Despite himself, Astfgl preened. “Well, you know -” he began. "And yet we find, despite your position, that you interest yourself in the tiniest details of our work,“ said Vassenego, looking down his nose at Rincewind. ”Such dedication! Such devotion!“ Astfgl swelled. ”Of course, I've always felt - “ Rincewind pulled himself up on his elbows, and thought: look out, behind you... ”And so,“ said Vassenego, beaming like a coastful of lighthouses, ”the Council met and has decided, and may I add, sire, has decided unanimously, to create an entirely new award in honour of your outstanding achievements!“ ”The importance of proper paperwork has - what award?" said Astfgl, the minnows of suspicion suddenly darting across the oceans of self-esteem.

“The position, sire, of Supreme Life President of Hell!”

The band struck up again.

"With your own office - much bigger than the pokey thing you have had to suffer all these years, sire. Or rather, Mr. President!“ The band had a go at another chord. The demons waited. ”Will there be... potted plants?“ said Astfgl, slowly. ”Hosts! Plantations! Jungles!“ Astfgl appeared to be lit by a gentle, inner glow. ”And carpets? I mean, wall to wall - ?“ ”The walls have had to be moved apart especially to accommodate them all, sire. And think pile, sire? Whole tribes of pygmies are wondering why the light stays on at night, sire!"

The bewildered King allowed himself to have an expansive arm thrown across his shoulder and was gently led, all thoughts of vengeance forgotten, through the cheering crowds.

“I've always fancied one of those special things for making coffee,” he murmured, as the last vestiges of self-control were eroded. “A positive manufactory has been installed, sire! And a speaking tube, sire, for you to communicate your instructions to your underlings. And the very latest in diaries, two aeons to a page, and a thing for - ”

“Coloured marker pens. I've always held that - ” “Complete rainbows, sire,” Vassenego boomed. "And let us go there without delay, sire, for I suspect that with your normal keen insight you cannot wait to get to grips with the mighty tasks ahead of you, sire.“ ”Certainly, certainly! Time they were done, indeed - " an expression of vague perplexity passed across Astfgl's flushed face. “These mighty tasks...”

“Nothing less than a complete, full, authoritative, searching and in-depth analysis of our role, function, priorities and goals, sire!” Vassenego stood back. The demon lords held their breath. Astfgl frowned. The universe appeared to slow down. The stars halted momentarily in their courses. “With forward planning?” he said, at last. "A top priority, sire, which you have instantly pinpointed with your normal incisiveness,“ said Vassenego quickly. The demon lords breathed again. Astfgl's chest expanded several inches. ”I shall need special staff, of course, in order to formulate - "

“Formulate! The very thing!” said Vassenego, who was perhaps getting just a bit carried away. Astfgl gave him a faintly suspicious glance, but at that moment the band struck up again.

The last words that Rincewind heard, as the King was led out of the hall, were: “And in order to analyse information, I shall need -”

And then he was gone.

The rest of the demons, aware that the entertainment seemed to be over for the day, started to mill around and drift out of the green doors. It was beginning to dawn on the brightest of them that the fires would soon be roaring again.

No-one seemed to be taking any notice of the two humans. Rincewind tugged at Eric's robe.

“This is where we run, right?” said Eric.

“Where we walk,” said Rincewind firmly. “Nonchalantly, calmly, and, er -”

“Fast?”

“You pick things up quickly, don't you?”

It is essential that the proper use of three wishes should bring happiness to the greatest available number of people, and this is what in fact had happened.

The Tezumen were happy. When no amount of worshipping caused the Luggage to come back and trample their enemies they poisoned all their priests and tried enlightened atheism instead, which still meant they could kill as many people as they liked but didn't have to get up so early to do it.

The people of Tsort and Ephebe were happy - at least, the ones who write and feature in the dramas of history were happy, which is all that mattered. Now their long war was over and they could get on with the proper concern of civilised nations, which is to prepare for the next one.

The people of Hell were happy, or at least happier than hitherto. The flames were flickering brightly again, the same old familiar tortures were being inflicted on ethereal bodies quite incapable of feeling them, and the damned had been given the insight which makes hardship easier to bear - the absolute and certain knowledge that things could be worse.

The demon lords were happy:

They stood around the magic mirror, enjoying a celebratory drink. Occasionally one of them would risk slapping Vassenego on the back.

“Shall we let them go, sire?” said a duke, peering at the climbing figures in the mirror's dark image.

“Oh, I think so,” said Vassenego airily. “It's always a good thing to let a few tales spread, you know. Pour encouragy le - poor encoura - to make everyone sit up and take notice. And they have been useful, after their fashion.” He looked into the depths of his drink, exulting quietly.

And yet, and yet, in the depths of his curly mind he thought he could hear the tiny voice that would grow louder over the years, the voice that haunts all demon kings, everywhere: look out, behind you...

It is hard to say whether the Luggage was happy or not. It had viciously attacked fourteen demons so far, and had three of them cornered in their own pit of boiling oil. Soon it would have to follow its master, but it didn't have to rush.

One of the demons made a frantic grab for the bank. The Luggage stamped heavily on its fingers.

The creator of universes was happy. He'd just inserted one seven-sided snowflake into a blizzard as an experiment, and no-one had noticed. Tomorrow he was half-inclined to try small, delicately-crystallised letters of the alphabet. Alphabet Snow. It could be a winner.

Rincewind and Eric were happy:

“I can see blue sky!” said Eric. “Where do you think we'll come out?” he added. “And when?”

“Anywhere,” said Rincewind. “Anytime.”

He looked down at the broad steps they were climbing. They were something of a novelty; each one was built out of large stone letters. The one he was just stepping on to, for example, read: I Meant It For The Best.

The next one was: I Thought You'd Like It. Eric was standing on: For the Sake of the Children. “Weird, isn't it?” he said. “Why do it like this?” “I think they're meant to be good intentions,” said Rincewind. This was a road to Hell, and demons were, after all, traditionalists. And, while they are of course irredeemably evil, they are not always bad. And so

Rincewind stepped off We Are Equal Opportunity Employers and through a wall, which healed up behind him, and into the world. It could, he had to admit, have been a lot worse.

President Astfgl, sitting in a pool of light in his huge, dark office, blew into the speaking tube again. “Hallo?” he said. “Hallo?” There didn't seem to be anyone answering.

Strange. He picked up one of his coloured pens, and looked around at the stack of work behind him. All those records, to be analysed, considered, assessed and evaluated, and then suitable management directives to be arrived at, and an in-depth policy document to be drafted and then, after due consideration, redrafted again...

He tried the tube once more. “Hallo? Hallo?” No-one there. Still, not to worry, lots to do. His time was far too important to waste.

He sank his feet into his thick, warm carpet. He looked proudly at his plotted plants. He tapped a complicated assembly of chromed wire and balls, which began to swing and click executively. He unscrewed the top of his pen with a firm, decisive hand. He wrote: What business are we in??? He thought for a bit, and then carefully wrote, underneath: We are in the damnation business!!! And this, too, was happiness. Of a sort.