“What’s this?” Harold regarded the small dish Jasfoup placed in front of him.
“Pudding,” the demon replied, sitting at the opposite end of the table. Devious made it specially for you.”
“I notice you haven’t got one.” Harold picked up his spoon and levered off the top layer.
“I don’t have a cold,” said Jasfoup.
“Nor do I.” Harold took a cautious sniff and pulled away, his nose wrinkled. “I’ve never been sick in my life.”
“But you’re still technically a mortal,” the demon pointed out. “This will stop you dying of pneumonia.”
“In August?” Harold took a deep breath and dipped his spoon in. “What’s in it?”
Jasfoup counted the ingredients off on his fingers. “Orange, lemon, rosehip syrup, coffee, blood, green-bread penicillin, ice cream, Echinacea and gravel, topped off with hot vanilla custard.”
“Gravel?” Harold chewed slowly.
“Have you ever seen a troll with a cold?”