If you had to guess where the best breakfast in Lowtown was, the last place you’d think of is a strip joint. Nevertheless, here Arthur was, sipping coffee at the bar in The Cockpit, the club right below Elyas's office. They were open 24 hours – only, in the morning, they operated as a diner. You got the meal without the show, which was just how Arthur liked it.

  Jacques the barman came out of the kitchen balancing several dishes on his arms. "One plate of golden waffles and one order of bacon and eggs," he said. He had on lip gloss and sported a ripped-sleeve shirt that showed off his toned musculature.

  "Waffles over here." Elyas had barely finished his sentence before ravaging the stack of waffles.

  "Bacon and eggs," said Arthur.

  Jacques dropped the dish in front of Arthur and moved off to serve the other customers their meals. The bacon smelled heavenly, almost good enough to overcome the reek of ale and… other stuff.

  Arthur put aside his newspaper and dug in. No new job listings since yesterday. None that matched his interests and qualifications, at least. He was planning, though, to attend the tryouts for a security job at a noble house this weekend, so that was something. Other than that, nil. Zilch. Nada, as Elyas would say.

  It’s been over three weeks by now. Three weeks of roof painting, lawn mowing, gutter cleaning, dog sitting, outhouse renovating, and whatever else Elyas's clients could think up. Arthur could have left by now to work any other blue-collar job elsewhere, but something about Elyas made him want to stick around longer just to see what would happen. So until he found a decent adventuring gig, Arthur was staying put.

  And another thing. Elyas hadn't paid him a lick for any of the odd jobs he had Arthur do. Elyas claimed he would pay him monthly, and Arthur wanted to stay around long enough so he could personally whack the guy when that promise inevitably fell through.

  "So," said Elyas, "anything interesting?"

  "The news or the listings? Either way, no."

  "Shame." Elyas bit off a big chunk of waffle. "I, for one, am looking forward to work today."

  "You cannot seriously be planning to stalk that guy for real."

  "He's an adulterer."

  "Suspected adulterer.”

  "Don't know what all your fuss is about. This stuff’s standard fanfare for private adventurers."

  "You mean private investigators," Arthur said, "Apparently, what private adventurers do" – he put air quotes around 'adventurers' – "is pretend to be someone's boyfriend for a wedding or pose nude for art students."

  "Not that there's anything wrong with doing those things for a living," Arthur was quick to add as Jacques passed them on his way to the kitchen. With an awkward smile, Arthur raised his coffee to him before turning back to Elyas and continuing in a hushed voice, "Except you need to, you know, get paid for it to be counted as making a living."

  Elyas took a loud, slurping sip of coffee. "You can leave whenever you want. And you know I'd never force you to do anything you weren't comfortable with."

  Those were all true, Arthur had to admit. He also got room and board, not to mention three free meals a day. He threw up his arms. "Fine, I can wait for the paycheck. But I'm not going to be a part of wrecking a home or whatever you plan on doing."

  "Thought as much," said Elyas. "Lucky for you, I got another assignment. It’s right up your alley."

  "Thank Greg."

  "Mr. Jenkins needs help at his bookstore. His intern quit, and he's swamped."

  Finally. A job where Arthur didn't have to take off his clothes or pretend to be a doctor. "I'll take it. Point me to this bookstore."

  "Thank you, come again," Arthur said, handing the two ladies their tote bag of bodice rippers.

  They giggled and made their way to the door. One of them looked back and winked at him before leaving.

  Elyas might have omitted a few details about the bookstore. For one, Arthur wasn't expecting to be wearing a black mask and a tight leather suit that showed skin in certain places.

  His boss, a 30-something gnome by the name of Lew Jenkins, trotted out of the storage room hefting a stack of booklets. He dropped them next to Arthur on the counter. "Here you go, lad. Need you to stack these at the top shelf over at the graphics section. Can't reach it, see."

  Arthur scanned the covers. The art was of a different style compared to your typical steamy smut.

  "Like what you see?" Jenkins said, "It's the latest craze of imports. Very popular amongst the youth."

  The topmost book's cover had a cute, furry girl with cat ears. Arthur had never seen a nekofolk in person before.

  "Hey, I didn't pay you to stand around," Jenkins said. "Go look at them on your own time. I'll man the counter." He hopped onto a stool and smiled at the next customer in line.

  Except he didn’t pay Arthur; he paid Elyas. Whatever. At least Arthur got to keep the tips. He took the stack of books to the graphics section where he found a flock of teenagers ogling the latest issue of a serial.

  "Aren't you boys a little too young to be reading this stuff?" Arthur said.

  "Aren't you a little too stupid to be minding your own business," said a pimply boy.

  "That doesn't make any sense," his chubby friend said.

  "Man, screw you," said the first boy.

  "Both of you shut up," said a kid with glasses. He turned to look at Arthur, "Sorry, sir, they're idiots and, yes, we are 18 and above. Says it right here on our IDs." He pretended to ruffle through his pouch.

  "Never mind," said Arthur, "If you'd excuse me I need to put these over there."

  The boys moved over to a different spot.

  Kids these day. No manners or respect whatsoever. Wait. What was Arthur thinking? He was barely out of college himself. Couple months in the real world and he was already having a midlife crisis.

  A light tap on the shoulder interrupted his internal grumblings.

  "Excuse me young man," said a middle-aged woman in a black dress, "where might one find the sex dice?"

  "It's right over by the sex role playing games," Arthur said. "You know what, why don't I show you the way?"

  She looked like she was from one of the upper circles which meant she tipped big. Oh the people you meet in an adult bookstore.

  Late in the afternoon, a loud knock rattled the door.

  "Come in, we're open," Arthur said.

  The knocking persisted in a slightly angrier timbre.

  "The door isn't locked, you can just—"

  "By order of the High Priest of the Church of Brannia, I demand you open this door right this instant!"

  "Just a sec," Arthur said. He walked to the door and swung it inward. The little bell dinged above his head. "What can I do you for?"

  In front of him stood three men dressed in showy, red robes that wouldn’t look out of place on a court jester. The man in the center wore a wide-brimmed red hat, his goatee and curled mustache matching his chestnut hair; the one on the left had on a knight's helmet over his head and a gauntlet in one hand; and the one on the right was quite obviously wearing a toupee to cover a bald spot.

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  The man in the hat had been holding up a wanted poster. He put it down the second he saw Arthur. His thin brows scrunched into a line, his sharp features contorting into a scowl. "What the hell are you supposed to be?"

  "Look, I'm just trying to make a living here."

  "You call this living?"

  Arthur took a deep breath. "What can I do for you?" he said, loud and slow.

  The guy raised the poster again. "Have you seen this individual?"

  Arthur leaned forward. The black-and-white ink sketch was of a wavy-haired girl with a strong nose and bushy eyebrows. She also had long, pointy ears.

  "Can't say I have," Arthur said.

  "Are you sure?" said the bald guy in a squeaky voice. He peered over Arthur's shoulder into the bookstore.

  "Not a lot of elves walking these streets," Arthur said. "I'd have remembered if I saw one."

  "Might we take a look inside these premises?" said the goatee man.

  "Why?"

  "If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear."

  “If we have nothing to hide, you have nothing to look for.”

  “Look at that, Fulvio, he think’s a smart-ass,” said Baldy to Goatee.

  Goatee — Fulvio, apparently — pushed Arthur aside and barged into the room, his subordinates on his tail.

  The three men gasped, eyes wide and jaws agape. Except for the guy in the full helmet; he was viciously shaking his headgear side to side.

  "Oh the horror!" Baldy wailed.

  "Such debauchery!" Fulvio exclaimed.

  Helmet also made some indecipherable interjections from behind the metal gear.

  "What is going on here?" Came Jenkin’s voice from the store room, followed by Jenkin’s body. "Holy crabcakes! What did you bring the Inquisition here for?"

  "Sorry,” Arthur said. “They just came in.”

  The goatee man directed his wrathful gaze toward the gnome. "Are you the owner of this sinful, depraved heap of—"

  "And what if I am?" Jenkins crossed his arms.

  "Then you will answer to the high tribunal, you degenerate."

  "Get out of my store!" Jenkins yelled. "You think you're better than me, you upper circle freaks."

  The bald scoffed. "Bet he doesn't even own a bible."

  The helmet guy whispered a few words to his superior.

  "Right!" The lead inquisitor said. He raised the poster. "I'd expect a treacherous miscreant such as yourself to harbor a criminal. Men, search the premises."

  "What criminal?! I don't even know who you're talking about," said Jenkins. "Hey! Don't touch that."

  The three inquisitors went through the bookstore like a typhoon. They knocked over displays and pushed over shelves as if expecting to find the elf woman hiding behind a stack.

  "Arthur, do something," said Jenkins.

  "I... what should I do?" Arthur said.

  "Stop them!"

  Mei once told Arthur there came a time in every young adventurer's career when he must choose between lawful good, chaotic good, and lawful stupid. Would he bend to authority and abide by the letter of the law, or would he side with the common man? Or, would he do something even stupider?

  The answer was none of the above, for in that moment, he did something he knew he would later regret: nothing.

  Torn pages fluttered in the air, and mounds of battered books piled on the floor as the inquisitors ravaged the bookstore. Helmet guy pointed at the backroom.

  "Aha!" said Fulvio. "That's where he must be hiding the elf girl." He stomped his way over the littered floor toward the storage.

  Jenkins chased him from behind. "Hey, that’s off limits!"

  "What in Greg's good name..." said the inquisitor, "FILTH! And not just any filth but filth from those oriental heathens."

  "It's called hentai and it's art!"

  "Perversion," the inquisitor said as he stared, horror-stricken, at a book he was holding.

  Jenkins nabbed the volume from the robed man's hands. "I can assure you, all the characters depicted are 18 and older even if they don't look like it."

  "And this?" said the inquisitor, picking up a book with a tied-up woman.

  "It's all consensual," insisted Jenkins. "Who are we to judge her kinks?"

  "That one’s covered in tentacles!"

  "I'm sure the octopus was 18 and consenting."

  And last but not least, the inquisitor picked up a book whose cover featured two nude, hunky men, one pinning the other against a wall. He had no words.

  "Oh, no you don't," started Jenkins.

  "Men, to me," the leader said to the others. "It’s time we ended this."

  The three inquisitors marched outside. Arthur and Jenkins followed them out.

  Fulvio drew a flask containing clear liquid and lobbed it at the bookstore. The flask smashed through the window and splattered its contents over the bookstore's very flammable merchandise. The other two took out their flasks and did the same.

  "What was that?" Jenkins said, "What did you just throw?!"

  Fulvio took out a little box from which he drew a matchstick. "May the fires of heaven cleanse this desecrated haven of the Devil." He tried to light the match, but it never reached the box.

  Arthur’s fist tightened on the inquisitor’s wrist. "That's enough."

  All the color left his face, leaving nothing but the brown on his facial hair. He struggled against the grip, but to Arthur, it was like gripping a scarecrow's arm.

  The other two inquisitors drew weapons from underneath their gowns. "Let him go," said the bald man.

  The helmet guy waved a mace around, but Arthur didn't budge. The air hung still for several seconds.

  Then Arthur loosened his grip. "I think you should leave right now. Sir." He said it as calmly as he could.

  Fulvio clutched at his wrist. Then he reached under his garments, grabbed a sickle hanging from his loincloth, and lunged at Arthur. His two fellows were quick to follow.

  Arthur sidestepped the sickle and grabbed the man by his weapon arm, swinging him in the direction of the guy with the mace. The two of them fell forward in a heap. Then Arthur swiveled around just as the club wielder was swinging his weapon in a downward arc.

  Arthur struck his face with an open palm, and with the other hand, he stopped the man's upper arm before the club could gain momentum. Arthur ducked under the arm and swung him at the others, who were only starting to get up. The inquisitors tumbled like pins.

  "Yeah! Go get 'em," said Jenkins from along the sidelines.

  The inquisitors got to their feet and dusted their robes. It didn't matter that there were three of them. Arthur could tell they weren't a quarter as good as Elyas was. He reached to his side. How fortunate it was that the costume came with a weapon of sorts. It wasn't the deadly type of whip. That was probably for the better; it would have been too easy to maim them accidentally.

  They weren't ready to give up just yet, however. Goatee ordered the other two to spread out and flank Arthur. Looks like they weren’t completely brain-dead. At the leader's command, they all rushed at him at once.

  Arthur did a leaping front roll in one direction, his mask falling off along the way, and was back on his feet in an instant. The three nearly rammed into each other but reoriented themselves in time. That would have been too perfect. Arthur was still ahead of them, though. He lashed the whip out at Baldy’s face to distract him, then in another motion, lashed it at the sickle. The whip wrapped around the inquisitor's arm, and Arthur dragged him into the path of the helmet guy.

  On it went. Arthur dodged their attacks and made them bump into each other in increasingly comical ways. They toppled over and over like newborn colts, yet they still hadn't had enough. Fulvio was particularly aggressive. He screamed and waved the sickle as he charged at Arthur again and again.

  It was time to end this.

  Both feet planted and shoulders squared, Arthur landed a full-strength punch directed toward the man's curly mustache. He flew several feet backward into the arms of his companions. Blood oozed from his broken nose. It took a while for him to get up this time around.

  When he was finally on his feet, he yelled at Arthur, "You wo' ge' awa' wi' this."

  "We'll be back, mark our words," said the bald man. His wig had come off, and the sun glistened against his scalp. "We know your face."

  The helmet man shook his gauntlet at Arthur.

  The three idiots scampered away to thunderous applause.

  Arthur blinked a few times. It seemed a crowd materialized at some point during the fight, and judging by the cheers, the inquisition wasn't very popular in these parts.

  "Atta boy, you showed 'em," said Mr. Jenkins. "I should give you a raise, no, a promotion. And you can have all the smutty books you want for life."

  Except Arthur wasn't thinking about that right now. We'll be back, the man had said, we know your face.

  Oh shit.

  Jenkins's jolly mood didn't last forever. His business was still a wreck.

  After the crowd dispersed, Arthur helped Jenkins clean up the shop. The inquisitors did a real number to the bookstore, but aside from the broken window and a smashed bookshelf, most of the goods remained intact.

  Jenkins kept to his promise and told Arthur to pick out half a dozen books to bring home – an offer that was politely turned down. Then he insisted on giving Arthur 'overtime hazard pay.' Arthur didn't feel all that comfortable with a reward. Jenkins was adamant, however, so in the end, he accepted.

  He thanked the gnome and headed for home before he could be offered anything else. It felt weird to accept payment for doing the right thing. But isn't this what he wanted to be doing anyway?

  Being in a real-life combat encounter felt a little different from what he was expecting. Notwithstanding his skirmish with Elyas, this was the first time he had doled out serious violence outside of the controlled environment of the academy. He had already wiped the nose blood from his knuckles, but he could still feel the sensation of the inquisitor's cracking bones on it.

  He wasn't about to curl up in a ball and sob or anything. It just felt off, that's all. Like the difference between eating fried chicken and having to kill and skin the chicken yourself before cooking it. He did eventually get used to killing chickens. Arthur could thank his father for that. Dad was a hard man. He wouldn't have backed down from these bullies just like he didn't back down from that wyvern.

  But Arthur had never before killed a chicken that might strike back the next day with an army of chickens. This was worse than a wyvern, dragon, or wyrm. He had to tell Elyas everything. He'd know what do. Arthur just wasn't sure how he’d take it.

  It was early evening now, and men and women were pouring into The Cockpit. Arthur could recognize some of the regulars and was already familiar with the performers too.

  "Evening, Arthur," said a man in a knight’s costume. "Finally decided to join the show, eh?"

  Arthur looked down and realized he had forgotten to take off the black suit. "Not today, Jerry. This was for something else."

  "Some other time then. Someone's been waiting for you, by the way. She's up there right now. Hope you don't mind that I let her in."

  "Not at all. Thanks."

  A client? At this hour? Maybe a friend of Elyas's. Speaking of, he should be home by now. Wonder how the stalking job went?

  He headed upstairs and found the office door closed. The trapdoor, on the other hand, was wide open.

  He clambered up the rope ladder. "Elyas private adventuring services, how may we—"

  Arthur cut himself short when he saw the lady lying on his bed. She was a young woman about his age, with olive skin and grape-violet eyes. Her bushy hair was also the color of olives, in the sense that it was green. But most important of all were the pointy ears sticking out of that hair.

  She sat up and looked Arthur up and down. "And who are you supposed to be?" she said, stifling a laugh.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Arthur.