Lucius felt the carriage slow down and abruptly turn to the right. He looked out the window. The road was nowhere to be seen. Trees and thick forest vegetation passed. Yet the ride was surprisingly smooth. He nudged his napping assistant.

“Wake up, Albion. I do believe we’re being kidnapped.”

Albion stirred, turned to the other side, and just as quickly sat upright when what Lucius said permeated the drowsy fog.

“Sacre bleu! The effrontery! What did they think we are? Geese?” blurted out the assistant.

“Brigandage is unfortunately quite common in remote and unenlightened parts of the continent. Even in remote places in the Empire. A business, a livelihood for some. A risky one. A mistake and they end up with feet dancing in the air. Sans music. Or testing the sturdiness of their necks. But highway robbery is a fact of modern life,” answered the mage. “But kidnapping is quite rare. Robbery is more the trademark of such nefarious activities. But I sense something magical in this abduction. The ride, through virgin forest and obstructing thickets appeared uniquely smooth. Quite powerful magic, too.”

Glancing outside, Lucius noticed the forest vegetation was getting thicker and wilder. Large intertwining bushes blocked his view of the woodlands interior. But it was trees as far as he could see.

Quite the speed, he thought.

“How is that, High Mage? asked Albion, disturbing his musing.

“I didn’t sense anything amiss magically. So, we sit back and enjoy the ride. We’ll know soon enough.”

“Merde! Bad enough if they were ordinary highwaymen. The delay, not the danger. Been practicing transformation spells. They could have been perfect subjects! But magical brigandage? A bit out of the ordinary,” replied Albion.

“Language, Albion. Let’s be civilized about this inconvenience. Though up north, your ‘merde’ would have been ‘skita,’” nonchalantly said the mage.

Finally, the conveyance stopped. Lucius looked out saw a clearing surrounding by huge trees, though above the small meadow the ever-present forest cover was absent. It was as if the treetops were forced back to allow sunlight into the forest floor. In the middle of the small meadow was a round table with teacups, a teapot, and some pastries on a silver tray. Around the table were three ornate wooden chairs. The furniture was all white. A hatless figure, dressed in a morning coat with a cravat, all in the same white color, sat in the curious arrangement, clearly waiting for them.

Lucius looked at Albion. “Magic it is then. Quite the obvious assumption but nothing like undeniable proof. Prepare yourself, Albion. The dangers of afternoon tea beckons. Not your average abductors. Quite civilized. At least we get to have our afternoon refreshment before the nastiness.”

“Very good, Professor. Nothing like civilized murderous mages,” replied Albion in all seriousness.

Then a knock sounded on the carriage door before it was opened. It was one of the coachmen. The man didn’t say anything. Without an expressionless face, he extended his hand towards the waiting refreshments.

The two got down. Before they walked towards the table, Lucius turned and thanked the man. The footman merely nodded. The mage noticed the man had black pupils with a red iris. He remembered there were two of them in addition to the coachman. He glanced at the other side of the wagon. True enough, the other being was there.

Ah, the infernal realms. The coachman must be the principal figure here. Not a mere High Demon. Or even an Elder one, if I am to go with the magic so far exhibited. A lord of that Damned Plane? thought Lucius. Despite himself, a tinge of fear, an unfamiliar feeling, lightly slapped him in the stomach.

But the mage still couldn’t get a feel for the aura of the magic surrounding them. That it was powerful, he had no doubt. But as to how powerful, the mage couldn’t even begin to estimate it. A strange barrier hid its extent and strength.

“Come on, Albion. Bad form to keep our host waiting. And do not, under any circumstance, bring out your cosh,” he said instead.

As they neared the table, their host stood up and gestured to the two vacant chairs.

“My greetings, dear Professor! Please be seated. Partake of my hospitality! It’s rare enough for me to be on this plane. And to have the esteemed Summus Magister, the foremost mortal mage, as my guest! You honor me, sir!” came the ebullient words. They were spoken in a friendly deep octave.

Lucius bowed. The man had Mediterranean features. The third man. The coachman, the thought came to his mind.

“You have me at a disadvantage, sir. You know me and yet I don’t believe we’ve met,” replied Lucius.

“Names. Ephemeral. Changing. And so many, if one is unfortunate enough. For the nonce, I am Mr. Drepani. Greek word, of course. But I consider myself a traditionalist. I’d pick Greek over Latin any day.”

The two took the seats offered them though the mage’ recollection was that their coachman was a bearded, burly Slav. Not a fit and slightly middle-aged Greek. The eyes though were a giveaway – disconcerting red pupils with green-black slits as irises.

Not really snake-like, observed Lucius. More like that of a large reptile. A crocodile, mayhap.

“Excellent!” the demon said as he took his seat. “Tea? Pastries? Do feel free to have your fill. And don’t worry. It’s mortal food.”

Albion took the teapot and poured for all of them after the mage discretely nodded. Lucius noticed that his assistant piled his small plate with the pastries after tasting one.

Lucius let out a disapproving grump.

“Albion, your manners, please. Those biscuits won’t be running away, you know,” the mage reproached.

“Oh, let him be, Professor. It’s nice to be appreciated once in a while,” said Drepani.

Albion nodded in the direction of their host and gave Lucius a grin.

“Now, to the oh-so-trifling-yet-necessary matter which brought me to arrange this little petite fete. But before that, I have to say I admire your work, Professor. You have laid low servants of my rivals and in many instances, foiled their plans. Fortunately, you haven’t disturbed one of mine yet. But that’s the way the pitchfork stabs. Or is it the way fire burns? The wind blows? I apologize. Mortal expressions escape me. Too many in uncounted languages through the years,” the demon continued.

Servants of his rivals? Good Lord! A Lord of the Abyss? A fellow of the inner cabal of the Ruler of Darkness? the shocking realization caressed the mage’s brain with a sledgehammer.

“You’ve gone pale, Professor! No need to worry, Magister. You have my word that your soul and body won’t come to harm in this clearing. Yet. That goes for your delightful assistant too. I would be a poor host if an invitation to tea is paid for in blood and spirit. But I found mortals do exactly that. Shocking.”

“My thanks then, Mr. Drepani,” replied Lucius as he took a sip of his tea. It was of an excellent variety. Chinese Da Hong Pao, if he’s not mistaken. He noticed his hand was steady. Surprisingly, the atmosphere was not oppressive as he thought it would be. Lucius expected a Prince of the Abyss to bring along a smidgen of that damned realms nefarious ambiance. But aside from a faint smell of sulfur and the tang of burnt metal in the air, it was just as things appeared. A sunny mid-afternoon in a green forest clearing. Even the slight breeze was a refreshing one. But no birds chirped and no other forest animal could be heard. Only the sound of the wind as it rustled through the branches and leaves of the massive trees.

“True. My thanks again and my congratulations on an excellent tea. I never thought I’d get to taste it in Europe. In Wallachia, no less. Delightful atmosphere and perfect preparations. May I ask for what do we owe the pleasure?” said the mage.

“To business then? No small talk and pleasantries? I guess not. I doubt if you’ll be interested in the boring accounts of the plots and schemes of the lords of Hell. Nor would I be interested in the trifles of mortal news and concerns.”

I would be, thought Lucius. But he kept his thought to himself. With dark creatures such as the one facing him, it was strongly recommended to let the more powerful being talk. The risk of fire, lightning, petrification, and other such lethal discomforts was too high. Losing one’s soul was also a danger, but rare. The process involved willful consent and lengthy paperwork. Legal counsel is strongly advised in such instances.