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On Market Street, deep into the night, there was a fire.

Fire is not a stranger to cities like Verbobonc. While the businesses, houses and other structures are built of stone, the timbers and inner floors are universally of wood. Some buildings are topped with tiles or lead sheets, others have wood shake or even thatch roofs, but the interior is always flammable. Though the stone of the building might survive, it is just a burned-out shell once the fire is done.

Thus each of the taller city wall towers is assigned a guardsman whose sole job is to scan the rooftops. One of them spotted a column of smoke blotting out the stars that was too thick to come from a chimney. A minor magical device on the parapet allowed him to talk to other tower guards. When they had triangulated the source of the smoke he shouted directions to the dozing runner down below his perch. The spry young guardsman sprinted to the source of the smoke, took one look at the tongues of flame licking out of the second-floor window and began to ring the fire bell on the street corner.

Within five minutes Fire Captain Clarke was there, and right behind him a cart carrying one of the city's fire defense weapons. It was called a Decanter of Endless Water, a flask magically connected to the Elemental Plane of Water, and the powerful stream of its highest setting was soon turned on the flames. At this level of use the flask would send itself and its user flying, but mounted on a swivel on its cart it could be safely used. Two firemen threw levers to lock the wheels and then braced the cart with all their strength. A stream of water as thick as a man's knee blasted into the stream and beat down the flames.

It was too late. Fire Captain Clarke viewed the blaze and shook his head. He knew this building and that there was no saving it. A bakery on the first floor and residence on the second. Under all of that was a basement used for storage and additional living space. The family living upstairs smelled the smoke and came running out just as the fire cart arrived, barely ahead of the flames. By the time the water cart crew began to work on the second floor the interior of the building was a hellish kiln, the timbers and tinder-dry wooden floor gone up in a wall of flame. Sparks fountained into the sky as part of the roof collapsed.

A second and third fire cart were already on one scene, one team assisting with smothering the fire in the bakery and the other wetting down surrounding roofs to keep it from spreading. This building, though, was a total loss. The stone walls hissed and popped, some bricks cracking as their inner moisture boiled away into steam. They'd have to be torn down too, though most would be reused, perhaps even when this place was rebuilt.

There was worse news. "My daughter," Baker Harris pled. His wife tugged at the captain's sleeve. "She's down in the basement. She may still be alive. Isn't there anything -"

"No." That was all Captain Clarke could say. The wooden interior of the building was collapsing and though it hadn't subsided into the basement no man could make his way through the mass of burning timbers. Even with magical protection -

Wait. The captain's eyes fixed on the burning mass in the doorway. It was hot as a furnace but there was a gap near the floor. If one had a fireman who was very low to the ground, and very strong....

"Guardsman!" The guard lieutenant at his elbow jumped. With a fire here, the fireman captain outranked him. In a war the opposite would be true. "We're right down the street from the Flask. Get me that badger who works there right now!"

"Bart?" The lieutenant hesitated only for an instant. Shit rolled downhill until it reached the lowest rank man. "Corporal, run down the street to the Cracked Flask and get me Bart the Badger! Now, man!"

The crowd watching the fire parted as the corporal sprinted away. Heads nodded and voices buzzed as the fire tourists discussed the order. Most of them knew about the talking badger bouncer at the bar. He was a city guardsman too and if they hadn't seen him sniffing out contraband at the west gate they'd met him trotting down the wooden sidewalk on some errand or other.

Sure enough the corporal soon returned and loping at his heels was what looked like a huge gray-furred turtle. Bart the badger was low to the ground on short, long-clawed legs but he was over seven feet long from nose to rump and weighed as much as three men.

The Cracked Flask inn was well known as being "monster friendly" and many of the city's less human visitors went there to drink, play cards or visit with others of a monstrous bent. A few lived there permanently, and Bart, one of the inn's tavern bouncers, was one of them.

Such creatures were allowed in town if their reputation was good enough and Bart's definitely was. Even before he signed on with the city guard he was well known as the traveling companion, mount and guard animal of a hestan noblewoman. Bart was big, tough and a known man-eater, but the townsfolk didn't shy away when five hundred pounds of sharp-toothed badger trotted past them to the fire captain. Bart only ate people who deserved it.

"Captain," he growled, peering up at Clarke from his knee-high viewpoint. "I am here, but I don't know how I can help. You already have crowd control. I didn't even have time to put on my harness, much less my armor."

It was true, Bart was naked as the day he was born, if "naked" counted for a beast with that much fur. His flank fur was at least a full foot long and added to his turtle-like profile.

"Give me your paw." Clarke knelt next to the badger's muzzle and took the offered member, though Bart's claws were as long as a man's hand and inlaid with strips of steel that turned them into deadly weapons. The captain pulled a gold ring off his finger and slid it onto one of the badger's toes. This was almost the size of a man's fist, but the ring magically changed size and slid neatly on.

"That is a Ring of Fire Resistance," he said. He reached out and petted Bart's head. "It won't make you immune but you could survive a fire like that for a long time. There may be someone alive in the basement and there isn't time to put out the fire before it collapses. Can you go see if they are still alive, Guardsman?"

Bart turned and looked at the fire. Through the doorway was a yellow hell of flame that would kill even a thick-skinned badger if the captain was lying.

Bart didn't hesitate. "Yes, Sir," he growled, and dove into the flame.

It was hot. The captain told the truth and Bart survived, clawing his way past a burning beam, but though the ring kept him alive the fire still hurt. He imagined his flank-fur shriveling back toward his sides, then sucked in a lungful of what should by all rights be lethally superheated air air and went to work.

Nothing digs like a badger. Bart was big and very strong and his loose furry hide let him slip past obstacles that would stop a man. He'd been to this bakery and tried to remember its layout, but in the confusion of sparks, fire and flaming woodwork he couldn't remember where the basement stairs were. In the end he got lucky, squeezing past a fallen rafter and then having the floor give way under his forepaws. What he'd thought was floor was a toppled set of shelves and the fire weakened them so his five-hundred-pound bulk sent him crashing through onto the basement stairs.

There was smoke here too and he didn't like the look of the charred wooden ceiling. It must soon come down on his head. He had to hurry. His nose was full of smoke and his vision, never as good as a man's, was almost useless here in the smoke and dark. The fire and collapsing woodwork overhead was so loud he couldn't hear anything useful either. All he could do was find the basement doors by touch and claw them open.

The first room stank of hot flour, the second was the storeroom for the bakery's firewood. Not many businesses could afford a fire elemental-heated oven, what with the protective charms needed to contain the spirit. The third room he broke into was more promising. A wardrobe, a dresser, a mirror glimpsed dimly through the smoke. A narrow bed, and beside it another door.

Bart hooked his claws into the crack under the door and ripped it off its hinges. Just inside the door, slumped next to the frame built around a chamber pot, was a huddled figure.

The badger felt over the woman with a forepaw, carefully, and made sure she was still alive. Overcome by smoke, but alive. It only took one look to know there was no way out in this direction. Maybe this was once an underground passageway to another building but the back of the little toilet room was bricked shut and there was no time to claw his way through. Even if he did, there was no telling what lay beyond.

There was a splintering sound behind him and Bart saw the stairway half full of burning roof beams. He could probably still squeeze through, protected by the Ring, but how to get the woman out?

He should have thought of that earlier. Dragging her out through the fire would result in him appearing with a smoldering corpse in his jaws. The Ring protected him but only him. He could put it on her finger but then he'd have to crawl through the fire, blinded and burning. He wasn't sure he could find his way out before he died and she might be crushed by burning debris he would shrug aside.

How was he going to get both of them out? He could only think of one way. He didn't like it and if the woman were awake he was sure she wouldn't like it either.

There was no time for second thoughts. Bart opened his narrow jaws, slid his fangs carefully over the woman's feet, and swallowed.

Years ago, when he was a mere animal, he was bought by the hestan woman and changed. Magicians were bought in to alter his body in ways that suited her. First came the Awakening, and he could think. Soon he could talk. He was already the hestan woman's lover, and that did not change. Some more alterations, to make him better at that. He was consulted before he was changed, this time. He didn't object to what they did to him. It just made him better at what he already enjoyed doing.

He was also her bodyguard, and it is useful to have a way to neatly dispose of certain enemies' bodies. She already knew he could do that. His previous owner had seen to it and she'd been there when he did it. She'd seen him pull an enemy down, yawn, swallow. Soon a belch followed. It all worked. No muss, no fuss. Just a fat badger whose belly kicks briefly, then is still.

He didn't do it often. It was inconvenient to be so full. Sometimes so much so his feet couldn't reach the ground. Stupid short legs, indeed. Then, what if they were wearing something hard to digest? He'd have to strip them first or risk discomfort later. And if he had to work the next day, which he usually did, it was doubly inconvenient. These days he mostly did it when the Guard needed someone disposed of. Just as he had for two owners, but now as a free badger, he made bodies disappear. Sometimes they were still alive when they vanished. Alive or dead, they made the same shape bulge.

Now, for the first time, he ate someone for a reason beyond duty or appetite. He swallowed and his well-practiced throat muscles gripped the woman's feet at sent them down his gullet. There was no time to dawdle. The grip of has throat muscles sucked her thighs in and he yawned as wide as he could. Sliding his jaws over her, he did his very best to keep his fangs out of her flesh. He knew he wouldn't be completely successful. Her thin night clothes wouldn't prevent some cruel scrapes but there was no other way.

He got his jaws around her hips and gulped them down. He'd swallowed bigger. He'd only eaten a few women. He liked to think of himself as good-natured and he'd rather chat with a women and maybe, if they hit it off, even invite one to his room, than eat one. Sometimes, though, you just have to. This was one of those times. He swallowed hurriedly and she was in his gullet to the armpits. Her breasts pressed against his tongue.

And she woke, coughed, and began to struggle.

Bart winced as the confused, half smothered woman cried out. Most of her body was wrapped in the fleshy grip of a badger's gullet and she must know, even in her smoke-addled state, that something horrible was happening to her. It was still preferable to what would happen if he didn't finish and as gently as he could he used his forepaws to shove her arms into his mouth as well.

She let out a shriek as her skin tore on his fangs. Bart's ears went back at the sound but there simply wasn't time to be gentle. With a last toss of his muzzle her head was in his mouth. With a long wriggling bulge in his throat the urge to clear it by swallowing was almost uncontrollable. He couldn't breathe now, not unless he swallowed or spit her up. He did neither. Bart closed his jaws as much as he could over her face, trusting the Ring to protect the little of her that showed, and ran for the stairs.

They were full of burning rubble and he bulled his way through, ripping through the smaller debris and shouldering aside the larger. It was dangerous work. Too much force and half the building could come down on him, and he might slowly burn alive even with the Ring or simply be crushed. Even if he eventually dug his way free he would have to swallow so he could breathe. The parents would not be pleased when the "rescuer" regurgitated their partially digested daughter.

There was no time for caution or gentleness. Though he bruised himself badly and probably battered the woman in his gullet as well, he clawed aside everything in his path and ran out of the fire. He hadn't known the way to the stairs but he knew the way back out and he burst out of the flames, scattering embers, just as the second story of the house collapsed. Another five seconds and he'd have been under it.

Fur smouldering, embers spilling off his back, he emerged into the circle of staring eyes. It was so much darker here than in the fire that he was blind for a moment, but he sensed the presence of what must be the fire crew. He needed to breathe. Bart coughed, gagged, and threw up.

Up came the woman, her nightgown torn and bloody in places where his fangs had scraped her. But she was alive. She let out an incoherent shriek as her slimy form slid back into the light. Bart's senses came flooding back and there was Captain Clarke, the parents clinging to each other unwilling to touch their retched-up daughter, the rest of the fire crew and the circle of fire tourists.

For a moment all was still then everyone jumped at the sound that came out of the badger next.

"Wash her!" Bart snarled. "Her feet were in my stomach, idiots. And call a cleric. I didn't have time to be gentle."

Only then he he realize he was hurt, too. He ached all over from shouldering aside tons of debris to get in and then get out. His left shoulder hurt worse than the rest and he saw his left forepaw was red with dripping blood. Even his tough hide had its limits. He'd torn it open on something and he bent his muzzle around to find the wound. It was ugly. He'd had worse. There were probably more, further down his body.

Exhausted and hurt, but knowing he and the girl would both live, he turned away from the crowd. They didn't need him any more and he needed a bath. He needed someone to trim off the worst of the burned fur and he needed someone to stitch up his wounds.

"Corporal." The voice was not raised, but made him stop. "I haven't dismissed you yet."

"Your pardon, captain." Bart turned, keeping his weight off his left forepaw as much as possible. "I forgot, I still have your ring."

Fire Captain Clarke looked him over. Bart knew he wasn't a pretty sight, scorched and bloodied. But very much alive. Then fire had barely singed him. If it were for the smell of burnt fur he'd hardly have known he was in a fire. Bart sat back on his haunches to free his forepaws for work and reached for the ring.

His left paw was hurt, too. The blood wasn't all from his shoulder. As he fumbled, trying to pull the ring off his other paw with his claws, Clarke knelt down and grabbed his foreleg.

"Keep it," the captain said. "I'll do the paperwork later. Effective immediately, I am issuing you that Ring. You may need it if you call on you again."

"Thank you, captain. I'm sure it will be useful. Am I dismissed?"

"You are not." Clarke looked at his hands, bloody from touching Bart's leg. "Cleric!" Then he lowered his voice so only the badger could hear.

"Bartleby, sometimes in this job we have to make a snap decision. We hope it works out. It doesn't always. As soon as I sent you into that fire I knew I'd made a mistake. I realized there was no way you could get that girl out alive, even if you found her that way. I was sure I'd sent you, probably to your death, on a useless errand. But you found a way."

He looked over his shoulder and there was the cleric, hurrying over from helping the girl. The sunburst of the order of Pelor was at his throat. The captain and Bart both ignored the priest and he began to weave healing spells around the badger. Their eyes were on the parents, and the girl.

The girl looked toward Bart with horror in her eyes and the mother shot him a look of utter hate. Only the father seemed neutral.

"Bart, they don't know what it's like. They don't understand that if you hadn't done that you'd have brought them a smoking corpse. It comes with the job, I'm afraid. You made a hard choice and it was the right one. They don't realize it yet, but they will. And we know. You're welcome at our firehouse any time."

Any time included that night, it turned out. With his wounds magicked shut - he had enough scars already to impress the ladies, so he didn't object - he thanked the priest and padded after them as they and their carts returned to their firehouse.

The firehouse was its own little world, with its own bunkrooms, its own kitchen. The firemen who hadn't responded to the blaze had food ready, knowing the appetite they'd work up, and Bart, who'd lost his dinner when he retched up the girl, managed to plant his furry butt on the station bench so he could eat alongside them. It was stew and bread, but it was tasty and there was plenty. No one objected when he put his muzzle in the bowl and ate like animal because, after all, he was one.

There was watered ale to go with it and though the firemen, on duty, only allowed themselves one mug each, Bart didn't have to work until the next evening and had three.

He still stank of smoke and asked for the use of their shower. When he was done and dripping dry a fireman appeared with a set of shears and offered to trim off the shriveled fur that bore the brunt of the fire.

Fireman, he thought on first sight, but it turned out she was a firewoman, by her smell. With the rest of the crew off playing cards he rested his forepaws on the counter and let her trim the burnt fur off his flanks and tail.

Then she ducked beneath the counter and he opened his mouth to say that the fire probably hadn't gotten to him there. But if the girl and her parents weren't grateful that he'd saved her, this woman was. She was very grateful indeed, and soon Bart was too.

That was how Batholomew the badger got his second magic Ring and found a third job to occupy his time in the city. He was a guardsman, he was a bouncer, and now, occasionally he was a fireman. That was fine. It gave him a chance, some time later, to find a bit more alone time with the firewoman. Bart was a great believer in repaying favors.