You spend an hour tracking devils through Spite. Then you turn a corner near a silk-market and find four of them waiting for you, smiling. They are interested in your interest. You explain the case and mention your client, the Solitary Glim-sculptor. Four toothy smiles are replaced with four sour pouts.

'Oh, him. Well, we want nothing to do with his sort. Why would we? No, we've not seen his wretched squeezebox, and we wouldn't care if we did. Good day to you.' Hmm. It's odd for devils to be so disdainful.