Badger clawed, fought, struggled, kicked, and bit, but the thick hessian surface of the bag would not give way. Recognizing a temporary defeat, badger lay still, uncomfortably bundled. Doubtless it might be easier to undertake this journey in teakettle form, but in this aspect, the badger's sense of smell was somewhat impaired, although he was still able to see and hear. So he remained in his animal being and let himself be bumped and carried through wherever it was that he was being taken.
He thought it was probably Hell. It smelled like Hell: there was a reeking undercurrent of stale iron that was extremely familiar. Which part of Hell, though?—that was the question. Had they come straight to the upper levels, or were they moving through one of the lower? If the latter case, then badger might himself start changing, although this was by no means inevitable. Into what, remained to be seen.
He could get little sense of who, or what, had snatched him. The person did not seem to smell of anything apart from a faint scent of magic, which to the badger's mind was suspicious. Humans smelled of human, whatever cultural factors might come into play (Westerners had that odd dairy stink, for instance); Heavenkind always had that unwholesome note of peach, and demons smelled of—well, anything and everything, usually noxious. But this person—impossible to tell. That meant that someone had gone to some lengths to disguise their natural odor and probably their appearance as well. Badger gave a growl, just to see what the response would be. None whatsoever. That meant that his captor was not afraid of him.
Annoying.
The journey continued for a while longer. Badger occupied the time by trying to get a sense of his surroundings, and also in attempting to contact Mistress. He thought he could sense her, but only occasionally, and she was very, very far away. Back on Earth, in other words. If he were being carried deep into Hell, then he would soon lose all trace of her. Badger growled again and this time the bag was given a sharp hard thump. Badger subsided. But wait! He had stopped moving, and there were voices.
His captor was speaking, but badger did not understand the language. It wasn't Mandarin or Cantonese, or any of the tongues of Hell. He did not think it was English, although that gabbled lisping language was not one with which he was particularly familiar. He'd heard it on Mistress' television, however, and this just did not sound the same.
Someone was having a bit of an argument, though, unless badger was greatly mistaken. Then the bag was pulled abruptly open and badger's world was flooded with scent.
Cumin. Ginger. Fire. Jasmine. Shit. Frangipani.
The badger blinked, dazzled by the onrush of color that accompanied these odors. Crimson and yellow and gold and a deep rich blue; emerald and purple and ivory. Never mind the lightshow. Badger bit the nearest thing to hand and was rewarded with the taste of blood. Someone yelled and badger received a blow to the head that made the new world ring. Badger was not particularly bothered by this. He snarled. A loop was thrown around his neck and pulled tight.
"We can kill you, little demon," said a voice. "No trouble at all."
Wait, badger counseled himself. Wait. He knew there would be an opportunity. There always was. It was easier to see now. He was in a high, red room: crimson walls, brighter than blood, and veined with sequins. A silk hanging covered half the door and on it played multicolored embroidered birds. Somewhere, there was an eldritch parrot screech and the hanging fluttered, as if a wind had passed through the room. Outside, between open columns, the badger saw a sky the color of roses.
"Where is this place?" the badger said.
"Why . . ." the voice replied. A woman materialized out of the air: oiled hair, yellow eyes. Gold and citrine carried a drenching light. She raised a hand, mailed in metal lace. "You are in Hell, little demon."
The badger stared at her, coldly. "This is not the Hell that I know."
"Who said it was yours?"
She put him on a collar and leash, keeping nimble fingers well out of the way, and the indignity pained him more than anything else. Then, with the silken skirts of her sari whipping around her heels like gilded mist, she led him down indigo corridors and ivory, past a room in which a naked woman and two naked boys lay entwined, past another in which a woman wept alone. The woman had feathers instead of hair, vivid as a parakeet, and her arms were mottled with blood. The badger filed all this away for later: he had seen much before.
Then they were heading down a long hallway, and here badger saw that the wall was decorated with many wooden and metal plaques. Attached to each of these was a head: some human, with eyes like boiled sweets. Several were white-skinned, wearing curious round hats. Some were clearly demonic, but of forms unknown to the badger. None, however, were animal and of this, the badger approved. At the end of the hall, in front of a lacquered ornamental table, lay the skin of something that had been twice the size of a man, black-skinned, with tufts along its spine and a tusked head. It was slightly askew; badger's new captor pushed it back into place with her foot.
Next, he was taken outside under a long colonnade, heat struck him with a spicy rush and fountains played in the gardens below. Something arced and golden hissed up into the shadowed ceiling of the colonnade: a small winged snake. Below, running through ornamental stands of hibiscus, were a herd of black antelope, spotted with red. They were singing as they went, with voices like off-key dulcimers.
Beyond the gardens, he saw mountains, Himalaya-high, but their snow-swept summits were crested with palaces carved of ice. There seemed to be something beyond that, another mountain wall, high and higher yet, but he could not see it clearly. He could smell the wind, though, the snow-breath that carried with it cardamom and sherbet.
"Come along," his captor said, and tugged not-gently at the leash. She pulled him through a door at the end of the colonnade and here, all was darkness.
"I've brought him to you," his captor said, into shadows.
"Oh good." Another female voice, silvery as bells, and a lamp flared up.
The badger thought: I have seen you before. I have smelled you. Golden-eyed and tiger-striped, she still had her human face, but as it came into the circle of light cast by the lamp, he saw that it was not the same woman.
The last time badger had seen a tiger demon in her Hellish shape, it had been in his own houseboat home, in the arms of Zhu Irzh, in Chen's borrowed bed. Husband had not been pleased, when informed of this indiscretion. Jhai Tserai, industrialist, schemer, demon-who-could-not-be, at least under the poorly understood laws of Earth. Jhai had taken suppressants to conceal her tiger stripes, her tiger tail. Now, the badger stared. Yes. You are the same kind, if not the same woman.
"Oh, he's adorable," this person gushed. "Look at his little paws! And his little nose!" She stretched out a finger.
"I really wouldn't—" his captor began.
Moments later, badger found out what tiger flesh tasted like. Surprisingly gamey, but then, they were carnivores.
The tiger demon hissed and swore, clutching the stump of her severed digit. The lamp went out, the room became magic-black. Badger's ears rang with the sudden power of a spell. "That's better." Whole again, she looked down at him, flexing the renewed digit. "Do that again, you stripy piece of shit, and I'll be walking on a badger-skin rug."