Tim was still shaking his head as he and Oscar made their way by the WYBR to the footbridge over Gorton’s River. On the other side was a sign, “Nobath” population 125. Ahead lay a wide-open street filled with pushcarts and horses. However, the brown “mud” on the horse hooves and coating the wagon wheels caught his eye. The “earthy” aroma hung in the air even at this distance.

“You ever been to town?” Tim asked as he dug into his robe.

“No, govenah. Can’t say that I have.”

Tim pulled out a pair of clothespins. “You’ll probably need this.” With that, he popped one of the clothespins on his nose. He handed the other to Oscar.

“Blood hell, what am I meant to do with this?”

“Put it on silly.”

“Well, for one thing, I haven’t got thumbs, have I? And secondly, why on earth would I need a clothes peg?”

“Can’t you smell it?”

“Smell what?”

“The stench.”

“Smells right pleasant to me.”

Tim stared at Oscar and blinked. “Okay then. Follow me.”

They crossed the footbridge, followed a raised footpath into town, and skirted close to the buildings.

Hanging from the eaves was a sign with a stack of books, a scroll, and a coffin. Below was the text, “D. Ed Walker, attorney and mortician.”

“I think this will do,” Tim said.

“Are you sure? What about the mortician part of this?”

“Ah well, everyone has side gigs nowadays,” Tim answered, pushing the door open. The air inside the office smelled like old parchment and dried rosemary. Tim ran a hand through his beard as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. “Hello?”

“Come in,” came a scratchy voice. Tim looked in that direction and found a stoop-shouldered, balding man sitting at a desk, illuminated with only a thin burning candle. “Have a seat,” the man croaked, pointing to a pair of chairs in front of his desk. As Tim approached, the man rose out of his seat and offered him a long, bony white hand. “Ed Walker, attorney at law”

Tim grasped the man’s hand and nearly recoiled. The cold and slimy appendage felt like he was handling a fish fresh from a mountain stream. “Er, nice to meet you. I’m the wizard Tim, and this,” he tipped his head toward Oscar, “is my companion, Oscar.” He released the grip on Ed’s hand and quickly wiped it off on his robe.

As Tim sat down, Ed cast a critical eye at Oscar. “I don’t typically allow farm animals in the office.”

“Blimey, I’m a right good natterer, see?” Oscar said with narrowed eyes.

“Hmm, a talking pig. I bet he’s an acquired taste,” Ed said, with a smile full of his jagged and pointed teeth.

Oscar turned to Tim. “Oy, he’s got gnasher’s like a saw.”

“Would you be quiet?” Tim hissed at Oscar, then focused on Ed. “I was wondering if you deal with property law, namely getting rid of squatters.”

“Let me guess,” Ed said, his voice surprisingly deep for his slender frame. “Gnomes.” He slid back into his chair. “Nasty little buggers, no respect for property rights.”

“Exactly,” Tim exclaimed, his voice echoing in the cramped office. “They ransacked my treehouse. God only knows what they are using my spell books for.”

“Were you out of your property for more than 24 hours?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what did it. Gnomes claim possession of any home unoccupied for more than a day. Not legal under current law, but there you have it.”

Oscar sniffed the air. The sickly-sweet smell was coming from a cart nearby, covered by a leather tarp. He moved toward it while Tim ranted about the horrible injustices inflicted upon him.

Ed steepled his hands as a thin smile grew upon his face. “Assault, too. These naughty gnomes deserve a full serving of punishment.”

With a flip of the snout, Oscar tossed back the corner of the tarp to reveal a table with a bone saw, several knives, pliers, and a meat cleaver. All of which had red goo on them. “Ah, Tim, you might want to see this,” the pig said.

With a hiss, Ed glared at him. “Get away from there. Those are for my mortician jobs.”

Tim frowned and pointed at Ed. “Seriously, Oscar. I’m trying to hire a lawyer.”

Quick as a flash, Ed turned back to Tim. “Yes, let’s get to that. Here’s my standard contract for removing squatters.” He pulled a piece of parchment from his desk and scribbled the words “gnomes’ and “treehouse” in the blanks labeled unwanted tenants and property. Ed leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “We can get your treehouse back, Mr. Wizard. That’s my specialty – evictions, extractions, the whole nasty business.”

Oscar snorted as he walked back from the cart. “Nasty business, indeed. And what’s the price tag on said ‘nasty business,’ Mr. Walker?”

Ed’s smile faltered for a second. “Ah, well, my fees are quite reasonable. A small retainer upfront and a percentage upon successful … extraction,” he said, giving Oscar a side-eye.

Tim grinned and slapped his hand on the desk. “Hand me the quill. Let’s get those gnomish gits out of my treehouse!”

Oscar whispered in Tim’s ear. “Tim, mate, the way he keeps saying ‘extraction,’ it sounds suspiciously like…”

Before Oscar could finish, Ed slammed a quill down on the table. He pointed to the signature line, “Just sign here, and all your problems will be surgically removed.”

Tim reached for the quill, but Oscar squealed. “Hold your horses, Tim. Take a look at the fine print before you get bitten in the arse.”

“Huh?” Tim finally lowered his hand, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. Ed’s smile had become strained.

Oscar snatched the contract, his pink eyes scanning the legalese. Then, his eyes widened. “Tim,” he said, his voice a high-pitched tremor, “it says here your payment includes… a pound of flesh as a retainer and a ‘percentage of the evicted party.'”

Suddenly, the sweet scent in the room seemed overwhelming. It wasn’t pleasant anymore; it was cloying and sickly. Tim finally noticed that Ed’s smile had vanished, replaced by a hungry glint in his eyes.

“Mr. Walker,” Tim said, his voice unsteady, “exactly what are you?”

“Everyone needs to put meat on the table, right?” Ed snarled as the skin around his jaw started to peel back, revealing rotting flesh beneath.

“Replace darkness with light and make it bright,” Tim said, snapping his fingers. A brilliant flash lit up the room, sending Ed recoiling back in his chair. Tim and Oscar bolted for the door, ripped it open, and ran outside.

Hustling down the sidewalk, Oscar panted, “Mate, now what?”

Tim clutched his staff, his face grim. “Looks like we’ll have to find another way to evict those gnomes.” He glanced up at the storefront across the street.  Below a pentagram was a sign saying, ‘Supernatural Solutions to Possession Problems.’

“Hey, that looks promising,” Tim said, walking toward it.

“Oy,” Oscar grunted. “Here we go again, another one in the making.”