Sochiro could smell the place from two leagues away. He had been assured at the time of sale that the region was uninhabited, but the stink, and as Sochiro drew nearer, the racket, made it obvious that this was not so. With a sigh, he set his oars and dropped a lead line over the side of the skiff: nine fathoms, and still no bottom. There was no question that he was in the right spot. The depth meant that this was not a proper bayou, and, more importantly, that it was navigable. His employer had been shrewd enough to recognize the potential for commerce on such a waterway and had taken advantage of its misleading name to snatch up for a pittance a broad tract of land along its banks. This was the land that Sochiro had come to survey, but clearly someone else had not gotten word that the area was under new ownership. He hoped very much that they would be reasonable.

As he rowed his skiff around a bend, though, he realized just how unlikely that would be. An entire town had sprung up on the far bank like a fungus, the buildings rough-hewn and filthy, looking as though they had been thrust up from the boggy soil instead of dropped upon it. Smoke hung over the sagging rooftops and brought with it the stench of every type of debauchery that was imaginable, and some that were not. It seemed to be inhabited entirely by the type of man that was usually hanged within a day of his capture, and unfortunately not just a few. A hundred, at the least. Maybe even two.

He felt it prudent to beach his skiff in the shadow of a bluff that lay downstream from the settlement, and to approach from the landward side. The first three men that he encountered regarded him mockingly. "Hey, look!" one of them barked. "Someone let a Kyomi-boy in here." The men roared with laughter, apparently believing that to be a very clever joke, and one of them sauntered up and stood nose-to-nose with Sochiro. "Me no rike-ee Kyomi-boy. Sod off he chop-chop, or chop-chop we he neck. Savvy?"

Sochiro smiled and bowed politely. "I savvy quite well, thank you very much," he said, and the men's laughter faded to a befuddled murmur. "Now, as you gentlemen are obviously quite busy, I will not take up a good deal of your time. Could you kindly direct me to your leader?"

"That would be me," said a voice, and a shark-toothed fellow who stood a full head taller than his companions loomed into view. "What's your business here, Kyomi-boy?"

"Mr. Sochiro Colby, of Guinard & Son. I am pleased to make your acquaintance. My business here, in fact, is to tell you all that there seems to have been some sort of misunderstanding. You see, this land actually belongs, and has since the first of this month, to my employer. I'd like to discuss how we might assist you in relocating your town, perhaps a few leagues upstream."

The shark-toothed man furrowed his brow. He turned questioningly from one man to the next, and to the next, and to the next, and then back to Sochiro. "What's that you say?" he said at last.

Sochiro drew a patient breath. "You're on someone else's land. You need to move off."

That was met with a mirthful howl from all around. "Oh, so this is Kyomi-land, says you? Well, horse-shit, says I! We ain't movin' just because some slope-eyed guppy tells us we oughta."

"Well, yes, that's very charming. But nonetheless, you do have to leave. My employer paid for this land and he is going to want you all gone."

"Does he? And what about if we ain't gone?"

Sochiro closed his eyes for a brief second. "Honestly, my friend, you do not want to know."

More men had gathered around and bellowed like so many bulls until their leader threw up a hand to silence them. "We ain't goin' nowhere, says I. Now hop it, afore we nails yer hide to the tavern wall."

"Now, no need for that," Sochiro said calmly. "I am sure that we can come to some reasonable accommodation, Mister...?"

"Click-clack."

"Well, then, Mister Cl..."

He paused when he heard the distinctive click-clack of a pistol being drawn to full cock behind his ear. "Ah, I see," he whispered. "So, that's a 'no' then, is it?"

Sochiro took some time to wash away the mud that the men had applied while they were seeing him off. Luckily, he had fresh clothing to change into. As he made his way back downstream he spied a lazy curl of smoke rising over the treetops, and he pulled his skiff to shore. He made his way warily toward the source of the smoke, and was relieved to find a more civilized dwelling than those he had left behind. A barn stood with an open door beside the house, and inside he spotted a man who was busily cooping a barrel. "Ho, there!" he called. "Where is your master?"

The man paused and glanced up. "I am the master here," he said sourly. "This is my farm."

Sochiro bowed. "Please accept my apologies."

"It's nothing I ain't used to." He set aside his tools. "What do you want?"

"A place to rest for the night, for which I am happy to pay, and someone who might take a message back to my employer in Ubleck..." and here he produced a quarter-marc from his pocket "...for which I am also happy to pay."

The farmer's gaze flicked from Sochiro's face to the coin, and back again. "Boy!" he called over his shoulder. "Get yourself in here, tout de suite! We've got ourselves a guest."

A scrawny young man darted in and stood at the farmer's side. "This here is my son," the farmer said. "He can take your message into town."

Sochiro regarded the young man for a moment. He was dark, like his father, but whereas the farmer was quite stalwart, the boy was as thin as a reed. If the wind had kicked up, he would easily have been carried away. "What is your name?"

"Tobias, Sir."

"Well, Tobias, can you read and write?"

The young man glanced at the floor. "No, Sir," he said hesitantly, but quickly added, "But I can remember every word ever spoken to me by anyone. And I'm fast! If I borrow Monsieur DuCreux's horse I can be into town and back before night."

"Good, then," Sochiro nodded. "I would like you to take a message to Sir Guinard, master of Guinard & Son in Ubleck. Do you know of it?"

"No, Sir."

"No matter. You can ask at the watchman's gate. You need only tell him that Colby sent you. When you arrive, please tell this to Sir Guinard: 'Some guests at your holdings have overstayed their welcome. Please advise.'"

The boy nodded, flashed a grin at his father, and was gone in the blink of an eye. "My, he really is fast," Sochiro said.

"That boy can outrun the devil himself -- and has, more than once." The farmer returned to his work. "Now, if it is any of my business, Mister Colby, what brings you out our way?"

"My employer has purchased some land a few leagues up the bayou. He asked me kindly to survey it for him."

"In the Sink? Don't take this wrong, but your employer mustn't be too smart. There's nothing up there but gators and weeds...along with some garbage that someone dumped off about six, seven month ago."

"I assume you mean those charming gentlemen I met this morning."

The farmer's hands fumbled and he nearly dropped his tools. "You've been up there? You ran into that nest of vipers and you've still got..?" He gestured toward the coin in Sochiro's hand.

"Well, it was not a good first impression. Depending on what my employer decides, I may be calling upon them again tomorrow."

Now the famer did drop his tools. "Are you a madman? I'm sorry, but you'd have to be to want to clap eyes on that crew a second time." He jerked a thumb toward a dusty old blunderbuss propped in a corner. "They're the reason I keep that handy, and if you have any sense, you'll see about getting one for yourself."

"Thank you for your advice," Sochiro smiled. "We will see what my employer has to say."

The farmer and his wife proved to be gracious hosts. Sochiro was offered a bowl of tasty gumbo over which, the famer proudly claimed, entire wars had been fought, and Sochiro thought that quite believable. As night was falling and he was settling down in the barn to sleep, he heard the sound of hoofbeats and then footsteps hurrying into the house, followed by Tobias's excited voice. "You should have seen it, Pa! There was a door. It was bigger than this house! Bigger than the oak tree in the back! Bigger than..."

"Hush with your tales!" the farmer snorted. "Go and tell Mister Colby that you've done what he told you to."

Sochiro smiled when the young man rushed in. "Did you meet Sir Guinard?"

Tobias shook his head. "No, Sir, he didn't open the door, but he talked to me through it. I could feel my bones rattling when he did. He must be a big, big man."

"Oh, he is, indeed. Now, tell me what he said to you."

"Well, Sir, all he said was this: 'Five thousand marcs. My regards to Mister Colby."

Sochiro sat back. "So, I shall be calling on our friends again. Let's hope that they are more agreeable this time."

They were not. When Sochiro returned at sunset the following day he could barely walk. "Oh, Lord!" the farmer exclaimed when he caught sight of the bruised and bloody figure. "Tobias! Help me get him inside!"

Sochiro groaned and flinched while the farmer's wife pressed a salve-soaked rag to a cut on his forehead. "I'm afraid that the second impression was no better than the first," he wheezed.

"Don't talk," the farmer said. "Just rest. And thank whatever spirits you like that you got out with your skin still attached."

"They would not have killed me." He paused to sip some tea from a cup that Tobias held to his lips. "They needed me alive so that I could deliver their message to my employer. It's a common enough tactic in my business."

"Well, if your business is getting the tar kicked out of you, then your boss must be very pleased with you." He tapped Tobias's shoulder. "Enough with that tea. Go fetch some of Great-Grandpap's nerve tonic."

That tonic burned like molten iron. Sochiro meant to ask what was in it, but the next thing he knew, he was lying on a feather mattress while daylight spilled in through the window. His ribs throbbed when he sat up, and when he touched his forehead, he discovered that the cut had scabbed over. "Ouch. Hello? Tobias?"

The young man appeared in the doorway. "Here, Mister Colby, Sir. How do you feel?"

"A bit like a bug that's been stepped on." He squinted at the daylight outside. "How long have I been asleep?"

"'bout two days, Sir, off and on."

"Two?" Sochiro began to stand up, but his bruised ribs demanded that he stay down. "My employer is expecting my report. He is not known for his patience."

Tobias glanced at the floor. "Well, about that, Mister Colby, Sir, I..."

"I sent him to Ubleck this morning," the farmer said, stepping into the room. "I figured that someone ought to let your boss in on what happened."

"Oh." Sochiro looked from Tobias to the famer and back. "Well, then, what did you tell him?"

"Well, Sir, I told him that you went back to talk to the shit-*" He paused, cleared his throat, and continued. "That is, that you went back to talk to the men up the bayou, and that you got...um..."

"Go on. What exactly did you say?"

Tobias took a deep breath. "I told him that Pa didn't want you to go but that you went anyway and that you got the tar beat out of you."

Sochiro nodded thoughtfully while the farmer covered his face with his hand. "An accurate report. Perhaps not exactly as I would have worded it, but accurate. Did he give you an answer?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And..?"

"He said this: 'I will be there tomorrow.'"

The farmer gasped when he saw the change in Sochiro's face. "Oh, Lord o'Mercy! Quick, Boy, fetch that tonic!"

"No, no." Sochiro waved him off. "It's not that. I'm fine. It's just that tomorrow is going to be a very, very busy day."

The farmer and Tobias were waiting for him at the door the following morning. "You're not going to wait for your boss?" the farmer asked.

Sochiro tried not to wince as he slid his pack onto his shoulders. "He will find me."

"You know that they aren't going to let you out of there alive this time."

"I do not intend to get close enough this time. May I borrow that?" He pointed to a big milk funnel made of tin that hung from a rafter. "I can use it as a speaking trumpet."

"It's beyond me why you want to speak to that kind in the first place, trumpet or no, but have it your way. Go on and take it." He patted Tobias on the shoulder. "And my boy wants to go with you."

Sochiro started. "What? Oh, no. Thank you, but it's out of the question."

"But you're going to need help!" Tobias interjected. "How are you going to paddle your skiff in the shape you're in? Besides, you'll need someone to watch your back."

"You do not have to come with me."

"No, I don't," the young man said firmly. "But you're going to need my help. Sir."

Sochiro tried to come up with another reason to refuse, but he knew that Tobias was right. He would have a devil of a time rowing with his ribs in their current condition. "Very well," he sighed, and turned to the farmer. "We will be back before dark. I promise."

They landed the skiff on the sheltered side of the bluff and made their way to the top, from which vantage point they could view the entire town below. "This should do," Sochiro said. "Now, let's see if they are willing to listen to reason."

"I don't think they will be, Mr. Colby, Sir," Tobias said nervously. "They don't seem the sort to recognize reason if it came up and bit them."

"It just might. Give me the funnel, please."

Tobias handed it over. "I don't understand why you're taking such a risk, Mr. Colby, Sir. That land there ain't worth a bag of slugs. Why's your boss so interested in getting you killed?"

"It isn't about the land so much, my young friend. It's a matter of principle. And I have to give them one last warning of what is to come." He hefted the funnel and held its tapered end to his lips. "Ahoy!" he called, and then again, "Ahoy! Fellows! I have come to tell you something quite important..."

A flash and a puff of smoke appeared amongst the grime. It was followed a second later by a loud report and something whizzing like an angry hornet over Sochiro's head.

"Mr. Colby, get down!" Tobias shouted and grabbed at the older man's sleeve, but Sochiro shook him off.

"Gentlemen, you must understand that you are in grave danger," he called out. "This is really your last chance to..."

Three more flashes in quick succession, three more bangs, and three more angry hornets finally convinced Sochiro to duck down into the weeds. "Well, we tried," he said with a sigh. "They brought it on themselves."

Tobias tugged more urgently at his sleeve. "Mr. Colby, we have to get gone! Look down at the dock!"

Indeed, a group of men had gathered there and were hauling aside a muddy canvas tarpaulin, revealing an impressive pair of four-pound cannon, which judging from their brassy gleam were the only things in the entire village that the men bothered to keep clean. They worked in an unpracticed rush, tripping over one another and banging heads as they scrambled for powder and shot. Both barrels swung around and took aim. "It's all right," Sochiro said and rested a hand on Tobias's shoulder. "Those aren't for us. Look."

From the murky water of the bayou slowly rose two bat-like wings, each as big as a topsail, but it was no bat that followed them up from the depths. Instead, they were attached to a nightmarish head that sported a broad, toothsome muzzle and fiery yellow eyes. The water frothed and churned as a pair of broad shoulders broke the surface, followed by a powerful torso. In a spot where there was no bottom on a nine-fathom line, the water rose only to the creature's waist.

Tobias's mouth opened and closed several times before he managed to sputter out, "In the name of...Mr. Colby, is that a lacsere?"

"Yes," Sochiro replied, fishing his pipe from the pocket of his shirt. "It certainly is."

"Oh Lord above! Is...is he yours?"

Sochiro quietly slid the pipe between his lips. "Actually," he whispered, "I am his."

Great waves crashed against the beast's leathern hide as it approached the shore. In just two heavy steps the water was to its knees, and with one more, to its ankles. The lacsere towered over the men on the dock, many of whom stood dumbfounded as water cascading from the mammoth body soaked their grubby tunics. It stood gazing downward for a moment, and then sank into a ponderous crouch and lowered its head toward the men, who covered their ears as a deafening voice thundered from above. "Now, see here..."

Scarcely had those words been uttered when they were answered by two echoing blasts as both four-pounders spat forth flame like little angry dragons. The thick hide on the giant's chest twitched where it was impacted; a timid splash, followed quickly by another, marked the spots where the cannonballs fell into the dark waters of the bayou.

"You won't want to watch this," Sochiro said and moved to place his hand in front of Tobias's face, but the young man hastily batted it away. His eyes were as big as double-florin coins.

The lacsere sighed wearily, shook its head, and reached toward the cannon emplacement. The crews stumbled backward at first, then howled and commenced a frantic retreat when they realized that the mighty hand was coming not for the cannon, but for them. Huge, webbed fingers descended upon them, overtook them, surrounded them, smothered their panicked shouts as the leathery webs enfolded them. The monster raised its hand slowly to its face and gazed soberly at the indentations that hands and faces and feet made in the webbing as the captives struggled. With a bone-jarring "So be it," the giant clenched its fist.

Even across the water, Sochiro and his companion could hear bones cracking. The monster squeezed until blood rained down in a gruesome cascade onto the dock below, then opened its hand and studied the remnants with an air of indifference before leaning down to let the waters of the bayou wash them away. From this position it caught sight of a half dozen men splashing into the shallows nearby. No doubt they meant to swim to safety, but all of them halted at once and gaped at a raft of dark shapes closing in on the shore. Like hopeful seagulls trailing after a fishing boat, hundreds of alligators were gathering behind the lacsere in anticipation of the feast that was being prepared for them.

Casting desperately about for a means of escape, the men did not see the shadow surrounding them until it was too late even to scream. The giant's foot came down, landing in the water with a splash and then lifting clear, and the men were gone. Even after the frothing surface had settled, though, mud continued to churn from below. Surely some of them were still alive, helplessly embedded in the muddy bottom beneath the waves. Providence afforded them perhaps fifteen seconds to drown before the alligators reached them.

The lacsere straightened and then stepped fully up onto the land. Men rushed about like a swarm of frightened ants, and just like ants, the giant began to exterminate them. With cold, methodical precision it stepped on the fleeing men, each footfall carefully aimed to trap the greatest number of victims beneath before crushing them to pulp. It was an easy task at first with so many individuals all corralled by the narrow streets they had laid out, but as their numbers dwindled it became an ever-increasing challenge to dispatch more than four or five at a time, and at length the giant chose a different tactic. It now used its thick, webbed toes with their anchor-sized claws much like a garden rake, dropping them in front of the fleeing victims and dragging backward, creating a writhing pile of human flesh upon which the massive foot then settled heavily. Most of the men were pulverized in an instant as that foot sank into the marshy soil; any who survived were slowly suffocated beneath the webs.

The shark-toothed man was among the small cadre whose made a final stand with a volley of musket fire. Shots pattered on the thick hide like raindrops, only to be ignored by the giant as he casually obliterated a group that had been cowering and clasping their hands in a plea for mercy, a plea which the beast either did not notice, or did not care enough to grant. A second volley, however, proved too bothersome to ignore. Before they could reload a massive hand swept down to scoop the defenders up all together in a shrieking jumble. The giant lifted them skyward and watched them wriggle like so many worms before bearing them to its mouth as though to devour them, but then it hesitated. Its nostrils flared. Scowling, it sniffed at the men that it had captured, winced with disgust, and simply discarded them with a toss over its shoulder.

When there was no longer any movement amidst the ruined streets, the lacsere busied itself with dismantling the town. The flimsy structures came apart easily between its mighty claws. Here and there a survivor darted into the open as the building in which he had been hiding crumbled behind him. The giant killed the first dozen who appeared by popping them beneath its thumb but after a time it simply paid no attention to them. They fled, stumbling, lurching, babbling like lunatics as they staggered past the bluff upon which the two onlookers stood. Tobias, who had been silent throughout the massacre, finally stammered "He's...letting them go?"

"He is counting on them to send a message to others," Sochiro replied, and puffed on his pipe. "It's a common enough tactic in our business."

Before long there was nothing left of the town but piles of shattered wood, the docks, and deep footprints that were rapidly filling with reddened water. The lacsere stepped into the bayou and shook each foot carefully in the water to wash away the human detritus, then began to wade in the direction of the bluff. "Stand fast," Sochiro whispered to Tobias. "Back straight, chin up, and eyes down."

The giant drew relentlessly nearer, waves crashing against his legs, until he towered over the two onlookers, while behind him the alligators swarmed eagerly over the spot where the town had stood. Sochiro calmly snuffed out his pipe and slid it into his pocket. "Good afternoon, Sir Guinard."

A heavy forearm landed with a deep thud, and then the other, trapping the two between. Hot breath rushed down from above. Tobias stiffened, whereas Sochiro bowed. "Please accept my apologies, Sir," he said. "My handling of this matter was inadequate. It should not have been necessary to trouble you with it."

The reply sent a tremor throughout the bluff. "Apology accepted." The great saurian muzzle descended until it loomed a finger's length away from Sochiro's face, and one enormous eye winked. "Besides, I rather enjoyed myself."

"Yes, Sir."

"When the little ones have finished cleaning up, you may see to the completion of my survey."

"Of course, Sir, I..." Sochiro began, but the giant's attention had shifted to the young man standing nearby. "Ah, yes, Sir, if you please, this is young Tobias. As you may recall, he was the one who brought my messages to -- oh, no, don't!" But he was too late to stop the wide-eyed boy from lunging forward and planting both of his hands upon the lacsere's nose.

Time halted. No sound was heard. The lacsere did not budge. Tobias did not budge. Sochiro's heart raced but he could do nothing other than stand aghast at such a shocking impropriety. He had taken a liking to the boy, and now he sorrowfully prepared himself to witness Tobias being swallowed whole. Or worse. There was so much that was worse.

At last, the massive head began to move. Slowly it rose out of reach before turning back toward Sochiro. Two simple words boomed forth before the great body slid backward and disappeared into the murky water of the bayou:

"Hire him."

And then the only sound was that of the alligators fussing over the meat on the opposite shore. Sochiro finally relaxed and turned toward the boy, who still stood motionless and bug-eyed. With a firm clap on Tobias's shoulder to break the spell, Sochiro cheerfully asked, "So, what do you know about performing a land survey?"

"Er, ah, no, nothing," Tobias croaked, "Nothing, Mr. Colby...Sir."

"Well, then," Sochiro said, "we should be getting back to your farm. It seems that I have a lot to teach you."

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