The Scumbags Guide to Enslaving Demon's

The market had simply moved the bill to the door. In the unpaid-route alley, the black tokens burned cold against their palms with one silver line: DEPARTURE PRICE: ONE NIGHT OF YOUR FUTURE.

Cheerful music drifted from somewhere beyond the wall seam, and its distance made the words feel worse.

”Do not try to leave yet,” Vessa said. ”If you cross with that price active, Kharos chooses the night, and you could wake years from now with a gap in your memory or lose a night that has not happened yet and never know what it took.”

Rin glanced toward the seam and said she had not been planning on it.

Nyra held the neutralized heart shard to her chest. ”It can take a night from the future?”

”The market takes possibilities,” Vessa said. ”It takes a night when someone should have been present or a choice would have changed something, then sells the absence afterward.”

Austin Veyron looked at his token as DEVOUR stirred beneath his ribs. He could feel the debt, not time itself but a claim on time, thin and bitter and tied to the market’s price network, and part of him wanted to eat the future claim at once so Kharos could never collect.

Veyra saw his expression and told him to say it. ”I can feel the clause, and I might be able to take it.”

Sable shook her head. ”You do not know where the clause ends, and it may be attached to every night the market has stolen. You could tear open things you cannot put back.”

Austin Veyron hated that she was right, so he said they would find the rule instead.

Vessa nodded and explained that debt clerks keep the rules rather than make them, so if they found one, they could force a reading with witnesses.

”Force them?” Nyra asked.

”Ask first,” Vessa said, ”but the clerks are trained to run.”

Rin crouched near the alley stones and said someone had passed through after the auction, leaving brass oil, paper dust, and clockwork joints on the air.

”A collector,” Vessa said. ”It will take the debt notice to the Clock Court.”

They followed the scent as Kharos changed around them, the alley folding into a stair that ran sideways along a market wall.

Stalls hung from the ceiling above their heads, and every seller called out an offer. No one answered.

They sold sealed breaths, unused apologies, and coins that remembered who had spent them. ”Five minutes of courage!” one cried, and others called out ”A name you have forgotten!” and ”A promise with no person attached!”

The debt clerk appeared at a three-way crossing, a small figure in a brass coat with a round clock face for a head and ink tubes running from its sleeves to a large ledger on its back. Its hands pointed at midnight even though no one else’s time was visible in Kharos.

”There,” Vessa said, pointing. The clerk saw them and turned.

”Permit holders,” it said, its voice ticking between words. ”Departure cost calculated, so please proceed to the nearest exit when ready.”

Austin Veyron said they needed the full clause, and the clerk answered that full clauses are premium information.

Vessa replied that they had a right to review a price before paying it, and the clerk’s clock hands twitched as it said review rights expire at departure.

Then the clerk bolted, its brass boots clattering across the sideways stairs. Rin was after it in a heartbeat.

Veyra followed, catching the railing as the stair tipped abruptly into a corridor of hanging lamps. The clerk threw paper seals behind it, and each one opened into a small clockwork collector with scissors for hands, stamped PAY LATER. PAY MORE.

Maelis and Sarielle were not with them in Kharos, so the five had only their own skills and very little room to use them.

Rin shot the first collector through its clock spring, and Veyra cut the second in half.

Nyra touched the neutralized heart shard to a third seal, and blue-black light made the paper forget how to move.

Austin Veyron caught a fourth collector by the collar as it tried to write ONE NIGHT. ONE MASTER. across his wrist. He did not devour it, choosing instead to crush the brass shell against the wall until the letters broke apart.

The clerk reached the end of the corridor and tried to vanish through a door of turning gears. Vessa’s courier chain caught it around the waist.

The clerk spun and dragged Vessa two steps across the floor until Veyra grabbed her shoulder. Austin Veyron pulled the other end, and together they hauled the brass figure back from the gear door.

The ledger on its back burst open, and loose pages flew into the air, each one listing a debt in tiny silver script. Austin Veyron saw names he did not know, broken dates, and phrases like ”absence accepted” and ”future received.”

Nyra flinched as one page brushed her face. ”My sister,” she whispered.

”What about her?” Austin Veyron asked.

”I saw that mark on her token before the market took her,” Nyra said. ”They said she owed a night because she entered without a price.”

The clerk’s clock face rotated toward her and called it an unverified emotional claim, so Veyra slammed it against the wall and told it to try again. Its hands spun wildly as it insisted that debt procedure protects market balance.

”Read our clause,” Vessa said. ”You have witnesses, debt holders, and an active dispute, so under your own law it must be read.”

The clerk hesitated, and the market around them seemed to listen. At last it opened the ledger to a blank page, and silver letters crawled across it: DEPARTURE PRICE: ONE NIGHT OF EACH HOLDER’S FUTURE. REDEMPTION OPTION: RETURN AN UNSTOLEN NIGHT TO A PERSON DEPRIVED BY KHAROS. The letters dimmed, and Austin Veyron read them twice.

”An unstolen night,” Rin said. ”What does that mean?”

Vessa’s face had gone pale. ”It is a night the market owns as a debt but has never spent, and we can return it to the person it was taken from.”

Nyra gripped the heart shard and whispered, ”My sister.”

The clerk’s brass hands snapped shut over the ledger, and it said that redemption requires a valid timekeeper seal and that the Clock Court retains all unspent nights.

”Where is it?” Austin Veyron asked.

The clerk did not answer, so Veyra drew her blade just enough to show the metal.

”Where is it?” she repeated, and the clock face ticked backward.

”The Clock Court is in the inner market, with the timekeeper held captive in the upper chamber,” it said. ”Access requires a debt-bearer or a stolen night.”

Vessa looked at the black tokens and said they were debt-bearers now.

The clerk tried to pull free of the courier chain, but Austin Veyron stepped closer. It stared at him with its blank clock face, expecting DEVOUR.

The brass figure expected to become information inside him, but Austin Veyron did not reach for it.

”Your ledger stays,” he said. ”We take the clause, not your mind.”

The clerk froze and asked whether he was letting it go, and he answered that he was letting it choose what to do after they left.

”That is not how collection works,” it said, and he told it to learn.

Vessa released the chain, and the clerk stumbled backward, clutching its ledger. It did not run immediately.

Its clock hands pointed at something near dawn. ”The Clock Court will not let you return what it profits from,” it said.

”Probably not,” Austin Veyron answered, and the brass figure retreated into the gear door and vanished.

Nyra looked east through the crooked market lanes. ”My sister may be there.”

Vessa shook her head. ”The timekeeper is there, and the timekeeper knows where every stolen night is kept.”

Austin Veyron closed his fist around the black token, and the departure price still glowed inside it, but it no longer felt inevitable.

”We get to the Clock Court and return a stolen night,” he said. ”Then we leave Kharos without paying with our future.”

The market bells began to ring. Somewhere beyond the shifting stalls, a clock started counting down.