Heretical Fishing

Book 2: Chapter 12: House Kraken

As the sun peeked in through his tent’s opening, Number Three rubbed tired eyes.

Each day since they had left Gormona, he’d woken with a smile on his face and a racing heart.

Today was no different.

He still couldn’t believe they were really doing it—truly leaving the capital on such a fraught with danger, exhilarating, and terrifying mission. Those anxiety-inducing thoughts were running through his mind when a friendly face poked into his tent.

“Good morning, Ellis,” Number Three said.

“Good morning, Three. I’m ‘One’, by the way.” Ellis gently chided. “Don’t let Keith hear you using any other name.”

Three barked a laugh.

“Right—we wouldn’t want to upset the cantankerous Number Two. Is it time to pack up?”

“Not yet. Four is making breakfast, and I was just coming to see if you were awake.”

After Ellis—er, One—departed, Three took a moment to stretch, then tidied his camping roll before stepping out. He stood upright under the sun’s rays; their warmth smothered any lingering anxiety he felt about their mission.

“Good morning, everyone,” he said, striding toward the campfire and the men surrounding it.

They all called back greetings—except Four, who didn't look up from making breakfast, clearly having not heard him. Two, who was wringing his hands and staring at the ground, merely grunted. Three raised an eyebrow at the obviously conflicted man.

“How are you feeling, Two?”

“Good, thanks.”

Three snorted. His training as a crown auditor had begun before he was a grown man, and as a result, he could read the truth in Two’s body language.

“You remember I’m an auditor, right? It’s no use lying to me.”

Two’s eyes shot up, then narrowed.

“I do not consent to you reading my thoughts.”

“That’s not how it works, Keith,” Five said as he removed the pegs holding down one of the tents. “Besides, I’m not a trained auditor, and even I can tell you’ve got a burr in your small-clothes this morning.”

“Don’t call me that!” Keith—er, two—hissed. “It’s Two! I’m Two!”

Five held both his hands up.

“Whoa. My bad. No need to go all royal on me.”

“Do not call me royal! That’s an identifying trait!”

“I don’t think it was until you said so...” Three said. When Two turned his furious gaze on him, Three gave the royal a kind smile. “We’re out in the wilderness, Two. I’m sure there’s no one around to hear us.”

Two adjusted his shirt, smoothing creases that didn’t exist.

“Procedures exist for a reason, Three. If we don’t follow the rules, things will descend into chaos. Chaos, I tell you!”

“Worry not, gentlemen,” One said, his voice deep and calming. “We’ll leave this location as soon as we’ve replenished our reserves with some delicious food. Is it almost ready, Four?”

Four’s eyes jolted up from his pan, oozing incomprehension.

“What now?”

“I asked if breakfast is almost ready,” One repeated, tone patient and slow.

“Oh—right! It is! I’m just wilting some spinach.”

Five let out a soft groan and stood to his full height, towering over the collapsed tent.

“We lucked out having a gourmet chef join us on the mission.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m a gourmet...”

Five snorted.

“We both know you’d have been running the royal kitchen long ago if not for that bastard head chef taking the credit for all your ideas.”

“You flatter me.”

Five turned to Three.

“Was I lying?”

Three shook his head. “He told the truth, or at the very least believed he did.”

“Well, that’s kind of you to say,” Four said, removing a heavy pan from the heat. “I’d say we’re just as lucky to have the capital’s quartermaster on board. I’d never have been able to organize every—”

“Stop!” Two hissed, shooting to his feet. “No more identifying traits!”

Five snapped to attention and gave a crisp salute.

“Sorry, my prince! It won’t happen again, my prince!”

A vein pulsed in Two’s forehead and his eye started to twitch. His mouth flew open, closed, then dropped open again, trying to find words sufficient enough for the requisite chastising.

Five held his salute, and Three couldn’t hold it in any longer. He laughed loud, long, and without reserve. By the end, everyone but Two had joined in, but Three noted the smile threatening to curl the prince’s lip.

It is going to be another wonderful day, he thought, beaming at all of his friends.

***

George, the lord of Tropica and noble of house Kraken, had spent the last two weeks fortifying his resolve.

Even now, in the early hours of morning, he was awake and practicing the techniques passed down from father to son since time immemorial. He had never used them prior to his confirmation of Fischer’s position as a crown agent, but with the anxiety that revelation brought, he had been willing to try anything.

“I’m so glad we tried this...” Geraldine said, echoing his sentiments.

George cracked one eye, peering out at his beautiful wife. Even without communicating, their thoughts were joined, and a well of gratitude opened up within him; he may never have made it through the last two weeks if not for her steadying presence.

“I am too—I wish we’d read House Kraken’s manuals sooner.” He lay a hand on her plump knee, and she opened startlingly green eyes that crinkled as she smiled at him.

She giggled, covering her mouth with a voluptuous hand.

“I never thought I’d hear those words from you. You’ve always been so adamant that your family’s teachings were the reason for their diminishing position.”

He gave her a rueful grin.

“Relying on the meditations has been an... enlightening experience.”

She laid her hand atop his, pressing it down against her knee.

“I feel the same, my love. No matter what happens with Fischer and the other crown agents, I know we’ll be just fi—”

Three sharp knocks came on the front door, and George’s calm was shattered like the hardened glazing of a donut dropped to the floor. Geraldine hissed and patted his hand, and he realized he’d dug his fingers into her leg.

“S-sorry...”

He took a deep breath, trying to recenter himself.

It didn’t work.

Geraldine sighed.

“Speak of the devil. Do you want me to get it?”

“No, my love. I can face him.”

George got to his feet with no small amount of effort, grunting as he leaned on both plump arms. He got to his feet, inhaled, and released another measured breath. Again, it didn’t help. He smoothed his clothes and stood tall, resigned to at least appear composed.

“I’ll be back in a moment.”

Geraldine squeezed his calf with one hand, then closed her eyes, returning to her meditation.

He strode for the stairs, relying on the railing to hold his weight, shaky as his traitorous legs were being. When he reached the door, his fingers fumbled over the locks, and he took a moment to steady them. They still shook, but with exacting movements, he carefully removed the final latch and swung the door open.

“G’day, mate,” Fischer said, giving George a predatory smile. “How ya been?”

“I have been well, Fischer, and you?”

“Great, mate. I’ve been great. Sorry to skip right to the heart of the issue, but I’ve got a bit of a big day planned today. I was hoping to talk to you about a project.”

George’s stomach dropped, and he swallowed, buying time to compose himself.

“You have? What, uh, project are you talking of?” Even George could hear the slight quiver in his voice, and he leaned on the doorframe for support.

“Oh, nothing major, just a wall to fish from.”

Despite his uneasy state, confusion still washed over George.

“A... wall? To fish from?”

“Yeah, mate. A wall.”

Fischer smiled, and George realized the crown agent wasn’t going to elaborate.

“What kind of wall? Where?”

“A rock wall in the ocean, extending from the headland and running in-line with the river’s bank. I’m pretty sure no one would care given how disregarded the ocean is, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask—make sure it was legal, you know?”

“H-How does that help with fishing?”

If George’s wits had been about, he’d have simply given permission and moved on. Unfortunately, his thoughts were addled, and Fischer was all too happy to continue the ruse and elaborate.

“It helps immensely—it’s actually really beneficial for the sea-life of the area in general. You build it using large boulders, and the gaps between them provide room for all sorts of species to live in.” Fischer’s eyes were practically shining, and his hands moved animatedly with every other word. “It’s also great for erosion! Sediment builds up at the base of the wall, and it stops sand from washing away from the river mouth!”

If George didn’t know better, and he wasn’t aware that Fischer was some sort of senior crown auditor, he might have believed what appeared to be a passionate speech, but he was far too clever for that.

He didn’t know what trap was being prepared, what rope Fischer was dangling with which George could hang himself, but he wasn’t going to fall for it. He schooled his face as he nodded.

“You can do what you want with the ocean, Fischer. There are no explicit laws regarding the ocean and its ownership.” Along with his meditations, George had spent the last two weeks reading and rereading the crown laws, and he wouldn’t be fooled into giving incorrect information. “Was that all?”

“Oh, for real?” Fischer beamed the smile of a wolf. “Yeah, mate! That’s all I had to ask!”

He turned and jogged from the step, looking over a shoulder to give George one last grin.

“See ya, mate!”

As he disappeared around a corner, George closed the door, the soft click of the lock sounding far away.

His back itched and tingled as sweat sprouted. With each step upstairs, his legs felt more and more like they belonged to someone else. The sense of his body was numbed as he shuffled along. He knew not where he was going, and his legs moved of their own accord, taking him... somewhere. He started tipping over, and his arm shot out, trying to grab anything for support.

Something... no, someone caught him. Voluptuous arms held him tight, and as he realized it was Geraldine, his awareness returned to his body all at once.

“You’re okay, George,” she said, rubbing his back.

He stood tall and squeezed her, taking solace in her touch.

“Thank you, my love. I was a little… light-headed. I’m alright now.”

She helped him sit down, and he crossed his legs, easily falling into the House Kraken meditation position. Despite his worries, he felt a twinge of amusement that he’d been practicing for less than two weeks and his flexibility had already improved enough for him to sit cross-legged. It was still far from the optimal stance, but he was much closer to achieving it after such an insignificant amount of time.

“What happened?” Geraldine asked, drawing him from his musings.

He relayed everything without embellishment, leaving out his assumptions and thoughts; he wanted to hear her untainted opinion on everything Fischer had said.

Geraldine leaned back and stared at the roof for a long moment, considering what he told her.

“What do you think, George?” she asked, still looking up.

“I want to hear your opinion first.”

She nodded, and after a moment, sighed.

“I have not the faintest idea.”

He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Neither do I. At first, I’d assumed it another trap for me to fall into, but when I think about it... what end would that serve? I’ve already been caught lying about—and doing—much worse.”

“My thoughts exactly...”

The more he sat and tried to work it out, the worse George felt. His stomach was doing flips, and his breaths felt shallow, like he couldn’t get enough oxygen.

He rubbed his hands through thinning hair, making a frustrated noise and trying to banish the troublesome thoughts.

“What are we to do, Geraldine? I was just starting to feel more equalized, but a single visit from our tormenter and I’m back at square one. It feels hopeless...”

She crossed the floor faster than someone of her impressive form should be able to, and she leaned into him, hugging him tight.

“I’m sorry it feels that way, but don’t let your thoughts deceive you.” She pulled back and stared into his eyes. “Why don’t you read your house’s manual again? It’s what got us through the last two weeks, is it not?”

He didn’t feel the motivation to do so, but nodded, knowing it would probably help. He stood and strolled to a table across the room, taking a seat and flicking open the large tome atop it. Flicking through pages, he stopped when he saw the heading he was looking for.

‘Chapter 4: Navigating and Harnessing Times of Great Stress.’

He took a deep breath, held it for four seconds—just as the book instructed toward the end of the chapter—then released it slowly and began reading.