himself to his feet and set off across the lawn, veering from side to side a little as he went. The slightly stunned young demon had had all of his earlier self-satisfaction knocked out of him.
'Just get the tear and clear the angel out, then never venture out again,' he muttered to himself.
He was soon standing outside Sophia's drawing room window. He tapped upon it, and she appeared almost instantly to open it.
'Did he read it, Murmur?' she was asking before he had even finished climbing in. 'Tell me how he reacted; I can hardly bear to wait another moment without knowing!'
Still feeling sulky after his fall, Murmur shook off the hand she laid on his shoulder. 'The fool of a poet next door loves you. He's up all night writing silly verses about you and worrying about whether you think his chin is the right shape.'
'Oh, I am so happy!' she cried, almost laughing with joyous relief. 'That is wonderful! I was so afraid he would take my note amiss and think me very forward and foolish.'
Through her beaming smile, the fair Sophia's eyes were shining with tears of joy. The little demon's grin turned devilish as he took out a handkerchief and handed it to her. With great satisfaction, he saw her dab her eyes with it.
Now that he had what he'd come for, it was time to be on his way. Murmur lifted his warm, dry cloak off the chair and put it on.
'If you don't mind, Miss Sophia, I should like to be off now,' he said, holding his hand out to receive the handkerchief back.
She pressed it into his little hand. 'Thank you so much, dear Murmur. I am deeply in your debt for the kindness you have shown me.'
'Not at all, it is I who am in your debt,' replied Murmur, carefully tucking the tear-wetted cloth back into his breast pocket.
Then he bowed and turned to go.
'Oh wait, Murmur!' Sophia called after him. 'You have forgotten your pitchfork.'
The little demon skidded to a halt. 'Why, so I have!'
Sophia was already kneeling beside the piano and reaching under to retrieve the pitchfork where Murmur had dropped it earlier. But as her hand closed around it, she let out a gasp of pain.
'Ow, the prongs are so sharp!' she cried, dropping it and sucking her finger.
When she held it out to him by its handle, Murmur saw that red blood glistened on the tip of the middle prong. But he thought nothing of it. Taking it and thanking her, he gave a final bow and vaulted out into the night.