The Philosophical Strangler by Eric Flint

Wittgenstein blew another raspberry. “Do I look like one of these primate morons? Think I can’t smell what’s down that tunnel? Ha!”

Zulkeh, for just a fleeting instant, almost looked abashed. One of the few times I’d seen the wizard even come close to being embarrassed about anything. When you’ve got an ego as big as he does, “chagrin” and “mortification” are pretty much terra incognita.

None of which, of course, prevented me from smelling a rat myself. “What’s in that tunnel?” I demanded.

Zulkeh cleared his throat. Said nothing. Cleared his throat again.

“It isn’t a `tunnel,’ dimwit,” sneered Wittgenstein. “It’s the entrance to a sewer.”

“I don’t like it,” rumbled Greyboar.

“The needs of science!” cried Zulkeh. “The requirements of our quest!”

* * *

“I still don’t like it,” grumbled Greyboar.

“Shuddup!” I snarled. I probably liked it even less, but—

As the wise man says: “Cheap shots are life’s bargains.”

So, with a perfect sneer: “You’ve got to learn to be philosophical about these things.”

Oh, joy. The pure glare on the chokester’s face registered the bull’s-eye. Greyboar started to snap back some—feeble, feeble—retort, but his eyes bulged and he lunged to the side. Pressing himself against the rough, curved stone wall, he goggled at a very large object floating by.

At first, I thought it was a dead body of some sort. But then, as the object floated further into the light shed by my lantern, I recognized it and started to choke. Disgust, sure, but—oh, joy! Another cheap shot!

I sneered again. Perfectly.

“What did you expect to see in a sewer, big guy? The philosopher’s stone?”

This time, alas, the shot missed. At least, no glare erupted on the strangler’s face. Instead, he just frowned mightily as the object went its way. Didn’t even wrinkle his nose.

“What in the world,” he mused, “could have produced that thing? D’you see the size of it, Ignace? Like—”

“I did.”

I froze. The voice, coming from the darkness ahead of us, thundered down the sewer like an oxcart racing over cobblestones.

“Who spoke?” demanded Greyboar. His basso voice was like a twittering bird compared to—

Again, the thundering oxcart: “I did.”

“Show yourself!” demanded Greyboar. Forgetting all squeamishness, the strangler surged into the very center of the sewer, arms and hands spread wide.

“Show yourself!” he commanded.

“No, don’t!” I cried, interjecting the voice of sanity. “Stay right where you are!”

Alas, too late. In the gloom ahead, a greater darkness began to congeal. A figure took form, advanced. Ahead of it, a bow wave surged through the stinking water.

Now it was my turn to press myself against the rough stone wall. Very rough, that wall, very stony, and wet with slime. But I clutched it like a baby clutches his mother’s breast.

Even Greyboar was shaken, a bit. “By the bones of Saint Agnes,” he whispered. “I always thought the damn thing was a fairy tale. It’s the Ogre of the Sewer!”

The rumbling voice: “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.” A plaintive tone filled the voice, contrasting oddly with the rumble: “I really wish you wouldn’t.”

“Don’t call him that, Greyboar!” I snapped. “It’s so impolite. You should be ashamed of yourself!”

I smiled my best smile at the advancing monster. “I apologize for my friend—acquaintance. He really has no manners at all.”

“Don’t smile at me like that.”

Smile vanished.

“Nasty little smile.”

The horror was close enough to discern features, now. It was—well, another ogre. But there was no disguise about this one. The creature was even bigger and nastier-looking than the Great Ogre of Grotum! Gray, lumpy skin. Beetling brow. Huge, flapping ears. Small, red, piggish eyes. And all the rest, of course. You know—tusks. Talons. The lot.

The piggish red-fury eyes transferred their glare from me to Greyboar. “There’s no such thing as the Ogre of the Sewer. It’s a fairy tale!”

Greyboar looked puzzled. The monster’s eyes became flaming slits.

“Just because I’m ugly!”

Greyboar suddenly laughed. “Ugly, be damned. It’s not your looks, it’s your diet. Every kid knows that if you jump into a sewer to go exploring, the Ogre’ll get you. That’s why kids don’t—”