‘Why do we have to meet in a place like this?’ said Plopbottle as soon as the barman’s back was turned.
Broodangle, known to some as Broodangle the Occasionally Cunning, drew back his hood. A thin beak-like nose emerged and was shortly followed by two deep-set beady eyes and a short triangular beard that accentuated the sharpness of his chin.
‘Well for one thing the free bar snacks are to die for,’ he said, reaching for a handful of fried maggots
