When Ichabod saw the Duke’s men shove a demon inside the tavern, he jumped to his feet so rapidly that his knees banged against the table.  The impact rippled through his pile of coins, causing those nearest the edge to roll off, showering down onto the floor like drops of metallic rain.  But Ichabod made no attempt to retrieve them, or even keep track of where they fell.  His gaze was locked on the creature -- both magnificent and pathetic, both beautiful and terrible.  Was this what the Duke had meant by ‘Ruin’?  Would he order his minion to rip Ichabod apart, just to avoid paying any of the money he’d lost this evening?  Subtly, Ichabod began moving his hand toward the dagger he kept in his boot, although he honestly didn’t know what good it would do him.  He could barely use it effectively against humans, much less a demon.<br/><br/>Then the Duke spoke, and Ichabod realized that ‘Ruin’ wasn’t a promise of doom -- it was the demon’s name. Still, Ichabod didn’t entirely grasp the situation.  Slavery was an unfortunate fact of the world he lived in.  But Ichabod worshipped freedom, he’d built his whole life to give himself as much as possible.  The idea of owning someone was as alien to him as the idea of walking on land would be to a fish.  Only the Duke’s next comment finally drove home the horrible truth.<br/><br/>Now anger simmered in Ichabod’s blood, and his eyes darkened from brown to a shade that was nearly black.  His mouth opened, preparing to spit out a furious protest -- the deal was off, he didn’t accept people as payment.  But as the Duke continued bragging about his prisoner, revealing more monstrous cruelty with each word, the protest withered and died inside Ichabod.  He was no hero or bleeding heart.  His very livelihood depended on cheating and lying.  And yet, he couldn’t let any sentient being remain in this man’s power.  Not even a demon.<br/><br/>As if to cement Ichabod’s decision, the Duke commanded the unwilling demon to kneel.  “Stop!” Ichabod bellowed, the word bursting from his throat before he’d even consciously decided to speak it.  He bowed to no man, followed no orders other than the whims of his own heart -- to be forced to do so was, in his eyes, a torture worse than whips or branding irons.  It was a fate more terrible than death.<br/><br/>Sucking in a deep breath, Ichabod managed to regain a little control over himself.  “Stop,” he repeated, ignoring the Duke’s inability to get his name right.  In general, Ichabod found it useful if the people he cheated didn’t remember much about their opponent.  “I accept the demon as payment for your debt.  You are no longer his master.”<br/><br/>The Duke made no effort to hide his disappointment.  “Very well,” he snarled.  “But I doubt you have the strength it takes to control such a powerful being.  When you find its claws wrapped around your throat, don’t say that I didn’t warn you.”<br/><br/>Despite his best efforts, Ichabod couldn’t repress the shiver which rippled through his body.  He hadn’t forgotten how close the demon had come to tearing open one of its captors.  Maybe this was a very bad idea.  Then again, Ichabod’s whole life was built on a series of very bad ideas, and things had turned out fairly well so far.  Besides, he was committed now.  Ichabod would be damned before he’d give the Duke the satisfaction of watching him back down.   “Then I’m a fine fool, and you’re welcome to come laugh at my funeral -- you won’t be the only one.  But my decision still stands.”<br/><br/>“Very well,” the Duke repeated.  “Give me your hand.”<br/><br/>Expecting that they would shake to formalize the deal, Ichabod extended his hand.  Immediately, the Duke gripped it with surprising strength, and the tattooed spell on his wrist once again lit up.  While Ichabod watched with a mixture of curiosity and horror, the arcane symbols began to twist and writhe.  Slowly, they crept across the Duke’s skin, moving steadily toward Ichabod’s own.  Then the first symbol made contact and Ichabod screamed in pain.  All around his wrist, it felt like ice picks were being stabbed into his flesh, penetrating so deeply that they hit bone.  If the Duke hadn’t been holding his hand so tightly, Ichabod would have yanked it loose.  But there was no escape, so he could only endure the agony until it brought him to his knees, leaving him in a position which mirrored the demon’s.<br/><br/>After what seemed like forever, but was probably less than a minute, the ordeal ended.  “It’s done,” the Duke announced, releasing Ichabod’s hand.  “He’s all yours now.  I hope you’re not expecting me to stick around and give you a tutorial.”<br/><br/>“Get out,” Ichabod panted, although he had no authority to order anyone in or out of the tavern.  “Get out, and I never want to see your face again.”<br/><br/>“That suits me just fine.”  Beckoning to his retinue, the Duke stormed out of the tavern, leaving Ichabod alone with the serving girl and the demon.