Harold rubbed his eyes. "Do we have to have guests for dinner?" he said. "I didn't get much sleep last night and I'm bushed."
"After I've made all this food?" Jasfoup indicated the table in the Great Hall. Thirty running feet of oak, every inch of it laded with platters covered in clingfilm. Harold peeled open a plate of hors d'oeuvres. "These deep fried cheese sticks are lovely," he said. "Crunchy."
Jasfoup flapped his pinny at him. "This is for the guests," he said. "The ambassador and his retinue."
"The ambassador?" Harold popped the rest of the snack in his mouth. "It's Azazel. He's a demon lord."
"Tch! Technicalities." Jasfoup re-covered the plate. "And that wasn't a cheese stick. It was a deep-fried scorpion sting. Now go and put on evening suit."