After their initial exchange, Maurise decided that Ezra Frick was a decent enough merchant, even if his personal eccentricities leaned toward the peculiar. In truth, this was exactly what Maurise had hoped for. Before even stepping through the door, he had a hunch that Frick wasn't a total lost cause.
The man's mother, after all, ran a charming little shop for second-hand robes in Diagon Alley. She was the sort of kindly old soul who had tucked an extra pair of spell-mending gloves into Maurise's bag for free after he'd made a purchase. If Frick had been a complete scoundrel, it was unlikely the sweet woman would have given Maurise her son's private business address in the first place.
One final detail had cemented Maurise's favorable opinion. Just before he made for the exit, Frick had offered to escort him back to the main thoroughfare of Diagon Alley to ensure he didn't run into any "unsavory characters." Maurise had declined with a polite smile. He was more than capable of handling himself, even in the grime of Knockturn Alley.
As he reached for the handle, Maurise remembered a final errand. He turned back and said, "Oh, I nearly forgot. Mr. Frick, your mother wanted me to remind you to eat your meals on time."
He took his promises to sweet old ladies very seriously.
"I'll keep it in mind," Frick replied with a weary, resigned nod.
Maurise smiled and began to push the door open, but the heavy oak slab was suddenly slammed inward with brutal force. The impact nearly pinned him against the stone wall.
A massive, hulking brute of a man stomped into the shop, looking as though he had been carved out of a particularly angry mountain. Behind him followed two equally unpleasant associates, their faces twisted into sneers. The already cramped shop felt as though it were shrinking as the three thugs crowded the space.
Maurise stayed where he was, leaning against the wall with a look of mild curiosity. These weren't customers. They lacked the necessary air of desperation or academic obsession common to Frick's usual clientele.
Frick's face curdled the moment he saw them.
"Klenke," Frick said, his voice dropping an octave into a cold, dangerous register. "I thought I told you to stay out of my shop. You're scaring away the legitimate business."
Klenke, the lead brute, bared a set of yellowing, jagged teeth in a mockery of a smile. "Don't be like that, Frick. We were just in the neighborhood and thought we'd offer a friendly reminder. Your debts are overdue."
"The debt is paid in full! Now get out before I lose my temper," Frick snarled, his hand drifting toward his wand. "Otherwise, I'll spend the afternoon stuffing the three of you into the digestive tract of a giant slug."
Klenke's fake smile vanished, replaced by a look of pure malice. "So, you've chosen the hard way then." He took two heavy steps forward, making the floorboards groan in protest. His two companions followed suit, drawing their wands in a synchronized movement.
The air in the shop turned heavy and static. A fight was seconds away.
Maurise, still tucked away by the door, shifted his weight slightly. He wasn't scared; he was actually quite entertained. Debt collectors in Knockturn Alley? This was the local flavor he had been expecting. It was like a live-action play, provided one didn't mind the smell of unwashed wizard.
However, as two minutes of posturing passed, Maurise's interest began to wane. No spells were flying. It was just a verbal sparring match filled with increasingly creative insults. Apparently, even in the dark arts district, people preferred to argue rather than duel.
Then, Klenke's eyes wandered. He spotted Maurise, who was currently stifling a yawn.
As a professional leg-breaker, Klenke knew the golden rule of his trade: if you can't break the man, threaten his family. He assumed any child found in a place like this had to be connected to the owner.
A nasty grin spread across Klenke's face as he loomed over Maurise. "Well, well, Frick. Is this your brat? He has your eyes, doesn't he? A bit small for his age, though."
Maurise's eyebrow twitched. He looked from the greasy, balding Frick to himself, then back again. "Sir, I must ask," Maurise said, his voice dripping with disbelief, "are you legally blind? In what possible world do I look like this man's offspring?"
He sighed, shaking his head. "I am merely a passerby. Please, do continue your... whatever this is. Don't mind me."
Klenke's face turned a shade of mottled purple. "You've got a big mouth for a pipsqueak. You tired of living, kid?" He stepped closer, his sour breath washing over Maurise's face.
"Klenke!" Frick shouted, stepping forward with his wand tip glowing a dangerous, pale blue. "He's a customer. He has nothing to do with this."
Klenke laughed. A customer? A child in Knockturn Alley? He wasn't buying it. He reached out a meaty hand to grab Maurise's shoulder, intending to use him as a shield or a bargaining chip.
Frick didn't hesitate. "Stupefy!"
A jet of red light shot toward Klenke's chest. But Klenke was a veteran of back-alley brawls. He didn't need to be a scholar to know how to survive. He reacted with a speed that belied his bulk.
"Protego!"
The Shield Charm flickered into existence, catching the stunner and deflecting it. The red bolt ricocheted off the shield and smashed into a large glass jar on a nearby shelf.
Crash!
The jar exploded, showering the floor in a thick, viscous green sludge that smelled faintly of rotten eggs.
Maurise looked down. Several globs of the neon-green goo had landed squarely on his polished leather shoes. His expression darkened.
"You started it, Frick!" Klenke roared, sounding delighted. "Don't you know the rules of the Alley?"
Frick went pale and silent. Knockturn Alley was a place of chaos, but it had its codes. The "Shopkeeper's Peace" was a primary one. If a shopkeeper was harmed, the local "enforcers" would descend like vultures. However, if the shopkeeper cast the first spell, they were considered the aggressor, and the enforcers would look the other way while the shop was looted.
The enforcers currently patrolling this sector weren't exactly on Frick's Christmas card list.
"Excuse me," Maurise said, his voice eerily calm as he stared at his ruined footwear. "Mr. Klenke, was it? What exactly were you planning to do with that hand you were reaching toward me?"
Klenke didn't even look at him. "Shut up, kid. The adults are talking."
Maurise didn't move. "I asked you a question, sir. It is polite to answer."
Klenke finally turned, looking at Maurise as if he were an annoying fly. "You want to play hero? You're making me sick, you little brat."
Maurise nodded slowly. "The feeling is entirely mutual. Truly, you are a revolting individual."
Maurise's wand slipped into his hand with a fluid, practiced motion.
"Kruk... Tak... Gûl!" (Bone Calling)