"Oh my goodness! Look at this! What have we here? Here?"

    Urt stood with as much dignity as he could muster, which wasn''t all that much considering he was covered in slime. "Are you the proprietor here?" He looked the newcomer up and down, mostly succeeding in keeping the disdain off his face.

    Their new friend wasn''t much to look at all told, although if one stopped to consider the types that are likely to frequent waste disposal areas, this probably wouldn''t come as a great surprise. He was a wiry chap, clad in sewer-appropriate brown trousers and shirt, with a ragged waistcoat of similar hue. His face was also wiry, and somehow vaguely rodent like. He twitched his nose slightly as he returned Urt''s gaze, apparently unphased by his tone.

    "Looks like we have a couple of thirty three B''s," sewer-man muttered, probably to himself. "Haven''t had any of those for a good while. While." He pulled a pad of paper out of a waistcoat pocket and, taking a pencil of some kind that had been wedged unseen behind one ear, made a quick note.

    "Er, Urt," Reginald began.

    "Not now Reg." Urt waved a hand and stepped forward. He spoke to the man in the slow and loud tone usually reserved for the slow witted or foreigners. "I say! Hello there! We seem to be lost. I wonder if you would be so good as to direct us to the exit?"

    The man didn''t respond, but instead sniffed at Urt. "Ooh! No! Not a thirty three at all! More like a fifty one C! Maybe even a fifty two! Two!"

    "Urt…" Reginald began again.

    "Hold on a second, I''m trying to converse with this fellow," Urt said, scowling. He snapped a finger, causing sparks to fly. "You! I''m speaking to you! Who are you?"

    The man stopped suddenly and seemed to notice Urt for the first time. "You speaking to me?"

    Rolling his eyes, Urt muttered a brief prayer to Dreg to spare him from imbeciles and then tried again. "Who else would I be speaking to?" he asked.

    You shouldn''t be speaking you know," the man replied.

    "We shouldn''t be… Look, er, what''s your name anyway?"

    "Rowland."

    "Look Rowland, could we speak to someone in charge please? There''s obviously been a bit of a misunderstanding. We were having a quiet stroll in the… in… along when your slime ball snatched us up. It''s quite the outrage."

    "Well, maybe I could get the boss, but he doesn''t like to be disturbed. Disturbed." Rowland scratched his ever twitching nose.

    "This is ludicrous," Urt said. "Why am I even speaking to you? Stand aside." He pushed at the man, but leaped back quickly as Rowland turned from a wiry human into a giant four footed rat with demon red eyes and extremely wicked looking teeth.

    "That''s what I was trying to tell you," Reginald said. "He''s a wererat. Nasty things they are, wouldn''t like to get bitten by one. Very unhealthy. Fatal even, should you survive the being eaten bit."

    Having made his point, Roland morphed back to his human shape, which had somehow retained its clothing unharmed. Urt wasn''t sure it was much improvement, apart from the teeth.

    "So then," he said. "We were talking about your boss?"

    ~ * ~

    "Again, no. We need to keep the target alive," Redthorne repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time. "Only he can stop the Four from breaking through and consuming the world."

    "But he has Fallen from grace," Prudence said again. "The Lady, may she be ever blessed, commands us to rid the world of those who serve evil."

    "But," Redthorne said, raising a finger and nearly falling off his horse. "What if the… fallen one could prevent an even greater evil? Wouldn''t killing him in itself be an evil act?"

    "Killing evil is never evil," the paladin replied, but Redthorne noted a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

    "No one said you couldn''t kill him," he replied. "You just have to wait until he has prevented the Four from destroying all li… all that is Good in the world. You wouldn''t want that would you?"

    "The Paladins of my order can defeat these evil Four of whom you speak," Prudence said, the steel re-entering her tone.

    "No. No they can''t. If they could then there would be no need for our mission. You can check with your Order if you like, they''ll tell you the same thing, ?ssuming their pride allows it."

    "Pride is a sin."

    "You ask anyway." Redthorne turned to the paladin who was riding alongside him, mounted on her, of course, white horse with armour gleaming in the sunlight. "I tell you what, I''ll make you a deal. If you contact your bosses and they tell you, clearly and with no word trickery mind, that the Order can deal with the Four, you can kill our chap on sight. If not, you do things my way. Deal?"

    Prudence glared at the mage for a moment before replying. "I don''t know mage. Wizards are renowned for their cunning lies as well as their magic. I shall have to think upon this." She spurred her horse, which was a magnificent beast, forward.

    Redthorne watched her go and then glanced about, eventually spotting Sod trotting off to one side. The warrior monk just grinned at him.

    "Oh, go and fall down a hole," the mage said.

    ~ * ~

    "How''s your magic regeneration coming along?" Reginald whispered.

    Urt flexed his fingers, but then shook his head. "I could probably manage a small death spell," he said. "Not really much more than that though."

    "Small death spell? As in kill a mouse or puppy? Never mind. Not really enough to deal with our friends then."

    "No. Not just now. I need incantation time anyway." Urt looked at the three thin men who had been stationed around their ''spot''. All three of them, according to Reginald''s sense of smell, or something, were wererats. They''d been stationed there whilst Rowland went to fetch the boss.

    "Heads up." The were-sheep nudged him.

    "Heads up?" Urt didn''t have time to ponder this saying before Rowland returned. He wasn''t alone. Behind him came three or four other characters. These were of a different league altogether from Rowland. Where he was skinny, these had bulging muscles. Where he had a notebook, they had swords. He had a twitching nose, they had… well, twitching noses too, but also expressions that implied twitching noses weren''t just the domain of cute bunnies. These were hardened killers.

    Behind the bodyguards, on a sedan chair held aloft by half a dozen sweating Rowland look-alikes, was the fattest man Urt had even seen. Admittedly he''d not really seen that many people in the scheme of things, but this fellow stood out even so.

    With a gesture of one ring-clad hand, the Sewer King was lowered to the ground. Once safely on what passed for Terra-firma in this part of the world, he waved the jewelled cane that he held in his other hand.

    "Speak," said the king, adjusting his silver crown, which was some kind of metal ring with stones stuck to it.

    "Your majesty," Urt said, deciding a diplomatic approach was best while he was low on magic. "We wish to petition you for release. We are mere travellers, snatched up whilst on an innocent stroll."

    "You were in my territory," the king replied. "By my law that makes you my property. Unless you can buy your own freedom, you are mine to do with as you will. Of course, anything you carry on your persons now is also mine." He smiled, showing large yellow teeth.

    "Ah. I see." Urt scratched his head. "Well, it''s a shame we don''t have anything of any value on us at the moment," Urt lied. "We did have a magical dagger, but your slime… thing made us drop it. Tell you what, we''ll go and get it for you, how''s that? As a sign of good faith."

    "If it was dropped in the sewers then it will end up here sooner or later," the king said. "There''s no rush."

    "Well, in that case, some of our gold, and we have lots and lots of it at home. We''ll be happy to donate something to your… kingdom." Urt waved a hand about, indicating the dank cavern.

    "Happy to hear it." The king gave another toothy smile. "So all you have to do is write down your address, and one of my minions will arrange collection."

    "That could be a problem," Urt said, rubbing his hands together and trying to work out if he had enough power for some kind of illusion that could work as a distraction. "We, ah, don''t live locally."

    "But surely you would be staying in a hotel yes?" the smile widened, and yet he looked slightly less happy. "Rich travellers like yourselves."

    "Well…"

    "Or maybe you are just trying to trick me in some fashion?" The smile was replaced by a snarl. "I don''t appreciate people lying to me. Perhaps a short sharp lesson needs to be made. Perhaps the removal of a hand, or maybe a foot?"

    "Now now your majesty," Urt said, backing up against Reginald. "You wouldn''t want to damage the goods. Take something from my manservant here, he doesn''t really use all his limbs properly anyway."

    "Hey!" the were-sheep complained. "I happen to be attached to my parts."

    "Don''t be such a wimp," Urt replied, trying to push himself through the wall as two of the large guards advanced. "Anyway, it will grow back won''t it? Werebeast healing and all that."

    "Ah, that''s where the silver blades come in," said the king, who was sitting back on his throne and nibbling on something that looked horribly like a severed hand. He nodded at the advancing servants, and Urt saw that, indeed, their knife blades were very shiny.

    "Curse this!" Urt lost his temper. From the corner of his eye, something indistinct seemed to move, but he ignored it as he straightened up and squared his shoulders. "I am a dark mage, and I won''t allow myself to be taken so easily." Summoning up all his reserves, he made a complicated gesture and pointed at the nearest guard, who paused. "Mortartist!" Urt cried.

    A purple spark leapt from the end of his finger and hit the nearest wererat in the ?h?st, where it burned a small black mark in the leather armour.

    The guard, who had turned pale, looked down at the smoking spot and then back up at Urt. He laughed. "That it wizard? That all you got?"

    Urt slumped back. "Apparently so. I don''t suppose you''d like to come back tomorrow would you?"

    "No. I think I''ll just maim you now." There was a slight blur in the air and the guard exploded.

    "Wow," said Reginald, as the smoke cleared, to reveal an area that was now splattered with charred meat and bits of shattered bone. "How did you do that?"

    "I''m not sure, the spell was for killing mice." Urt looked at his hand.

    The Shadow King threw down whatever he''d been nibbling on. "Kill them!" he screamed.

    "No! They''re mine!" Another voice interrupted Urt''s imminent demise, and both groups swung around to see the girl from the castle above, standing in front of a dozen heavily armed guards.

    "You''re on my territory girl!" spat the king in return.

    "It''s not going to be yours for long," she countered. "Kill them all except the boy, bring him to me alive."

    The guards streamed around her, swords drawn, to be met by the king''s men, or rat creatures as they had now become.

    "Who''s she calling a boy?" Urt scowled as the two sides met in bloody conflict. "I must be at least as old as her, probably older."

    "Tell you what, why don''t we talk about that later?" Reginald said. "Now would be a good time to depart."

    Indeed, all the rat men were busy biting and slashing at the human guards, who seemed to be holding their own under the onslaught, if only just.

    Urt and Reginald quickly sidled off along the wall, hurriedly clearing the combat zone and trotting away down the aisles, between piles of collected sewer flotsam.

    "Not so fast!" Rowland stepped out from behind a heap of brown… brown. He snarled and leaped forward, changing shape in mid-air.

    Urt''s life started to pass in front of his eyes, but he''d only managed to get as far as his first day in the swamp before a woolly shape flashed by and intercepted the rat. The two werebeasts landed with a crash and there was a flurry of movement, too fast to follow. A split second later Rowland was violently ejected from the melee, his limp body arcing over Urt and coming to rest with a dull splat in the brown pile.

    Reginald staggered back up, morphing back into human form spitting and wiping at his mouth. "Can''t stand the taste of wererat," he explained.

    "Yes, well, if you''ve finished rolling in the dirt with your friends, let''s keep moving shall we?" Urt replied. "I think there''s some kind of door over that way." He waved a hand.

    They hurried for the door, leaving the screams, snarls and shouts of the combatants behind them.