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place and I have no idea who just hit me. “Knock it off,” I mutter, turning back to see that the barman has finally started to refill my glass with more of the groggy, soapy sludge that passes for beer in this place.
    “Sorry for the delay,” he mutters with a grin. “Busy night.”
    I force a smile, even though I just want a drink. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out some coins and drop them onto the bar. There should be enough there.
    “Here on your own, are you?” the barman asks. He's trying to sound casual, but I know there's more to it than that. In the mire-lands, people keep to themselves unless they think there's profit to be gained from talking. Picking up one of the more badly-damaged coins, he frowns and turns it around in his grubby fingers. “Where the hell's this from?”
    “It's old,” I whisper.
    “I can see that.” He holds it closer, trying to make out the lettering. He doesn't stand a chance. “You must've passed through some dark lands to get a coin like this.”
    “Must have.”
    He sets it down and collects a few other, more familiar coins as payment. “And now you're here, huh?” he says after a moment; again, he's trying to sound casual, but the coin clearly got his attention and I think he's pegged me as more than just a random straggler.
    “Just passing through,” I mutter, looking down at the surface of the bar.
    “Human?”
    I turn and glare at him.
    “Okay,” he continues, setting my drink down, “clearly not human. Didn't mean to offend. I can't quite get a handle on you, though. I always say I can guess the species of anyone who comes into this my pub, but you...” He frowns. “You're not a vampire, are you?”
    I can't help but smile as I shake my head. As if I could ever be mistaken for a common vampire. I should tear out the imbecile's bowels for making such a foul suggestion.
    “Werewolf?”
    Rolling my eyes, I take a long, deep glug of beer.
    “Are you from the Great Library?” he asks, leaning over the bar and peering at my left shoulder. “Is that a patch from the Soldiers of Tea on your shoulder?”
    “Just something I got from a corpse I found on the road,” I reply. “I'm not from the Great Library.”
    “Then what are you?” he asks. “Sorry, it's just... Well, me and Grimmer were talking a moment ago and, well, we've got a little bet going on. I reckon you're something distantly related to humans -”
    I glare at him again.
    “Not saying you are human,” he adds, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I wouldn't insult you, not like that. Just that you're vaguely, like, not a million miles from that neck of the woods.” He sniffs. “Grimmer, on the other hand, reckons you're from much further afield, like maybe even from somewhere we haven't heard of. That happens, sometimes. A traveler from a distant land wanders through the door, bringing an unfamiliar scent and...” He pauses for a moment, eying me with suspicion. “Unfamiliar coins.”
    Looking across toward the far end of the bar, I see that one of the other drunk idiots is watching me with interest. I guess he must be Grimmer, all six-foot hulking muscle-pumped mass of him, looking like someone who spent far too long working down in the Culk mines without a day off. Even from here, I can see that beer's dribbling down his chin and onto his bare, curly-haired chest, and finally I look down at my beer in an attempt to keep from laughing out loud. The people of the mire-lands are just a bunch of worthless wretches, barely evolved from the scummy plankton that floats in the bogs. They're just fuel, to keep the rest of the world burning.
    And if I told them the truth, if I actually proved to them that I'm a spider using a humanoid form for disguise, I'd clear the room in ten seconds flat.
    No, five.
    After all, everyone thinks my people are long gone. Panic would spread far and fast if they learned otherwise.
    “Evening,” a voice growls suddenly.
    Turning, I see that the delectable