. . .

But a few minutes later, the Devil notices that something is different.

. . . Nobody’s been feeding the soldier ants. Nobody’s been touching up the glue.

A few of the ants are free, actually, and they’re swarming at the edge of Hell. Most of the rest of them are dead.

“Oh, my,” the Devil says, burning through a swathe of net.

He laughs like he’d laughed when he first got out of the orange tree Hans had trapped him in; when he’d untied his tail from the knot Hans had looped it in; like he’d laughed every other time he’d put one over on his great enemy, the svart-elf Hans, but —

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