Morning light streamed in through the front window of Fizzlecrank’s Extermination & Extraction Services, glinting off a workbench that was buried by spools of wires, rolls of leather fabric, and an assortment of metal tubing. Oliver sat at the workbench, squinting against the glare, with a thimble on his thumb and a thick needle in his hand. He moved with slow, methodical motions as he re-sewed a pocket on the inside flap of his long leather work coat.

A small wood stove burned in the corner, the logs popping merrily as they fought off the day’s early chill. Under the workbench, a mound of gray fur pulsated languidly: the still-sleeping puppy Ollie serving as foot warmer.

A floorboard creaked as Taimi walked towards her husband, then leaned over the seated figure and kissed him on the crown of his head.

“The electro-communicator was ringing. You didn’t hear?” she asked.

“Oh really? Sorry about that.” Oliver replied without looking up from his handiwork.

“Don’t you want to know who it was?” Taimi asked with the gentle, long-suffering tone that all gnomish spouses eventually adopted.

“What? Oh yes, yes of course. Who was it, dear?” Oliver tied off the final stitch of the pocket then turned his attention more fully to his wife.

“Another extraction job. Sounds like a strange one again. The caller claimed it was either a giant lizard or a miniature dragon.”

“Ohhh,” Oliver cooed, clapping his hands in delight. “Sounds interesting. I’ll get ready right away.”

“Now hold on one second. I know you’re excited, but remember that we’re trying to run a business here. After deducting the cost of a new pair of galoshes, we barely broke even on the last job. You don’t need an arcane entrepreneurship degree to know that’s not sustainable.” Her patient tone had shifted, become firmer.

“Right as always, my love. That’s why I have you by my side: you keep me grounded.” He stood up and gave her a kiss on the cheek. The puppy, bereft of its heat source, looked sideways through a heavily lidded eye. The sense of heartbroken betrayal was clear in his expression. Then he padded slowly over to curl up in front of the wood stove.

“Now then,” Oliver said, “Help me into my coat, please. I want to see about this new pocket placement.”

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Half-dried damp streaks cut horizontally across Oliver’s face as he parked his tricycle. He’d forgotten his riding goggles at home again, though surely the excitement of a miniature dragon was reason enough to excuse such absentmindedness.

The building he’d been called to was like many others in the Arcane Quarter, his own live-work space included. While the upstairs contained the family’s living quarters, the bottom floor housed their business operation. The storefront was lined with large windows, the display cases behind them housing an assortment of wares for sale.

In this instance, they were alchemical contraptions. One display case housed dozens of lamps and lanterns: their bodies varied in composition, some a bright silver, others highly burnished copper or brightly enameled steel. The next case housed only a single, massive chandelier. Hundreds of small faceted crystals hung from the ornamented silver frame in tiers of progressively decreasing size. An alchemical brazier housed in the center of the fixture burned brightly, and the light reflected and refracted from a thousand angles, covering the case in a patchwork rainbow of glistening diamonds. It was a stunning display of artistry.

As Oliver gazed through the next display case, a frazzled-looking Gnomish woman appeared. She rushed through the store, loose strands of frizzy hair trailing after her like streamers.

“You’re the exterminator?” she asked breathlessly after throwing open the shop door.

“Yes ma’am,” he said, extending a hand. “Oliver Fizzlecrank, at your service.”

“Steph Sprocketbottom” she said, failing to see the outstretched hand as she frantically turned away from Oliver and back towards the door. “Please hurry. My reagents are highly volatile. If this creature knocks anything over it would be disastrous.”

The gravity of the situation eventually seeped through Oliver’s thick skull—which had rejected even the most basic fundamentals of alchemy while he was in school—and he sprang into action.

He grabbed a bundle of short metal tubes that had been attached to the frame of his trike. After he pulled on a wire and give a few quick twists, he now held a long rod with a loop of wire hanging from its end. His catch pole.

“Lead the way, ma’am.”

She quickly ushered him through the shop. It had an odor that was earthy and sharply metallic, making Oliver think that if he inhaled too deeply his nose might start to bleed.

“Back here.” She pointed to a curtain at the back of the shop. “I turned off the light, that seemed to calm it some. You’ll see it though, don’t worry.”

Oliver pushed the curtain aside just enough to pop his head through. Small shafts of light slipped in around his head, revealing a storeroom lined with shelves. A large brick-lined forge, bathed in shadows, stood in the middle of the room. A faint blue-green glow backlit the bricks from the corner of the room.

Oliver squinted at the unusual glow. Was that—was that a crocodile?

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The creature was skinny and about four feet long. An adolescent. A nimbus surrounded the creature, the glow radiating from its green scales. A long tail lashed back and forth, and the aquamarine haze surrounding the tail danced from wall to wall. The tail lashed again, more violently this time, and slapped against a shelf. The impact caused a chorus of tinkling glass as dozens of reagent bottles clattered against each other.

Steph inhaled sharply. “Oh aetherfire. Please hurry.”

Oliver spoke to her over his shoulder, eyes never leaving the animal. “Okay ma’am, here’s what we’re going to do. I need you to get some food. Meat, preferably. I’ll also need you to turn on the lamp back here. It’s too dark for me to see reliably enough to catch the crocodile. Understand?”

As he spoke, Oliver heard the faint pattering of feet from the upper floor of the building.

“Yes,” she said.

“Okay, good. Go now.”

The woman turned around only to be met by a smaller version of herself. The young gnome had wavy blond hair that hung to the middle of her back. She was wearing purple polka dot pajamas, and held her hand out.

“I brought the meat,” she said breathlessly.

“What a brave girl,” Oliver said as he took a handful of beef cubes that had likely been destined for a stew later that day. “Thank you. Now straight back upstairs until your mother says it’s safe.”

The woman flashed Oliver a grateful smile as the small girl ran upstairs. She then handed over a small silver lantern. “Just twist this dial,” she said.

Everything now gathered, Oliver let out a quick exhale. With an underarm motion he threw the meat into the center of the room, near the forge. He turned on the lantern, which, despite its small size, immediately bathed the room in a steady white light. He put the lantern on the ground and picked up his looped pole.

The crocodile, its glow no longer visible under the alchemical lighting, immediately became agitated. It turned towards Oliver, swishing its tail violently and snapping its long jaws together. The grating click of dozens of razor sharp teeth made the hairs on Oliver’s arm stand up.

He took a step towards the crocodile, pole extended in front of him, the bottom arc of the wire loop dragging lightly on the floor. The crocodile mirrored the action. It had short, stubby legs that belied its inherent speed and grace. Oliver moved closer still, narrowing the gap between predator and prey, while praying under his breath that he was, in fact, the predator in this situation.

The crocodile moved closer, nearing the chunks of meat on the floor, and its wide nostrils flared when it caught the scent. The beast lunged towards the food. Oliver mimicked the motion, driving the wire loop towards where the crocodile’s head would soon be.

He was too slow. The crocodile changed trajectory, snapping onto the end of the pole and flailing violently. Despite his diminutive stature, Oliver had a wiry strength. The muscles of his forearms and biceps bulged, fighting against the strength of the animal.

The crocodile gave another violent tug and Oliver lost his grip on the pole. The end he’d been holding caught on one of the many pockets Oliver had sewn into his coat. With a surprised grunt, Oliver was thrown to the floor, the impact knocking the wind from his chest. The metal pole clattered down after.

He looked up towards the crocodile, expecting to see the long jaws of death clamping down on him. Instead, he found the reptilian monster gorging itself on the chunks of meat, metal rod forgotten.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Oliver stood up into a crouch. He reached down with wiggling, straining fingers towards the rod. Then with glacial slowness he extended the rod’s loop towards the distracted creature.

The crocodile flicked its head up, the movement sending the last chunk of meat down its gullet. And in that instant, Oliver calmly slipped the loop around its head and pulled the wire tight.

The crocodile looked at Oliver with the calm, cool rage of an apex predator and then started to roll. Over and over it rolled, like a tumbleweed caught in a tornado. Its wild thrashing rolls sent it sliding across the floor, body pounding repeatedly against the brick forge.

Oliver stood his ground, muscles straining to hold onto the pole. The wire rotated within the hollow tube, emitting a dull metallic scraping sound as it did so. If it were to get caught, the torsional force might cause even the strong metal wire to snap. He needed to end this. Quickly.

The crocodile ceased its death rolls. Its eyes were locked on Oliver, and its nostrils were expanding and contracting rapidly, as if trying to suss out more food or maybe just breathing heavily due to exertion—Oliver wasn’t sure.

Again moving slowly, Oliver reached into a jacket pocket and withdrew his trusty burlap sack. It still smelled faintly of bat. Then, moving around at the apogee of the catch pole’s length, Oliver circled the crocodile until he was almost behind it.

He pounced. Oliver landed on top of the crocodile, which immediately started bucking and trashing. While pushing down on the creature with his entire body—trying desperately not to be knocked off—he whipped a quick arm around and stuffed the sack over the crocodile’s head.

Deprived of site, the creature immediately went still. Still astride it, Oliver reached into another jacket pocket and withdrew a length of rope. He quickly wound the rope around the creature’s long snout, preventing it from using its many rows of razor sharp teeth.

Almost entirely drained of energy himself, Oliver stood up and used his catch pole to slowly drag the creature across the floor towards the front of the shop. Mercifully, the scaly brute offered no further resistance.

As he dragged the crocodile over the shop’s threshold and reached his tricycle, Oliver was faced with a new dilemma: there was no way it would fit in his tricycle’s cage. His eyes flashed between the crocodile and the cage—back and forth, back and forth—as he took mental measurements and thought.

With a chuckle, Oliver reached towards the catch pole and unthreaded the individual sections until it was again no more than a wire loop holding together a bundle of rods. Then, grunting, he lifted the crocodile and inserted it—tail first—into the cage. The tail slid easily through the gap in the bars, allowing the door to close and snugly encasing the bulk of the predator’s body.

A crowd had almost immediately started to gather at the scene, and Oliver dusted his hands off with a nonchalance that was entirely and unequivocally feigned. In truth, he was lucky to be alive.

“Mr. Fizzlecrank,” the alchemist said as she emerged from the shop, “that was…unbelievable!” Her eyes traveled lazily down and back up, taking in Oliver in a new light. She blushed, realizing that her gaze had lingered longer than was proper, but was saved from further embarrassment when her daughter popped out.

“Mom, he caught the dragon!” Excitement sparkled in the girl’s eyes.

“That’s actually a crocodile, not a dragon. Just a baby, too. But I wouldn’t have caught it without your help, little miss. That was very brave of you.” Oliver rummaged around in his coat, eventually pulling out a small bundle of wax paper with a wooden stick jutting out from it. He handed it over to the child. “I’ve always thought bravery should be rewarded.”

The girl removed the wax paper, revealing a stick covered in bright green multifaceted crystals.

“There’s a confectioner near my house,” Oliver explained. “He makes these delightful little treats. Calls them candied geode kebabs.”

The girl popped the candy into her mouth without hesitation, her eyes lighting up in joy.

“I use them for harpy bait,” Oliver whispered to the girl’s mother. “Always pays to have one handy. Anyways, I must be off. You’ll receive a bill for the extraction in a few days.”

After half a score attempts, the tricycle’s alchemical engine sputtered to life and Oliver shot off down the street, crocodile tail sticking out at an angle and slapping at pedestrians as he passed.