Thadan burst through the front door of the shop. Brakar didn’t look up from the papers spread across Kip’s desk.
“What are you doing?” Thadan asked.
“Itemizing our expenses.”
“That sounds responsible.”
“It might as well be me.”
Brakar dipped his quill, continuing to write with methodical precision.
“Let me guess,” Thadan said, leaning against the desk. “We’re short almost twenty gold.”
Brakar froze mid-stroke, then turned to glare at him. “How the hell do you know that? I did the math three times.”
“And I didn’t even have to look. See? Saves you time.”
Brakar shoved the papers toward him. “Fine. You handle it.”
“Oh no, you’re doing great.”
“Notice how I included your tab at Six Spoons?”
“I was going to pay that.”
“When?”
“Not today.” Thadan shifted his weight. “But look on the bright side—at least we have seventeen mimics!”
“Seventeen hungry mimics.”
“Details.” Thadan waved his hand dismissively. “Now we just need a name for the shop, and we’ll be proper businessmen.”
Brakar finally looked up. “That’s what you took from this?”
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“Well, we can’t very well succeed without a name, can we?”
Thadan’s eyes lit up. “Got it—the Transforming Table! No, wait—Chairs With Charm!”
“Perhaps we should approach this systematically.” Brakar pulled out a fresh sheet of paper, grateful for any distraction from their financial woes. “We need to consider market appeal—”
“The Hungry Hutch!”
“Given our current situation, could we focus on names that stand a real chance of attracting paying customers?”
“You’re right.” Thadan appeared serious. Then grinned. “The Shifting Shuffle!”
Brakar made a careful note. “According to my research, establishments with traditional names like ‘Premium Furnishings’ show consistent—”
“Boring! The Wandering Wood!”
“I’ve prepared a list of twenty-seven potential names, ranked by memorability and market appeal—”
“The Walking Wardrobes! Come on, that’s brilliant!”
“The research indicates—”
“The Nightstand Nook?”
“If you’d let me finish—” Brakar consulted his notes. “Perhaps ‘The Refined Rest’?”
“Sounds like a funeral home. Oh! The Lounging Leather!”
“The Distinguished Den?”
“Too stuffy! The Moving Manor!”
“The Crafted Collection?”
“The Wandering Workshop!”
“Your fixation on movement-based names is—”
“The Creeping Cupboards!”
“Could we focus on something more professional?”
“Professional is boring! Oh! The Surprise Suite!”
“We’re attempting to run a business—”
“The Tricky Tables!”
“Please stop.”
“The Mischievous Mansion!”
Brakar just glared. “Just listen to a few names from my list, please.”
“Shoot.”
“I was thinking ‘The Pearl Polish.’”
“Gods no! That’s what they call those... special shops in the Dwarven District. You know, the ones that sell ‘marital aids.’”
“Oh.” Brakar’s face reddened. “What about ‘The Velvet Touch’?”
“That’s... that’s literally a brothel. Three streets over. The one that caters exclusively to Minotaurs.”
“Right.” Brakar gathered his notes. “We’ll reconvene in an hour. Please use that time to consider names that won’t get us arrested.”
The door creaked, scales scraped against wood, and Kip’s tall form filled the doorway.
“What are you two plotting?”
“Just brainstorming names for the shop,” Brakar said.
“Oh? Any promising candidates?”
“Well, Brak wanted to call it ‘The Velvet Touch.’”
“Isn’t that the brothel on Tanner’s Row?”
Brakar’s face reddened.
“The very same,” Thadan said.
“Ah yes, quite the establishment. Though if you’re visiting, ask for Lucy. Marta’s rates are highway robbery.” Kip’s tail swished. “Not that I would know personally, of course.”
Brakar cleared his throat. “What brings you by?”
“Need a few more measurements for the counter.” Kip pulled out his notebook. “How’s business?”
“We’ve rented two lanterns already!”
“Have you now?” Kip’s scaled brow rose. “Well then, it’s official. You definitely need a proper name.”
He tapped his claws against his chin. “Let’s see... Mimicry... no. Mimic Pet Shop... definitely not. Mimic Furniture Store... too obvious. Mimic Emporium... too grandiose.”
“What about Mimic & Co.?”
Brakar and Thadan exchanged a look.
“That’s...” Brakar started.
“Perfect,” Thadan finished.
“Simple. Professional. Just vague enough to be intriguing.” Kip nodded. “And it leaves room for expansion.”
“Plus it sounds legitimate,” Thadan said.
“Which we definitely are.” Brakar’s voice carried just a hint of desperation.
****
Brakar stared at the towering doors of the Ironweave Commerce Guild. The heavy bronze surface stood cold and imposing, its presence alone pressing against him. His eyes burned—not from the sun, but from his own anxiety.
“Ready?” Thadan asked, bouncing on his heels.
“No.”
“Perfect! Let’s go.”
Brakar hadn’t finished voicing his objection when Thadan pushed through the doors. The entrance hall stretched before them, its marble floors so pristine they could see their reflections. Columns of pale stone rose to a vaulted ceiling where enchanted crystals cast a warm, even light. The chamber held the distinct aroma of bureaucracy–ink-stained parchment and ambition.
A row of identical desks lined the far wall, each staffed by a clerk who looked more miserable than the last. At the centermost desk sat a stout woman with steel-gray hair pulled back so tightly it seemed to be holding her permanent scowl in place.
“Look,” Thadan whispered, pointing to her nameplate. “Madame Griselda Thornheart. Sounds friendly.”
“Maybe we should come back tomorrow.”
“Nonsense! This is just like dungeon diving. Except instead of monsters, we face paperwork.”
“I preferred the monsters.”
They approached Madame Thornheart’s desk. She peered at them over half-moon spectacles that hung from a brass chain around her neck, her expression suggesting they had personally offended her by existing.
“Yes?” The word carried enough frost to freeze a dragon’s breath.
Brakar opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His palms were sweating.
“Business registration,” Thadan said, cheerful as always. “New establishment.”
Madame Thornheart’s lips pursed as if she’d bitten into something sour. She reached beneath her desk with agonizing slowness and produced a stack of forms.
“Fill these out.” She slapped them down with enough force to make Brakar jump. “All fields. Both copies. Black ink only. No corrections.”
Brakar picked up the forms with trembling hands. The text was tiny, the boxes impossibly small. Who designed these things? Pixies?
They retreated to a nearby bench. Thadan produced a pen from somewhere and began filling out his portion with surprising focus.
“Name of establishment?” he muttered.
“Mimic & Co.”
“Purpose of business?”
“Furniture sales and rentals.”
“Expected monthly revenue?”
They looked at each other.
“Just put ‘pending market analysis,’” Brakar suggested.
“Nice.” Thadan scribbled it down. “Previous business experience?”
“Does adventuring count?”
“I’m putting ‘extensive entrepreneurial background in asset acquisition and risk management.’”
“That’s... one way to describe failing at dungeon diving.”
They worked through the forms, Thadan occasionally making creative interpretations of their qualifications while Brakar tried to keep their answers technically truthful without mentioning anything about living furniture.
“Previous employment references?”
“The Patchwork Post,” Brakar said.
“Ms. Thornberry would vouch for us, right?”
“Probably. Though she might mention the sewer incident.”
“Good point. Let’s put ‘references available upon request.’”
At long last, after what felt like hours, they returned to Madame Thornheart’s desk. She examined their forms with the intensity of a jeweler inspecting suspicious gems.
“Incomplete,” she announced.
“What?” Thadan leaned forward. “We filled out everything!”
“Section 7B.” She jabbed a finger at the page. “Capital assets declaration.”
“We listed our inventory!”
“No itemized values.” Her tone suggested this was a personal insult. “Can’t process without proper valuation.”
Brakar’s stomach churned. How exactly did one appraise a mimic?
“Our inventory is... unique,” he managed.
“Everything has value.” She pulled out a fresh form. “Fill this out. In triplicate.”
“Listen,” Thadan’s cheerful facade showed a small break. “We’ve been here for hours. The forms are filled out. Just stamp them and—”
“Proper documentation required.” She somehow looked even more severe. “Next window.”
“There is no next window!”
“Then I suggest you wait until one opens.”
Brakar watched in horror as Thadan’s face shifted from frustration to that particular expression he got right before doing something extremely ill-advised.
“Oh no,” he whispered.
“Oh yes,” Thadan replied, then turned back to Madame Thornheart. “You know what? You’re right. We should wait. In fact, let’s discuss exactly how long we’ve been waiting. And while we’re at it, why don’t we talk about Article 7 of the Commerce Guild’s Charter regarding maximum processing times for new business applications?”
Her eyebrows rose slightly.
“Or perhaps,” Thadan continued, his voice carrying just enough to draw attention from nearby desks, “we could review the quarterly efficiency reports? I’m sure the Guild Masters would be fascinated to learn why simple registrations take half a day.”
Madame Thornheart’s lips thinned to nearly nothing.
“I have an excellent memory for numbers,” Thadan added. “Like processing times. And approval rates. And how they might compare to other districts.”
The silence stretched. Nearby clerks pretended to be very busy with their own work while obviously listening.
She let him stew just long enough to make her point. Then Madame Thornheart picked up her stamp.
“Initial here.” THUMP. “And here.” THUMP. “Sign here.” THUMP.
Each stamp landed with enough force to make the desk shake. Brakar winced with every impact.
“Payment?”
Thadan counted out coins while Brakar tried very hard to become invisible.
“Provisional approval granted.” She practically threw the stamped forms at them. “Final inspection required within thirty days. Next!”
They gathered their documents and retreated toward the exit. Halfway there, Thadan grabbed Brakar’s hand and they exchanged an enthusiastic handshake, grinning like idiots.
“We did it!” Thadan whispered. “We’re legitimate!”
“Provisional legitimacy,” Brakar corrected, but he was smiling too.
“Pardon me, gentlemen.”
They turned to find a lanky ratkin blocking their path. His silvery-gray fur was meticulously groomed and slicked back with expensive oil. His whiskers were unusually long and carefully waxed into perfect curves.
“Vermil Threadwhisker,” he introduced himself with a slight bow. “I couldn’t help but overhear—furniture sales and rentals, was it?”
“That’s right,” Thadan said cautiously.
“How fascinating.” Threadwhisker produced a small leather notebook that was clearly expensive but well-worn from constant use. “And this would be at... 8 Merchant’s End?”
“Who’s asking?”
“Oh, merely a humble servant of commerce.” His voice was reedy and precise, with a habit of drawing out his S’s enough to be noticeable without quite lisping. “Always eager to support new enterprises.”
“Right.” Thadan’s expression hardened. “Who the fuck are you?”
His sleek tail coiled tightly. “I believe I introduced myself—”
“You did. Now try again with the truth.”
The ratkin’s perfectly groomed appearance suddenly seemed more mask than manifestation. His eyes darted between them, calculating.
“Perhaps we could discuss this over—”
“No.” Thadan stepped forward. “Who. Are. You?”
Threadwhisker took a careful step back, his notebook disappearing into his waistcoat with practiced speed.
“Another time, then.” He gave another slight bow and retreated toward the exit with haste.
Brakar watched him go, anxiety churning in his stomach.
“That was weird, right?” he asked.
“Very.” Thadan’s eyes narrowed. “Too weird.”
They stood in silence for a moment, watching the space where the ratkin had disappeared.
“Think he knows about the mimics?”
“No way to tell.” Thadan’s jaw set in a familiar way. “But we’re going to find out.”
“How?”
“First?” Thadan held up their stamped registration forms. “We celebrate becoming legitimate business owners.”
“And then?”
“Then we figure out who’s asking questions about our shop.” His grin had an edge to it. “And why.”
