Marken’s craggy face appeared in the doorway, his arms laden with a stack of yellowed papers and old leather-bound journals with cracked spines. “What’s going on here?” he demanded, bushy eyebrows rising toward his balding head.

  “Great timing, Master Marken.” I shifted my weight, making the cedar chest creak beneath me as I searched for a spot that didn’t press the brass lock into my lower back. “These distinguished customers graced your establishment while you were busy. I believe they owe you a handsome sum for the porcelain doll, the toy soldier, and this fancy chest I’m occupying presently.”

  On my not-so-subtle cue, Gieffroy extended his arm, sunlight from the dusty shop window glinting off his signet ring as he handed a stack of gold pieces directly to the wide-eyed toymaker.

  “Looks like I’ve found new work,” I said, patting the velvet inside the chest. “I’ll pick up that paper we talked about tomorrow, if that’s all right. If I don’t come back, please let Professor Estrah Ceedorec know what happened. Bastien, the town guard, can get in touch with her.”

  With that self-serving declaration, I reclined into the chest. Two maids approached, before they sealed me inside, our eyes met. Mine projected reassurance, and theirs flickered with bemused irritation. I gathered they’d been assigned ridiculous tasks by eccentric employers before. I kind of expected the chainmail guy by the door to hoist me up, but I suppose a bodyguard must keep his hands free at all times.

  The swaying motion didn’t last long. They must have loaded me into a carriage parked in front of the toy shop. My suspicions were confirmed moments later as bumps on the road sent vibrations through the velvet interior. Despite the confinement, I found myself settled in unexpected luxury. Clearly, the chest had been designed for a prized child-sized porcelain doll.

  In my old life, I would have rather eaten glass than let myself get locked in a box for someone else’s amusement. In fact, I distinctly recall quitting a really good job once just because my boss was rude to me over dinner. Yet here I was, grinning in the darkness like a madman. I felt a rush of excitement. Pride cost me many opportunities before, a fact I later regretted. Besides, I felt a little sorry for that girl. Was she a spoiled aristocrat testing the boundaries of propriety, or something more broken? Either way, why not help her out and make some good coin in the process?

  The carriage wheels ground to a halt after what couldn’t have been more than ten minutes. I inferred we were still inside the city walls. I heard muffled voices. Four hands gripped the chest and lifted it. Lying inside, I counted each shaky step: about twenty steps forward, an upward tilt as we climbed a staircase, then a left turn leading to thirty steps down a hallway, and a right turn where the air grew sweet and warm. The chest settled on a cushioned surface with a soft thud. Silence followed.

  Time dragged on in the dark. Five minutes, then ten, then thirty. At last, the girl’s now-familiar voice broke the silence.

  “Are you going to get out, or must I drag you from there myself?”

  "Toys can’t talk. Besides, it’s pretty comfortable in here."

  “Tsk, fine.” I heard footsteps, and then golden light filled the chest as the heavy lid opened. The girl in the emerald dress stood over me, her face pinched with vexation.

  “Yes, my lady?” I said, maintaining my pose with arms and legs crossed like a marionette at rest, one eyebrow arched dramatically.

  “Come on,” she huffed, a flush of pink staining her cheeks. “You are not a toy. You don’t seem stupid, either. I just wanted to teach Gieffroy a lesson. I can’t believe he actually went through with it.”

  “Nevertheless, you paid me to be a toy,” I said, tapping my chin. “So that is the role I’ll play… unless…”

  “Unless?” Her proud look faded, replaced by a hint of curiosity.

  “We could be friends instead.” I gave her my most disarming grin.

  She sighed, her lips twisting. "I take it back. You really are completely stupid," she muttered.

  I vaulted from the chest with theatrical indignation. “Rude.” My claws clicked against the polished marble floor as I surveyed my surroundings. A rather large hall sprawled before me. It was obviously not a bedchamber, but rather a hybrid of study hall and playroom. Toys gathered dust in one corner. A massive desk cluttered with open books, half-finished sketches, and abandoned quills in another. So she was an intellectual type.

  “You have a ton of paper,” I said, picking up a sheet. “Want to play Battleship?”

  “Battle-what?” She frowned, a small crease appearing between her dark eyes.

  “Battleship, like the big ships used in naval battles. It’s a strategy game.” I grabbed two sheets of paper. The paper crackled as I drew two sets of 10×10 grids. “We each have a fleet. Our ships hide in these squares,” I said, tapping the paper. “Your goal is to sink my fleet before I sink yours. A frigate takes up three squares, like this,” I showed her. “A brig only needs two, and a sloop is just one square.”

  I guided her through the first game, watching her slender fingers hesitate over the grid. Her eyes, dark as jet, bounced between her fleet and mine. “B-5?” she asked, her voice gaining confidence as I grimaced at a direct hit. “You’re getting it now,” I said, leaning forward, “but be careful, your gaze keeps betraying your ships’ locations.” Her cheeks flushed slightly as she adjusted the parchment.

  “One more,” she demanded when I sank her last ship, her voice mellower than before. We played two more rounds, her joyous laughter, surprisingly unrestrained, filling the room when she finally sank my flagship.

  “Using paper for every game is kind of wasteful,” I observed, rubbing my thumb over the ink-stained grids. “I could make you a real wooden game set, and maybe reversi, dominoes, or checkers too. Playing the same game over and over gets boring. Want me to make one?”

  “Ye… yes.” She nodded, running her fingers along the edge of the paper. For a moment, she looked vulnerable before regaining her composure.

  “Good!” I grinned.

  Just then, the double doors opened with a soft creak, and Gieffroy walked in, his polished boots clicking on the marble floor.

  “Pardon the interruption of your merriment, but your arithmetic lessons cannot be delayed further, Lady Luciana.” He assessed me with an appraising glance. “Young Zar may return tomorrow, if it still pleases your ladyship.”

  “Oh, right.” Her shoulders dropped a little, and she looked disappointed. She stood up, her emerald dress swishing, and walked toward the door with careful steps, like she was balancing books on her head. At the doorway, she turned and looked at me. “See you tomorrow, Zar.”

  Once she had vanished down the corridor, her maid trailing behind, Gieffroy turned to me, his face creasing into a bemused expression of approval. “Well, call me thoroughly impressed, but it seems you will actually be getting the job. Here is a contract I will submit to the OAE. Please, examine it carefully before signing.”

  I scanned the elegant calligraphy, the ink still faintly glistening in the afternoon light. It was refreshingly straightforward, no hidden clauses or poisonous fine print. My job description read simply “entertainer,” which certainly beat “living toy.” I nodded and signed my name, the quill scratching pleasantly against the parchment.

  I tucked my copy of the contract into my vest pocket, the parchment crinkling against my chest. “So I guess I will see you tomorrow. Any particular schedule you want me to keep?” I inquired.

  “Lady Luciana has lessons at dawn and etiquette instruction before supper,” Gieffroy replied. “Please be available during the midday hours. I will inform the guards of your new assignment, so they will permit your entry.”

  “Splendid, in this case, see you tomorrow,” I said, my claws clicking against the marble as I stepped toward the doorway.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Wait,” Gieffroy called, his voice echoing in the high-ceilinged room. “I need to show you the way out.”

  “Yeah, left, pass the hallway, then down the stairs on my right, correct?” I smiled, revealing just a hint of my sharp canines.

  Gieffroy glanced at the ornate chest I’d arrived in, his face puzzled. He narrowed his eyes and followed me. “Yes, that’s right, but I still need to show you out, at least this first time,” he said, his keys jingling as we walked to the sunny courtyard.

  The mansion I stepped out of was a colossal monument to wealth. I'd noticed it before during my explorations of the Academy Town, one of several palatial structures fronting the central park. Four stories of arched windows stared down at me like judgmental eyes. Roses and hydrangeas erupted in carefully orchestrated riots of color along the perimeter, their sweet perfume hanging heavy in the air. It was nothing like our relatively modest academic dwelling with its practical garden of herbs and vegetables.

  Suddenly, a sharp, sweet voice cut through the courtyard. "Oh, Gieffroy, what is that creature doing outside my father’s house?"

  I turned to see a boy, maybe sixteen, walking toward us with one manicured hand resting on the hilt of a fancy sword. His golden hair caught the sunlight just like Luciana’s, so he was probably related to her. But while her eyes had been curious, his narrowed in disgust as he looked me over, his nostrils flaring.

  “Young Master Aleamme,” Gieffroy said, his face calm except for a slight tightening around his eyes. “Zar has been hired as an entertainer for Lady Luciana.”

  “First they infest our forests, then our markets, now our homes.” Aleamme’s lip curled, revealing teeth too perfect to be natural. “Since my sister insists on keeping it, I suppose it can perform for me as well.”

  “And how do you propose I do that?” I cut in before Gieffroy could respond, my voice deliberately calm despite my tail swishing behind me with barely contained irritation.

  “How about a sparring match?” His fingers caressed the ornate hilt of his sword, the gemstones catching the light. “I’ve always wanted to conquer a forest beast in combat. I suppose this will have to suffice as a prelude to that greater glory.”

  “Now, young master, I must protest,” Gieffroy’s face creased with concern, his keys jangling as he stepped between us. “This would go beyond his contract.”

  “Then let’s make a new contract,” Aleamme declared, his voice ringing across the garden. He pulled a gold piece from his embroidered vest, flipping it between his fingers. “I will pay him this if he can withstand five minutes of sparring with me!” The boy’s gaze never left Gieffroy’s face, as if I were beneath even the courtesy of eye contact.

  I crossed my arms. "How much do I get if I win?" I asked.

  That finally snapped his attention toward me, his perfect teeth flashing in a condescending smile. “You? Win in a sparring match against me?” His laughter bounced against the mansion walls. “Laughable, but sure, if you win, I will give you this sword. It cost more than you could even fathom.”

  “Deal,” I said, baring my canines in a grin. “Where do we spar?”

  Gieffroy’s shoulders slumped in resignation. With a weary sigh, he led us around the mansion’s marble edifice to another, more secluded courtyard. Sunlight glinted off a collection of training weapons arranged on a weathered stone table, their wooden forms worn smooth from countless practice bouts. Aleamme unsheathed his ornate sword and set it reverently aside. His fingers danced over the training weapons before selecting a polished oak longsword, testing its weight with a few experimental swings.

  I rolled my shoulders and stretched, enjoying the pull of my muscles under my fur. My claws dug into the packed dirt as I bounced on my toes and did a few jumping jacks to warm up.

  “What is this, a circus act?” Aleamme sneered. “Are you going to fight or just dance around all day?”

  “Yeah, yeah, hold your horses, your highness,” I replied, my voice dripping with mock deference. The barb struck home as his cheeks flushed crimson, spreading to the tips of his ears. I selected a short training spear from the rack, its blunted tip rounded to the size and shape of a small apple, the shaft smooth against my padded palms.

  Gieffroy positioned himself between us on the edge of the training circle, his face solemn. “This is a sparring match, not a duel,” he announced, voice carrying the weight of authority. “It ends with first blood, surrender, or when one combatant can no longer continue, whichever comes first. Do you both understand these terms?” We nodded in unison, eyes never leaving each other. “Then begin.”

  Aleamme lunged forward with a battle cry, his wooden sword whistling in a wide, predictable arc toward my shoulder. I caught the blow against my spear shaft, the impact vibrating up my arms. My foot shot out instinctively, connecting with the embroidered silk of his vest. His eyes widened as my padded sole pressed into his stomach, and I pushed rather than struck, sending him stumbling backwards three paces.

  His perfect hair fell across one eye as he doubled over. “Ooopf,” he wheezed, straightening with visible effort. “How barbaric, using your dirty legs in a fight!”

  I twirled my spear, my tail swishing behind me. “Are you for real? Have you ever been in a real fight?”

  Aleamme grunted, his wooden sword swishing through the air. His eyes darted left before he struck right, a feint as transparent as glass. I didn’t let him close the distance this time and counterattacked by thrusting my spear forward, the blunted tip stopping just short of his perfect nose. He stumbled back again, eyes wide. I pressed forward, barraging him with one thrust after another. Aiming toward his face, groin, and fingers. This put him on the defensive, turning it into a battle of attrition. I was pretty confident in my stamina, so I kept my pace.

  His breath came in ragged gasps when he finally saw his chance. My spear extended too far, and his sword knocked it sideways with a hollow clack. He lunged, both hands on his hilt, triumph flashing in his eyes. I released my spear, letting it clatter to the ground. His momentum carried him forward as I sidestepped, my padded fingers on my right arm closing around his silk-clad wrist, pushing the sword away. My other arm connected with his jaw in a straight jab. Once, twice, three times. Each impact sends a satisfying shock up my arm.

  Finally, he managed to wrench free, staggering backwards. Crimson droplets spattered the immaculate courtyard stones beneath his trembling chin.

  Gieffroy stepped forward. “First blood was drawn,” he announced, his voice carrying the weight of finality as he gestured to the crimson droplets staining the immaculate courtyard stones.

  “Don’t you dare!” Aleamme's scream tore through the air, his face contorting into a mask of fury. A thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of his split lip, spattering his immaculate silk collar. “This is just a scratch! The fight goes on.”

  While his tantrum echoed against the mansion walls, I scooped up my fallen spear in one fluid motion, my padded fingers finding their familiar grooves in the worn wood. I pivoted on my heel, dropping into a defensive crouch with my weapon held diagonally across my body.

  “You mongrel,” Aleamme snarled, wiping blood from his chin with the back of his trembling hand, leaving a crimson smear across his porcelain skin. His eyes, once merely haughty, now blazed with unhinged malice. “You think you are a real fighter with that toothpick of yours?” A cruel smile twisted his bloodied lips as he twisted an ornate golden ring on his finger, revealing a small blood-red gem that radiated mana. “Let me show you what real strength looks like!”

  Aleamme's fingers caressed the ring as his voice dropped to a guttural whisper. “[Oh power within...]” This was bad. This was a combat magic spell, a chant that was required for people with no mana sensitivity only takes a handful of seconds. I glanced at Gieffroy, but his chalk-white face didn’t reassure me that he was in any position to save me.

  “[Move.]” Mana tingled through my fingerpads as I splayed my fingers. “[Create fog cloud.]” Mist erupted from my hands with a hiss, billowing outward until I could barely see my own paws.

  "[Move rock,]" I growled, picturing the decorative large boulder from the flower bed that I noticed before. The stone groaned as it tore free from the soil and moved through the fog toward me. I ducked behind it, pressing my back to the cool surface and curling my tail in just in time.

  KA-BOOM!

  The world exploded in orange and white. Heat rushed past my hiding spot, burning the tips of my ears. The rock blazed red-hot against my back, but I was already vaulting over it, racing through the dissipating fog. Aleamme’s face seemed to be stupefied in total disbelief, his mouth hanging open as he fumbled for his sword.

  "[Create flash light!]" The last of my mana surged through my paws, flaring out in a blinding burst of light.

  Aleamme shrieked, hands flying to shield his eyes. I dropped, rolled beneath his guard, and launched upward with an uppercut. My fist hit his jaw with a nasty crack. His feet left the ground, blood spraying through the air. He collapsed onto the stones, completely knocked out.

  My tongue lolled from my muzzle as I panted hard, the rapid huffs of breath cooling my overheated body in lieu of sweat glands. “Gieff…roy…do…you…mind?” I gasped between pants, gesturing with a clawed finger toward the half-dozen armored guards rushing across the courtyard, sunlight glinting off their polished breastplates.

  Gieffroy knelt beside Aleamme, fingers pressed against the noble’s neck to check his pulse. His head snapped up at my words, eyes darting from me to the approaching guards, their boots thundering against the stone. In one fluid motion, he leapt to his feet and positioned himself between us, shoulders squared and chin raised with authority. “Everything is under control,” he announced, voice steady and commanding. “This was a sparring match that merely… gone out of hand. Nothing more.”

  The guards halted, their expressions a mixture of suspicion and uncertainty as they surveyed the devastation. Smoke curled from the blackened crater where Aleamme’s spell had struck. The boulder was cracked and still radiating heat. Their lord sprawled in an undignified heap, a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth. And me, a diminutive wolfkin with russet fur, casually retrieving an ornate sword from the stone table, its jeweled hilt catching the light.

  “Well, Gieffroy,” I said with a forced lightness, “entertaining nobles sure is hard work. I do not envy you. This is a part-time job for me after all, but you are stuck with it.” I offered him a toothy smile. “I will see you tomorrow, then.” I sauntered toward the exit, tail swishing behind me, pretending not to notice the wide-eyed stares that followed my every step.

  Dear X.,

  I am writing to report my relocation to the A.T. Although I maintain my contacts in V. through written correspondence. Sadly, I have to confirm that nothing changed since my previous reports.

  I would also like to inform you about a new element in play. A young wolfkin named Z. has recently been employed by my charge. I believe he would be a tremendous asset to us going forward. Please schedule a face-to-face at your earliest convenience, as this is a time-sensitive opportunity.

  Yours faithfully,

  The Golden Footman