Chapter II: Where are your odd fellows?

Crates on top of crates. Noises inside the shop; screeches of heavy things getting hauled across the floor. The front door was locked, a closed sign visible from the street.

“Wait a minute, would you, Zoey?!” Herzog said, wiping his forehead.

She zigzagged restlessly in the air.

“We don’t have time to lose!”

“Alright,” he said, then pushed the massive crate with a grunt.

It was a tough task freeing up space for customers while simultaneously making sure every item was readily available. His assistant didn’t leave anything to chance either. The stacks piled up dangerously high around the store.

Herzog laid down the box with maps carefully, then peeked between the towers of leather bags before him.

Zoey was flying away towards the opposite side of the store.

He sighed and slumped onto the floor, wiping his sweaty forehead.

Something strange under the table ahead. A varied assortment of worn-out gear in a box.

Since when were they selling used items?

Herzog frowned.

But they looked awfully familiar…

“Is that my old gear?” he muttered under his breath.

Zoey’s voice startled him from above.

“Oh, no! I didn’t notice because it was so heavy. It took me so much work to drag the box all the way here.”

She flew down towards the box, then began pushing it. Barely.

“Wait, Zoey. Just leave it. Maybe we can make a little something from selling them. They are useless for me.”

Zoey stopped as if she pondered something for a second. Then resumed pushing the box.

“I’m getting it back to the storage.”

Herzog scratched his head and stood up.

“Alright, let me do it at least.”

She wobbled away from the box, dizzy.

Herzog chuckled and picked it up.

“Hurry up, though,” Zoey said, turning to leave. “We only have today to finish tidying things up for the tournament.”

“Aye, boss.”

They split in the middle of aisle, Herzog moving towards the back of the store.

The gear was indeed heavy. Heavier than he remembered.

Or maybe he was just going rusty.

Herzog shrugged. He entered the storage room and rested the box on the table.

The things clacked and clicked inside, catching his sight, then inexplicably blew his mind away to faraway lands for a vacation that lasted a heartbeat.

One of his eyebrows arched at himself.

Zoey’s impatient voice.

“C’mon, Zog! We have things to do!”

Weird. He didn’t spend that much time in here… or did he?

“Coming!”

Herzog turned and left the room with one last confused glance over his shoulder.

It seems the vacation lasted for more than a single heartbeat.

The day after. Herzog’s fingers tapped against the counter anxiously in a random rhythm. The streets were already noisy, with a lot of movement through the glass. Maurice said these fellows were odd…

What if they mugged him?

Zoey seemed unbothered, excited even, as she bounced on the front store, waiting for the first customer to arrive at their doorstep.

Herzog gasped as massive horns appeared outside. The hairy creature was bigger than the doorframe itself, a double-headed axe attached to his back. A minotaur by the looks of it.

Zoey hopped off the display and went straight to the door.

“Wait, Zoey—”

Herzog swallowed when she pulled it open despite his plea.

The minotaur bent down and squeezed his way through the frame.

He snorted loudly and spoke up in a deep, masculine voice.

“Is this where you can find waterskins?”

Herzog nodded repeatedly.

Zoey swept in, pulling the minotaur towards the waterskins by his hand.

“We have all kinds of waterskins! Sheep leather, elk leather, bull leather.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “No credit, though.”

If Herzog had a drink in his mouth, he would have spat. His eyes widened.

But the big customer just reached inside his pocket and pulled out a handful of silver coins.

“I have money,” he said.

Zoey grinned wide.

“Oh, in that case…”

The doorbell rang again.

Other non-human customers coming through the door.

Herzog rounded the counter quickly to greet them, as more came behind. And before he noticed, the shop was buzzing with strange languages and sounds.

Unsurprisingly, he was still the only Cherlonian in sight. His kind didn’t leave their alpine homes very often. Almost never, in fact.

The shelves began to empty, his purse getting heavy.

Herzog ran towards metalwork section to fetch an item.

“Oh snap,” he said, scratching his head. “We’re out of portable anvils.”

Zoey flew past him.

“I got this.”

“Wait!”

The storage room was emptying out as well.

“Hey, Zoey,” he whispered. “Do you see anything particularly odd with these fellows?”

“Hm…” She thought for a while, then shook herself sideways. “No. Other than the fact that they are big, big spenders. Tournament mood perhaps?”

“Tournament mood…” Herzog stared at the almost empty room. He scoffed. “I’ll need your help to count our earnings tonight… Zoey?”

She was gone.

He shook his head and closed the storage room, stepping back into the bustling store.

Night was here. The bright torches and lamps made the glass panels seem pitch-black from the inside. Zoey locked the door with a click, then flew back and melted on top of the counter.

“I’m dead,” she said.

Herzog smiled, although he wasn’t in a much better state himself. He moved his toes inside the shoes, sore and likely blistered.

“Well, I think Maurice was a tad paranoid for no reason, don’t you think?”

Her eyes were closed.

“Yeah…”

He poured the coins onto the counter.

“Help me out here would you—”

“Zzzz…”

He chuckled and began to count the coins, as the shop fell quiet for the first time.

A rustle through the door.

Herzog raised his head at the noise, his hand halting on top of a coin.

The noise ceased. Probably the wind.

He went back to counting.

Knocks on the door.

Odd.

“Sorry,” he said. “We’re closed, please come back tomorrow.”

The knocks stopped.

It was too late, and he was tired.

After today he could certainly afford to dismiss a potential customer or two, especially after such a—

Knocks on the door.

Herzog frowned.

What the…

“We’re clo—”

The door hinges burst, as something detached the door from its frame.

Herzog’s jaw dropped.

Hands came under the light as they lifted the door aside, resting it against the storefront nearby.

Pink hair flowed into the room as she stepped inside. Pale feathered wings hung large behind a thin silhouette. A Cherlonian like him.

“Sorry, kinsman,” she said, grinning with a mouthful of white fangs that didn’t seem a tiny bit apologetic. “I didn’t know it was locked.”

Thanks for reading Chapter II: Where are your odd fellows?

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