Kip’s casual mention of the underground market kept replaying in Brakar’s ears. The lizardman’s words had dropped into their conversation like stones into still water, sending ripples through Brakar’s carefully maintained composure.

  “The Undercroft Market might prove useful for your inventory needs. They trade in all manner of goods there—some quite exotic.” His tail swayed thoughtfully. “Including living merchandise.”

  The clinical way he’d said it, as if discussing the weather rather than slavery, made Brakar’s stomach turn. Yet Kip’s demeanor remained unchanged—still helpful, still courteous, still meticulously arranging his tools as he planned their front counter.

  Thadan, predictably, hadn’t even blinked at the suggestion. He’d simply nodded, that familiar calculating look crossing his face. “We’ll keep that in mind,” he’d said, and immediately steered the conversation back to wood types and finishing techniques.

  Kip knelt by the wall, his fingers skimming across the surface. “If I may recommend, a counter of similar proportions to Greenwood’s would suit this space admirably. Perhaps eight feet in length...”

  He pulled out a worn notebook, making precise marks with a stub of charcoal.

  “Oak for the primary structure, I believe. The grain provides excellent durability.” His tail swished methodically as he wrote. “Though perhaps we might consider maple for the accent work. The contrast would be... most pleasing.”

  “Whatever you think is best.” Thadan’s voice carried that forced lightness he used when trying to change subjects.

  “The height should match industry standard—forty-two inches.” Kip’s claws clicked against his measuring tape. “We’ll want to include a recessed workspace on the customer-facing side. Perhaps with discrete compartments for document storage.”

  Brakar watched the lizardman work, unable to reconcile this methodical craftsman with someone who’d so casually suggested trafficking in living beings.

  “If I may suggest, we should incorporate a slight overhang on the customer side. Thirty inches deep overall, with a fourteen-inch workspace.” Kip’s measuring tape snapped back with surgical precision. “And naturally, we’ll want to include proper support brackets every twenty-four inches.”

  “For the finish...” Kip consulted his notes again. “Perhaps a combination of oils. Linseed as a base, with a touch of tung oil for depth. We’ll want at least three coats, properly cured between appli…”

  Brakar felt Thadan’s hand on his arm, pulling him aside. They moved to a corner of the shop while Kip continued his measurements, speaking in hushed tones that wouldn’t carry.

  “I know that look,” Thadan said, his voice low. “You’re overthinking this.”

  “Am I?” Brakar glanced at Kip, who was now making detailed notes in a small leather-bound book. “He just casually mentioned slave trading, Thad. Like he was suggesting a new supplier for wood polish.”

  “He’s being generous with his time and expertise, and we can barely afford materials.”

  Brakar’s fingers worried at a loose thread on his sleeve. “When you put it that way, it feels wrong taking advantage of an old craftsman like this.”

  “Kind old craftsman?” Thadan’s mouth twitched. “He’s young.”

  “Young? He has to be at least—”

  “One hundred and twenty, give or take. It means he’s basically a teenager by their standards.” Thadan raked his fingers through his hair, like he always does when he’s working through a complex problem. “Think about it—he’s got all the technical skills of his race, all their accumulated knowledge, but he’s still developing their cultural understanding. To him, the underground market is just... another market.”

  The explanation made a certain twisted sense, but it didn’t entirely settle the unease in Brakar’s stomach. “That doesn’t make it right.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” Thadan’s expression softened slightly. “But it means we don’t have to write him off completely. He’s learning, just like we are. Just... in different areas.”

  “Still doesn’t solve how we’re going to pay him for all this.”

  “Let me worry about that part. Besides, he doesn’t want to be paid.”

  “We should get back,” Thadan said finally. “We still need his help with the counter, and...” He hesitated. “We need to check on our inventory.”

  Before Brakar could respond, Kip’s voice carried across the room. “If I may interrupt?” The lizardman gestured to his notes. “I believe I have a preliminary design that would suit your needs. Perhaps we could discuss the details?”

  They spent the next hour reviewing Kip’s plans, which were impressively detailed. The counter he proposed would incorporate elements from the one they’d admired at Greenwood Furnishings, but with subtle modifications that would better suit their space. Every suggestion came with careful explanation, each decision supported by years of experience that seemed at odds with his supposed youth.

  As Kip walked them through the design’s finer points, Brakar found his thoughts drifting to the mimics in the backroom. They’d left them in various states of furniture-hood after yesterday’s excitement, trusting in his ability to keep them docile.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  “The finish would need at least three days to properly cure,” Kip was saying, his claw tip tracing a particularly intricate detail in his sketches. “Though in this climate, I’d recommend allowing a full week.”

  Thadan’s expression shifted to what Brakar privately thought of as his ‘about to suggest something terrible’ face. “Brak, come with me to the back.”

  “Alright, what brilliant idea just hit you?”

  “Remember those little mimics? The ones you put to sleep?”

  “They’re not asleep, they’re in a suspended—”

  “Yeah, yeah. Can you make them turn into lanterns?” Thadan asked, crouching down to eye level with one of the smaller mimics and squinting at it.

  “Theoretically. But transforming that many at once would drain me completely,” Brakar said, casually lifting one of the mimics to inspect it.

  “Perfect!”

  “Not perfect. I’d be useless for at least a day.”

  “So take tomorrow off.”

  “And leave you unsupervised with a shop full of predatory furniture?”

  “Give me some credit.”

  “I have. That’s why I’m worried,” Brakar said.

  “Look, just hear me out. What if we rented them?”

  “Rented... lanterns?”

  “Think about it—fancy parties, outdoor events, mood lighting that actually understands mood...”

  “And occasionally eats the guests?”

  “Will you stop with the eating thing?” Thadan asked.

  “I will not.”

  “Fine. But imagine: self-adjusting brightness, perfect positioning, atmospheric effects...”

  “Yeah yeah, I get it.”

  “Right? Plus, we control the rental duration. No long-term commitment, no risk of them getting too hungry...”

  “So you want me to exhaust myself turning predators into party decorations?”

  “Saying it like that makes me sound ridiculous.”

  “It is ridiculous.”

  “But you’ll do it?”

  “...give me an hour and it’ll be done,” Brakar said.

  “Have I mentioned you’re my favorite business partner?”

  “I’m your only business partner.”

  “Detai–”

  “Don’t even.”

  With that, Thadan disappeared back into the main shop, leaving Brakar alone with their slumbering inventory. The mimics lay still, their surfaces occasionally rippling like disturbed puddles. In sleep, they looked almost peaceful—it was easy to forget their natural state involved significantly more teeth.

  Brakar took a deep breath, centered himself, and began the delicate process of reshaping predators into products. His fingers traced loops and zigzags in front of him, like someone drawing a maze in the air. His magic, always slightly askew, flowed into the first mimic like water finding its own peculiar path downhill.

  “Becomme laanteern,” he intoned, his free hand sketching quick squares and triangles while his right drew bigger circles. “Stayy laanteern until I sayy differentt.”

  The mimic rippled in recognition, its essence resonating with those imperfect sounds. Where a proper mage would force their will through precise magical formulae, Brakar’s power meandered like a drunken storyteller eventually reaching the point.

  The mimic’s form followed his mangled spellwork, flowing from one shape to another as if translating his magical dialect into physical form. While his magic was flawed, the transformations were not. Furniture that defied convention yet felt more fitting because of it.

  Brakar maintained the connection, his fingers still drawing invisible shapes as his magical accent grew thicker.

  The creature transformed, its form becoming a warm, metallic sheen. Brass emerged from biological matter, catching and amplifying the available light. The transformation complete, an elegant lamp stood where a monster had been moments before.

  Each conversion proved unique. The second mimic became an iron lantern with thick, protective glass that diffused its light into a comforting glow. The third took on an iridescent quality, its surface creating rainbow refractions that danced across the walls.

  A sky-blue specimen transformed into something that resembled captured waves, its light rippling like sunlight through water. Another, particularly viscous individual, became a rounded lamp whose surface seemed to pulse with its own gentle respiration.

  With each transformation, Brakar felt his magical reserves depleting. The process required not just power but precision—each spell had to account for the mimic’s natural tendencies while imposing new forms and behaviors. His unique magical “accent” turned out to be perfect here, the slight distortions in his spellcasting somehow aligning with the mimics’ own fluid nature.

  The last mimic, roughly the size of a breadbox, proved particularly challenging. Whether due to its size or Brakar’s exhaustion, the transformation felt like pushing through thick mud. At last, it yielded, becoming a copper lantern adorned with wire patterns that resembled frozen music.

  Seventeen transformations. Seventeen former predators now masquerading as innocent illumination. Brakar’s legs trembled with fatigue as he surveyed his work. The room now glowed with varied lights—warm brass, cool iron, rainbow shimmer and watery ripple. It was beautiful, in its way, though he couldn’t quite forget what lay beneath the artful surfaces.

  From the main room came the sound of Thadan and Kip discussing wood types and joint techniques. Their voices mixed with the soft light from the transformed mimics, creating an almost peaceful atmosphere. Almost.

  Brakar slumped against the wall, his magical reserves completely depleted. The lanterns glowed steadily, showing no sign of their true nature. He wondered, not for the first time, what they thought about all this—if they thought at all. Did they understand the changes being imposed upon them? Did they resent the transformations, or did they find some satisfaction in their new purposes?

  A particularly artistic lantern—the one with rainbow refractions—made a small correction, adjusting its angle to cast its light more effectively across the room. The movement was so subtle, so purposeful, that it might have gone unnoticed by someone less familiar with mimic behavior. But Brakar saw it, and in that small adjustment he recognized something beyond mere magical compulsion.

  These weren’t just transformed monsters or enchanted objects. They were something new, something between predator and product, nature and artifice. And now they were his responsibility—his and Thadan’s, though he suspected he’d end up handling most of the actual care and maintenance.

  From the main room, Thadan’s voice rose in excitement over some detail of counter construction. Brakar closed his eyes, letting the various lights play across his eyelids while his friend’s enthusiasm mixed with Kip’s measured responses. The combination created its own pattern, its own rhythm of light and sound.

  Before exhaustion claimed him, Brakar noticed the lanterns had adjusted their illumination to complement his rest—their light dimming to a soft, steady glow that seemed almost protective. He drifted off, wondering what new challenges awaited them under tomorrow’s sun.

  Seventeen lanterns stood watch, their light steady but their nature unchanged, as the shadows outside deepened and the city continued its restless rhythm.