Maxwell stared at his reflection in a compact mirror Marigold pulled out of her bottomless bag. Her headscarf was once again wrapped around his face, but this time, Walter’s oversized bowler joined it, hanging low over Maxwell’s ears and swaying from side to side when he moved his head. Marigold had also given him a pair of latex cleaning gloves. They were long enough to cover his exposed forearms but had to be fastened in place with lengths of string. Only his eyes were visible through the disguise.

“There, perfect,” Marigold said.

Maxwell did not know how amphibian caretaker gods defined perfect, but he did not think he looked perfect. He thought he looked ridiculous.

“One last thing,” Marigold said. She reached into her bag for a canister of air freshener and sprayed a generous amount all over Maxwell. The smell of artificial pine was strong, and Maxwell coughed as the chemicals worked their way into his lungs.

“What do you think?” Marigold asked Walter.

Walter walked over and sniffed him.

“I still smell human when he exhales. Maybe he can breathe less.”

“Better yet, why don’t I just stop altogether?” Maxwell said.

“Yes, that could work,” Walter said cheerfully.

“What kind of creature am I meant to be?”

“That’s up to you,” Marigold replied.

“The god of hardware and garden centers,” IT offered.

Maxwell ignored the comment. “Should I have a name? I mean, in case someone asks.”

Walter shook his head. “Probably best not to talk at all.”

“I think I need a name.”

“We’ll do the talking, but you can make up a name if it makes you feel better,” Marigold said.

“Clothos, Lord of Rags,” IT said.

“OK, back in the bag,” Marigold said.

“As long as you don’t turn me off again.”

“Then I guess you’ll want to stay quiet, won’t you?” She scooped up the robot and tucked it away.

Maxwell looked over at Walter. “Are you going to be OK? You’re sweating.”

“I just have this terrible feeling of the walls closing in on me,” Walter said. “What happens if we get caught? I don’t think I would hold up well under pressure.”

“Then don’t get caught,” Marigold said.

They had made their way through the terrifying forest of random monstrosities, and now the path appeared to lead underground. A rusted gate barred the way, but Walter reached out and tapped it with one of his talons, causing the whole thing to clatter to the ground. They stepped over it and made their way into the tunnels.

The path was dark, and Marigold pulled out her flashlight. There was no ornamentation here, just a dim, damp stretch of grey. The tunnel changed dimensions at random, narrowing until they had to turn sideways to make their way forward, and then suddenly expanding into vast caverns where their footsteps echoed in the distance. The path itself was full of divots and gashes and looked as if it had been hacked from the stone by a drunk mole.

After walking for the better part of an hour, faint lights grew visible and beneath it, two indistinct figures were standing vigil.

“Prepare yourself,” Walter whispered. “What you’re going to see down here is terrifying.”

Maxwell nodded and gulped, but when they made their way to the light, the creatures he beheld were far from terrifying. They were adorable. Two knee-high white fluff-balls stared up at Maxwell with spears in hand, featureless, save for a pair of large black eyes and a thin slit of a mouth. “New arrivals,” the one on the left said.

“That can’t be,” the other replied.

“Yet here they are.”

“But why?”

“Why indeed? Very unusual.”

“Much more likely to come from the Old Road.”

“Yes, true, perhaps they are fleeing something.”

“Perhaps they are.”

“Tired of the new ways, do you think?”

“Are—are you talking to us or each other?” Walter asked.

“The demon has asked a question.”

“A good one. Ourselves or them?”

“Both?”

“Yes, both.”

“Then how many are we asking? We are two. If we add them, this is a question for five to consider.”

“Are you sure? There could be others hidden. The frog is large.”

“There are only three of us,” Walter said.

“Let’s count again,” the fluff-ball on the left said.

“One, two, yes, three,” the one on the right said.

“According to his shirt, the small one appears to like kroglings.”

“I saw this, too. What’s a krogling?”

“I don’t know, perhaps we should ask him.”

“Small one, what are kroglings and why are they worthy of your labor?”

Maxwell looked over at Marigold for help.

“Sanctuary. We declare sanctuary,” she said.

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

The two fluff-balls said nothing. Their eyes opened wide, and they turned to each other.

“You were correct,” the right fluff-ball said.

“I was right?” the left one asked. “No, no, no. you were the one that speculated.”

“I was?”

“You were.”

“So, what now?”

“The trials, I believe.”

“Yes, the trials.”

“Yes,” Marigold said. “We’ve declared sanctuary, so your job is to take us to the trial grounds.”

“But which one of us will do this?” asked the creature on the right.

“And who will stand guard?” added the one on the left.

“Is guarding necessary? Who was the last to come?”

“Nobody, but there are rules for this.”

“Yes, guarding is important.”

“Perhaps one of you could stand guard and the other could take us to the trials,” Marigold said.

“The green one has good ideas.”

“Excellent ideas.”

Nobody moved.

“So should we go?” Marigold asked.

“Yes, but who will take you?

“The strongest should stay behind."

They both nodded.

“You are stronger, I think,” said the one on the left.

“No, not me. You are stronger,” replied the one on the right.

“That is very kind of you to say but look at your rippling muscles.”

“My muscles? Look at your legs, so wiry and athletic.”

“We could ask the outsiders.”

“A good idea.”

“You, krogling-lover, who appears strongest?”

Maxwell stepped forward. He looked at the two identical mounds of fluff.

“You,” Maxwell said, picking the one on the right at random.

“Oh, he is too kind,” said the one on the right. “But he flatters. It is you, surely.”

Marigold shook her head. “Nope, it’s you,” she said. She motioned for the creature to begin moving. “Let’s go.”

The creatures looked apprehensive about separating. At last, the one on the right-handed its spear to its partner and nodded. “Yes, OK, to the trials.”

They moved away from the entrance and deeper into the confusing mass of tunnels that marked the inhabited portion of the Hollows. The path forked in different directions, sloping up and down and twisting around itself. They took lefts and rights, climbed up ladders, and jumped through holes. Occasionally, a gate would spring up in front of them, and the white fluff ball would rummage around for a key, unlock it, and close it again after them. The corridors were lit by torches and the caverns by lanterns hanging from the ceiling in uneven clusters. Despite the lights, the tunnels remained dark, desolate, and damp.

After ten minutes, they emerged into a cavern that differed from those that had come before. It was small and cluttered, roughly the size of Maxwell’s old high school gymnasium, but the sheer number of creatures milling about made it seem more like a city square. A cat was sitting against a wall, plucking out a mournful song on an instrument that Maxwell did not recognize in a language he had never heard. A toothy green and black creature had set up shop in the corner shouting at three floating peach-coloured ovals with long thin bodies and rows of antennae, who were perusing the swirling glass baubles he had on display. In one corner of the ceiling, a shadowy pair of eyes was watching them, and Maxwell shivered as they walked beneath.

When he looked back down, Maxwell noticed they had gained a new party member. There was a second white fluff-ball guiding them through the tunnels, just as befuddled and adorable as the first. Neither seemed entirely clear on what they were doing and talked to each other in an inaudible murmur that Maxwell could not discern.

They exited the cavern and crossed the threshold into another torch-lit tunnel. Loitering monsters also clustered together here. A flock of chattering skeleton pixies danced through the room and irritated two arguing blue and yellow ghosts, one of whom swatted at the creatures to no effect.

“Is the whole place like this?” Maxwell asked Walter.

“Yes,” he replied. “Narrow spaces hollowed from the rock. Overcrowded, dirty, and unmanaged.”

“It’s not all bad,” Marigold said. “There’s community and purpose here. They had to make something out of nothing.”

Walter clicked his tongue in disgust and looked away.

On the other side of the tunnel, they found themselves in a cavern much larger than the last. It appeared to be both a market and a residential area. Ragged stalls made of rotting wood and cloth displayed a range of unappetizing foods. Behind them, jagged little doors lined the walls, interrupted by the occasional staircase that led up to a second level, where the ceiling almost touched the floor. Both the vendors and customers there appeared to be gnomes in bright green hats and overalls, but one of their two guides had business there.

“One moment please, we must check something,” one of the fluff-balls said.

The other climbed the stairs and weaved through the crowds until coming to a stop at a tiny door on the far end. It knocked, and a moment later, yet another fluff-ball emerged. The two held a brief congress, and then the third creature followed the second back down to the group.

“What are these things?” Maxwell asked Marigold as they watched them descend the stairs.

“No idea. They weren’t here before.”

By the time they reached the trial grounds, they had acquired six identical guides, all chattering away about strength, trials, and the nature of kroglings. Maxwell could no longer tell which was their original escort, and he hoped it didn’t matter. They came to a stop at the bottom of a flight of stairs in front of a pair of stone doors. After another debate, one creature stepped forward and knocked tentatively.

When they swung open, and yet another fluff-ball looked up at them, Marigold spoke before their guides had a chance.

“We’re here to declare sanctuary and take the trials. You need to sound the call. The champions gather, and we’re offered a choice of challenge: either strength or wit. We will wait over in the challengers’ pit, and this one here is the strongest if that matters for any reason.”

The new creature looked over at his colleagues in confusion, then nodded slowly and opened the doors the rest of the way. Marigold walked straight over to a rough wooden bench sitting in a divot on the right side of the dungeon-like arena.

The space was wide and barren. It seemed to run the length of the Hollows and was lit by suspended braziers hanging from the stone ceiling. There were rows of seats for spectators and a large iron bell at the back of the central stone expanse.

The creatures argued briefly about who should ring the bell, and after some difficulty coming to a consensus, they agreed it should be a group effort. Hand on hand, they swung the suspended wooden beam into the metal surface three times. After a moment, another bell sounded in the distance. For a long while nothing happened, and then, one by one, almost every resident of the Hollows filtered into the arena, as curious as they were bloodthirsty.

*Side Note V*

The strange fluffy creatures guiding Marigold, Maxwell, and Walter through the Hollows were called clorgles—a fact that was unknown even to the creatures themselves. Against all odds, they had effectively seized power in the Hollows in just under three years. The key to their ascension did not lie in guile, strength, or skill. It was a result of profound indifference. This may come as a surprise to outsiders like Maxwell or Walter but made perfect sense to creatures even passingly familiar with the history of the underground.

The inhabitants of the Hollows detested peace and order. They had fought a war over these concepts and stoked a hatred of them so intense it had endured for hundreds of years. Peace and order were concepts built on a foundation of weakness and were to be resisted, tooth, claw, and nail, literally. Violent protest and gallons of blood attended any attempt to organize the stubbornly wild creatures that lived below, which was good for morale, but bad for the livability index. Food tended to run low, lanterns were seldom lit, and public defecation frequently became an existential problem. When this happened, even the most ardently anarchic creature saw the virtue in some basic forms of civic organization.

Time and again, some creature of high moral fiber and sensitive nose would step forward and solve one of these problems, and everyone celebrated as the larders grew full or the streets became clean. However, the whiff of adulation that inevitably followed often led the civic-minded creature in question to solve a second problem, at which point it was unanimously agreed that power had gone to the head of the fledgling despot, and they were relieved of all duties along with the head in question.

The bloody cycle continued for centuries until two dozen clorgles showed up at the entrance to the Hollows. Nobody was sure what these creatures were or where they had come from, least of all the clorgles themselves, who didn’t seem to understand questions like “Who are you?” or “Where are you from?” When asked, they fell into a deep discussion about what it meant to be something or come from somewhere without ever coming to an agreement. Instead of seeking answers to these questions, the clorgles worked. It was not the kind of work that led inhabitants of the Hollows to grow suspicious either. They swept the streets because they found the motion soothing, they lit the lanterns because watching the flames dance was hypnotic, and they stood guard because remaining motionless and staring into the distance came naturally to them. These efforts were deemed acceptable because they were accomplished without the slightest grain of ambition. After a year without a violent revolution, everyone agreed that clorgles could serve for life if they wanted. They didn’t much care but agreed since disagreement would involve more resolve than any of them could muster.