After the King: Stories in Honor of J.R.R. Tolkien

The Halfling House Dennis L. McKiernan

We sent Tynvyr on ahead, riding her fox, while the rest of us slithered through the slip and squish of the alley.

“Ow, Fiz!” someone hissed, Marley I think. “Keep your filthy wings to yourself! You nearly poked my eye out.”

“Listen, Gnome,” shot back Fiz, her silvery voice gone all iron, “you keep your scuzzy eye out of my wings.”

Great, just great. Here we were in the middle of the night on a secret rescue mission, and already the Gnome and Pixie were at each other’s throats.

And our tempers weren’t improved by the reek of sewage and rot that hung upon the air, putrid to the nose and causing our gorges to rise until we were near to gagging. Too, a trickle of foul water seemed always underfoot, and we slithered and slipped in the mud and the slime, jerking this way and that to keep from falling.

“Bork,” came Fiz’s voice back to me, “tell me again the stupid reason I’ve got to muck along in this muck instead of flying.”

Before I could answer, Rafferty spoke up. “Faith, lass, isn‘t’t told that this divil hisself has wingedy creatures, anow? Blood-suckin’ bats and sich, they say. Flyin’ about up there in th’ dark. Sure and wouldn’t they jist love t‘get a bit o’ y’r delicate, delicious self?”

If Rafferty’s source had been right, Khassan did have creatures of the night patrolling above. We’d have to be wary of them, too, especially if they were owls.

Big owls.

Big enough to carry any one of us off in its talons.

And if owls or bats didn’t get us, then surely the alley rats would snatch us away down some dark hole.

“Oof!” grunted Marley, stepping in a rut slsh! full of malodorous water. “I can’t see a blasted thing.”

Well, he was after all just a Gnome, and their Fairy Vision is worse than that of nearly all the Wee Folk. Of course, mine isn’t much to be proud of either, not like Tynvyr’s or Fiz’s.

Oh, if only the overcast fouling the night sky would blow away, so that just a little starlight shone down, or better yet if the Moon was up and full and the clouds gone, well then, none of us would have even the tiniest bit of trouble.

But as it was, the night was dark and overcast, and here we were in a pitch black alley—a Pixie, a Gnome, a Leprechaun, and a Brownie … while somewhere ahead was a Pysk riding a fox—all of us sneaking among the ramshackle buildings looming up in the ebon darkness all about, trying to avoid the owls and bats and rats, any one of which could probably rip us to shreds.

I mean, when you stand only a foot or two high, these things are terrible foes.

And the stinking alley and the stinking night seemed to be filled with their stinking menace. And we couldn’t see and we didn’t know exactly where we were going or what we were going to do once we got there, or even whether or not we were on the right trail.

Hel, I didn’t even know who it was we were out to rescue!

Talk about your bright plans—I mean, what else could go wrong?

And then we heard the Mmrrawing yowl of an alley cat hunting for something to eat.

Damn!

It all started a day or so ago, when, after finishing up a solid month of cobbling shoes, I decided to go on holiday while I had a chance. You see, the Halfling House had appeared in the glen a week earlier, and I knew that it wouldn’t be about too long. And since I’d heard it was the very best way to travel, to see new and wonderful places, I thought I would take a room before it and the entire inn vanished.

So in the daytime, when there are no owls about, I betook myself down to the glen and there it stood, where nothing had been just a week earlier: the Halfling House.

How the inn arrives, none that I had spoken to knew. Rudd and Meech, a couple of barn Bwca—cousins of mine, you might say—tell that it materializes out of thin air … but then, they had been drinking when they claimed they had witnessed its appearance, and who can believe anything seen through the eyes of drunken Bwca?

Others say that it seeps up from the ground … after all, the roof is made of sod.

In any case, it seems to come overnight from nowhere, and if that’s true then the other tales about it are probably true, too, and some dark-tide soon or late it will vanish just as well!

At least that was what I was counting on.

If the tales were true.

Yet whether it did or did not materialize in the wee witching hours, the fact is, here it was where nought had been before, in the glen, at least for the time present.

I took a long hard look. Some would say that the building was quaint and pastoral, and it did fit right in with the surroundings. I could see by the placement of oddly shaped windows that it was nearly three storeys tall, and I gauged the peak of the low-canted sod roof to be some fifteen feet above the ground. That would make the ceilings inside some four to five feet high. More than tall enough for me at my eighteen inches. Truly, this had to be an inn large enough for Halflings, though I’d been told that all Wee Folk were welcome.

As I approached the small, roofed-over front porch, I noted that although the windows adorning the white stuccoed walls seemed normal, there appeared to be something strange and slightly sparkly about the light reflecting from the glass. When I stepped up to the windows by the door and tried to peer through, the view to the inside was oddly distorted, as if the panes were utterly muddled, yet each seemed clear and smooth to the touch.

The way in was through a stout oaken door some four feet tall, iron banded, with latches and handles placed at varying heights, as if for the convenience of different-sized Wee Folk. In the center of the door was mounted a plaque proclaiming:

The Halfling House

Any and All

Halflings and Wee Folk

WELCOME

Dando Thistledown, Prop.

This was the place, alright.

Grasping one of the handles and raising its latch, I pushed, expecting a struggle; but the door swung smoothly open, and I stepped into the inn.

Like all places of its kind, it was larger on the inside than out.

Before I could get much more than a glimpse, though, this pointy-eared fellow, a tall Halfling with Elfy-welfy slanty but jewellike eyes came over. Hey, he had to be more than twice my height, three foot five if he was an inch—a regular high pockets.

He peered down from his lofty height at me. “Welcome to the Halfling House. My name is Dando Thistledown, and I’m the proprietor. Will you be needing a room?”

“Uh”—I looked around at the place, noting that there were several other of these tall ones about. But here and there, I could also see folk of my size, as well as some even smaller—“yes, your loftiness, a room please. That is unless you keep owls on the premises, in which case, I’m leaving.”

“No, no.” He blinked his sparkly eyes at me. “No owls. Also no cats, rats, dogs, bats, hawks, weasels, cobras, mongooses or mongeese, or any other thing of the sort.

“The last time there was anything dangerous in here was when we went to the Emerald Isle, and this fool drove a massive herd of snakes right over the top of us. Filled the place right up, he did, and for that you can blame Rafferty, who ran in just ahead of them and forgot to shut the door. We had to go to Iceland to chill ’em into a torpor, then to a desert far to the west, where we shoveled them out the door and into the fields of tall cacti as fast as we could, before they had a chance to recover in the desert heat and start that wriggling and rattling again.”

Cor blimey! Here I had been afraid only of owls, and Stretch, here, was telling me about cats, rats, dogs, bats, hawks, weasels, cobras, mongooses or mongeese (whatever they are, but I can imagine), and snakes that go slither and rattle. Now I could worry about a whole new pantheon of things what could grab me in the dark. I peered closely at the floor and under the furniture. “There’s none of those blighters about now, is there?”

Again he blinked his sparklies at me, and I thought I saw him cross his fingers behind his back. “Oh no. All gone. I swear.”

You could say that there was just the tee tiniest bit of doubt lingering in my mind, but, I did need holiday rest. “Well, then, your tallness, just give me a room and some food, and ale … yes, a good jug of ale.”

“If you’ll have a seat,” he said, waving his hand in the direction of the other patrons gathered ’round one of the common-room hearths, “I’ll see to it straightaway.” He turned to go and as he walked away, I heard a faint buzzing, as of dried seeds shaken in a small gourd. Proprietor Dando leapt sideways away from the nearby cabinet he was passing, hurriedly walking on.

As I approached the other patrons, I looked about. The curtains were drawn back from the muddled windows to let sunlight brighten the interior, yet I could see that at night the warm amber glow of lamp and candle would illume the room, along with the ruddy cast of a crackling fire should the weather warrant. The ceilings were what I judged to be about four feet or so high. The furniture, large by my standards, was most suitable for Halflings.

To my back was what I’ll call the east fireplace, and before it stood a commodious longtable, and to the center of the room was another smaller one; when occupied by a happy crowd, they would no doubt give the place the genial atmosphere of a joyously rowdy pub.

Before the west fireplace, where I was headed, was a soft couch flanked by what looked to be several cozy chairs. Throughout the rest of the common room, other tables and chairs were placed about, and toward the “north” wall stood a cheery bar with what I hoped would be excellent ale. In the southeast corner, a spiral staircase twined upward to the second floor, where I assumed the guest rooms were.

I came in among the other patrons: a Pixie, a Pysk, a Gnome, and a Leprechaun: these I recognized. But then there was another one of these Halflings, a different kind from Proprietor Dando, but a Halfling still. Rotund of girth, as best as I could judge with him sitting down, he was maybe three foot eight or nine. Unlike Dando, this one had no Elven ears and jewellike eyes, but instead he had these enormously large hairy feet! Bare! Propped on a footstool before him. And, oh my, what clodhoppers they were. Cor! These had to be the biggest pair of dogs I ever clapped eyes on. And I know feet! I’m a cobbler, after all. Lor! If I had to make a pair of shoes for him, blimey! it’d take a whole cow just to get the job done.

“I’m Fiz,” said a voice next to me.

Wrenching my amazed eyes away from those enormous feet, I saw that the Pixie was speaking to me. She was a little bit of a thing, twelve inches or so, the top of her head with its straw-colored hair just reaching my ribcage, though the upper tips of her gauzy wings o’ertopped my head slightly.

“H’llo, Fiz; glad to make your acquaintance,” I responded. “My name is Bork, and I’m a cobbler by trade.”

“Oh, I’m a house sprite, spreading cheer among the children of the family I watch over.” Her smile lit up the whole room. “At the nonce, I am between children: they’ve grown up, but will soon have babes of their own. Then will I return to the family.”

Oh, how lovely was this Pixie. I could feel myself staring, and so could she, turning pink under my gaze.

Wresting my attention away from her beatific smile, I turned to the Gnome. “Bork’s the name. Shoes are my game.”

He was a couple inches shorter than me, say one foot four or so, and he had a pointy hat and a pale skin and his dark beard reached down to his belt. With disgust, he looked at my extended hand as if it were an obscene thing. “This is one hand of a pair of hands that handle dirty shoes? Dirty shoes that fit smelly feet? Feet of all folk, no matter what disease might rack their bodies? And you want me, me to come into contact with it, to grip it, to squeeze it? Yuck!”

“Oi,” I protested, “I’ll have you know—”

“Say,” he interrupted, “you’re not one of those foot fetishists, now, are you?”

As my mouth dropped open, Fiz looked startled and backed away from me, kneeling down on a large cushion, hiding her feet underneath her.

“Ah, now m’lad,” said the Leprechaun, “pay him no heed. He’s f’r needin’ holiday, too. Gone spotty in th’ head, what with all that hammerin’ day and night. Sure and his name is Marley, and me, wellanow, I am called Rafferty by some what know me, and I’m jist along f’r th’ roide, keepin’ auld Marley here company.”

Black-haired, Rafferty was perhaps an inch taller than me, and dressed in several shades of green, just as I dress in varying shades of brown. He had large silver buckles on his shiny black shoes, and a silver belt buckle, too. His grip was firm when I shook his hand, and I thought I detected a merry twinkle in his black, black eyes, though it was hard to tell, given the darkness of his gaze and all.

I could see Proprietor Dando approaching, bearing my tray of food and my flagon of ale.

In that moment, though, the Pysk stepped forward, and except for the fact that she had no wings, she could have been Fiz’s twin. “I am Tynvyr, from the land far to the west, and this is Rufous.”

She turned and called, “Rufous,” and from behind the couch that Bigfoot sat on, there came a—

“Yaaa … !” I shrieked, leaping backward, crashing into Proprietor Dando, the tray flying wide, dishes and flatware and stew and bread and ale sailing through the air to clatter and smash and slosh and phoomp and splash and shatter and tinkle and run and dribble hither and thither and yon.

“Save me,” I screamed, rolling over on top of Dando, staring him in the eye.

Somewhere in the distance, it seemed, I could hear the Gnome shrieking, too, something about being covered with filthy, disease-laden food.

Dando grabbed me by my tunic front, pulling me down into his snarling face, gritting, “Save you from what?”

“The dog, you fool!” I shouted. “You said that there were no dogs here, but one is attacking me right now! Ripping out my throat, my jugular vein!”

Still gripping my tunic, Dando got to his feet, hauling me up with him. “Look!”

I looked.

So, alright already, maybe it wasn’t a dog. Maybe instead it was a red fox. So what if it wasn’t snarling and attacking. So what if it was merely sitting and waiting, its tongue lolling from grinning mouth. Still, it could have torn me to shreds, it could have ripped out my throat, it could have slashed my jugular veins. And it did seem to be licking its chops as it eyed me.

I looked at Tynvyr, too, her with a tentative smile on her face, standing beside the sitting fox, reaching up and holding tightly to its collar.

“Tame?” I asked.

She nodded, still grinning hesitantly, though she kept a firm grip.

“Not dangerous?”

Solemnly, she shook her head, pulling back on the collar as the fox seemed to strain forward.

“Rufous?”

Her timorous smile returned, and she nodded, Rufous salivating, licking his chops. She reached up and tapped the fox on the nose, and he looked sideways at her, a bit disgruntled, but seemed to settle down. At least he stopped the licking.

Somewhat reassured, I looked up at three-foot-five Dando. “So turn me loose, oh tall one.”

“Look, Mister …” Dando paused, staring down at me.

“Bork,” I supplied.

“ … Mister Bork,” he continued smoothly, “I judge you are going to have to pay for”—he waved his hand vaguely in the general direction of everywhere—“the meal and broken dishes and spilled ale. After all it was you who crashed into me.”

“You should have warned me about the dog,” I said, supremely.

“It’s a fox,” he replied.

“Fox shmox, still you should have warned me.”

“Mister Bork, I told you that we have nothing dangerous here in the inn”—he cast a surreptitious glance at the cabinet in the hall, the one whence came the rattle—“I specifically said that we have no owls, cats, rats, dogs, bats, hawks, weasels, cobras, and no mongooses or mongeese.”

“Well, what about rattly snakes?” I didn’t know what a rattly snake was but—

“No. They’re all gone. Indeed. Yessir. No mice either.”

He paused a moment and then said, “Tell you what: you pay half, I’ll pay half, and we’ll call it even.”

I thought it over, eyeing the fox. The fox licked its chops and smiled. I flinched.

“See?” crowed Dando, having witnessed my reaction to Rufous.

“Alright, alright, your tallness,” I said. “You’ve proved your point.”

Dando smiled and bustled off for a broom and a mop and bucket, and to fetch me another meal.

“What is he?” I asked Rafferty as I watched Dando walk away. “Pointy ears, slanty jewellike eyes, Halfling sized. I’d call him an Elf, but for his eyes and his size.”

“Wellanow, laddie,” said Rafferty as he stared at Marley frantically scrubbing the back of his hand where a single tiny droplet of flung stew had landed on the Gnome, “Dando, he’s what y’ moight call a Warrow, or some sich. Nobody t’ fool about with, them Warrows, from what I hear. Especially whin riled.”

From behind came a comment. “They are much more prone to violence than my folk.”

I turned about. The speaker was Bigfoot. “We live in small hamlets,” he added, “much the same as they do, but we’d rather eat and sleep and work in our gardens, whereas they hunt and herd and farm and shoot bows and arrows and at times are rather warlike. Fierce, you might say, and active. They are, indeed, Elflike, but they live only a hundred and twenty years or so, in contrast with Elves, who live forever if you believe the tales. I’m not certain that I do, what with all the travel I’ve done, the many and varied quests and great adventures that I’ve undertaken, throughout all the lands and across all the oceans, cities and hamlets and woodlands and intricate underground caverns and halls and …”

He droned on and on, never shutting up. My meal came and went, and still he rambled on, endlessly, circuitously, tortuously … torturously, too, all the while jotting notes in a journal, recording, I believe, what he was saying at that very moment. Drone, drone, drone. Scribble, scribble, scribble. Drone, scribble, drone. I never did find out his name. Bigfoot would have to do.

He didn’t even notice when we all got up and left, he just kept right on talking and writing and writing and talking, simultaneously, never missing a beat.

Maybe instead of shoes for Bigfoot, I’d take that cowhide and make a full-body gag for him.

I’d consider it on the morrow if he was still talking, and I was sure he would be.

As I was escorted up the spiral stairs to my room by another tall Warrow, this one a female (a damman, I believe they’re called), I saw Dando down on the floor with a forked stick and a gunny sack cautiously peering and poking a broom handle under the foot of the cabinet where the rattling sound had come from.

The next morning, when I came downstairs, the inn was—how shall I put this?—the inn was elsewhere.

Where? … I don’t know, though someone said we were near a Shire.

But Bigfoot was gone, waddled off across the countryside a couple of hours ago, going home, said Tynvyr, and now this dreadful black rider was coming down the road, and Dando was severely alarmed, and so we got the Hèl out of there.

Dando slammed the door in the guy’s face, and twisted at his own left hand, and the windows got all sparkly and glittery, and everything inside got dark, even though when last I looked it was daylight outside.

The dammen (several female Warrows) lighted lanterns and candles. But I went to the windows and cupped my hands to shade out the light and tried to peer through.

I almost went cross-eyed.

Beyond the glass there were strange cyclopean shapes twisting obscenely in what I knew had to be a cruel, etheric, icy void, and the cold phosphorescent luminance beyond was cosmic and singular, a hideous unknown blend of colour, a colour out of—

I wrenched my cross-eyed gaze from the glass and whirled about dizzily, stumbling and staggering to a nearby table, plopping down beside two Marleys the Gnome, who at that moment was complaining about the filthy clean white towels in his and Rafferty’s room, eyeing the Leprechaun as if he were dungeon slime.

Too, Marley seemed obsessed with where the toilets flushed, and where the water came from, claiming that it was one and the same place.

Hey, good questions, I thought, as I eyed Rufous and he eyed me, the fox licking his chops and checking to see if Tynvyr was looking (she was). Where did the water come from and where did the toilets flush to? This inn can’t have a well or a septic system, the whole building flying around as it does from perdition to who knows where.

Rafferty supplied the answer. “Marley, m’ bucko, don’t y’ know? Th’ handpumps are magic, drawing their water from cool mountain streams in th’ land far to th’ west. Wan o’ these days, somewan will most loikely settle nearby and brew th’ most wanderful beer from th’ very same waters, Cor, if I do say so meself.

“And as to th’ privies, wellanow, they flush magically, too, droppin’ their loads in th’ marshy meadowlands o’ th’ east coast o’ th’ very same western land far away.

“Why, laddie, the Halfling House itself is a powerful magic artifact, able to travel here and there and in between th’ very ‘dimensions’ themselves, or so I hear, whatever ‘tis that a ‘dimension’ might be, for I don’t even know what’t is they might be talkin’ about whin they use that word ‘dimension.’ But regardless o’ the meaning o’ that word, we do know f’r a fact that th’ Halfling House does go thither and yon, and from place to place. How it’s controlled, this Halfling House, what device or object is used to cause it to go from wan place to anither … wellanow, I have me suspicions, but I’ll keep them to meself.”

Oh well, magic—magic pumps, magic privies, in the wonderful magic travelling inn—I should have known. At last my eyes uncrossed and I glanced over at Fiz, who glared back at me and pulled a blanket tighter about her feet.

Suddenly with a thump, the sparkly glow from the windows subsided, and once again daylight, wan and thin, streamed in through the muddled glass.

“Where are we?” asked one of the dammen, the elder one, Dando’s mate, I think. A regular Amazon, towering some three feet high.

“I don’t know, Molly,” answered Dando. “I didn’t have time to select a destination.”

Molly burst into tears. “This is just like the time you lost Tip and Perry. And who knows where they might be?”

Dando hung his head. “Wull, I didn’t have much choice. That black rider—”

“Black rider this time,” wailed Molly, “Black Dragon last time. And the time before it was—”

“Now, now,” interrupted Dando, his eyes darting this way and that, glancing about at all of us, “there’s no call to upset our guests.”

“A pox on our guests,” spat Molly, and Marley reeled back in horror, examining his hands, feeling his face, as she continued. “Dando Thistledown, all I know is that the last time we fled, the Dragon, it was, and landed somewhere, and put out the fire on the roof, and repainted the scorched porch, Tip and Perry stepped out that door off on some lark of their own and were never seen again.” Once more she burst into tears.

“There, there, Molly, someday we’ll find them. Someday when I can remember how I twisted the—” He glanced down at the ring he wore.

Beside me, Tynvyr slapped Rufous on the nose. “No!” she hissed sharply, and the fox stopped looking at me with his pointy-toothed grin and, disgruntled, lay down.

“Tynvyr,” I whispered, “who are Tip and Perry, and are they really small enough to ride larks?”

Tynvyr smiled and shook her head, No, and whispered back, “Tip is their son, and Perry is his cousin.”

Tall Molly pulled herself up to her thirty-six inches, stifling her tears at last. “Well, Dando, you don’t know exactly where we are, you say, but you can send someone out to look about.”

“Now, Molly, I shouldn’t leave the inn.” Dando glanced significantly at his ring, and Molly nodded. “And none of you dammen should go. I mean, look at what just happened, the black rider and all. And that only leaves …” Dando looked around and down at Fiz, Marley, Tynvyr and Rufous, Rafferty, and me.

Rafferty sighed. “Alright, Dando, m’lad, I’ll go. But remember what happened back in auld Eire, what with th’ rattly snakes and all. If I come arunnin’ back in, somewan needs to shut th’ door after me quick as a cat, else there moight be th’ divil t’ pay.”

As best as I can tell, Rafferty was gone for two days, and when he got back he was drunk.

And dressed in a paper sack.

And covered with filth.

Marley took one look at the filthy wretch and ran shrieking up the stairs and leapt into a bathtub and began frantically scrubbing himself.

I’m not certain that he even took his clothes off.

The rest of us rushed to Rafferty’s side, where he had fallen inward through the door and to the floor.

He was singing some ditty under his wine-laden breath, and only now and again could I catch a word or two—something about mushroom rings and the ones who dance there.

We couldn’t make any sense of what he was saying, and so Dando got Molly to brew this almost-black drink made from little dark brown beans, ground up, and they poured gallons of it down the inside of Rafferty’s neck, and soon we had this very alert drunk on our hands, singing at the top of his lungs:

“Whin th’ Fairies dance,

Oh they sometimes ware no pants

…”

Fiz shrieked, “You peeked!” She turned to Tynvyr. “He peeked!”

Outraged, Tynvyr turned up her nose and spun away from the drunken Leprechaun, snatching away the cold cloth she had been holding to his head. “Come, Fiz, Peeping Raffertys don’t deserve our help.” And they marched off in high dudgeon.

Gee, when he sobered up, I would have to find out from Peeping Rafferty precisely where this mushroom ring was.

Marley came back downstairs just in time to see Rafferty throw up all over, and the Gnome ran shrieking back up to the bathing room and we could hear him moaning and sobbing amid more sounds of frantical scrubbing.

Rafferty, on the other hand, groaned and passed out.

“Garn!” exclaimed Dando. “Well, let’s clean him up and lay him on the couch and wait for him to come to.”

And so we did, covering Rafferty with a blanket.

It was late in the day when Rafferty came ’round, and then it was that we found out where he’d been and what he had been up to.

I wish I’d been elsewhere.

But, there we were, near Rafferty: me, Fiz, Tynvyr and Rufous, and Marley, the Gnome now as clean as a pin, though his skin was nigh rubbed raw—you’ve heard of dishpan hands, well Marley had an entire dishpan body. Dando and Molly were there, too.

Anyway, as Rufous—just tasting—took a tiny lick of me and Tynvyr slapped him away, Rafferty sat up with a start, and grabbed his head, groaning, and looked wildly about. Seeing Dando—“I’ve found them!” exclaimed the Leprechaun, wincing at the loudness of whoever it was that was talking, discovering that it was himself. “I’ve found them,” he repeated, softly this time. “Tip and Perry. I know whare they be.”

Dando leapt forward and grabbed the Leprechaun by the shoulders, jerking him back and forth and back and forth. “Where, Rafferty? Where?”

Rafferty just screamed and clutched his thrashing head.

Molly shoved Dando aside. “Where?” she shrieked in the Leprechaun’s ear, grabbing him by the shoulders, taking up where Dando had left off. But suddenly, as if the news were too much for her, she swooned, falling on top of Dando.

Finding himself free, in spite of his throbbing head, Rafferty leapt over the back of the couch, aiming to keep it between him and Dando and Molly.

“Faith, now, boyo,” he called out to Dando, the Warrow rising to his feet, “ye’ve got t’ stop bashin’ me brain about in me head. I’ll tell ye. I’ll tell ye. Jist leave me alone.”

Dando helped Molly to the couch, where she lay down, and he took up a cold cloth, one that they’d been using on Rafferty, and applied it to her forehead. Then he turned to the Leprechaun. “Tell me.”

Rafferty came around the end of the couch and that was when he discovered—“I’m naked as a woodpecker!” he shrieked, snatching at the blanket, covering himself, turning red, refusing to look at Tynvyr and Fiz, who were struggling to stifle laughter, hands over their mouths. Then Rafferty put a finger to his own lips, mumbling, “Oh, now I remember.”

His modesty reclaimed by the blanket, Rafferty took a seat. “Wellanow, Dando, m’lad, in y’r rush t’ get away from that black roider, it seems that y’ve managed to twist that ring o’ y’rs and bring us back to th’ very same place whare y’ went whin y’ escaped the Dragon, back t’ th’ very same location whare y’ lost Tip and Perry in th’ first place.”

The ring! So that’s how Dando controls the flight of the inn. By twisting his ring! The same ring that at this very moment he was trying to hide by shoving his hands in his pockets. So that’s what he had in his pockets—the controlling ring.

“Anyway,” continued Rafferty, “by accident or instinct, in y‘r panic, wance again y’ managed t’ come t’ here. Here whare they are. On this w’rld. In this wicked city. Trapped. Captured. Locked up.”

Molly gasped, and Dando gritted his teeth but remained silent, neither saying ought as Rafferty went on.

“They are being held somewhare in an opium den, in a dope den, th’ Yellow Poppy. Th’ owner’s name is Khassan, and he’s a slaver on th’ side, and as mean a one as ever there was, if I am t’ believe me ears, and I do. They say he’s got mean guards, too, patrollin’ th’ grounds. And if I’m t’ believe me ears, them what told me say that there’s them what’s patrollin’ under th’ soil below and up in th’ skies above, as well.

“As to Tip and Perry, Khassan’s got ‘em up f’r sale, at an exorbitant price. ‘Special,’ he calls ’em, ’cause o’ their sparkly eyes. And there’s hundreds o’ bounty hunters in this town, beatin’ th’ bushes and searchin’ th’ alleyways and storm drains and anywhare else they figure Wee Folk with eyes what sparkle could be hidin’.

“Y’see, Khassan has put up a big reward f’r more sparkly-eyed folk, no questions asked.

“I learned all this from a couple o’ droonks who were layin’ in an alley and who thought me t’ be a bottle-born figment o’ their sodden minds. T’ keep ’em talking, o’ course, I had t’ take a wee nip from their bottle ev’ry now and again—kept it in a paper bag, they did.

“And then, before y’ could say thimbletythumb, there I was, droonk on cheap wine.

“We sold m’ silver buckles f’r more wine, then m’ clothes. And whin it all ran out—th’ buckles, m’ clothes, th’ money, th’ wine—I took th’ empty out o’ th’ paper sack and came home in the bag.”

A flinty glint came into Dando’s eye. “Where is this Yellow Poppy?”

Rafferty held out his hand, palm out, as if to press the Warrow back into his seat. “Oi, now, and sure y’ wouldn’t be f’r thinkin’ t’ be goin’ after Tip and Perry y’rself, now, would y’? Y’ f’rget, there be a high bounty on all heads loike y’rs, what with y’r sparkly eyes and all.

“Oh, no, me auld friend, y’r not goin’ on no rescue mission, sure, and that’s final.”

Dando ground his teeth in rage, and now I could see just why these folk were considered to be dangerous when riled. “If not me and mine, Rafferty,” he gritted, “then who? Who will rescue them?”

That’s when Rafferty looked at Fiz and Marley and Tynvyr and Rufous … and me.

And now here we were, stumbling along in a dark alley on a dark night, slipping in filth and slime, trapped between high buildings, with bats and rats and perhaps owls prowling the night, and somewhere in the blackness a cat was stalking.

Stalking us.

Great.

Just great.

An animal the size and ferocity of a cat, of a hungry cat, of an alley cat, could rip any and all and each of our tiny little bodies to shreds with but one swipe of its claws.

Mrrawww!

Fiz shrieked. Marley jerked. Rafferty ducked. I jumped.

It sounded as if the cat were practically on top of us.

Then I looked up.

It was practically on top of us. Black on black, dark against dark, I could barely see this vague blot atop the wall, silhouetted ’gainst the ebon sky.

It moved.

It was the cat.

“Look out above!” I shouted, just as it leaped, landing in the alley before us.

Somewhere.

We couldn’t see it now. But I could hear it creeping closer.

Then I heard other paws padding. Oh, Hel, there’s more than one.

MMMRRAWW!

“I can see it!” cried Fiz, her Fairy Vision better than any of ours. “It’s going to spring.”

“Save yourself, honey,” I shouted. “Use your wings! Fly!”

Padding paws broke into a run. The other one was coming apace to join the first.

Turning about in confusion and fear, I didn’t know which way to flee.

Suddenly the alley was full of snarling and mrawwing and the sounds of animals fighting, fighting like cats and do—

Rufous! It had to be Rufous! Then I heard Tynvyr shouting.

Lor! It was Rufous! We’d been saved by the fox!

With a yowl, the cat left the alleyway, leaping back up to the fence and bounding away in the darkness.

Rafferty lit a match and there they were, Tynvyr and Rufous, the fox dancing on his hind legs with his front paws against the fence, there where the cat had fled.

Without thinking, I ran to Rufous and hugged him. He turned and looked at me and began grinning and salivating.

I leapt back, bumping into someone soft, and turned to discover Fiz gazing up at me, adoration in her eyes.

Uh oh.

“You called me ‘honey,’” she said, some kind of smarmy look descending over her. “You told me to save myself and called me ‘honey.’”

Next I knew, she was pressing herself against me, her arms locked about my waist.

Between the upright tips of her wings I saw Rafferty smiling at me, and beyond him was Marley the Gnome, looking by matchlight around at the filth in the alley, shock and dismay on his face, seemingly about to faint but refusing to, for if he did he would fall into the filth itself: foetid garbage and discarded refuse and squishy black mud and other things of slime and excrement better left unmentioned.

Then the match went out and we were plunged back into the blackness of the alleyway, and I could feel Rufous’s hot breath panting down the back of my neck, and saliva dripping onto me.

“Another hundred feet or so”—it was Tynvyr speaking in the darkness—“and you’ll round a corner, and there’s light to see by. It’s coming from the outside lanterns of the Yellow Poppy.

“There is a rusted wrought-iron fence surrounding it, and the inside grounds are patrolled by a guard, accompanied by a big dog of some kind. Another guard stands at the front door, letting people enter. Humans all.

“All of us can easily slip through the bars of the fence, even Rufous, though he’d have to squeeze a bit. But there are additional dogs in a kennel at the rear, and I’m certain that they’d warn the sentry should strangers attempt to enter the back way.

“Fiz could fly, were it not for the bloodsuckers in the sky above—and, no, Bork, before you ask, I didn’t see any owls aloft.

“The Poppy itself is large, two-and-a-half or three Human storeys high, perhaps thirty feet from the ground to the peak of the roof. I judge it to be sixty or seventy feet wide, and maybe as much as. a hundred feet long. How it ever got plunked down here in the middle of back alleyways, I’ll never know. Regardless, there’s a door in front and another in back, but the handles are set at Human height.

“There’s barred windows about, but they look to be boarded up. We could get down the chimneys, except that there’s smoke coming out.

“In my judgement, with the guards, the dogs, the boarded up windows, and the fires in the fireplaces, this will be a tough, if not impossible place to break into. Probably made so to keep anyone from stealing drugs.

“So, Rafferty, it looks as if we’ll have to try one of the fallback plans after all.”

Rafferty lit another match, and Tynvyr pulled Rufous back from my saliva-dripped-on neck, the fox looking guilty, though not necessarily repentant.

Fiz still had an arm about my waist, and once again she smarmed up at me, but I was all business. “Which plan, mine or Marley’s?” I asked. “Mine, where we act as a travelling troupe of entertainers, or Marley’s, where we pass ourselves off to these Humans as unemployed laborers, ditch diggers, to be exact … foot-high ditch diggers.”

“Well, if we only had some calluses,” said Marley, peering at his hands by wavering matchlight, “then the choice would be obvious. But as it is, I think it’s a toss-up as to which plan we choose.”

We all looked at Rafferty, our unofficial leader, waiting for his decision.

He watched the match burn a bit more, then glanced up at us, his head cocked sideways, and he flung his arms open wide, and a great open-mouthed smile lit up his face. He gave his head a little shake and said, “Coo coo-ca choo, folks! It’s showtime!”

And so, singing lustily at the tops of our voices, we marched down the alley and into the lantern light and up to the goggling guard gaping at us beside the front door of the Yellow Poppy.

We were escorted through the door and into a foyer, a foyer filled with a blue haze, and a cloying, sickeningly sweet odor pervaded the air. Fortunately, down at floor level, where we were, the haze thinned out a bit.

There was a black-haired receptionist, a Human, I think, though her eyes did have an Elven slant to them. Her skin was sallow, or yellow—it was difficult to tell through the blue smoke.

Her tilted eyes flew wide at the sight of us, and when Rafferty explained to her that we were Professor Marvel’s Travelling Wonder Show (where he got that name, I’ll never know) and that he himself was Professor Marvel and that we’d come to entertain, harrumph, for a small fee, of course, harrumph, well then she escorted us up a spiral stairway and onto the second floor.

We passed by two or three rooms, a door or two open, and inside were—Fiz gasped—naked Humans, lolling about on small satin sheets and silken pillows, lying atop a deep-pile carpet, woven with a geometric pattern, covering the floor of the room. The Humans seemed to be enthralled in some sort of trance, lost in an inner vision.

Past these rooms and through another door we went, coming before a final door, this one closed.

The receptionist knocked softly.

“What is it?” called a voice, strangely accented.

“Master, there are those here you should see.”

We waited a moment, and suddenly the door was jerked open. “Who?”

The speaker was a Man. Black hair, black eyes, swarthy skin. A scar ran down his left cheek. He was slender, for a Human, with long-fingered hands. I judged that he was nearly six feet tall. A behemoth, towering some four times over my own considerable height. I mean, for a Brownie, at eighteen inches I’m fairly large, but this guy was a monster.

“Who?” he repeated.

The attendant pointed down, and there we were.

He started back, clearly surprised. A wide smile came over his face as Rafferty, er, Professor Marvel explained who we were.

He invited us into his quarters to audition our acts and to talk over our wages, telling the attendant to have Drak and his Men come and act as an audience. Hel, this was going to be even easier than I had imagined. We had him fooled completely.

Fifteen minutes later, they hauled us down the stairs and into the basement and through the secret door and threw us in our cell, Drak bitching because “the damn fox bit me.”

As soon as the door slammed shut behind, Marley whirled on me and snarled, “See! I told you that my plan was better! But in the face of overwhelming logic, would Mister High-and-Mighty Showbusiness listen? Oooohhh noooo, says he. They’ll never believe that we are ditch diggers, says he. But a travelling show, now, says he, will pull the wool right over their eyes. Well, let me tell you, Bork, we put on the best damn show this town has ever seen, and where did it get us? In a cell! That’s where! In a crummy cell, laden with”—for the first time he looked around and blanched—“rotten”—he sniffed—“sour-smelling (urp) filthy straw.”

Trying to not touch the floor, Marley stepped over to peer into one of two buckets that were placed on opposite sides of the cell, one probably a drinking bucket and the other a privy pot. He looked into the one and shrieked, reeling back, his hand out in a warding gesture. He then looked into the other, and shrieked again.

“Which one has the dipper?” I asked. “Then we’ll know.”

Marley gagged and would have thrown up except he knew he couldn’t stand the sight of it.

Rufous sat down and began scratching vigorously behind one ear. “We’ve got to get out of here,” said Tynvyr, desperation in her voice.

Rufous now began frantically scratching at his neck.

Fiz looked adoringly up at me. “Don’t worry,” she responded to Tynvyr, “Bork will think of something.”

All of this adoration just for one slip of the tongue.

Rufous began biting at the base of his tail, chasing after something in his fur. Thank the stars for Rufous, otherwise we’d all be crawling with vermin.

“Hoosh up, anow,” shushed Rafferty, placing his ear against the cell wall, “I hear voices.”

We all rushed over and listened.

“Hiyo! Lookit this bug, Perry, its legs work backwards … Hey! This part of the straw smells rottener than that part! … Lor! You can see patterns in the wood grain of the door! Here’s one that looks like your nose, and here’s another that looks like your—”

“Shut up, Tip! Just shut the Hèl up! I’m working on another escape plan, and I can’t think! Your chatter is driving me crazy! So shut up!”

“Gee, Perry, sure I’ll shut up. I’m probably better at shutting up than anyone else I know. Tippy is my name and shutting up is my game. I won’t make a peep. Not a one. No sound. No sir. Perry is working on escape plan number four thousand five hundred and fifty three and he needs absolute quiet, and by golly I’m gonna give it to him. After all—”

“SHUT UP!”

I took my ear away and looked around at our cell, at the impenetrable stone walls, the thick, solid, locked wooden door, the vermin-ridden sour rotten straw, and the pair of who-knows-which-is-which privy and water buckets. We’d been trapped by a slaver and locked away in a heavily guarded secret room beneath a dope den. And locked in another cell adjacent to ours, we found the ones we’d come to set free.

Success at last!

Rafferty paced back and forth. “We need an escape plan,” he said, “or there’ll be th’ divil t’ pay.”

I looked up at Rafferty. “I’d deal with a Demon if it’d get us out of here.”

Fiz beamed at me. “Oh, Bork, I just knew you’d come up with a good plan.”

“Huh?” I said brilliantly, and in that same moment we heard a rattling at the door. It was flung open.

It was Drak. He towered there, all six feet or so, glaring down at us, sucking the side of his hand where Rufous had bitten him.

Drak didn’t look fully Human, but rather like he had some Goblin or Troll blood mixed in. But that’s clearly impossible, for no one but another Goblin or Troll could stand a Goblin or Troll.

I could be mistaken, though, for behind Drak hulked the other guards, like him, Goblinoid as well.

“Keep yer dog under control,” Drak growled at Tynvyr, all the while eyeing Rufous. But the fox was too busy scratching and nipping at his own fur to even notice Drak.

“Mister Drak,” Marley started to say—

“Shaddup, you!” snarled Drak, glaring at him and then at each of us. “It’s time you began earning yer keep. We’re not just gonna feed ya fer free. So the boss wants ta know and I want ta know what yer names are and what ya do for a livin.”

“My name is Marley and I am a ditch digger,” said Marley, glaring triumphantly at me. I just sadly shook my head, knowing that he’d come to regret his words.

“Ditch digger, eh?” snorted Drak. “We got just the job fer you.”

He glowered at me. “Next!”

“Bork. Cobbler,” said I.

One by one he took our names and professions. “Fiz, house sprite”; “Rafferty, bartender”; “Tynvyr and Rufous, ratters.”

I spent all day repairing shoes and racking my brains for a way to escape. But every time I came up with a plan, either it called for skills we didn’t have, or it wouldn’t work, or it would take years to accomplish, or it would get one or more of us killed. Hey, what can I say? Not all of us are escape artists.

Late, when I got back to the cell, Tynvyr and scratching Rufous were already there. There’s one good thing to say about the vermin: at least they kept Rufous’s mind off me. Even so, still I felt sorry for the fox, who, to my eye, was beginning to look a bit mangy.

Before Tynvyr and I had said more than a word or two, a guard rattled the door open and Fiz flew in, winging directly to me and giving me a peck on the cheek even before landing.

As soon as the door closed, Fiz said, “I’ve been upstairs, talking to the rugs, getting ready to carry out your plan.”

My plan? Talking to the rugs? Clearly this Pixie has cracked under the strain. I glanced over to Tynvyr and she merely shrugged and gave one of those looks which says, How should I know?

“How was your day, dear?” Fiz asked domestically, looking up at me.

I sighed. “In the escape department, not very productive, though I did manage to steal this.” I took a leather-working awl out from under my apron.

Fiz squealed, snatching it from me. “Oh, you are so very clever”—she gave me another peck on the cheek—“this is just perfect for unravelling the bindings on the rugs.”

Again the door rattled open, and as Fiz hid the awl, the Goblinoid guards threw Rafferty into the cell. Damn! He was falling down drunk and singing about the Fairies Who Dance, again.

The Goblinoids started to shut the door, but someone yelled, and in came Marley, whimpering, covered from head to toe in Human feces. They’d put him to work shovelling out privies.

“What a Hèl hole,” I growled, dragging Rafferty into the corner and onto some softer straw.

“Worse than you think,” said Tynvyr. “Rufous and I did our ratting upstairs, on the first floor, and it’s filled with row upon row of bunks, double-decker and triple. Humans lie in them, smoking dope, snorting powder up their noses, sticking needles in their veins, swallowing pills.

“They collapse on their beds and smile their meaningless smiles, their unfocused eyes staring inward, their abandoned souls lost within unremembered dreams of paradise, while stoic attendants wander silently among the wretches, bringing them even more opiates to feed their unslaked desires.

“And all the while, other lost souls shuffle in, seeking only an empty bunk for themselves. It’s as if they don’t see or don’t want to see the others who shake and tremble and beg for more, the ones who offer to do anything for it, the ones who are wasting away, choosing narcotics instead of food, as if they’d rather have drug-driven dreams than a healthy body and mind.

“What fools they are to have ever begun, and what a hideous place is this Yellow Poppy.”

Upon hearing Tynvyr’s tale, Fiz shuddered. “Oh, how awful. But where I was, was awful, too:

“I worked on the second floor, as an attendant in the Rooms of Forbidden Illusions.

“There’s five rooms up there, each with its lush carpet strewn with silken pillows. One by one, Humans come in and strip off all their clothes, be they male or female. My job was to give them small satin sheets, and they lie on these.

“As each new Human comes in and lies down, slowly he begins to lose consciousness as he falls under the web of the spell; his eyes lose focus, and then close, the lids flutter as his eyes shudder and whip side to side beneath; spittle begins to drool from his mouth, and his breathing becomes heavy and gasping; perspiration begins to bead until his whole body becomes wet and slick; then a look of intense rapture crosses his face, and his entire being tenses and spasms, only to fall completely slack, unconscious. Oh Bork, some of them totally lost control of their bodily functions, and I and the other attendants had to clean up the messes.

“The long-time attendants say that all those who seek the forbidden illusions are affected the same: slowly they lose interest in real life, and they become listless and completely unmotivated; the only reality and joy for them is found among silken pillows on satin sheets on a lush carpet within those rooms on the second floor of the Yellow Poppy.

“And you know what? They don’t even know what’s truly happening up there. I suppose it’s because they don’t have Fairy Sight. But you see, their very souls are slowly being eaten away, a bit at a time with each visit, traded for illusion. Bit by bit, each loses fragments of his soul, until he doesn’t have any left. You see, the Demon trapped in whichever rug the victim is addicted to ultimately will have eaten it all. And—”

Rafferty began throwing up. And whimpering, Marley crawled over, dragging one of the buckets after, intending to clean up the vomit with his bare hands. Tynvyr and I stopped him, and led him back to his corner, and he looked at us with unfocused eyes, weeping all the while. What the masters of the Yellow Poppy had done to this poor Gnome was beyond forgiveness.

Too, I could not but help reflect upon what Tynvyr and Fiz had seen in the den above, and I knew that Khassan and his henchmen must somehow be made to pay for their crimes.

And I raged at the sheer stupidity of anyone who would get addicted to anything, whether it be narcotics or illusion or drink or pipeweed or anything. And that not only included Humans being addicted, but anyone —Halflings, Hobbits, Warrows, and Wee Folk included … even Leprechauns.

I glanced at Marley, the Gnome shivering and shuddering and weeping in his corner. Damn! We just had to get out of this Helhole!

We made our big break the next day, Fiz executing my plan to perfection, even though it nearly got all of us killed forever. What’s that, you say? You didn’t know I had a plan? Well, join the club, friend, ’cause neither did I.

It happened this way.

The door rattled open again and there was Drak, as usual. “Out, slime!” he snarled. “Time to sew leather, catch rats, tend the rugheads, and shovel shit. And you, Rafferty, no more bartending; you’re gonna shovel shit, too.”

We all groaned to our feet—Marley somewhat recovered, Rafferty holding his head—and began to file out, Fiz flying.

“Oi, Cap’n,” shouted one of the Goblinoid guards, pointing up at Fiz, “she’s got some kinda weapon!”

I looked. Fiz was carrying the awl.

All Hèl broke loose.

Fiz, darting and dodging swatting hands, flew toward the open secret door. Snarling, Rufous attacked Drak, the fox’s slashing teeth hamstringing the shrieking Goblinoid Human to come crashing down, clutching his leg, blood flying wide. Tynvyr darted out and leapt astride the raging fox, and Marley smashed a bucket down on Drak’s head, cracking his skull open like a rotten egg.

Rafferty and I ran to the adjacent cell, and I scrambled up onto his shoulders, heaving the bar out from the hooks to come crashing down. And together, we flung open the wooden door.

Gaping at us were two Warrows, Tip and Perry, though which was which, I knew not.

“Rafferty!” they shouted together in unison.

“Don’t jist stand there loike a couple o’ harebrained ninnies,” shrieked Rafferty, “don’t y’ recognize a prison break whin y’ see wan?”

They bolted outward, Perry scooping up the door bar in passing, to bring it smashing into a Goblinoid Human’s knee, shattering the cap, the guard falling screeching to the floor, where his days were ended by Marley and his lethal bucket.

“Bork!” I heard a shriek, and looked up in time to see Tynvyr and Rufous bearing down on me. “Up behind! We’ve got to help Fiz!”

I leapt astraddle Rufous behind Tynvyr, and through milling legs and stomping feet we darted for the exit. While behind, Tip with Drak’s sword, Perry with a bar, Rafferty with a nightstick scooped up from a fallen foe, and Marley with his killer bucket battled the remaining guards.

But two of the Goblinoids, shouting at the tops of their lungs, raced after Tynvyr and Rufous and me.

Up the spiral stairs we ran, Rufous leaping up three steps at a time, the Goblinoids right behind. Up from the basement and to the first floor, we fled, Rufous darting down a long hall, toward the stairs at the far end, Tynvyr crying “Yah! Yah!”

Behind us thundered the guards, yelling for aid, but we did not slow to see if they were answered.

Up the second set of spiral stairs twisted Rufous, the fox beginning to labor, for he was carrying double, not used to bearing someone of my massive size.

Even so, ahead of the guards we bounded onto the second floor, and with claws scrabbling and Tynvyr shouting and guards thudding up after, Rufous charged down the long hall to come unto the Rooms of Forbidden Illusions.

Past doors we flashed, glancing into the rooms as Rufous ran by. And at the third door, I caught a fleeting glimpse of Fiz—“Stop!” shrieked Tynvyr, the fox planting his front feet stiff-leggedly while hunkering down his rear, skidding on the slippery floor, sliding and spinning, whirling me off to fly through the air, arms flailing and legs thrashing. I crashed to a stop against a wall ten feet beyond.

Dizzily, I scrambled up. Even now, the Goblinoid Humans were charging toward us. Rufous with Tynvyr still aboard scrabbled back toward the door where we had seen Fiz, and I darted after. We made it into the room just ahead of the pursuers.

And there was Fiz.

There, too, was Khassan, across the room, on his knees, crying “No! Please no!” He was begging!

And Fiz was at the border of the carpet, my awl in her hand, poised over the rug’s edge binding.

What the … ?

“No!” shrieked Khassan. “I’ll let you all go! I’ll set you all free! Just please don’t do it. He will get out!”

Footsteps thudded behind us. The guards!

“No, no!” Khassan screamed.

I looked at the carpet, and hidden down deeply within the pattern, I could barely make something out. And with my poor Fairy Sight, so very weak when compared with Fiz’s, I could just discern a huge face peering up through the geometrical design, a deep red face with yellow, viperous eyes and a leering mouth filled with glistening fangs, the face of a—plink

The barely audible plink of a breaking thread sounded as Fiz broke the binding on the carpet.

RRRRAAAWWWW!

Explosively expanding out from the carpet, swelling upward and crashing through the ceiling, shattering open the Yellow Poppy like a rotten melon, exposing the grublike patrons to the Sun, suddenly, the gigantic form of a massive Demon towered high above, laughing ghoulishly and shouting “Free! Free!”

Wreckage crashed down all around us, and flames blasted upward as something below caught fire. “Fiz, get out of there! Use your wings! Fly! Flee!” I shouted, darting toward the ruin of the stairs, the front stairs, they were closer.

“Bork!” Once again Tynvyr and Rufous came to my aid, and I leapt upon the back of the fox, and he ran like Hel.

Khassan fled, too, as did his guards, running before us.

But then a great hand came down and scooped up shrieking Khassan, lifting him high into the air. Suddenly there was a squashing sound, as of a bug being smashed, chopping off Khassan’s screams in mid-shriek.

Downward we fled, Rufous bounding in great leaps from stair fragment to stair fragment, from shattered rubble to tumbled ruin, flying across gaps that took my breath away. And I knew then that neither Tynvyr nor I would have made it without the fox.

The front of the building was burst open, and we bolted outward into the alleyway street. Behind us, flames raged.

“Hiyo!” came a call, and out from the wreckage stumbled Tip and Perry and Rafferty and Marley, the Gnome still carrying his killer bucket. And flying down from above came Fiz.

And towering upward into the sky loomed a gigantic Demon, red pulp dripping from his closed right fist, and he laughed horribly, madly, his yellow viperous eyes wide and glaring insanely.

Reaching down into the flames, the Demon lifted something up from the burning wreck. It was another of the rugs. He pulled loose one thread, and a second gigantic Demon appeared, towering up into the sky.

Swiftly, three more Demons were loosed, making five in all. And they looked at one another and laughed their mad laughs. Then, as if of one mind, they sped away from one another, to come to five points equidistant on the perimeter of the city.

Rafferty looked and with trepidation in his voice said, “Saints presarve us, they are at th’ points o’ a pentagram.”

At that moment, violent ocherous energy crackled along a five-pointed web between the Demons, and suddenly, there we were, us and the whole wicked city, under a dark maroon Sun, while overhead a black Moon sailed through a sulfurous yellow sky.

“Neddra, Neddra,” howled the Demons, and then I knew that somehow the entire city had been transported to the Lower Realms. And across the endless dust-laden plains and past the bubbling pools of lava came marching great ravening hordes: the Legions of the Undead.

We had gone to Hèl.

We were in Hèl.

We were surrounded by Hèl.

We ran like Hèl.

Just ahead of gibbering corpses, slavering black-fanged baying things, flaming devils, tall stalking creatures made of bones, yellow-eyed leathery-webbed howlers, ebon wraiths, and other things too hideous to describe. And racing past us and through the city streets veered thundering chariots, drawn by Hèlsteeds and bearing howling ghouls waving jagged lances, great spinning blades upon the wheels, each ghoul swerving to try to impale us on that whirling death. Yet we dodged and darted, and fled before them, running for our very lives, trying to reach the Halfling House.

And as we ran, great shudders racked the city, thunderous explosions booming, buildings blasting apart, ruby fire flaring upward into the sulfurous sky. Crowds of people raced this way and that, screaming dopers and slavers and sadistic guards, panderers, thieves, ruffians, brigands, muggers, burglars, the entire population of this wicked city, all of them of one vile sort or another, the entire population and us, too, fleeing before the ravenous Hordes of Hèl.

Just ahead of death, we ran, and at last, there was our goal: the Halfling House.

Darting and dashing, Fiz flying, across the final rubble-strewn field we fled and onto the porch, slamming inward through the door, Rafferty coming last, bolting inward and under a table, crying “Dando! Away! Fly! Foe! Flee!”

Dando twisted his ring.

Nothing happened.

“The door, Rafferty!” he shrieked. “Shut the door!”

But I was closest and scrambled for the door just as this huge, claw-handed, skull-faced Giant came ripping up out of the soil—RRRRAAAWWWW!—lunging forward, reaching for the opening, just as I slammed it shut.

This time, as the damman lighted the candles and lanterns, I didn’t even attempt to peer out the sparkly windows, knowing what it would do to my eyes. Instead, I relaxed on the couch and rubbed Fiz’s feet, her exquisite tiny feet, lust stealing into my loins.

Most of us were there in the great room, worn out, exhausted, catching our breath, except for Marley, who’d gone upstairs lugging his killer bucket, and I could hear sounds of frantic scrubbing drifting down from the bathing room above.

Molly and Dando were having a tearful reunion with Tip and Perry, and Rafferty was smacking his lips over a flagon of ale. Fiz was explaining to everyone how with our Fairy Sight she and I had seen the rug-trapped Demons the very first time we had passed the Rooms of Forbidden Illusions on our way to meet Khassan, and how in the cell I had hatched my very clever plan to deal with a Demon. And all the while she told the tale she beamed adoringly at me.

I don’t think I’ll ever tell her the truth.

When Marley came back down, skin scrubbed raw, bucket in hand, Tynvyr borrowed some flea soap and led Rufous toward the stairs, the fox stopping every now and again to nip at his fur or to scratch. I figured that with a bath it wouldn’t be long ere he would once more begin eyeing me and salivating. Oh well, I would deal with that in its own due time.

I sat reflecting, slowly relaxing. If I’d learned one thing, it was this: anytime anyone ever says, “Well, I’ll be go to Hel,” I can say, “I’ve been there, and believe me, you don’t want to go.”

My musing was interrupted by a faint buzzing. “What’s that rattling?”

Dando jumped up and whirled to face me. “Nothing! No one! No owls, cats, rats, dogs, bats, hawks, weasels, cobras, mongooses or mongeese, or any other thing of the sort. And no rattly snake. No sir. No way. No how. And certainly no mice; they’ve all disappeared.”

Suddenly, with a soft thump, we landed. The windows stopped sparkling. And a harsh dark lavender glare shone in.

Rafferty looked up at the violet blare. “Wellanow, Dando, me bucko. Jist whare d’we be this toime?”

Dando coughed and shrugged. “Well, as to that … um … you see, I’m not exactly sure, what with that skull-faced Giant who was coming at us, and all … anyway, I just didn’t have time to select a destination.”

Just then, from outside came a bellowing roar.

The Halfling House began to shake.

The front door crashed open.

Purple light blasted inward.

Someone screamed … .