Phillpot’s Palace of Pecuniary Pap was located on the edge of the part of Ankmapak known as The Glooming. It was a good way west from the Long Horn, and I was surprised to realise that the part of town we’d traipsed through previously was relatively upmarket. We had crossed one of the many bridges that ran along the length of the river, and once we passed over Regret’s Arch, as the bridge was known, the people got grubbier and meaner-looking.

  Angry scowls seemed to be the standard facial expression for Ankmapakians, but they grew gradually darker the further west we went. I got the feeling that every glance was weighing how much could be stolen and how easy it would be to escape. The easy confidence with which I moved gave the locals pause, but I had a feeling it would only be a matter of time before someone made a move on us.

  The emporium of pap was a small house in the middle of a long terrace. When we reached the right street, Tex guided me down a winding road that went from relatively ok at the start to full-on, inner city slum, don’t walk it at night or alone territory.

  “You sure about this place?” I asked quietly. Passersby hurried around us; we were like well-groomed stones in a sludgy river of humanity.

  “Phillpot’s a member of the Brotherhood. He’s also the best fence in town,” Tex replied casually, nodding to a burly man who stood leaning against a wall nearby. The man sniffed and spat, then looked away.

  “Welcome to the world of profit, cowboy!” Tex said grandly as he led the way through the door. Within it was a complete contrast to the grimy exterior. Lightballs dangled from the ceiling, and neat aisles of merchandise stretched away from us.

  “Welcome to Phillpot’s. I love you,” muttered a depressed-looking woman standing just inside. She was wearing a blue T-shirt emblazoned with “Pap for every1!!!” across the chest. “Please enjoy your visit, and remember: for pap think Phillpot.”

  “C’mon, partner. Let’s go see the man himself. We’re here to sell, not buy.”

  Tex dragged me down the aisles littered with the weird and the wonderful. Mostly the weird, if I’m honest. They had a bin full of Daggers of Slicing marked down to clear. Mismatched armour sets, the occasional polearm sticking up randomly, then rows of items I couldn’t understand. Some looked like glass dice, but they glowed from the centre; others were strange contraptions, tiny machines with spidery robot legs or eyeglasses like Mordechai’s back in the Mill.

  We got to the end of the aisle and headed left, the glowing lights ordering us to “Pay For Your Pap Here!” pulling us in like moths to a flame. As I got nearer and the crowd started to thin, I saw that the till jockeys weren’t human. They were homunculli with tiny wings on their backs that blurred like a hummingbird’s whenever they took flight.

  “I thought you said there weren’t any non-humans in the city?” I whispered as we drew closer to the multicoloured nightmares. They were all misshapen in some way. Mottled blues and pink marred their pebbly flesh. Some had horns or bolts of rainbow hair running down their backs. Tiny claws clicked as coins were passed back and forth, backed by the hum of their wings.

  “Eh? Oh, the demons! Phill has contracts with them. He keeps them on the material plane; they do most of the staffing for him in the Palace.” We reached the front of the queue, and Tex leaned forward with a warm smile on his face. “Cerwickust! How’s the larvae? Are you keeping well?”

  The blue and gold imp scowled at us and flittered up so he could look down on us. Claws clacked together as he snapped his fingers.

  “Tex, you light-loving sack of goop! How I’d love to swim in your entrails!” the creature said warmly as it buzzed over to briefly hug Tex around the neck. His tiny arms didn’t quite meet at the back of Tex’s head.

  “Best entrails this side of the Virgins of Nubiliea, and you know it!” Tex chuckled.

  “Oh, I’d love to sink my claws into those bitches! I’d squirm in their blood for days! I’m good, thanks, you pathetic mortal. What can the Palace do for you today? Is this flesh-sack buying or selling?” His smile split his face, and jagged pink teeth flashed.

  “We’re selling today, Cer. Can I have a word with your boss? I’ve got a proposition he’ll be interested in.”

  “That disgustingly hygienic pile of organs is out the back.” It raised the golden eyebrow over its right eye. “You sure it’s worth his time? The master of commercial skullduggery usually has a snooze about now, and Nyalrthpot is probably playing with him in his dreams. Ole Nyal will be pissed at me if I spoil her fun.” Cer settled on the countertop and started grooming the lines of thick purple fur that ran across his head like a cat.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “Yeah. Let him know we’re here, please. He’ll want to hear this offer.” The imp blinked, his eyes opening and closing separately.

  “It’s your puny skin, you pathetic bag of protoplasmic vileness,” Cer replied affably with a shrug. He floated away, shoulders sagging slightly as he went to earn the wrath of this Nyal character.

  “Tex, who is Nyarl-o-whatever, and why does Phillpot play with her in his dreams?”

  “She’s his contract mistress. I’m not explaining how warlock powers work on Helstat, Bob. It’s kinda gross. But the cliff notes are that she was the first demon he bound, and she has to torture him to get more powerful so that she can control more demons for him. You should hear the shit she does to him in his sleep! One time, she turned into a device that he had to clip over his balls and then use it to– Ah! Cer. Is the big man up and about?”

  “He is, and Nyal wants my ichor.” The way the demon shivered left me uncertain if this was a good or a bad thing. “Head on back, he’s waiting for you. You’d better not be pulling his plonker on this, you hyper-evolved worm.”

  The imp waved a hand, and a section of the counter vanished to let us through. I followed behind Tex. Beyond the door lay a long white corridor. Various rooms opened off to either side, warehouses full of boxes and stacked items. This was a serious operation.

  “Tex, this place is a fucking Tardis!”

  “Just figured that out, have you? Yeah, the quaint, rundown middle terrace exterior has had some proper internal redecorating done. Cost him an arm and a leg, well, technically, it was two-fifths of his soul, but the effect is much the same. Prenderghast The Expander isn’t cheap. Just let me do the talking, OK?”

  We turned right and entered what I can only describe as a boudoir. Those love-couch things lined the walls, and the entire room was centred around a massive heart-shaped bed. The duvet was thrown to one side, and what looked like scarlet silk sheets glistened with the outline of a human body. In the corner, a naked man was splashing water over his face.

  “This had better be good, Tex,” he grouched as he turned around. Tex and I both pointed our eyes at the ceiling. It was a very nice ceiling, beautifully painted with delicate Celtic knot-like patterns worked into the brushwork.

  “That’s a good ceiling,” I muttered.

  “Oh piss off. Prudes. Why the hell did you wake me up?” Phillpot demanded. I dared a peek and he was slipping a satin robe over his shoulders, thankfully, his back was turned, so all I was mentally scarred by was the sight of wrinkled buttocks disappearing.

  “The light shines, Brother Spark-Bug. We’ve got a new dungeon and exclusive access,” Tex declared proudly. My elbow lashed out perhaps a little harder than I intended, and the man bounced off a chaise longue before dragging himself back to his feet while scowling at me.

  “Hmm. Ok, you’ve got my attention.” Phillpot returned to his bed and sat down. He did a Sharon Stone as he crossed his legs, and I fought down draconic bile. Two-fifths of his soul and a bunch of other shit were the price he must have paid. “How old is the dungeon?” Tex looked at me and mugged furiously.

  “A couple of months,” I answered reluctantly.

  “And you are?” Phillpot pulled a cigarette from somewhere I will not speculate about, and lit it with a snap of his fingers.

  “I’m the one with exclusive access to it.”

  “For now, sure. Who else knows about it? How long is that going to last?” He blew a heart-shaped smoke ring in my direction.

  “Other than Tex, you’re the only human who knows about it. I intend to keep it that way,” I said slowly. He narrowed his eyes at me, and something moved in the sclera; shadows swam in the whites of his eyeballs.

  “Yes! I fucking noticed as well! Kandik’s balls, Nyal! Let me do my fucking job!” he barked. “Sorry, she has a lady-boner for you, mister?”

  “I’m called Bob.”

  “So, definitely-a-human called Bob. Interesting. Well, let’s see the gear then.” He stood up and glanced at Tex.

  “Show him the goods, Bob.” I waved a hand as I’d been coached to do, so that it looked like a spatial mage in action, and the loot from Tex’s wagon spread out at my feet. The man rose and pulled a pair of pince-nez glasses from his robe pocket as he started to examine the items.

  “Shit. Crapola. Dross. Shite. Worth fuck all. OK, this is alright. Shit…” He quickly went through the pile, tossing my precious loot into two separate piles. Most items earned some euphemism for poo in his estimation. “Baby dungeon. Ok, I’ll give you fifty for the lot, on the condition you give me first pick on the next load. And the thirty-one loads after that. Deal?”

  He ignored me, standing there open-mouthed, and looked at Tex, who shuffled uncomfortably. Phillpots' gimlet gaze swung back to me like a tank turret tracking a target.

  “You’re wearing the trousers here? I thought… never mind. Fifty for this and the next thirty-two shipments. First pick, no guarantee I’ll buy, but no hard feelings, and sell anything I refuse wherever you like. Deal?”

  Tex just looked nervous when I glanced at him. He’d smooth-talked our way in, but now he was talking to this guy; he was a budgie staring at a tiger.

  “Fifty gold will do. But I want fair prices next time,” I replied, seeing I’d get no help from my pet merchant.

  “Gold! Haha! You hear that? He thought I meant gold! I meant fifty silver, new friend. Five gold for the lot! He thinks he’s in the position to shoot for the sky!” I had no idea who he was talking to.

  “I sleep on gold, asshole,” I growled. I was a dragon, I didn’t take shit from two-bit merchants, however scared Tex seemed to be now. He shook his head frantically as Phillpot looked me up and down with a sly grin on his face.

  “Oh, we know you do. Knew the moment you stepped in here. As long as you don’t break the masquerade, you’ll do well.” His eyes shifted, becoming insectile, the angular facets catching the glow of the lightballs and showing me a hundred tiny reflections of myself. “Five gold for this trash, agreed?” His eyes were back to normal before he finished speaking.

  When he gave me the mosquito-glare, there had been a wash of power, an oppressive aura that would have made my scales twitch if I’d been in my true body. Part of me wanted to snap and snarl, but the ascot seemed to dull that impulse. That, or even dragons, didn’t try to pick fights with eldritch, demon-possessed bug-people.

  “Sure. It’s a deal.”