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Lieutenant Ransom was in charge of the west gate guards when the badger showed up.

Two furlongs from the gate sat the caravansary, where wagons not coming directly into town stayed for the night. Few caravans were exclusively bound for Verbobonc and even the wagons whose destination was the city usually stopped at the caravansary. Barracks for caravan guards, blacksmiths, a kitchen and other essentials meant that caravan- olk didn't need to trade with cityfolk unless they wanted to. Rumor had it the caravansary even had a brothel, or at least camp followers, but the Guard pointedly looked the other way when rumors like that circulated. Every whore there meant one less horny, possibly drunk or violent caravan guard visiting town.

Like a wilderness caravansary, Verbobonc's is practically its own small town. If wagons left it and headed for the gate it became his business, and so when a group of them left the main train and turned east toward the gate, he paid attention.

"L-T," said Gunnon, a veteran sergeant and arguably more in charge of the gate than Ransom.

"I see it," the lieutenant replied. In the dust to the side of the oxen-drawn wagons was a low-slung furry creature. It trotted alongside the wagons, looking from side to side alertly, and even this far away he could see that its muzzled face was protected by a metal helmet.

The wagons joined the queue waiting to enter and the beast was close enough for Ransom to get a better look. It was a flat turtle-like beast with long gray-brown flank fur. Its dark forepaws sported claws as long as a man's hand and its forelegs were protected by steel vambraces nearly the same color as its fur.

The beast's narrow-muzzled head was covered by a ugly helm that looked to have been pounded into shape to fit it. At a guess, a gnoll's helm whose prior owner no longer needed it. It was crudely made but some effort had been made to keep it usable, as it was free of rust.

A green surcoat covered the beast's broad back. It sported the white chesspiece insignia of the White Knight caravan guard company. Under it the beast had further armor which he could not see, but which rattled when it walked. Ransom speculated that it was further bits of scavenged armor bolted together to protect the guard beast. From beneath the back of the surcoat emerged a furry tail a couple of feet long. Even this was protected by a series of overlapping iron cuisses, presumably two or three sets of upper arm protection given their different appearances.

Though he couldn't see much more than a nose, forepaws, tail and flank fur Ransom knew he was looking at a dire badger. This one was the size of perhaps three men, a squat short-legged brute with thick muscular legs and long sharp claws.

Dire badgers are common enough beasts. Gnomes tamed them and even used them as riding beasts. He saw maybe a couple a year accompanying gnomish travelers. The difference was, this one talked.

"Sir," growled the dusty badger. It ducked its armored head politely and Lieutenant Ransom took a reflexive step back. "May I speak to you for a moment?"

Gunnon looked at him and Ransom waved the sergeant toward the wagons. "Take over for a bit."

"Sir," said the sergeant, though he looked over his shoulder as he turned away. Ransom was only slightly worried. The badger was big and armored but the company surcoat meant they trusted it. Even if this was a trick, his squad was well trained. If a fight broke out they'd drop the portcullis and the archers on the wall would open up to help until more guards arrived. No one was going to use a badgery distraction to sneak into his gate.

"Bartleby," growled the badger when they were alone. "Awakened dire badger. I've served the white knight for two years, but I am looking to settle down. I have heard that Verbobonc tolerates monsters, if they are well behaved."

"Lieutenant Ransom," he said back to it. Whiteless eyes like black marbles glittered behind the slits in the badger's helm. "How would you support yourself, if I let you enter?"

"I am a practiced grappler," growled the badger. "I can take weapons away and subdue attackers without killing them. I will kill if I must, but only if I must. I am stronger than a man, and trained at spotting threats. I am sure someone will find a use for me, until I find permanent employment."

"Hm," said the lieutenant. He looked at the wagons, and at Corporal Hinsh who was leading a dog on a leash to sniff at them. The half trained mutt kept looking over at the big badger instead of doing its job. "How good is your nose?"

The badger followed his gaze. "As good as a dog's."

A talking badger. "Stand up on your hind paws, if you can."

The badger did. It was broad and muscular, with short legs and big paws. Its belly fur was cream colored and the dark straps of its harness stood out. The armor covered only its topside, which made sense as most things attacking it would be much taller, so he had a good look. It was definitely not someone wearing a badger pelt. The proportions were all wrong. This was an actual animal that happened to be able to talk. Unless - no. He peered through an enchanted monocle he carried for this sort of situation. It had a magical earring in one ear and its bracers were magical, but the beast itself wasn't.

No, not someone disguised with a spell. He supposed a druid could turn into a dire badger, but why would one bother? Druids weren't banned.

"Good enough," Ransom said, and the badger dropped back down to all fours with a thump and rattle of armor. Short legs or no it was a full head taller than he was when it stood up. Nearly as tall as a gnoll, and far stronger.

Ransom nodded. "Go stash your armor at the caravansary. Come back here and I'll give you a one week city pass. If you don't cause any trouble we'll talk again after that."

"Thank you," growled the badger. It trotted off towards the caravansary and fifteen minutes later it was back. This time it wore just the leather harness with rings the armor attached to, plus the steel bracers on its forelegs. Small saddlebags hung from the harness now, each maybe big enough for a couple of pairs of shoes, if badgers wore shoes.

Without the armor and surcoat its flank fur stood out even more, reinforcing the furry turtle look. Its face was black and cream with a black blotch on each cheek and a white stripe running up its nose and along its neck.

"Bartleby," said Lieutenant Ransom, "This is a one week pass." He licked a red paper sticker and stuck it to one of the harness straps. "There is a very minor magic on this. It turns white in one week. It won't come off, and it's waterproof. Defacing it will get you arrested, understand?"

"I understand," growled the badger. "Thank you."

Off the badger trotted to the gate, where two guards who had watched the whole production looked at the pass and waved it through.

"That," said Sergeant Gunnon when Ransom rejoined him, "Is a big badger."

"He is," said the lieutenant. When Bartleby stood up Ransom noted the pouches attached to the harness, the lack of any weapon but claws, and of course, thanks to the monocle, the lack of a magic aura.

"He?" Said Gunnon.

"Definitely," said Ransom, because long belly fur or not there was no missing the grapefruit-sized furry scrotum at the bottom of the long sheath ridge.

Inside the gate Bartleby the badger found a cobblestoned road with wooden sidewalks on either side. Just inside the gate was a guardhouse and just past that was a shack that had INFORMATION written on it in several languages.

"Jobs board," growled a voice, and the man in the shack looked around. There was a scrabble of something dragging along the outside of the shack and he drew back with a shriek as two sets of long claws hooked over the counter from the outside. A black and cream badger muzzle twice the size of a man's head appeared.

"Sorry," growled the badger, who had to hunch over as the counter window wasn't sized with seven foot tall badgers in mind. "I didn't mean to startle you. I was looking for an odd jobs board, help wanted, that sort of thing."

"Ah," said the attendant, who was grateful he hadn't had his morning tea. That meant his breeches were still dry.

"Down the square there are the bulletin boards, that's what you need." He pointed out the side window, keeping his hand as far away from the fanged muzzle as he could.

"Also," growled the badger, "Is there an inn that takes, well, me."

"Cracked Flask, in the low quarter," said the attendant. "It's on Fourth Street. There's a map on one of the boards."

"Thank you," said the badger politely, and there was a thump as it dropped back down onto all fours. A moment later a set of long curved claws reached up into view and put a couple of copper Clacks on the counter.

Off the badger trotted, and the attendant pocketed the tip. Clickety-clack went long badgery claws on the sidewalk and the attendant watched until the receding badger butt disappeared around a corner. More than one townsman leapt aside at the sight of it and he saw it apologize or duck its head each time.

"Well, I guess if they are going to let in monsters, it's good they are polite ones," he muttered.

Bartleby found an area to the side of the road with cork boards on three sides. A couple of townsfolk were there and edged nervously away from him, but at least they didn't scream.

Here was the map. Bartleby stood up on his hindpaws and tried to commit the main roads to memory. Down the main road to Flower street, that led to the low quarter. It should be easy to find the inn.

The next board was town announcements. Nothing of interest here, he could worry about the county faire when he had a job. A circus was coming to town in a few days. If worst came to worst he could probably make a few Lunars there as a "trained animal." He'd rather not, though.

The other two boards were Help Wanted. He stood up again and ran a claw down the row of tacked-on missives.

Farm workers wanted. He'd rather not do that. "Body guard wanted, must bring own gear." That sparked interest until he saw the "Humans only" at the bottom.

Scullery maid wanted. His forepaws were reasonably nimble but he was sure he'd drop a plate if he tried to do that job. His claws were strong but not built for picking up dishes.

"Bouncer wanted." Now that had promise. He was big, strong, tough, and knew how to fight without killing people. "Try outs on Earthday." That was in two days.

Now here was one. "See me about my dog problem."

Bartleby wasn't fond of dogs. Only the best trained ones tolerated him. The others either ran away and pissed themselves at the sight of him or came at him fangs first. It looked bad for a caravan guard to kill someone's dogs so he had to tolerate the occasional light mauling. That was the reason he always wore his steel bracers. It wasn't his fault if an aggressive dog clamped onto his foreleg and broke its teeth.

"Do you know where Blue Tower Shipments is?" He asked the closest person. The man eyed the talking, seven foot tall badger with some trepidation, but told him. Bart gave him a Clack from his pouch and trotted off.

Half an hour later and after many apologies to startled passers-by he came to a high brick wall and a sign with a blue tower on it. He could smell the vegetation on the other side of the wall and gathered that he was outside a walled villa. A heavy wooden door had a grate next to it.

Bartleby contemplated the door. He could see the spikes along the top and though he could get his paws over the wall and climb over, that didn't seem a good way to make friends with someone who valued their privacy this much. Not to mention there might be spikes there, too. Or broken glass cemented onto the stones.

There was no handle on this side of the door. Bartleby rapped on it with his claws.

There was a squawk of alarm from the grill next to the door and Bartleby jumped. After that, silence.

"Hello?" Bart tapped on the grill with his claws. Some sort of magical communications device? "Hello?"

Bart sighed. Oh well. He'd have to find another job.

He wasn't even past the high brick wall on his way back to the town square when a clatter of armor alerted him. Around the corner came a half dozen guardsmen in their tree surcoats, armed with spears and crossbows.

"There it is!" One of them cried. Luckily, the one in the lead saw Bart's harness and raised his hand to hold off an immediate attack. Just the same, they readied their weapons.

"Wait," Bart growled. He turned so they could see the red dot on his harness. "Lieutenant Ransom let me into the city. I was answering a help wanted notice from this place," he waved a paw at the wall. "I guess they called you when they saw me through their gate grill thing."

The closest guardsman crept closer until he could see the sticker clearly. "Seven day pass," he said to the others. "Why did they call the guard?" He said to Bart.

"I don't know," Bart growled. "I tapped on the gate and someone screamed through the grill thing. I never saw a soul."

The one in charge, who Bart thought was a sergeant based on the guards he'd seen so far, peered narrow-eyed at him. "Let's sort this out."

He pointed toward the gate and Bart accompanied him, aware of the other guardsmen and their spears behind him. They were muttering to themselves about talking badgers and other crazy things they'd seen.

The sergeant rapped on the grill and at once there was a response.

"Guardsman, why is that monster still out there," someone said through the thing. "I don't pay my very high taxes to be afraid to open my front gate."

The guardsman heaved a longsuffering sigh. "It is not a monster, sir. This is -"

"Bartleby," Bart growled when the sergeant looked at him. "I am here about your dog problem."

"Oh," said the voice. "That's different." The door opened and Bart and the sergeant went through into a little cobblestoned courtyard. A urinating imp statue was filling a bird bath and flowery vines covered the walls. This still wasn't the mass of vegetation he smelled, but it was an improvement over the sidewalk.

Another thick door opened and a fat robed man with the smell of merchantry about him bustled out. "You," he said to Bart, "You might do."

"Your dog problem," Bart growled.

"My dog problem," the merchant said. He shot the sergeant a venomous glance. "The Guard won't do anything about it, but dogs keep breaking into our storehouse. Fix it for me and I will pay you ten silver Lunars, badger."

Bart looked at the sergeant, who gave a "Not my problem" shrug and left. The merchant drew back into his doorway as the guards wandered off, but he didn't slam it in Bart's face.

Bart considered. Ten Lunars was half a gold Wheel. One Lunar would buy him room and board for a night at a cheap inn. It wasn't exactly a lot of money, but it would pay for his stay even if no better job presented itself.

"Fourteen Lunars," he growled. He touched the red sticker with a claw. "I am in town for a week. That would be enough for a decent place to sleep and decent food during my stay. Take it or leave it."

"Fourteen if you make sure the dogs don't come back," said the merchant, who was no stranger to haggling. "Five if you only chase them away."

"Seven if I just chase them away," growled Bart, and while the merchant plainly wouldn't consider shaking paws with a grimy, long clawed badger paw the size of his head, an agreement was reached.

The merchant waved and a man who was almost certainly a security guard appeared from the house. The surcoat with the blue tower he wore over his armor was a clue.

"Show the badger the warehouse and wait outside to make sure he deals with the dog problem."

"Yes, your lordship," said the guard. He led Bart out the gate, which shut itself behind them.

"The guards certainly showed up quickly when your master called," Bartleby said by way of idle conversation.

The guard just grunted. Bartleby tried another tack. "Bartleby," he growled.

The guard looked at him as they walked. "Stefan," he said. "What are you exactly?"

Awakened dire badger," Bart growled. He touched his head with a claw. "I was raised as an exotic riding animal. Later I got Awakened. It's a long story."

"'Awakened' means they made you smart, right?"

Bart nodded. "And able to talk. Also, thumbs." He walked three legged for a moment and showed that the inmost toe on his forepaw was opposable.

"Why are you in town, badger?"

"Looking for a job," Bart growled. "My legs are too short to run next to a caravan wagon all day."

That made Stefan chuckle. Soon enough the arrived at another high wall, which turned out to be the outside of a warehouse.

"The place is full of crates," Stefan said. "It's a regular maze. There are a few traps, but they are sized for dogs. Watch where you put your feet. That leg armor will probably protect you if you step in one. Probably."

Bart nodded. "You have no idea how the dogs get in?"

"No idea," Stefan said. "So much cargo comes in and out that the layout changes all the time. We suspect they have more than one way in. We're glad thieves haven't gotten in the same way, but the dogs are causing plenty of trouble. Crapping on the floor, getting into food crates."

Bartleby nodded. "I've spent the last two years keeping thieves out of caravan wagons. Sometimes the thieves are animals."

"Go have a look," Stefan said. "Let me know what you think."

He unlocked the iron door with a key he carried on a leather cord around his neck and waved Bartleby in.

Stefan shut the door as quietly as he could and Bart was alone in the gloom. Sure enough, stacks of crates towered on all sides. Numbers and symbols on some of them presumably told the merchant what was where. It was all a mystery to Bart.

Bart didn't need to know what was where. He just needed to find the dogs, if they were here. He sniffed. Dogs, all right. Several, and the smell was fresh. He followed the scent along, sometimes able to follow fresh tracks by their smell and sometimes casting about for a breeze carrying it.

He was at it for an hour, as the warehouse was large and its paths confusing. Eventually he found a narrow gap between two stacks of crates and paused, sniffing. The dogs were in there, and the stagnant air told him this was the one way in or out of their hidey-hole.

That was a mistake they would regret. Any badger knows that your burrow should have multiple escape routes.

Near the gap was a heavy crate set all by itself. Bart put his forepaws against in and with a screech of wood on stone pushed it against the other crates. Like a stopper in a bottle the dogs were trapped. Enough air might get in to keep them alive, but nothing but air would get out.

That woke them up. There was a patter of paws from behind the crate and a whine. They were smart enough not to bark, but they smelled him and they didn't like the smell.

Bart nodded and turned away. They would stay there as long as they needed to.

It took another hour to find their ways into the place. Back behind the crates were two holes gnawed in the stone walls of the warehouse. Giant rats, probably. He pushed crates in front of them and marked the walls nearby with a can of red paint he found.

Another hour wandering the paths seeing if he sensed any other breeze that could be from another hole. He was fairly confident he'd found them all. Now it was time to deal with the dogs. He followed his scent trail back, listened, and heaved the crate aside to find a thin brown dog sleeping on the far side.

It started awake and jumped to its feet just as his jaws snapped open. Before it could move they snapped shut again.

It was not a large dog, no bigger than his head. Bart tossed his muzzle upward, gathering the dog up in his mouth, and swallowed.

It was with a certain cruel satisfaction that he felt the dog kick as it slid down his throat. Back in his pre-Awakening days his owner had him magically modified to be able to swallow large prey whole. Bart and several of the other animals were the man's body disposals. He didn't know how many people he ate back then, or why he was told to do it, as his memories of that time were vague and showed up mostly in dreams.

He occasionally performed the same service for his second owner, the hestan woman who had him Awakened. Those he remembered, and why he was told to do it. "It's a lot harder for people to bring a body back to life after it's been digested than before," she said. She had enemies, and he was there to make sure those enemies didn't trouble her any more.

Tonight his job was to make sure these dogs didn't trouble the merchant any more. Somewhere ahead in the dark were more of them. Bart stepped forward, his long flank fur flattening as he turned a corner.

Here they were. Four or five more dogs, the largest a battle-scarred mutt big enough to fight alongside a man. That one snarled and came at him fangs first. It was not the first time a dog did that, but this time Bart slapped the hound out of the air. It bounced from one wall to the other and he hit it again, sending it flying into the blind corner where the others cowered.

He stepped forward. There was nowhere for them to run, nowhere for them to go but down his throat. Some tried to fight, some tried to run. One was so small it barely made a mouthful, one of the yappy little dogs whose purpose seemed to be to bite ankles and make noise loud out of all proportion to their size. It made less after he swallowed it.

The others were nearly as large as the scarred mutt. He smashed one against a crate and swallowed it with three heaving gulps as it struggled to recover. Another tried to squeeze through a crevice and escape. That just resulted in it being eaten rump first. For a moment its face peered out of his jaws, then its last piteous whine was cut off as his maw closed.

He'd swallowed at least a man's weight in dogs and his flanks pressed against the crates on each side now. Too full to easily turn around, he took the biggest dog's head in his jaws and backed his way out of the tunnel.

His thick hide and long fur made the scrape of rough wood bearable, though he did feel the stab of a splinter piercing his skin. He ignored it and kept backing up. Finally his rump emerged into the space between the rows of crates and his flank fur sprang back into shape.

The dog he dragged was awake now and aware that something was horribly wrong. He bit down hard enough to keep it from opening its mouth, lest it bite his tongue. Then he rammed its rump against a crate. Pinned between his advancing jaws and the wood there was nowhere for its muzzle to go but into his gullet.

It was a big, strong dog, and probably weighed as much as a small adult woman. He was five times that size and by the time it recovered enough to fight he had it half swallowed. It squirmed and kicked, trying to open jaws held shut by the fleshy walls of his gullet. Bart sat back, got his jaws around its rump, and swallowed. A bulge moved through his shaggy neck, a set of twitching hindpaws slipped into his jaws, and it was over.

Bart licked his chops. Two years of having to be nice to dogs who hated him on sight led to this. He could simply have left them trapped for the men to deal with. Now the squirming mass of dogs would be dealt with by his stomach. It would even save him a couple of Lunars. With half his weight in dogs swallowed, he wouldn't be hungry for at least a day.

He waddled when he walked now. With a smile on his whiskery face he trundled back down the corridors of crates until he was back at the door. He rapped his claws on it and called out.

"Mission accomplished," Bart growled, and the door opened.

"Shit!" Stefan said, and took an involuntary step back as he saw the state Bart was in. The lumpy bulge in the badger's middle could be only one thing. "You ate them?"

"I did," Bart growled, and let out a long burp he saved for just this occasion. Stefan watched with horrified fascination as the dogs kicked beneath Bart's thick hide. Only the largest were still alive, the smaller ones swallowed first already suffocated.

"They had two ways in," he growled. "Tunnels through the wall, probably made by giant rats. I blocked them with crates and painted the walls to mark them. You had better have the walls fixed, crates won't stop rats if they come back."

The largest dog gave a kick inside him and was still. Bart licked his chops and smiled.

"I didn't expect you to eat them," Stefan said as they made their way back to the villa.

Bart grunted as he dragged his swollen belly over a curb. "I was paid to make sure the dogs would cause no more trouble," he growled. "Troublemakers don't make trouble when they are dead."

"I guess it's better than having to clean up the bodies ourselves," Stefan said doubtfully.

The door in the wall opened without Stefan touching it. Bart squeezed through, belching as the pressure squeezed a last bubble of air out of the softening mass of dogs. The waiting merchant's eyes went wide in horror as he realized what had happened.

"He ate the dogs," Stefan said without preamble. "Alive. Swallowed them whole."

"And marked their entrances with paint," Bart growled. "You should have someone fix them tomorrow."

"Alive?" The merchant dead. "I wanted them gone, but -"

"Sir," Bart growled. "You paid me to make the problem go away. It is gone now."

Unable to take his eyes off the lumpy bulge in Bart's middle, the merchant fumbled for his purse and threw a coin to him. It skipped off Bart's claws when he tried to reach for it but Stefan caught it on the bounce. It was a gold Wheel, heavy and shining.

"Thank you," Bart growled, and counted out six Lunars from his pouch to give in exchange for the coin. Sadly, the words "keep the change" did not leave the merchant's lips. He was too busy staring at the bulge of what used to be dogs and what was now badger food. Bart ducked his head politely and squeezed back out the door.

It had gotten dark while he was in the warehouse and he waddled back towards the west gate. Luckily no one tried to mug him. He was too full to fight well and he'd rather not have to retch up his meals to ready himself for battle.

"Flower street," he muttered, visualizing the city map. He turned left and waddled down the sidewalk until he saw the sign for Fourth Street.

He hadn't been told whether to turn left or right here. He flipped a mental coin and turned right. That ended up being correct as ahead was a magical sign that featured a cracked alchemical flask with a stream of glowing liquid arcing into a nearby mug.

A swarthy, muscular half-orc stood inside the door, a short sword on each hip and a chainmail coat hanging to his thighs. Bart sniffed. Correction, her thighs. He couldn't always tell at first glance with small-breasted women, and her armor flattened them under its weight.

"I'm looking for a room," he growled, and looked around while waiting permission to enter. She waved him toward the bar. The inn was small, with stairs on one side leading up to a second story balcony. From the smell of the place a number of monsters had indeed visited, but he was the only thing here with fur. There were half a dozen booths, a a couple of tables, a fireplace and a little elevated nook for a minstrel or some such.

"I'm guessing you aren't hungry," said the man behind the bar.

"Just ate," Bart growled. "I'd like a room for the night, please."

"If you ate someone, we could get in trouble with the guard," said the half-orc bouncer.

"It's just some dogs," Bart growled. "A merchant paid me to clear them out of his warehouse."

The counter man grimaced, but he accepted Bart's coin and handed over a crude iron key.

"Toilet's at the end of the hall from your room," called out the barman as Bart dragged his belly up the stairs. "I expect you know how to use it."

Bart didn't bother to reply. The key had a "2" stamped into it and he found the corresponding door. The door had a bed with a rough woolen blanket and a chest for his possessions. Bart stripped off his saddlebags and flopped on his side on the bed. Logy with food, he was asleep almost before his head hit the covers.

He did know how to use a toilet and he did the next morning. It would take quite a few visits to rid himself of the half dozen dogs. With his short legs his hind paws hung clear of the floor while he did his business. He slid off the bench seat, stepped on the pedal that flushed the toilet, and headed down the stairs.

There was a half orc bouncer at the door, but it was a different woman. He could smell the difference, though to his eye one looked much like the other.

Still fat with the sloshing remains of the dogs, Bart sat close enough to talk to her comfortably.

"This is the bar looking for a bouncer, right?" He growled. "I saw a flyer about it. Tryouts on Earthday."

"That's right," she said. She looked him over. "You're thinking of trying for it?"

"I know how to fight without killing," Bartleby growled. "I know how to look for trouble. I've spent the last two years as a caravan guard. Before that I was a house guard."

"And you eat dogs," she said.

"I was hired to eat dogs," Bart growled. "I'd never eaten one before last night."

"Do you eat people?"

"Only when there is a good reason," Bart growled. "Do you?"

"When there is a good reason," she said with a smile. "What is your name, badger?"

"Bartleby," he growled. "Yourself?"

"Alma," she said. He looked her up and down. She was thick-limbed, muscular and scarred. She was blunt-featured with a broad, broken nose. Bart thought she looked quite good.

"Don't take this wrong," Bart said. "But if you had some fur, you'd make a pretty nice badger."

That made her laugh. "You wish."

Previous large meals told Bart that he shouldn't wander far. He spent the rest of the day in the common room, clickety-clicking up the stairs to use the toilet at first until they pointed him down the hall to the first floor one. By sundown the bulge in his middle was nearly gone and his droppings were white with digested bone. Fortunately the dog fur moved through his bowels bit by bit and didn't accumulate into a mass that could stop him up. Thanks to his first owner he could digest bones, but not hair.

When he was fairly sure he could go an hour without shitting out dog he asked directions to the nearest bathhouse. He was still dusty from the road. That turned out to be half a dozen buildings down the street and the proprietress gingerly accepted a coin from his claws and pointed him toward a door.

The tub in the room was probably meant for small groups of very friendly people but it held one dusty badger just fine. He climbed in and found that however they heated the water, it was pleasantly hot.

The attendant who came in yelped when she saw what was in the tub and dropped the brushes and soap on the floor. Bart left the soap where it lay and rubbed himself all over with his paws, breaking loose the accumulated grime of two weeks on the trail. He ducked his head under the hot water and sneezed when he came back up.

Feeling clean for the first time in weeks he shook himself dry and then used the towels, rolling on them to get the parts he couldn't reach . As he brushed his fur the attendant peered quizzically in.

"Brush my back, please," Bart growled. He flattened himself against the floor like a great badgery rug. "I can't reach the middle. Short legs."

Still she didn't want to approach so he put a Lunar from his coin pouch on the floor. That convinced her and he spent a pleasant fifteen minutes under the brush. He also talked her into digging the splinter out of his flank. His claws weren't suited to delicate work like that.

To a badger in from the caravan trail any woman smells good but Bart stayed on his best behavior. He was on probation here in town and didn't know yet how the locals would react if a big feral badger fucked a human. On the trail it was different. From time to time a curious woman would join him in the little tent the caravan set up for him. His favorites were the khardaki lion women, who were as horny as the males. Fortunately a badger can't knock up a khardaki, because he'd certainly tried. One time even a wemic liontaur woman settled down on her belly and moved her tail aside for him. He learned that wemics must be hung smaller than khardaki, because she was a very tight cat and it hadn't taken much to make her yowl.

Cleaner but now horny, Bart trotted back to the inn and headed up the stairs. In his room he did what he'd done during many dry spells before. His claws were too long and sharp to do what a human would do, but he rubbed his sheath ridge until his cock slid out then curled down over the remaining dog bulge and sucked.

With his balls healthily emptied and the latest batch of used-to-be-dogs flushed, he went back down the stairs.

Hoping to get a job at the bar he spent the evening there, alternately stretched out by the fireplace and sat in a booth with his claws not quite touching the floor. He watched people come and go, including a few nonhuman sorts. He could smell that other feral sorts had visited, including a gryphon, but most of the visitors were human or otherwise smooth skinned. A couple of hestan cat people visited, and a small group of praka raccoon-folk smelling of flour. They and the gnoll with them all worked at the same bakery, it turned out. They made the crusts and he prepared the meat fillings for the pies. The gnoll was twice their height but they sat together at a table laughing as they ate.

He'd eaten a few gnolls but he'd run into civilized ones as well. It was nice to see that the city let a notoriously evil creature in if he defied norms and was well behaved. It gave him hope he'd fit in here.

On his way out the door the gnoll dug into a bag he carried and put a fist sized meat pie on Bart's table. "First one's free," he smiled.

He wasn't quite hungry yet but he munched on the meat pie just the same. It was savory, with a nice flaky crust. Steak and kidney, he decided. Bart made a mental note to stop by the place, assuming he was in town long enough to need a regular source of pies.

At the end of the evening Alma locked the bar door and sat on the bench seat across from Bart. He'd been nursing ales and watching the goings-on all day.

He'd picked up the other half-orcs's name too. They weren't related despite (to him anyway) a very similar appearance. Maris was the older and Alma the younger, former adventurers retired to a city life much as he hoped to.

"Try outs are tomorrow afternoon," Alma said. She'd brought an ale of her own.

"You need at least one more bouncer," Bart observed.

"For the evenings, when we are busy," Alma agreed.

Bart was sat awkwardly on the opposite bench seat, his tail bent to the side and his claws dangling clear of the floor. His long body meant he towered over her. Her eyes picked out the dark harness straps against his cream belly fur. It was almost the same color as his brown-gray sides and back. His paws and parts of his face were the same near black and his eyes were dark marbles in their mask of dark fur. A white stripe ran up his nose all the way to his shoulders. He was a badger, plain and simple.

"What happens if a drunk asshole pulls his sword in here, badger? What would you do?"

"I would bite his wrist or the hilt of his sword and take it away from him," Bart growled. "If he would not let go, I would throw him out the door."

"You've done it before?"

"One of my owners had me trained," Bart said. "Even before I was Awakened I knew how to fight an armed man. In a real battle I'd want my armor, that's out at the caravansary. For a bar fight, I'd have to take my licks until I get their weapon from them."

"Stand up," Alma said. Bart slid off the bench and did. She was six feet tall and muscular. He was a full head taller and his forelimbs, or arms the way he was standing, were the size of her legs. His thick body and long flank fur meant he was dwarf-wide. If he stood in the doorway no light would get through.

Without warning she threw a punch at his belly. Bart blocked with his foreleg and there was a clank as her fist hit his steel bracer. Alma didn't wince. Her other hand went to the hilt of her shortsword and it flashed from its scabbard.

Bart hadn't exaggerated. The next thing she knew her wrist was between his fangs and her feet dangled clear of the floor. Bart picked her up with his jaws and pinned her bruised hand to the wall with a paw before she could draw the other shortsword.

She weighed two hundred pounds but Bart was two and a half times that and a mass of muscle. He picked her up as she would a child.

Alma looked down and realized one of her feet was resting on the tip of the big badger's long sheath. The pressure caused a pink tip almost the size of her fist to appear. If she stretched her foot down -

"If you kick me in the balls I will throw you through this wall," Bart growled around his mouthful of hand.

"I believe you," Alma said, and Bart put her back down. He dropped down to all fours with a clatter of claws and stretched out by the fire. She was pretty sure he was hiding an erection. There had been a certain stirring when her foot was on his sheath.

"You can do that on all fours too, right?"

"Unless the enemy is very tall," Bart growled. "With all four paws on the ground I am better anchored. Someone my size might give me trouble if I were standing up but I can reach high enough with my jaws to grab most weapons, even on all fours."

"Gerard says your earring and bracers are magical." Gerard was the barman, who knew a few simple magics.

"The bracers make my claws hit harder and protect me from ill effects if I claw or bite an undead, that sort of thing," the badger growled. "The ring is a simple protection item. Both were gifts from my second owner."

Alma imagined a furry rug of a badger sprawled out by the fire, alertly watching for trouble. Then the rug would come to life. She wouldn't want to start anything in a bar with a five hundred pound badger waiting to maul troublemakers.

"You could fall asleep lying by the fire like that," she said.

"I was a caravan guard," he growled. "You don't keep that job by falling asleep on duty."

"All right," Alma said. "You're hired. You can start tomorrow night. It pays two Lunars a night and you can sleep in one of the rooms until you have a place of your own. Maybe in the basement if you don't mind the chill."

The badger picked his head up at that. "No tryout?"

"We can use two new bouncers. You know how to fight and I doubt there will be two applicants as scary as a giant badger. Tomorrow we'll hopefully fill the other slot."

Bart nodded. He padded over to the table and took his mug to finish off his ale. Still he didn't stand up. He was in from the caravan trail, probably horny, but he hadn't waved his dick at her when he had her pinned. That was another point in his favor. He was interested, but he was on his best behavior lest he be labeled a ravening beast.

Clickety-click went his claws on the stairs and she wouldn't see him again until tomorrow afternoon.

The next morning Bartleby the badger pulled on his harness, packed his few possessions in his saddlebags and went to look at the cellar. Gerard the barman, who must not sleep much, unlocked the door and he went down the stone stairs. The cellar was full of barrels and crates which he was sure he'd be recruited to carry, but there was enough room to sleep in between. He went back up the stairs, turned in his room key and explained he'd sleep down there tonight.

Then he trotted out the door and reversed his previous course until he was back at the Help Wanted boards. Bart looked them over with a smaller sense of urgency. He had a part time job now and nothing jumped out at him. Then he loped the hundred or so yards to the guard house.

People were still flinching away from him, but not as violently now. Maybe the word was getting around that the big badger wouldn't eat you if you looked at it funny.

Outside the guardhouse was a guardsman with a spear. "Is Lieutenant Ransom on duty?" Bart growled.

"Outside the gate," was the bored reply. Bart trotted out to the caravansary, tied his armor into a bundle as best he could and strapped it to his harness. He informed the White Knight boss there that he was leaving the company, at least for now. Then it was back to the gate with his armor jangling on his back.

Bartleby found Ransom doing much the same thing as when first they met. He explained that he had a job now. Who did he talk to about becoming a citizen?

The lieutenant led him over out of earshot of the others, putting the same sergeant in charge of the gate as last time.

"Bartleby, I hear you ate some dogs the other night."

Bart tilted his head. The sergeant he ran into must have followed up with the merchant and learned the gory details, was all could figure. Or maybe one of the customers at the bar was an off duty guardsman.

"Yes, sir," Bart growled. "The Blue Tower merchant -"

"I know," said the lieutenant. "Swallowed them whole, I hear."

"It was the tidiest way of disposing of the bodies," Bart said reasonably.

"Could you swallow a human whole?"

"Yes," Bart said without hesitation. "I've swallowed creatures up to the size of a gnoll whole."

The lieutenant eyed the ramshackle collection of armor bits strapped to the badger's back and wondered how many were from owners who no longer needed them due to a bad case of having been digested. Some did look corroded. Coughed back up while their owner took the other way out of the badger?

Ransom nodded. "Bart, from time to time the city has a convict to execute. We've hanged men and had the body stolen and Raised. Burning them stinks up the city. Disintegrating them requires we pay a mage. Chopping their heads off just means we have two body parts to dispose of. We don't have a vat of acid to throw the body in." He looked at Bart. "But I know someone who carries around a vat of acid."

"I've been a body disposal for my owners before," Bart growled. "I could do it again."

"Good," said the lieutenant. "Congratulations, Private. Welcome to the city guard. Let's see if we can find a surcoat that more or less fits you. And some better armor."

"But," Bart growled. "I already have a job."

"Part time," the lieutenant said. "You can work the gate in the morning, the bar at night. Nap between the two, sleep at night. You'll be out in public view and people will get used to you being around in no time."

Bart sighed. So. He had two jobs. He didn't ask how the lieutenant knew about the bar. They must keep close track of visiting monsters.

"Yes, sir," he growled, and followed the lieutenant back to the guardhouse.

The red sticker on his harness was removed and an enamelled pin put in its place. The gold-and-green tree marked him as a city employee even when out of his surcoat. No more one week pass, he was a citizen now, or would be as soon as the paperwork made its way through the bowels of the bureaucracy.

The last bits of dog left his body during a bathroom break that morning. He'd been in town for two days, worked three jobs, eaten six dogs and gotten in the good graces of the city. No more running twenty miles a day on his short badgery legs. He'd spent some time standing around or sniffing the contents of wagons, but he wouldn't go to sleep exhausted every day.

After that first guard shift he stripped off his surcoat and his used-to-belong-to-a-gnoll helm. They were having a chainmail coat made that would cover his topside without limiting his mobility. The patched together armor went into a locker until he found someone to buy what was little more than scrap.

With the pin on his harness he trotted back to the bar. He had a few hours off before his first bouncer shift. There was a pleasant surprise waiting for him when he got there.

"What is that thing," he said when he poked his nose through the door. Maris the half-orc was on duty and was making notes on a slate. The tryouts for the other bouncer spot were this evening.

"Someone left it for you," she said without looking up. "There is a note on it."

The "thing" was a seven foot wide disk of bent rattan with blue cloth visible through the gaps. It resembled a huge bowl or dish. Bart shook his head and pulled it down from the wall.

He caught it with his claws so the bang of it hitting the floor wouldn't startle anyone. Now he could see what it was. The use of it struck him at once.

"It's a sleeping basket!" Bart exclaimed. A pad of cloth as thick as a man's hand was wide was tied to the inside of the bowl. It was like the dog beds he sometimes saw, but scaled up to fit him.

Sure enough, there was a note pinned to the cloth. The blue tower monogram told him who it was from. He unfolded it with his claws.

"Thank you for fixing our dog problem," he read out loud. "Consider this your tip." The merchant must have felt bad for giving him the stink eye, after the fact.

Bartleby the badger smiled a badgery smile. "Could I get a hand getting this down the stairs?" He was very strong, but the thing was as wide as he was long and an awkward thing to carry down a set of stairs solo.

Alma turned out to be in the back room, just up from a nap, and helped. She went down first and Bartleby gripped the rattan rim of the thing in his teeth and followed after. They found a place to set it down behind some barrels. He pushed a couple of crates out of the way to make room.

"I can lean it against the wall when not in use," Bart pondered. "It wouldn't take up much space."

"Chilly down here," the half-orc said. "Might want to get a blanket or two. You could put them in an empty barrel."

"I don't need any," Bart growled. He turned and looked at her.

"If you're imagining me naked, stop," Alma said.

"You wouldn't need a blanket either," Bart growled. "Not with a nice warm fuzzy badger pressed against you."

She smiled, the second time she smiled at him. "Maybe later, badger. I have to help get the tryouts set up."

Bart nodded and climbed into the basket as she went up the stairs. The thick rattan bottom was pressed against the floor and even his considerable weight didn't deform the rim when he stepped over it. There were more than enough radial braces connecting the inner and outer loops to take the weight of a creature his size and the padding was thick enough to be a comfortable bed. To someone used to sleeping on dirt or a stone floor it was an unheard-of luxury.

"Maybe later" is not the same as "no". Bart was thinking about that and considering another bout of self service when the door at the top of the stairs opened again. This time it was Maris.

"Don't think this will be a regular thing, badger," she said when she reached the basket. "It's just been a while. Alma said “Our badger is horny" and so am I. Let's fix both."

Bart nodded wordlessly as she grabbed his belly fur and tugged. She was as strong as Alma and he let himself be turned onto his back in the basket.

"And I'm curious," she said. She crawled into the basket with him and set to rubbing the long ridge of his sheath. Bart's reaction was immediate and instinctive. His cock went hard and the sheath began to retract, exposing more and more of his shaft. It was roughly the size and thickness of her forearm.

"That is, uh, impressive," she muttered. "I'm not sure -"

"Don't worry," Bart growled. "We'll work something out."

He nudged her with a forepaw and guided her as she stepped one knee over his neck. Her leather skirt pulled up as she leaned down over his belly and he was presented with a wooly half-orc pussy.

It was not the first time he'd encountered a woman unwilling to spit herself on his cock. Some were just too small and frail. Bart knew what to do about that. He put his long badgery tongue to work as Maris gripped his cock with both hands and opened her mouth. Her sharp little canine teeth tickled as she sucked.

Two days, Bartleby the badger thought. Two days from quitting his old job to finding two new ones. Two days to go from coming in homeless from the road to being in his own bed with his cock in a woman's mouth.

Bartleby didn't have much money and never had. Right now, though, he had food, a place to sleep, a job, and a lover. What more can a badger ask for?