“I think I’m alright actually,” I said, starting to rise from my chair. He clicked his fingers, and the wrist and ankle straps wound closed around my limbs.

  “Now, now, you’ve got such lovely thick hair, I think we can do something truly wonderful with it. Have you seen the images of Count Taddler? He’s got this wonderful style, a quiff they call it. It sticks out like a duck's beak from his head! It looks so dignified, and I’ve been looking for someone with enough hair to let me experiment with getting it right. What do you say?” he tossed his saw into a large bowl and dipped his hands into the water to rinse off some of the blood.

  “What about Tom?” I tested the straps. I was pretty sure I could break free if I needed to. “Shouldn’t you keep an eye on your patient? I can come back later.”

  “Nonsense. He’s such a baby, he’ll be out for hours.” He turned back to me with surprisingly clean hands and removed his blood-stained outer layer, revealing a grey tweed suit and a simple brown apron. He tossed the red-soaked cloth into a corner and pulled a pair of scissors from a pocket on the front of his far less terrifying garb. His eyeglasses clicked as lenses switched in and out, sliding down from the side or flicking back up to adjust his vision.

  “Ah. You might have told me you were an adventurer,” he said in a disappointed voice. With a wave of his hand, the straps released me, and I leapt to my feet to begin sidling towards the door. “Please don’t go yet, and thank you for not tearing free of the chair. It’s very expensive to repair. I have to call in a mage from the guild in Pinkerton.”

  “I’m not sure you’ve got the necessary stylist experience I’m looking for! I’ll go buy a headband to tie it back!”

  “Oh, don’t be a baby!” he said placatingly.

  “That’s what you said to Stumpy Tom! Right before you made the stump!”

  “He had an infection. I’m not mad.” He laughed and it sounded pretty damn insane to me. “He’d have lost the whole arm in a couple of weeks if I hadn’t taken the hand. He can use a hook for a few months until a mendicant passes through and grows him a new hand. Where the hell are you from, boy?”

  “Out of town.” I was still edging towards the door, but I’d slowed down somewhat.

  “Look, maybe the quiff isn’t going to work for you. I can see it… With those dark eyes, you need bangs and a ponytail, right?”

  “I’m not a fucking schoolgirl!”

  “So tell me what you would like and I’ll make it happen. Deborah, my competitor, won’t be able to help you. She hasn’t got the skill levels or the equipment to cut your hair. That is a really impressive armour class by the way. What level are you, sir?”

  Shit. I didn’t have a level. I guessed that my native, scaly, dragon armour applied even to my hair when I was in human form – time to get creative.

  “Where I’m from, that's a very rude thing to ask,” I growled. I could still get some of that big-dragon energy into a growl, which was nice. It added a timbre to my voice that made it quite menacing.

  “Outside the Empire, hmm? That is a long way to travel. What brings you to our neck of the woods? Do take a seat, I’ll just give you a short back and sides, alright?” I moved back and lowered myself gingerly into the chair. He spun me round so I was facing the mirror. “So, what’s your story, stranger?” Hairdressers were the same everywhere. They couldn’t just shut up and cut; they always had to make conversation.

  “I’m passing through on my way north,” I said. He muttered something under his breath, and his scissors began to glow blue; then he started cutting. I kept a close track of the sharp edges, but he made sure to keep a safe distance from my ears. This body was some kind of magical construct, but I had no idea if my ears would be regrown or if any damage taken was retained when I turned back into my real form.

  “Nothing up there but the Orlics and feral Janglebonks. Even someone like you shouldn’t go out there alone.” Snip, snip, snip. I watched his scissors like a hawk.

  “So, just wild monsters?”

  “They ain’t monsters, not like them damn uni-bunnies or the dragon. They got brains; maybe not all of the Orlics, but most of them do, anyway. We’re right on the northern border of the Empire here, sir. Once you get past Mount Danglethorn, it’s the borderlands, and then the Orlic Confederation is in charge. They ain’t nice folks, if you take my meaning. Eat you soon as look at you, but I’m sure you know what you’re doing! There. Now what do you think?”

  I examined his handiwork in the mirror and nodded in approval. Centre parting, decently long but still shapely fringe. Short back and sides. The main thing in my mind was that Mount Bob was a far superior to Mount Danglethorn!

  “Very nice, Mordechai. How much do I owe you?” I asked as I rose to my feet and brushed the severed hair from my shoulders.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  “A single silver for a trim, sir.”

  “Ah, I only have gold, I’m afraid,” I said sheepishly, pulling a coin from my storage space. His eyes widened as the coin appeared from nowhere.

  “Did I say silver? I meant gold, silly me!” I glared at him, and the lenses of his glasses all clicked out to the sides in one movement, revealing his normal eyes rather than the milk-bottle-bottom-sized orbs I’d been seeing thus far.

  “Um, sorry about that, sir. Please don’t use that skill on me again! How about… this one is on the house! Just mention my skills to any of your spatial mage friends, eh?” he squeaked. Oops, I must have used Hunter’s Gaze. Completely accidentally.

  “I don’t… Where can I break a five?” I waved the gold coin at him before storing it away in my belly pouch. As far as he was concerned, it simply vanished as it passed my midriff.

  “Well, you might try the bank? You have those where you’re from, sir?” I didn’t like how obsequious he’d become.

  “We do have banks. What’s going on, Mordechai? You started out willing to trim my hair, and probably a few limbs, against my will.” I crossed my arms and gave him a normal-tier glare, not one of the magic ones. It was good to know that this particular evolution worked even in a human form.

  “You must be level what, seventy-five? At a minimum, judging from your armour class and strength ratings.” Several lenses flicked back into place over his eyes, and he looked me up and down again. “Probably closer to eighty. You know how many people your level pass through Fidler’s Mill? Once in a brown moon, that’s how often it happens. And it’s brown because the guards would shit themselves if they knew you were here. Whatever you want, just be gentle if any of the younger lads are a bit off with you, OK?” He sounded worried.

  “Do high-level adventurers cause trouble when they visit?”

  “Sometimes, sir. There’s not much we can do to stop your sort. We can file a report and pass the descriptions of the bullies to the Quaestors, but the perpetrator is usually long gone before they can respond.” All interesting information that I stored away for later consideration.

  “I don’t want to cause any trouble, Mordechai. I’d like to pay you a fair price for the trim and maybe get a beer and a meal. Then I’ll be on my way. Where’s the bank?”

  He gave me remarkably precise directions, which I followed to the letter. I arrived outside something that looked more like a World War II armoured bunker than a bank—a squat, six-sided building with a single heavily built entrance. It had no windows, and the walls appeared to be made of fused stone. I plinked at one of the walls with a claw–finger!– and could feel the strength of the construction.

  The guards on the door wore better quality armour than the doofus who’d been manning the ballista just outside of town, and they were diligently paying attention to everyone approaching the reinforced door to the building.

  “Business?” One of them asked brusquely as I approached. I smiled carefully and produced a coin.

  “I’m looking to break this down. I owe the barber for the cut and don’t have anything smaller.”

  “Nothing smaller than that? And old Mordechai sent you here?”

  “He didn’t seem that old? A nice fellow once he stopped trying to remove digits and ears,” I replied amicably.

  “You won’t cause any trouble, will you, sir?” asked the second guard. They were both shorter than me, and suddenly nervous.

  “Not a chance. I want to pay the barber, get a beer and a meal, then I’ll be out of your scales.”

  “Very well, sir. Please go on through.” The first guard pushed a button on the wall, and the doors swung open. The bank was brightly lit, orbs of glowing metal lined the walls, and opposite the door were three desks behind glowing metal bars. Two women, young and pretty, and a portly, miserable-looking man glanced over. The women resumed an animated conversation about some drama involving a woman I didn’t know, three chickens, and two young men who had been pursuing her, while the man picked up a book and began idly leafing through the pages.

  “Ahem, please could you break this into more useful currency?” I asked as I stopped at the nearest desk. The young lady looked up and smiled prettily once she saw the coin.

  “Of course, Mr.?”

  “I’m called Bob,” I replied.

  “Well, Mr. Bob–”

  “It’s just Bob.”

  “Very well, Bob.” Her voice was a little icy now; she didn’t like being interrupted. Her friend tittered. “How would you like it broken down?”

  “Enough bronze and silver to pay for a few things, the rest back in gold if that’s ok?” I didn’t want to lose any more of the gold than I had to.

  “One hundred Bronze, nine silver, and four gold back is acceptable?” she asked sweetly.

  “Sure.” Interesting. One silver was a hundred bronze, and ten silver was one gold. A haircut cost a single silver, assuming Mordie wasn’t just being generous after seeing that my power level was too high for this podunk town. The value of my hoard rose in my estimation, and I felt a brief pang to get home and burrow down into my metallic mattress.

  As she was counting the coinage out into leather bags, I took a deep breath and froze. My tongue flicked out for an instant. This place tasted like my aerie, only more so. If the strength of the scent was anything to judge by, this bank had more gold behind these glowing bars than I could imagine.

  “Say, I was going to do a few things in town, then find somewhere for a meal and a drink. I’m new here and would love a knowledgeable guide and some company. How about I take you out for dinner after you finish work?” She looked me up and down and sniffed.

  “No, thank you, Bob.” I wasn’t sure exactly what I’d done to offend her, but I shrugged and looked over at her colleague.

  “Would you like to go out for dinner?” The other girl nodded.

  “I’ll be off in an hour, meet me back here?”

  “Jezebel!” hissed the first girl.

  “Hey! No need to call her names! She had the good taste to accept my offer!” I snapped.

  “Her name is Jezebel, you id- sir.”

  “Oh. OK. I’ll be back in an hour, Jezebel. I’m looking forward to it.” She gave me a dimpled smile and nodded happily. I scooped up my loot and began planning how to rob them blind.

  Follow, Favourite, Rate, or Review! Bob is perched at number 7 on RS main, and the glorious vantage of lower numbers seems so close to his obsidian talons! If you want to read ahead, please consider clicking the image below and sparing yourself Kat's wrath!