My favourite landing-meadow was much as I had left it. Autumn was in full swing, and the once verdant space was now tinged with orange and yellow. Birds twittered and small things scurried through the bushes, unoffended as I transformed and donned one of my better suits.

  Smooth blue fabric with black fretwork at the cuffs and collar sat over a white shirt I only did up halfway. If I had shapeshifted abs and pecs, why not show them off a bit? Esme would appreciate it. The trousers matched the jacket, and a pair of smart leather boots completed the ensemble.

  The woods gave way to fields. The golden stalks had been reduced to brittle stubble, the land's equivalent of a five o’clock shadow. The townsfolk that I could see were on their way back home, hopefully to stop at a certain pub run by a sultry ginslinger and pick up something to eat and drink.

  The roads had changed. Cobbles had given way to smooth flagstones, and they were wider than before, stretching away to the south like veins of gold. They didn’t look golden, of course, they were a ruddy grey colour, but in my mind they were arteries that flowed with shinies instead of blood.

  The town had grown, more houses had been built around the periphery, gradually spilling out towards the farmland around it. The sites of the barricades during the last siege were now well within the city limits. Shit. With the hodgepodge way it had grown, defending it was going to be a pain in the ass if another army rocked up.

  I received a few friendly nods from passersby as I reached the town proper. Along with more than a few suspicious glares. Most of the citizens knew me, at least in passing. I’d spent enough time at my table in the pub dealing with the council, or rather, trying to get drunk while avoiding dealing with them. While I’d never had a good memory for faces, the reptile bit of my brain had a keen eye for threats or anything outside the norm, and it was screaming at me.

  The road to Mordechai’s place was much the same, but the people were different. There were too many of them for a start. And they were dressed funny. While most still looked like humble peasants in drab browns and greys, classic ‘worker of the fields’ attire, a sizable number were wearing brighter and more finely made clothes as well. In particular, the ladies were now mostly wearing clothes that would pass as comfortably middle-class in Ankmapak.

  I shoved open the door to the barber, then flinched and moved aside as his boy came out carrying a pair of arms, both of them tipped with right hands.

  “Sorry for the mess. I’ll get the mop once these go in the latrine,” he said brightly. “Boss is out the back, I’m sure he won’t mind you going straight through!”

  I crossed the salon section of Mordechai’s business and carefully pushed open the door to his inner sanctum of amputation.

  “Boy! You’d better not have just thrown them over the fence again! Mrs Gilly keeps complaining about body parts on her roses! Doesn’t care about how good they are for fertiliser! Ignorant– Oh, it’s you! What can I do for you, Bob?”

  Mordechai had two men stretched out on operating tables, both mercifully unconscious, hopefully not dead. His glasses clicked and whirred as various lenses slotted in and out as he looked at me. Blood-streaked face and hands, neat apron splashed with crimson, everything was normal except…

  “What the hell is that on your head?” I demanded.

  “It’s a pompadour, Bob. I told you about it last time! You’ll see, it’s going to be all the rage soon!” he said happily as he dropped a blood-stained saw and filleting knife into a bowl of water. He turned left and right to show off the six-inch tube of hair that projected over his beak-like nose.

  “It’s got a lump of something on it?” I offered, not wanting to speculate about what said something might be. It was clear it had once been attached to someone, but now it was a translucent white tube perched atop the heavily oiled quiff.

  “Pertical’s Perfect Pomade. A good coating once a day, and everything just slides off without the style losing form. Marvellous stuff. I picked up a crate from Tex. I can offer you it at cost if you like?”

  I ran a hand through my shaggy hair. It almost reached my shoulders now, and I strongly suspected that if I were to tie it up at the back, I’d look like the worst of hipsters from Earth. Man buns. Ick.

  “I’m just here for a trim, Mordy. And to catch up. Any earthshaking events gone down while I was away?”

  “Oh. Why don’t you go take a seat in the salon? I’ll be with you in a tick!” He moved to a fresh bowl of water and began staining it pink as he cleaned his hands. And hair. I went and took a seat, glaring at the leather restraints built into the barber's chair.

  “Mrs Hatrik is looking to ban certain books. Since Tex got here, A little thing called–”

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  “Jandak’s Juxtapositional Joy,” I growled. I’d need to have words with my pet merchant. I was glad he was back; he owed me shinies after all, but I wasn’t best pleased at this revelation.

  “Oh, you’ve read it? I found the characterisation a bit lacklustre, but the part where she inserts the gourd into his–”

  “I haven’t read it, and I don’t intend to!” I called from where I sat, claws–fingers digging into the heavily reinforced armrests of the chair. Tex was meant to have sold all the smut on his way back to the Mill, not to flood my nice little town with the stuff. Still, I took a cut in tax for every transaction within the town limits…

  “It’s worth a read. Now, a little off the top?” he asked with a manic grin as the scissors in his left hand glowed bright blue.

  “Yeah. And a general tidy up. I’ve got a date.”

  Mordechai stepped up behind me and rested a hand on my shoulder, a gesture I found distinctly unnerving.

  “Just don’t tell Esme. Now, brace yourself. If these don’t work, I’ve got some shears I use for cutting through elbows. Your armour value doesn’t even register anymore!” The last came out with a grunt of effort as he used both hands to try to close the enchanted snippers through my locks. He strained, groaned, cursed, and sweat broke out across his brow. Damp patches spread down his shirt from beneath his arms.

  “Bulb’s Balls, Bob. What the hell have you done to yourself? I’m going to get the shears. And a bone saw.” Mordechai headed back into the mad scientist section of his workspace, and I heard some clangs as he rummaged around for the tools he wanted.

  He returned with a pair of long-handled, foot-long-bladed shears in one hand and a round saw in the other. The circular saw blade was fixed in a contraption lined with glowing red gems. I was not filled with confidence.

  “You’re going to be careful, right? I don’t need to regrow an ear,” I said hesitantly as he took up position over my shoulder. The circular saw slammed down on the table in front of me, and Mordechai grinned as he opened and closed the shears just behind my head.

  He lined them up carefully, then squeezed them shut using both hands. They glowed blue, then white, and finally snicked closed. I breathed a sigh of relief as a line of hair dropped onto my neckline. The next ten minutes were some of the most harrowing in either of my lives. The gleaming metal, looking like it should be used for topiary, not a trim, snipped and snapped.

  “That’s about the best I can do, Bob,” Mordechai gasped, sweat-stained and exhausted. I turned my head back and forth, glaring at the mirror.

  “It’s a bowl cut?” I grumbled.

  “I’ll see about getting some better scissors. I just levelled up twice, so it should be easier next time. But by the gods, please don’t increase your ARM stat again!”

  “I don’t think he can.” The voice was flat and cool. I pivoted, swinging the chair to the side to face the door. Heavy armour, gleaming steel, and a flowing white cloak. His face was hidden in a full helm, and only dark eyes moved behind the visor slit.

  “Ah, Bellend. I was wondering when you’d show up,” I said with a smirk.

  “I am Light Invincible, Baronet Bob. I have a few questions about some issues that have come to my attention,” he said in his gravelly voice.

  “Oh, Bellend was the guy whose balls hadn’t dropped?” I knew I was being stupid. Never fuck with religious extremists, and from what I recalled from Belligerence’s reminiscing about burning heretics alive, the Inquaesition was fully qualified in that area.

  “Defiant Beligerence is the Chapter Master in Ankmapak. I am the Chapter Master in Fidler’s Mill. I was shocked at the state of moral decay in this town,” he growled. “If you’ll follow me, Baronet?”

  I rose and pressed a silver coin into Mordechai’s hand. The barber squirmed a little, uncomfortable with the other man's presence. “Thanks, I guess.” My chin-length bowl cut swung as I turned. I looked like a shitty Renaissance fair enthusiast in a bad wig.

  “There’s dark stirrings in this town, Baronet,” Light complained.

  “Things are crazy everywhere these days.” We strolled down the street, me in a fine suit, and him in a surprisingly quiet set of plate armour.

  “I have launched an investigation into the source of the disgusting story that has circulated among the women of the town. You’ll be pleased to know the perpetrator will be suitably punished once I can confirm their identity.”

  “Punished?”

  “Burned at the stake.”

  Ah. This was indeed an issue. Tex was an annoying, kinky weirdo, but he was my annoying, kinky weirdo.

  “I thought that kind of thing was frowned upon these days?” I offered.

  “The Prelate has decided to purge the evil that has proliferated within the empire. The nobles are degenerate, and the people have lost their faith. They pay lip service to the gods. We must reignite the fire in their souls!” he exclaimed fervently.

  “By burning their bodies?”

  “Some of them.” There was a clank as he shrugged, and his pauldrons settled back into place.

  “I’ll look into the problem with the book. You can rest assured the perpetrator will be punished.” Handing him over to Kat for genital realignment seemed like a fair judgment.

  “I appreciate that gesture, Baronet. There is also the Swinging Cod. The drinking, the hairy baker, and the sluttily dressed whore of a barmaid–” There was a clang as my fist slammed into his helmet, leaving a dent. He flew sideways and collapsed like a puppet with the strings cut. Wrath revelled in my mind, and Lust made some inappropriate suggestions for disposing of the body.

  “Bollocks.” I leaned down and gripped him under the armpits to hoist him over one shoulder. Despite his armour, the weight wasn’t an issue, but I was getting even more funny looks as I strode towards the Cod with his head dangling at the base of my back.

  I swung the door open and strode in. The hubbub was a constant drone; every chair was filled, with the exception of the one reserved for me. Tankards of ale, carafes of wine, bowls of stew, and delicate sweet-pastries were being consumed at a pace that made my Greed-Goblin swoon in pleasure.

  A green blur threaded its way through the tables and leapt up to wrap slender arms and firm thighs around my body. The kiss was brief but intense. I must have dropped Light Invincible at some point, as my foot nudged against his body.

  Esme backed up a step and gave me a level look. Then her arm flashed, and her palm slammed into my cheek.

  “What was that for?” I asked, rubbing my cheek.

  “Ask your fiancé,” she snapped over her shoulder as she stalked back to the bar.