Asphodel gently buzzed and whispered itself to a relaxing evening. It was about 6 PM. Christoph bought himself a few apples from the local general store, run by a slim, middle aged gentleman with a crisp beard.

"These freshly picked today, Mr. Ros?"

"Yes they were. Best apples this side of the Styx."

A weary glance from Christoph made him backpedal. "Alright, alright, second, maybe even third best. I guarantee they're good though."

Christoph smiled at that. "I appreciate the honesty, Mr. Ros. Pleasure doing business with you. Might come back again in the next few days."

"Please do, sir."

The bell dinged as Christoph stepped back outside. Putting most of the apples into his bag, he took a bite out of the one he had held onto and began walking.

Munching on his snack, he could overhear snatches of conversation. Now that he was aware of the dwarves' segregation, he began picking up on snide remarks about them.

"One of the little guys walked by in town here. Squeezed my purse extra tight, don't want them running along with it now..."

"Are you sure we still have to deal with them? Why haven't the council forced them to leave yet?"

"Buncha filthy cobs. It'd be better for all of us if that King of Stone ordered them all to pitch themselves in the river."

"But honestly, that Pickpocket's the worst of the lot. Worthless parasite. If only Apeiros could smite him for plaguing this town."

It was amazing what people would say when they felt there would be no consequences.

After walking around eavesdropping a while longer. Christoph popped open his pocket watch again. 6:30. Almost time. Christoph headed over to the town hall.

Going down an alley and with a careful glance around, Christoph leapt up to one of the rooftops with his magic. Landing gently, he walked to the edge of the roof. He could see men in white robes congregating out front. All middle aged, by the looks of it.

He squinted as he spotted a familiar figure by one of the members. With that shiny hair of hers, there was no mistaking her: It was Iggy. She was talking to one of the younger council members. She waved goodbye and headed out, presumably back home. Was this man her father? Probably a guardian of some sort, at least.

"Spying on the crusties?"

Christoph jumped. Behind him was another familiar sight: The Pickpocket, impish smile still stretched wide beneath their hood.

Christoph sighed. "Okay, you had me that time. You're pretty good."

The Pickpocket chuckled. "I'm small and I dress in black. It's ideal for stealth. I may not have looked it based off the chaos from this morning, but I'm actually sneaky when I wanna be."

"You here because you heard about my job offer?"

"Well that, and I was hoping to spy on the crusties too. The King trusts me with getting info on these jackasses and all, but I haven't managed to crack this place even once. And if I can't do it, you can bet nobody else here can."

"Why is that?"

"Sensors have been placed at the door and windows. I even got desperate enough to look for a chimney to crawl down, but they're all way too small."

"Thought it was something like that. Well, don't worry. If my plan goes well, we won't have to worry about those sensors."

The Pickpocket's smile grew even wider. "I was hoping you'd say that."

Christoph stood up. "Well, I think I can squeeze in one more on this mission. Just so long as you keep quiet."

The Pickpocket got up as well. "Believe it or not, staying quiet is what I'm best at."

Christoph glided over to the roof of the town hall while the Pickpocket took the long way around to avoid being spotted on the ground.

As Christoph was just landing on the roof, the Pickpocket zipped up behind him. They spun a grappling gun around their finger.

"That a special invention of yours?"

The Pickpocket tucked it back into their robes. "Call it an heirloom. Now how are we getting in? You discover a secret passage?"

"Oh nothing that cool. It's just a little trick you employ when every other option gets closed off."

Crouching down, Christoph placed his hand on the roof. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. In, out, in, out... And then the roof rumbled, a hole in a nearly perfect circle opening before him. The Pickpocket whistled.

Opening his eyes again, Christoph smiled. "The brute force approach."

Jumping down, he took a quick look around and signaled the Pickpocket to follow him.

"Not my style, but it works," the Pickpocket remarked as they jumped down. Slinking over to the door and sidestepping the bits of mortar on the floor, they and Christoph peeked their heads out. One look down the corridor, one down the other. They stepped out.

The both of them noted the marble ceilings, the rich, plush carpet, the various antiques aligned along the walls and the ostensibly thick atmosphere of entitlement. It was practically offensive.

"We call this place the town hall, but really it's a mansion Mayor Asphodel lives in. Those sensors around the place are his doing." The Pickpocket tapped the carpet, testing its softness.

"Wait, Asphodel? He named the town after himself?"

"His dad did. Now he owns the town, and he's likely going to give it to his son once he dies."

"The family comes from old money?"

"The oldest. The mayor practically owns the town and says this and that about contributing to it, but really he's never done anything worthwhile. Men like him think the world bow to their feet because they shelve out a million lepta as charity out of the 100 million they have altogether."

Christoph cracked his knuckles. "I don't doubt it. C'mon, let's find out what these losers are hiding."

"Time to find the evil lair!"

With that bold declaration, they set off. Seeing as it was nighttime, there were thankfully not too many people they had to hide from. Whenever one of the maid staff rounded the corner in front of them, Christoph deftly grabbed the Pickpocket and jumped up to the ceiling, keeping them above the heads of their would-be spotters with his magic. The Pickpocket had the sense not to blurt out in excitement every time he would.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

As marble transitioned to oak, the two heard voices. They had entered a dimly lit section with oil paintings adorning the walls. Nodding to each other, they steadily made their way closer to the sound of the voices, eventually coming across a set of grand oak doors the size of ten men each. It stretched toward the ceiling, the lacquered wood shining.

Pressing his ear against it, Christoph could tell this was the source of the voices but couldn't discern what they were saying. Bending down, he peered through the bottom crack. He could make out a staircase curving downward, the oak now transitioning to brick and mortar.

Wordlessly, he pulled the door open, praying the hinges would make no sound. Thankfully, it seemed the cleaning staff did their jobs and kept them well oiled. Good. One less thing to worry about. And so they descended.

As the stairs bottomed out only one flight down, Christoph and the Pickpocket peered at the edge of the doorway leading into the room. Candles were the only light source down here.

A rectangular stone table sat – no, more like lay – in the center of an old library. It was surrounded by large stone chairs, all drawn close to the edge. The robed council members from outside sat in them, be they slouched, leaning forward anxiously or with their backs straight against the back of their seats. The head of the table was the mayor, gaunt face almost skeletal.

The Pickpocket pointed at him. Christoph could guess that he was Mr. Mayor himself.

"... and so another week ends. The fishing market is going strong, the traders will be here in the next few days and we are expecting tourists coming in from the capital soon enough."

"And the relief efforts for the dwarves?"

"Penelope says the kitchen set up should be good enough for them. Honestly, they should be thankful there were people willing to do that much for them, what with all we have to do."

Murmurs of assent could be heard. The grumble of barely managed work in a lively town was surely very grating work. One of them reached out and grabbed one of the apples that had been arranged in front of them. Yes, they had very hard work indeed.

"And worse, those thieves they send out keep scaring away any possible tourists. We never catch them, so we can't prove they're actually dwarves. Pretty soon Asphodel's going to be called the sieve capital of the Styx!"

Christoph could practically sense the self-satisfied smirk stretching across the Pickpocket's face right now.

Through all of this, the mayor remained quiet. Eyes flitting from one speaker to the next, he was waiting for something. It came with a small murmur from the youngest member; the man who had been talking to Iggy outside.

"Um... if I may? After all this time I can't imagine the current course of the town is sustainable."

Grumbling could be heard across the table, with a small "Not this again, Tavel," being heard. The man named Tavel continued.

"You have them working on the fringe in their own section of town and there's no money put where they live. Let their businesses merge with the human ones and we can make the town more approachable for tourists. Wipe out the thief problem and sell it as a multiracial space anybody can enjoy."

A heavyset man replied. "We know you're head of our tourist division, but that's too ambitious. No way any of our local merchants would abide by having a cut taken out of their pay grade. Not to mention the King wants their businesses eradicated if he were able."

Tavel raised a finger. "But only because he feels he has no choice. We're not giving him a good enough deal. First we can start truly cooperating and then help reconstruct their area into something less, er..."

"Filthy. You go down there lately? It's like a nest for sewer rats. You planning to bathe with them, Tavel?" The jab was met with derisive laughter. Tavel's brightly lit face flushed noticeably after this.

However, with one raised hand of the mayor, the laughter ceased. Leaning forward, he laced his fingers together, eyes taking on a cold gleam.

"It's true. The dwarves represent an unavoidable problem. We did drive out more and more of their business over the years, but only to provide for ourselves. We saw opportunity and grasped it."

The atmosphere had grown even heavier. That cold gleam began to burn.

"What matters is directing the town's sentiment toward our side. If they believe the dwarves are causing too many problems for them, they will be pushed out."

Tavel gulped. "Meaning?"

"As it stands, their contributions to our town's industry are paltry and they sap the leftover resources we have to offer up like parasites. When my father came across this town, he advocated for a human first settlement like the big cities. And now, the final steps remain."

This was it. This had to be what the meeting was called for.

"It's a bold plan, if I say so myself sir!"

"Yes. I believe it best if we move about this with haste."

Mayor Asphodel nodded, insipid smiled stretching wide. "That's the purpose of our new tax. A monetary agreement for any and all residents. The dwarves, of course, will starve themselves on providing the money. They'll starve without caving to our wishes."

"Kelvin will never allow it though. He's invested so much into the relief efforts and is too well liked for us to go up against. When he gets back he'll be furious."

The mayor's smile grew to its widest yet. "And that's why I called this meeting today. I received word this morning... that Gren Kelvin is dead. Found hacked on the highway just outside of town!"

So that was it. That had been the impetus for this sudden meeting. Christoph grit his teeth, nails digging into the mortar. They had barely waited a day before putting this plan into action.

The Pickpocket clenched their robe at this news. They didn't seem to move so much as an inch, hood fixed on the table.

Tavel's eyes were filled with apprehension at the situation unfolding before him. "But what about Penelope? She wouldn't allow it either."

The mayor chortled. "One woman won't stand in our way. All present control the majority of this town's businesses, and with that our plan is infallible."

The mayor stood up, and the others did with him. Tavel rose to his feet slower than the rest.

The mayor's robe seemed to ensnare him, billows of white waving up and down his frame in agitated waves. This was a man on the cusp of savage brilliance, bringing to heel a problem which he had always despised. Christoph knew the type too well.

Reaching down for his glass, mayor Asphodel raised it up. "We implement the tax in the coming weeks. Rejoice, men! For with the death of Gren Kelvin, in his place we can now build the true future of Asphodel with the dwarven slaves as our foundation!

Another murmur of assent echoed throughout the room. The men took their glasses and clinked it with one another.

This is bad, Christoph thought. I expected something nasty, but they're practically their own cult, bad costumes and all. We need to get back to the King...

A rustle of wind blew upward. Before Christoph knew it a crash sounded as plates flew every which way, food scattered all over the place and the men at the table fell back down into their seats in shock.

Atop the table, now standing taller than any of the schemers there, the Pickpocket had their arms crossed. Their hood was still on but they bared their teeth like an animal.

Christoph bit his tongue in annoyance. Oh yeah. Pickpocket. Impulsive type. I knew I shouldn't have brought them. At least I haven't been found yet...

"Me and the big guy over there just heard all about your lame ass plan!"

You moron.

Sighing, Christoph stepped out of the shadows of the doorway, hearing another "Bwuh!?" ring out from the men at the table.

"The shrimp over there's right. Man, I knew there was something funny going on here, but full on slavery? Really? Sounds like the plot of a bad serial."

Regaining a bit of composure, the mayor gave a childish snarl. "You! How did you get in here!?"

The Pickpocket laughed. "You locked your front doors, back doors and your windows, so obviously we had to brute force our way in. I bet all those sensors weren't cheap! Too bad they can't protect against people like us!"

"People like me," Christoph deadpanned.

"Shut up for a minute! This is my villainous moment right now!"

The men were murmuring. "Is it the pickpocket?"

"Yeah, it's him! I'd recognize that annoying posture anywhere!"

The Pickpocket whirled around at that. "I'll have you know this is how cool bad guys look, not annoying little twerps who steal whatever they can get their hands on!"

Silence fell. Tavel raised a small hand. "But... that is what you are."

"Zip it!" The Pickpocket stomped their feet on one of the last remaining plates on the table with an apple on it. Flying up, they caught it in their left hand.

"Oh, and one other thing."

Reaching for their hood, they pulled it back. Dark, shoulder length tresses fell out. Chocolate skin, though covered in some dirt, absorbed the candlelight. Pointed ears jutted out on either side of their head, and a wicked smirk twisted their features upward. Most striking, however, were the pair of glowing gold eyes.

"Those eyes!"

"They look just like—"

"I know I kept everybody waiting, but I think it's about time I show who I really am. Synthia R—uh, I mean, Synthia! Just Synthia! Resident villain and nuisance here to ruin your day!"

The council members were dumbfounded, but Christoph could only nod. "I figured you weren't a boy like everybody was saying."

Synthia screwed her eyes shut and gave the biggest smile she could, giggling. She then rounded back on the guys, gold eyes shining brighter than the mayor could ever hope his could.

"You know, I've been thinking. With me being part dwarf and coming from stone and all, and then you guys blurting about your evil plan to us, I think I've got some leverage over all you Kings of the Styx. SO!"

Synthia took a massive bite of the apple, swallowing it quickly.

"I guess you can call me the King of Styx and Stones then! Bow down to your new royal highness!"