Second dusk fell in the Night Market when Mepho unlocked the shutters of his cramped yet tidy artifact shop. A queue already waited outside; imperfect souls seeking perfection by way of the dark arts. Mepho moved with practiced grace, every sale etched into contract by the scratch of his ink pen. One offer here, two sections with conditional terms there, but mostly importantly their signatures in blood: always theirs, never his.
By mid-night the rush ebbed. He logged the ledgers, fed the Janus Mortal-Trap in the back, and stepped into the humming arcade of tents for a recess. The aroma of roasted dark bitteroot led him to his favorite cafe, where a nervous-looking imp served an espresso just how Mepho liked it. He sipped the brew; it burned like a harlot in church, exactly how he liked it. He tipped a silver coin minted with Mepho's own face - a favor from the Supreme Judge himself. Handy should you ever need it.
Caffeine coursing through his veins, Mepho reached the Night Court. Two merchants waited inside, pale beneath its ominous lanterns glow: a weaver and a silk dealer, both red-eyed and hoarse from arguing through the night. Their contract lay on the table, parchment edges frayed. Mepho read it once as if bored by the entire ordeal, then again, words shining in infernal ink as he spoke them aloud. He spoke softly yet each word struck the room like the strike of a judge’s gavel:
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“Clause Seven is explicit. Delivery was to occur by last full moon. You failed; you say you can no longer deliver. Furthermore, you say you no longer have the money he paid you?”
The silk dealer sputtered defensively, "I have nothing left! The fire took everything? With what can I possibly pay?"
Mepho lifted a hand; silence fell like about the room almost instantly.“A breach of contract is still a breach, regardless of the reason,” he said, and the lanterns flared briefly. Shadows gathered from the corners of the room, circling the silk dealer.
"With what, indeed." Mepho spoke, casually, as the shadows overran the silk dealer, circling and twisting while he screamed in agony, before finally dispersing and leaving a humming phylactery in place with a lich trapped inside.
"There, labor to replace your lost funds, however long that takes. You are entitled to the loss plus twelve percent interest, no more. Return him for restoration at that point, and this debt will be considered paid. I do not advise going past twelve percent; I look at your taxes. If you get greedy, well -" Mepho motioned to the humming vial. "- There are worse things."
The weaver bowed, trembling but satisfied. Mepho filed the contract with the others to be archived that night, the paralegal poltergeists working off their own community service sentences.
Evening bled back into violet, time for first dusk once again. Back at the shop, Mepho tallied the day’s profit, reviewed tomorrow's case load, and dimmed the lamps. Outside, the Market’s eternal night glittered. Somewhere a fool pondered a mask that promised too much, elsewhere a soul was gambled on the spin of a roulette. Mepho adjusted his glasses and exhaled softly, the memory of the espresso slowly fading from his recollection of the day's events.
“Busy day,” he murmured, locking the door. “Yes, a very busy day indeed.”
