Queen of the Demonweb Pits

Sitting by the town's front gate, Polk, for once, was doing just as he was told: staying put and staying out of trouble. He sat upon a table outside of a crowded tavern, waving irritably at serving boys. The tavern staff gave him a wide, wide berth, and patrons left Polk the whole table to himself. The badger squared his cap upon his head and grumbled about the falling standards of service these days.

Being a badger had mixed blessings. On one hand, he was dense, heavy, and had a bite like a crocodile. On the other hand, he was a furry quadruped most people viewed as a noxious pest or a danger to life and limb. It was this last attribute that finally brought a nine-year-old boy nervously edging up to the table bearing a large wooden bowl and a stone jug.

Polk waved a paw.

'Son! Over here, son! That's my order. It's for me-the badger. Quadruped, that is. Furry, black and white stripes. You can't miss me!'

The boy kept his distance, pushing his offering cautiously onto the tabletop. Polk scratched his ear with one hind leg.

'Son, you look frayed! A bundle of nerves, son. It ain't healthy! A boy like you needs courage! Needs discipline-some get up and go! Now what are you getting all timid for?'

'S-sorry, sir!' The child wiped his hands in fright. 'We… we don't get many, um, bears here, sir.'

'I'm a badger, son. Was human once, though. Reincarnation accident. Magic spell cast after I heroically sacrificed my life for my friends. Part of the risks of the hero's profession, son. I'm not ashamed of it.'

'A hero?' The boy blinked. 'Were you in the war?'

'Hundreds of 'em, son! But no, I'm an explorer, saver of damsels, slayer of monsters.' Polk trundled over to the wooden bowl. 'That's my order you got there?'

'Uh, yes. That was one full bottle of fortified skull-crusher brandy poured in a bowl?'

'That's right, son. Keeps the coat glossy!' The badger wrinkled his nose. 'Can I get a twist with that?'

'S-sorry, sir.'

'Don't matter. But you have to uncork the bottle, son. You have to pour. I've got claws. Great for digging, poor for pulling the cork out of jugs! And get me about a hundred bottles of this to go!'

'A hundred bottles?' The child blinked. 'How will you… you carry it?'

'I've got a portable hole, son. A trans-dimensional cubbyhole rolled up to convenient size. I never leave the burrow without it!'

The drink was poured, and Polk shook his head as the boy retreated. 'Child's about as bright as a lamp with no wick in it.'

The badger settled down to drink a restorative libation, managing to absorb almost his own body weight in alcohol. Surfacing with a sigh, Polk licked his chops, settled back on his furry rear, and cast his eyes out over the churning, tangled crowds.

Polk paused and frowned, then used his mouth to drop coins onto the table. He jumped heavily down onto the pavement and looked around.

The skies were pitch black with something that looked like storm clouds. Polk's badger nose suddenly sniffed the stench of magic in the air. The stink of evil.

A drifting cloud of silver strands settled on the nearby roofs. Thousands of spiders-tiny spiders tailing long web strands from their tails-landed, then sped over the roofs and gutters.

Moving under tables and chairs, Polk ran into an alleyway and watched a new team of spiders descend. A group landed close to Polk. They were black widows that shimmered with magic. Black widows that stank of drow.

Drow!

Polk almost fell over himself as he tumbled backward, found his feet, and sped off to save the city.

'Son! Jus, boy! We've got a problem here!'

On the 'Street of a Thousand Eateries,' high prices had apparently chased away the crowds of refugees. A tall woman, her hair tied into a thousand pretty braids beneath a most extraordinary hat, teetered down the street. Walking unsteadily, staggering quickly forward to ding onto gutter pipes and walls, the woman let her hat coach her as she took one step at a time.

'Easy… easy… Left foot, right foot-left foot, right foot.' Having shape-shifted into a stylish, pheasant- feathered hat, Escalla took the role of pilot, navigator, and deportment coach. 'Come on-a bit of rhythm! One-two, one-two! There we go!'

Tripping over her own two feet, Enid yelped and grabbed a wall for support. Escalla had managed one of the finest shape change spells of her career, but Enid was finding life in the guise of a human a bit of a handful. Bipedal locomotion was not all that it was cracked up to be. Wobbling onward down the street, Enid held out her hands and tried to keep her balance.

'I'm not quite sure how you people manage to move around.'

'You'll catch on in a bit. Now come on. There has to be a bakery somewhere in this damned town!'

Even here, in the most expensive streets of the city, the crowds were thick, though they seemed a bit more upscale than those they had encountered on their way into the city. A group of thirty monks stood in a silent ring, their heads bowed in prayer. There were families setting up tents in the alleyways and children running riot across the cobblestones. More monks stood on the street corners, collecting for the poor. The scene was total chaos, and Escalla rather liked it.

Most of the food shops were closed. The supplies had been requisitioned for the refugees. However, a few expensive luxury stores still seemed to stock an item or two. Escalla spied a pastry shop and clucked like a girl starting up a reluctant horse, jiggling herself to guide Enid in the right direction.

'There! That's what we're after. All right, now remember, keep one foot on the ground at all times!'

Desperately trying not to fall, Enid maneuvered her way along the street.

'Do I have to be human? I don't know where to put these silly arms!'

'Everyone has that problem! Just be glad you're not an octopus.'

'You've been an octopus?'

'Hey, I'm a faerie!' Escalla's feather plumes gave a twirl. Her frost wand and lich staff were being used as hat pins. Two cherries on the hat served as her eyes. 'Once a week back home, we used to take turns to scare the horses.'

'You and your sister would take turns polymorphing?'

'My sister didn't have to polymorph. She had a face like a dog's bum with a hat on.' Escalla-the-hat folded her feathers. 'But anyway, this is a human town! You have to blend in. A faerie and a sphinx might draw attention, you know. This way, we're invisible. We're just a part of the crowd.'

This particular piece of the crowd was well endowed, had freckles, and was having a conversation with her hat. Still unhappy about her arms, missing her tail and wings, Enid tried her best to walk through the bustling street. She sniffed as she passed the ring of monks, then suddenly had to avoid a nasty fall.

'Arms are silly. Do they always just hang here like this?'

'Move 'em as you walk. Not like that! When your leg goes forward, your arm goes back. Anyway, you'll need the arms to carry all the cakes.'

'What cakes?'

'The cakes we'll get at the bakery! It's on the list of provisions!'

Enid sheltered against a wall as carts of grain trundled past on their way to the town mill. She pulled out a pair of spectacles and perused the shopping list Escalla had provided for her.

'Let's see. Wine, honey, sugar, fruit, faerie cakes…' Enid read the list and screwed her pretty nose up in a frown. 'Is this what we're getting for rations? I thought we needed some other things too?'

'Hmm?' Escalla waved a feather. 'No, just that. Oh, and maybe some meat, bread, vegetables, and cheese. I can't think of everything!'

'I see.' Enid carefully put the shopping list away. Escalla had a metabolism like a hummingbird. 'I believe you should leave the rest of the shopping to me.'

'Sure! But can we get some cream? I really want faerie cakes with the tops cut into those little butterfly wings!'