The broom scraped across the cobblestones just outside the shop as Narris, as ever, lost himself in the sky and the dreams within it. He'd always been told he was a dreamy young man, more focused on the possible rather than the actual. But that suited him fine. Unfortunately, it hadn't suited his father, who'd gotten him a job with dear uncle Castor.
But Narris did like Shopworth. The big port city was a feast of delights, so long as one had the money. Sadly, Narris rarely did. Ah, but if he did, he would have visited the delightful red light district again. Or maybe buy a ticket on a ship to distant, exciting shores. Or maybe even a pleasure cruise to some of those islands where the women only wore leaves...
"Narris! Get your ass in here!"
Narris sighed and stopped sweeping the step. Oh well. Back to work, he supposed.
Letting the broom lean against the wall he turned his steps reluctantly back into the
Castor's Companions
. Passing into the gloom, he squinted at the lone light that lit his uncle's office.
The front of the store was a meager thing, with little more than a desk stripped of varnish sitting at the back end, the walls so tight on either side Narris felt like the place was trying to crush him every time he stepped inside. Behind the counter was the door into the back room and the warehouse, while hung all down and along the walls were framed posters of what kind of stock the shop had. Narris scanned them idly. He liked to do that. Most were very beautiful. Lots of shops specialized in more savage and deadly monsters, but his uncle had made a business out of dealing only in monster girls. A very risky venture, in all truth, for though every knew to avoid the teeth of a wyrm or the glare of a basilisk, looking into a lamia's eyes or cuddling a sloth demon was much more tempting. But no less dangerous.
Still, there was never a lack of customers. Monster girls were prized as companions, once 'tamed'. Though said taming was never a guarantee. One had to be careful, for a monster girl would gleefully turn on her master, and make him the slave.
Narris's eyes finally wandered down to rest on his uncle, who was positively fuming as he threw on a dun-brown jacket with long baggy sleeves, the older man's mustache bristling like Narris's broom.
"What's up, uncle?" Narris said, watching how the lamplight gleamed off the older man's bald head. He wondered if Castor used polish...
"What's up? What's up! I'll tell you what! Those damn idiots at the docks finally get my shipment of sprites in, and they drop the cage and split it open! Now the little bastards are filling up the ship's hold, which is making the whole damn thing float, and if it gets damaged, they're telling me I'm the one who'll get charged!"
"Wow," Narris said, amazed at how red the old man's face could get. First the nose, then spreading to the cheeks. He hadn't seen his uncle this furious in a loooong time. "That sucks."
"Sucks he says!" Castor snarled as he grabbed his floppy, pointy wizard's cap and shoved it on his bald head. "Yes, it does bloody well suck! So I need to head there and deal with that."
"Ohhhh," Narris said. "Then, does that mean it's a half day?"
"A half day? A half day! Dammit all!" the old man cursed, pulling out a pocket watch and checking the time. He cursed again, snapping the lid shut and shoving it away. "Listen here. Close up the shop and lock the doors. I'll be back before too long. But you stay here! Sweep up inside or... or something! I promised your father I'd make something out of you, and I damn well will, whether you like it or not! In my day..."
From excellent practice, Narris tuned his uncle out, instead focusing on a fly buzzing near the other man's ear. Ah, to be free as a fly. Not tied down to some silliness about magic and lineage and other stuff. But then, if he was a fly, he'd only live for... a week? Something like that. That'd be unfortunate. Not nearly enough time to romance that cute waitress down at the
Cutlass String
. What was her name again?
Narris instinctively sensed his uncle was winding down his tirade, so pulled his mind back to the present.
"...and by the gods I'll make you see that!"
"Sure thing, uncle," Narris said.
Castor harrumphed, jerking his coat shut. "See you do! Now watch the shop. And," he added, wagging a fat finger for emphasis, "don't you even think of going back into the warehouse!"
"Never, uncle," Narris said. "I'd never disobey you like that."
"Hmph! See you don't. Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous!" Castor growled as he stormed past Narris, who had to squeeze against the wall to let the older man past.
Narris winced at the slam of the door, then he sighed, blowing some air to shift the bangs that had fallen over his eyes. He wandered over behind the desk and sat down in the chair, leaning back in it and planting his heels on the desk.
So. Watch the shop. Make sure no one breaks in or whatever. Sure. The door was locked anyway.
Well, the front door was.
Narris's eyes drifted to the backdoor. A heavy plank thing bonded with iron straps. He bobbed in the chair lazily. Uncle Castor had never allowed him back there without being with the older man. Usually to fetch some product for a client. And that was rare. His uncle always locked the thing otherwise, but it was a blood magic lock, like all the ones in the store, and was tied to his uncle's bloodline. Which meant that Narris could open it if he really wanted to.
The creaks of his chair faded as Narris stopped rocking it.
...Shouldn't he check on the stock?
He glanced at the front door again.
...His uncle had left in quite the hurry. Probably hadn't even had time to check and make sure all the windows in the warehouse had been closed up.
And after all.
Narris was in charge for the moment.
Until his uncle came back.
Narris felt a lazy smile twitch his lips. With another creak he rose from the chair and touched the handle of the door. He felt the subtle thrum of magic in it. A more passive ward to prevent anyone but his uncle from opening it. But since Narris was dear Castor's nephew, his blood was true enough that the latch flicked, and he was able to push the door open.
A wizard's warehouse was a strange thing to behold. For one, the idea of 'space' was more of a suggestion to those of the arcane inkling. For another, the cages which held the stock were quite different from what most might expect. To be sure, there were the heavy iron bars, all of which glowed with sealing magic, but the space behind them was more an opulent room than a cell. Necessary, for the buyers of Castor's stock were looking for companions and beauty, not misery and degradation.
Well, usually.
Instead, the space in the cages seemed to stretch out strangely, as if looking at them through a fish-eye lens. He spotted a palace bedroom of silks and pink behind bars. An lavish lounge glowed in another. And not far from that was what looked a bit like the interior of a barn.
