If at Faust You Don`t Succeed

CHAPTER 6

While this was going on, Rognir the dwarf sat in a dwarf public area and planned mischief. He was trying to decide on the most mischief he could do to Azzie. This was only in part because he hated the fox-faced demon. It was also because Rognir took a keen intellectual pleasure in bringing any proud demon down a step or two. Rognir didn't like demons, and he especially disliked fox-faced demons, and he liked this one least of all.

To discomfit a demon! Rognir was merely doing what any ichor-blooded dwarf would have done once he saw the opportunity. Anything that would put a demon into disgrace was to be welcomed. If it could also turn a profit for the dwarf, so much the better.

Trouble was, he hadn't been too sure what the information he'd overheard meant. It was obvious to him that Azzie was working behind the back of another demon, Mephistopheles. But how? What was he doing? What were the two of them up to? What was this Millennial contest, anyway? (For dwarves rarely are informed on the great events of their day.) Rognir, having told Mephistopheles of what was going on, now came up with a new scheme. He was sitting on a toadstool when this thought came to him, a very large orange toadstool with bright yellow spots, the sort that only a dwarf can eat without instantly perishing. Rognir was not eating, however, even though his jaws were working continually. A witness leaning close could have noticed that the dwarfs back teeth were grinding and he was evidently in the throes of inspiration.

"Having told Faust about matters, and then Mephistopheles, I have been genuinely mischievous. But it seems to me that I can think of yet another contrivance. So I'll hie me away to those regions in or near the Empyrean where the spirits of light are said to dwell…"

But before he had finished his speech, his dwarvish conjure power kicked in and he was on his way.