My first impression was that the place was like an armory on steroids. Piled in heaps, hung on walls, dangling from the ceiling—weapons were strewn all over the damn place. Axes, swords, daggers, spears, even a few magical-looking staves, you name it. It was quite the little jaunt from where we’d been, but it had, in all honesty, only taken about ten minutes to get there. We’d ducked through alleys and even climbed a couple of roofs, but it seemed like we’d be well out of the way of anyone trying to find us for the time being.

“Sit tight,” Virgil said, disappearing into the back, leaving me to my own devices.

I was busy eyeing a mace that looked like it could knock the wind out of an ocean liner when Virgil returned. Suddenly, a voice shattered the quiet hum of the shop. It was twangy, grating, and filled with more spirit than a hummingbird on adderall.

“Well, holy hot harpy tits! Look at the pair we got here!”

Out from the back room, a small creature scurried toward us. Then he hopped up to stand on top of his counter, peering out with a sense of authority. My first thought was that he was some kind of alabaster gargoyle. His skin was deathly pale, eyes wide and wild, and the energy around him was palpable. I watched as the big, bat-like ears on either side of his head moved seemingly of their own accord.

“Welcome to the finest shitshow in town! Virgil, you lazy, wrinkled-forehead-havin’ fuck, you’ve brought company,” the creature—Monty, I supposed—declared, throwing an arm around Virgil’s shoulders from his position standing atop his counter. “And I see you’ve brought a disco ball with you.”

I blinked, glancing down at the shimmering roe splotches on my skin, and couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You mean you don’t see many spotted orcs around these parts?”

Monty cackled, slapping his knee.

“Fuck, no! Most of the orcs I see are more scared of a bath than a blade. But you, you’re a new kind of fucked-up!”

Virgil let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Oh, relax, Virgil—I’m just makin’ friends over here.” He leaned forward in a stage whisper to me. “He’s just all fuckin’ bothered that I got more juice than he does.”

“Juice?” I asked.

“Yeah, homeboy! Rizz, charm, animal magnetism. Whatever you call it, I got it, and this sack of donkey balls over here can’t help but be jealous.”

Just based on this exceptionally brief interaction with him, I knew that Monty had to be some kind of Sojourner. He had a coarse sort of Southern accent that made me think he was likely from somewhere in Georgia or the Carolinas originally. He was rude, crude, and a tiny dude. Virgil was right—I liked him.

“And what, pray tell,” I said, leaning against the counter, “is this place exactly?”

Monty stood as tall as he could, puffing out his chest.

“Welcome, my leopard-fucked orc friend, to Monty’s Murder Emporium! The best place to find things that can poke, slash, and smash!”

I laughed, looking around at the haphazardly arranged weaponry.

“Murder Emporium, huh?”

“Damn straight!” Monty boasted, a broad grin spreading across his face. “Every piece you see here, I’ve procured. Traveled all over the realms, collecting weapons from the fiercest fighters, the craftiest blacksmiths, and the most cunning lady magicians.”

He placed two fingers over his mouth and wiggled his tongue between them in an appallingly vulgar gesture. Then he seemed to get bored and picked up a sinister-looking dagger, its blade gleaming dangerously.

“This here? From the hidden city of Elantris. Pure elven steel. And that mace you were eye-fuckin’ earlier? Straight from the mines of Kurakar, worked by the dwarf king’s own smith. He was a fuckin’ jackoff, but that didn’t stop me from stompin’ his dick in at cards.”

I gazed around the shop with newfound respect. This tiny, pale creature was no ordinary shopkeeper. He was a collector, a trader, a curator of death-dealing implements. Despite his rough exterior, there was a certain charm about him, a kind of bawdy humor that was surprisingly infectious.

“Got anything for more stealth-oriented folks?”

“Shit! You roguin’, orc-boy? Well, not to fear. Right this way, my spotty friend!” Monty declared, his eyes gleaming with mischief. He wove his way through the disarrayed assortment of weapons, his short legs moving with surprising speed.

He led me to a wickedly sharp dagger with a handle made of bone.

“This baby was yanked right out of an illisinaf necromancer’s grasp. You ever seen one o’ those things?”

I smirked.

“Yeah, in fact, more regularly than I would like.”

“I’m talking about necromancers, not the damn…magic-booger people,” Monty said. Then he looked me up and down with a scowl. “Naw, you ain’t seen no necromancers.”

I liked him, but he was going to have to stop giving me the once-over before I clocked him.

“Anyway, this fuckin’ thing,” Monty said, gesturing to the cruel-looking blade. “It cuts, it stabs, and it can summon a bony hand to choke the fuckin’ life out of your enemies. I call it the Boner.”

We browsed a few more wares, with Monty showcasing his lewd wit before I got bored and decided to push things forward a bit more.

“Alright, enough with the tour. Why the fuck are we here?” I asked, turning to Virgil. Before he could answer, Monty cut in.

“Slow your fuckin’ roll there, big boy! No need to get your shorts in a bunch,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “There are only two reasons why Virgil would drag someone into my emporium. One is because he’s a damn fuckwit with the brains of a turkey’s ass, and two is because he needs a place to lay low.”

He paused, looking me over once again.

“And judging by the confused look on your face, it ain’t the first.”

“How the hell did you—” I began, but Monty steamrolled right over me.

“Don’t look so surprised, dalmatian orc. You ain’t exactly blending in with the crowd,” Monty said, a wicked glint in his eye. “You’re a Sojourner, ain’t ya?”

I was taken aback. Not many people in this world could spot a Sojourneron sight.

“What gave . . .”

But Monty just laughed, slapping his knee again.

“Ha! Your face! Look at you, all shocked and shit. Don’t be so flabbergasted. Ain’t the first Sojourner to pass through here, and you sure as hell won’t be the last.”

“But how—” I began, but Monty held up a hand.

“I keep an eye on the System, friend,” he explained, his expression serious for the first time. “Noticed it’s been acting a bit wonky in the last day or so. Been glitches, hiccups, the lot. I’d wager that’s the sort of problem you’re dealing with, eh?”

I stared at Monty, my mind racing. For all his jests and jibes, it seemed there was more to this guy than met the eye. More importantly, it seemed we’d come to the right place.

“Alright, Monty,” I said, meeting his gaze. “Let’s talk.”

The jingle of the bell above the door suddenly interrupted us as it echoed throughout the shop, heralding the arrival of yet another motley crew. This time it was a band of humans, their cloaks worn and tattered, faces obscured by hoods.

Monty, apparently, recognized them instantly.

“Oh, hell, no!” Monty exclaimed, slamming the blade down on the counter. “If it isn’t the Brotherhood of Bullshitters. I remember you piss stains. Thought you could just waltz back in here after ripping me off, huh?”

The hooded figures shifted uncomfortably, their leader stepping forward.

“Monty, we made amends for that. Paid you back in full, remember? We’re here for a new set of weapons.”

Monty was now leaning against his counter, arms crossed.

“Amends? Romulus, you dumbfuck, you paid me back in leprechaun gold. That shit disappeared faster than my hopes and dreams after opening this shop. You owe me, you sack of rat shit.”

Romulus seemed taken aback.

“Monty, we—”

“Oh, save your breath,” Monty interrupted, wagging a finger at them. “I’ve heard more convincing lies from a two-headed ogre selling snake oil. You think I’m as stupid as you look?”

Romulus tried again.

“We truly didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?” Monty exploded, his voice echoing around the shop. “Didn’t think I’d notice? You think just because I sell weapons, I don’t know when I’m being screwed? I’ve got more brains in my left nut than the lot of you combined!”

His tirade brought an uncomfortable silence. Romulus cleared his throat.

“We’ll pay in real gold this time, Monty.”

“Oh, ‘real gold’ this time, huh, Romulus?” Monty sneered. “Is it from the same fucking charlatan bog witch that said your wife’s coming back? Or did you just scrape it off the streets of the goddamn Yellow Brick Road?”

Another pause.

“It’s genuine, Monty. We’ve got a dragon’s hoard.”

Monty laughed, a loud, barking sound.

“A dragon’s hoard! Oh, you sly dogs! I guess I should be grateful it’s not a fuckin’ . . . magic beanstalk this time!”

Romulus extended a bag filled with golden coins.

“Inspect them yourself.”

Monty seized the bag and emptied its contents on the counter, squinting at the coins. After a moment of inspection, he scoffed.

“These better not turn into chocolate coins, Romulus, or I’ll hunt you down and turn your ass into a coin purse.”

He eyed the man carefully, then lurched forward quickly but didn’t move. Romulus, I guess, flinched.

“Ha! Look at that, ya fuckin’ . . . scaredy cat-ass fuckin’ bitch. That’s right; you know who’s in charge here. Tell me who’s in charge, Romulus.”

“I don’t—”

“Tell me who’s in charge, you dumb human asshole, or you can say goodbye to me ever selling you weapons again. And I’m gonna run my pretty fuckin’ mouth to every other weapons dealer in this motherfuckin’ shitty . . . shithole and tell them you losers aren’t to be trusted. You’re lucky I kept my lips shut this long. You should be thanking me for my discretion. Now say it.”

Romulus looked at the ground bashfully, then quietly, he spoke.

“. . . you’re in charge, Mon—”

“What?!” he shouted, leaning forward. “I can’t hear you—take off that stupid hood. You think you’re a fuckin’ Jedi or something?”

Monty yanked down the hood, showing Romulus’s bald head.

“You’re in charge, Monty,” he said, louder.

“That’s right—I’m in charge, bitch. Don’t rip me off again or I will pop you in the mouth. I got a hickory branch back behind this counter, and I will tear your ass up with it if you try any of that noise on me or the other vendors.”

He lurched forward again and Romulus flinched again.

“Ha!” Monty razzed. “Now, come back later; I’ve got guests and you’re turning their stomach.”

“But—”

“Nah, Romulus.” Monty cut him off, shaking his head with a wild grin on his face. “This ain’t a fuckin’ free country. This is Monty Town. The only vote that counts in here is mine, and I’m voting your dumb ass out. So, why don’t you turn those tattered capes around and take a long walk off a short cliff, you dipshit fuckin’ Darth Vader wannabe.”

“But, Monty, we have—”

“Romulus, get your sorry ass out of my shop before I kick it so hard, you’ll be coughing up boot laces!”

His harsh words sent Romulus and his merry band of misfits scurrying out, tripping over each other in their haste to leave. Monty’s peals of laughter echoed behind them.

“See that? That’s the power of persuasion, my friends,” Monty said, puffing out his chest as he turned to us. “Just a little something I picked up while . . . doing whatever the fuck it is I do. Now, where were we?”

“You was jawin’ about the System,” Virgil reminded him.

“Right, right, the System.” Monty nodded, getting back to the task at hand. “Well, I’ve been monitoring it, and let me tell you, that motherfucker’s got more issues with balance than an uphill goat.”

Virgil gave him a questioning look.

“Goats is good at balancing.”

“Goddamn, Virgil, that’s mountain goats,” Monty corrected him, rolling his eyes. “You can’t apply the rules of a mountain goat to no normal goat; that’s like comparing a shark to a goldfish. Both can swim, but one will rip your ass apart. Anyway, the System. It’s acting up, but we’ll get it sorted.”

“How?” I asked. “You got a set of brass knuckles or something? Gonna pound it into submission?”

“Bet I could,” Monty boasted. “But, naw, junior. Ain’t all that.”

He looked me up and down, then turned to Virgil.

“You trust him?”

Virgil shrugged.

“I trust him to keep his mouth pinned, if that’s what you’re pokin’ at.”

“Good enough for me!” Monty declared. Then he waved me toward the back room. “Alright, orc—what did you say your name was?”

“Loon,” I said.

“Fuck, that’s a fuckin’ name.” Monty chuckled. “Alright, Loon. You ready to have your brain blown out your dickhole?”

“Monty . . .” I said, staring at the tiny creature. “You are both literally and figuratively speaking my language.”

Monty laughed.

“I like you, Loon.” Then he waved me over again. “Come on, then!”

Without another word, I crossed the threshold into the darkness of the back room.