Interloper

I had hunted him down and cornered him in a curiosities shop. The street outside was busy and noisy, but as I closed the door behind me it grew quiet. I paused. It was like stepping into a completely different city. Dust hung in the air, barely moving. My eyes adjusted to the dim light and the shadowy shapes began to resolve into furniture, cameras, picture frames, dresses and coats. Nothing was moving. Distant echoes of the world outside faded as I stepped further in, knife at the ready.

The blade was an ancient relic, imbued with the strength of a distant, mountainous land. Kings had fought there in the dawn of the world and this blade belonged to the last to sit on their storied throne. Long searching had lead me to it, forgotten in its sheath in an attic above a coffeehouse by the harbor. It fit my hand perfectly.

My footsteps were kicking up too much dust. I slowed my pace and listened carefully. There was a rustle of paper in the far corner. A decoy? A mouse?

A pile of boxes to my left exploded and he emerged, scales, teeth, claws. Impressive but no match for the dark metal in my hand. Black steel met white scales, and we crashed through a stack of antique furniture, then rolled onto the floor. He was dead before we hit the ground. I lay for a moment, gathered my strength, then heaved his body off of me and stood.

Dust swirled in and out of the light that slipped in through gaps in the newspaper-covered windows. These reptilian off-world bounty hunters never did their research. The curses on this blade had been around longer than spaceflight itself.