Heretical Fishing

Chapter 16: The Noose

It was a fitful sleep with the excitement of a set trap waiting to be checked, and I woke to the light of the already risen sun creeping through my open bedroom door. Anticipation rising, I sprung from my bed and ran out onto the sands. A wet thwap sounded, and I paused on the spot, turning toward the noise.

George stood to the right of me, eyes wide as he stared between me and my home, shoes covered in the topping of what looked to be a cake.

“Morning, George!” I gave him a broad grin. “How ya doing?”

George’s face went white, and he stammered, “G-good morning, Fischer. I brought you coffee and a treat . . .” He looked down, only just now realizing that he was wearing a portion of the aforementioned treat, the rest having exploded across the sand.

“S-sorry, Fischer! I—”

“Mate! You shouldn’t have!” I walked over and held my hand out for the mug, mouth watering. “You really brought me a coffee?”

He seemed to recover slightly. “Y-yes! I wanted to tell you that the coffee machine you requested should be here within the week, and I’ve organized a coffee for you from Lena’s Café each morning until it arrives.”

“Every day?” I took the cup. “Mate, you’ve outdone yourself.”

I took a tentative sip, and the familiar taste of freshly brewed coffee consumed my senses. It was bitter, the roast a little darker than my usual tastes, but it would pair perfectly with something sweet. I closed my eyes and breathed in, moving my tongue to let the flavors circulate. “George, mate, I could kiss you right now.”

He let out a strained laugh. “I’m glad you’re happy. Sorry about the mess . . .” He looked down at the splattered remains of his other offering. “I-I was just so shocked to see your home . . .”

“Oh, this thing?” I looked at the visible face of my house. “Just a little something I knocked up over the last few days. You like it?”

“Y-yes! It is magnificent . . .”

“Glad to hear, mate! It’s nowhere near as opulent as yours, but it suits me just fine.”

His eyes were vacant as he stared at the abode.

After a long moment, I waved a hand in front of him. “You feeling all right, mate?”

He blinked rapidly, his eyes refocusing on me. “Ye—yes! Of course! I’d better get going, there’s a lot to do back in the village!” He turned and strode slowly away in the direction of Tropica.

Poor bloke. I guess the house would be shocking, but his social anxiety seems debilitating.

“Thanks again, George!” I called after him, taking another big mouthful of my gloriously caffeinated beverage.

George couldn’t feel his legs, and barely recognized that he was moving at all.

This is worse than I thought . . .

Like the unwavering arrow of Apollo, seeing the house Fischer occupied had driven a shaft of despair into his heart. It appeared in only a few days—had Fischer built it before he even arrived? What resources must the man possess for him to deliver such expensive materials unseen, then erect it unnoticed?

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He had woken that morning full of intent—he’d barely slept following the previous day’s interaction with Fischer, and in the early hours of the morning, had decided to not let the machinations of the capital agent affect him. He’d meant to show a facade of calm surety when presenting the expensive food and drink. Seeing the house had dissolved that intention like granular sugar in a hot beverage.

It was made to resemble the ancient houses of old, and only the richest of nobles in the capital of Gormona could afford the materials required to make such an approximation.

Does he intend to use his home as the village’s new base of power after ousting me?

Worse, a defensive wall of rock surrounded it.

He hasn’t built a home but established a fortress from which to torment me.

He didn’t even notice when his surroundings turned from sand and sugarcane to homes and street, troubled as his thoughts were.

Did he antagonize me intentionally to draw me in? He was pleased for me to stumble upon his domain, smiling at me as I cast my eyes over it. Oh, Fischer, you devious man—I am but a puppet dancing on your strings . . .

I called and called for Sergeant Snips, wanting to give her a taste of the cake strewn over the sands, but she never came.

Guess she’s gone off somewhere . . .

I felt a bare moment of worry, but it vanished when I remembered the capabilities of my defensive crab—she’d be able to fend for herself and would return when finished with whatever she was doing. I sipped the last bit of coffee, relishing the flavor and sensation of vigor already coursing through me.

Fueled by dopamine and excitement, I jogged to the trap waiting for me. I picked up the rock, happy to see the line still tied firmly to it. The line felt tight, and as I started pulling it in, it was heavy.

Is there something in the crab pot, or am I just imagining it?

Hand over hand, pull after pull, the suspense was agonizing, almost too much for me to handle. I finally caught sight of the crab pot, and anticipation bubbled over as I caught sight of light-yellow masses on the backside of my trap. I grabbed the metal handle on the close side and reefed it out of the water. Two crabs sat in the back corners, the same color as sand, and with a more streamlined shape than that of Sergeant Snips.

Sand Crab

Common

Found along the ocean shores, this crustacean is a staple of the Kallis Realm’s coastal denizens.

So, less prized in flavor than rock crabs, but more common?

[Error: Insufficient power. Superfluous systems offline.]

“Can I just have a goddamn moment to myself, System?” I yelled. “That shit is getting tedious!”

I felt something in response, like a switch presented in response to my complaint. With a push, I mentally flicked it. Nothing seemed to change, but I had a feeling I’d just turned off the annoying notifications. I hoped that was the case.

Guess I’ll have to wait and see . . .

Returning my attention to the cornered crabs, I opened the pot, carefully reaching behind the larger of the crabs with my hand. It backed further into the corner, and I easily grabbed its paddle-shaped back swimmers.

I inspected the bottom, seeing it had a pointed abdomen. I repeated the same for the other, seeing a broader, flatter abdomen. If they were anything like the crabs of Earth, which I strongly suspected they were, the pointed carapace underneath meant it was male, and the crab with a flatter one was female.

I carefully set down the female, watching intently as she swiftly swam into the depths and out of sight. Females were a source of reproduction, and although the rarity was listed as common, it still felt wrong eating a breeder.

I held up the male, which was the bigger of them. “Not your lucky day, mate.”

I tied both pincers against its body with a length of line, removing the threat of getting a snipped finger. I left the pot there, with the line tied around the rock I’d used as an anchor, and set off home with the male.

I filled a large pot with fresh water from the river, placed the crab inside, and left it in my kitchen with a lid atop. I didn’t want to cause the thing any undue distress, so left it in the insulated air of my house. With that thought lingering, and making a possible bad call, I cut the line that held its limbs close.

“Your time is almost done, crab,” I said to it. “The least I can do is let you move about.”

It tried to get me with one of its pincers—fair play—but I was too quick. With a few goals in mind, I made my way toward Tropica.

“You’re sure this is a good idea, sir?” Gary asked.

Sebastian’s eye twitched at his idiotic follower’s insubordination. “Yes, I’m sure, Gary—now move out of the way.”

“Y-yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” He shuffled aside, leaving the path clear.

Sebastian left the house that functioned as the Cult of the Leviathan’s Tropica branch. The purse at his side was a comforting weight, and his lip twinged up in annoyance at having to waste more of the Cult’s funds.

Not a waste, he reminded himself. A necessary cost to rid the world of the upstart that’s disrupting my plans.

He made his way toward the north side of the village, face firm and stride true. He wore his lobster regalia this time; there was no need to hide his comings and goings.

The wait for the café was long, and the bulbous bodies of minor nobles blocked his path. Their sizes brought him great disgust, but not for their attractiveness—their forms were the pinnacle of beauty standards. Sebastian’s grievance was with how much it cost to sustain such a look. He had more than enough coin to cultivate such a body, but his purpose lay with the guidance of blessed lobsters toward divinity.

These people are heretics—they have no desire to truly serve the potential gods. Disgusting wastes of space, one and all.

The line dwindled, one enlarged person at a time, and he eventually reached the counter. The woman behind the counter, who he knew to be named Lena, looked down her nose at him.

“Yes?” Her voice was dismissive and petulant, a far cry from the deference and cheer she’d given everyone before him.

“One coffee, please,” Sebastian said, trying his best to smile at the mountain of a woman.

“You may not be able to afford it, priest.” She sniffed at him. “Five iron coins.”

He breathed in slowly, trying to keep control of his features. “I heard the people before me paying only three irons, madam.”

She shrugged a single shoulder, not bothering with both. “That was for people of note, who I know will come back with their mugs, or pay to replace a broken one. For you . . . if you bring it back tomorrow, I’ll happily charge you three.”

“And will I get the two irons back if I return it?”

“No,” she said with a caustic smile. “It’s a non-refundable deposit. You’ll be charged three irons from then on—assuming those skinny hands of yours don’t slip and smash one of them.”

Sebastian couldn’t control the half sneer that sprouted, but quickly smiled to replace it. “Of course, madam.”

He reached into his pouch, counted out five irons, and held them out for her. She tapped on the counter, and he placed them there. She pulled out a cloth, grabbed the coins with them, and threw them into a jar as if they would bite.

“Won’t be a moment, sir.” The last word was mocking, and as she turned away, Sebastian bared his teeth at her back.

Push me, vile wench, and you’ll be next.

A minute later, she put the coffee-filled mug on the far side of the bench away from the line, then smiled brightly at the next person to order.

“Two coffees and thirty-four passiona pastries, Geraldine?”

“You know me so well, Lena—George and I just can’t get enough!”

Sebastian tuned them out as he headed back south with Fischer’s coffee, ignoring the scorn-laden glances of the people that lined up behind him.

A necessary cost, he reminded himself. The cultivator might suspect if the first gift of coffee was poisoned, but if I make a habit of it, the noose will slide around his neck with ease.

“Fischer!” a voice called as I walked through the village.

I turned, seeing the man in a lobster robe that had previously threatened me.

Sebastian, Maria had said . . .

“Hey, Sebastian. You in a better mood today?”

He rubbed the back of his head, giving me a smile vacant of joy. “I wanted to say sorry for my behavior the other day. I’ve brought you a coffee in apology.”

I raised an eyebrow but accepted the drink. “Thanks!”

I downed the coffee in a single swig, handing him back the cup. “We all have bad days, so don’t worry about it.”

I clapped him on the shoulder by way of goodbye, and kept on walking, keen as I was to go about my errands.

Sebastian seethed as he made his way back to his precious lobsters.

I could have just poisoned the idiot then! He didn’t even question it, didn’t even bother tasting the thing that I’d spent so much damn coin on! It’s going to cost me another three irons, and for what?

He sighed, and a malicious smile made its way out as he realized something.

That just means the next cup will deliver his doom. Enjoy the coffee, fool, for the next one will be your last.

He cackled as he went, ignoring the looks of passing villagers.