Heretical Fishing

Chapter 20: Fish On

Iopened my eyes to the face of a rather cute crab engulfing my entire field of view. Sergeant Snips blew a single happy bubble and scuttled to the side, watching me intently with her lone eye.

“Morning, Snips.” I muttered, stretching my arms to the sky and arching my back. “You seem a lot more chipper today.”

She bubbled her agreement, nodding along with the sentiment.

I rubbed my eyes and yawned, enjoying the lingering calm of a good night’s sleep. “What do you wanna get up to today?”

She lifted both her claws above her head, held them together there, then mimed casting out a fishing line. I couldn’t help but smile at the gesture.

I threw the sheets off, slid out of bed, and gave another big stretch. “I was thinking the same thing, Snips!”

We’d spent the entire day fishing yesterday but had only gone in search of the baitfish that lived along the shoreline and riverbank.

“Shall we hunt for larger prey today?” I asked, giving Snips a sidelong glance and already knowing what her response would be. She nodded emphatically, her entire body bobbing up and down in her enthusiasm.

I barked a laugh. “But first . . .” I gave her a conspiratorial look. “Shall we check the crab pot?”

Her body rocked up and down again, this time even her claws joining in.

“Let’s go!”

I had to jog to keep up with Sergeant Snips’s excited pace. The predawn light was as enjoyable as ever, and a cool breeze gave me goosebumps in its passing.

We reached the shore in record time, and Snips urged me on as I pulled on the fishing line. I felt weight in the pot, and anticipation surged as the trap came into sight. I could see something in there, right in the back corner. It looked like a massive crab. It was—

It was a rock crab.

Sergeant Snips let out a hiss of incomprehensible bubbles, and the rock crab shrank into the corner. I opened the trap and let it out. My guard crab rushed over to it. She unleashed a swift barrage of her claws, giving light taps to its carapace that didn’t do any damage.

The crab looked sufficiently chastised, dropping its body to the sand and blowing bubbles of embarrassment. They appeared to have a conversation, exchanging claw gestures and hiss-like sounds.

Sergeant Snips scuttled to the side, pointing at the other crab, then at a spot on the sand. The freed crab dipped its head in acquiescence, stood on the patch of sand shown, and turned its back to us, looking out at the ocean.

“. . . Snips? What are you—”

In a single movement, she darted to the crab, put both her claws under its body, and flung it out to sea. The rock crab let out a notably cute eeeeeeeeee as it sailed up and out toward the horizon, its body eventually splashing down twenty meters from the shore. She dusted her claws off, nodded, then turned back to me.

I raised an eyebrow and smirked at her. “A little discipline, huh?”

She shrugged with both claws, shaking her carapace in mock dismay.

I put another baitfish in the pot. “Would you mind placing this out into the water, Snips?”

She clacked her claws sharply, grabbed the metal frame, and dragged it out into the depths.

When she got back, I bent down, putting on my most persuasive voice.

“I know you didn’t want me going into the village yesterday, but how do you feel about me grabbing a coffee and pastry before we get started on the day’s fishing?”

She looked toward the village, looked back at me, appearing to consider the proposition. After a long moment, she blew happy bubbles, gesturing toward Tropica and nodding.

“All right! I’ll be right back!”

She waved goodbye with a single claw.

Sebastian was a walking pillar of regret and numbness as he moved through the streets on unfeeling legs. After he found the remains of Pistachio, he had to leave the Cult of the Leviathan’s Tropica headquarters.

Where do I go from here? Will he just kill more of the precious spawn if I acquire another batch of babies from the capital? Dare I request a decades old lobster, or is that just dooming it to death by the defiler?

That thought brought on images of his giant lobster—feeding the Leviathan to be, helping it shed its outgrown carapace, giving it encouragement in the early hours of the morning when his idiotic follower was asleep, telling it of the violent conquest it would one day be the leader of.

He’d underestimated the strength of the heretical defiler that was Fischer; his growing Leviathan and his beloved crickets had paid the price.

It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t antagonized the man on the stairs to ascension, my children would still be alive. If only I had more knowledge, if only I’d been more patient, if only—

“Morning, Sebastian!”

Sebastian’s eyes focused, and he saw the defiler approaching.

“How are ya, mate? Cheers for that coffee, by the way—it really hit the spot!” The defiler gave him a wicked smile, his entire face scrunching in delight, taunting him.

Sebastian froze, his body shutting down in the face of the man that had so easily murdered Pistachio and the crickets.

“Bad news about the mug, though . . .” Fischer grimaced, but Sebastian could still make out the smile curling the corner of his mouth, the mirth still dancing behind his eyes. “I accidentally dropped it—what does it cost to replace?”

A snarl made its way to Sebastian’s face, and it continued widening. He bared his teeth at Fischer—at the audacity of the defiler who would approach so soon after such cruelty. Sebastian spun, ran, fled, needing to get as far from the murderer as possible.

It’s all Fischer’s fault. He did this—not me. The man taunts me, rubs his treachery in, pours salt into the gaping wound in my heart.

A resolve settled itself deep within Sebastian, and the snarl transformed into a vicious grin. He would find a way. He would be the one to avenge his precious spawn.

On Zeus’s barbed lightning, on all that is holy, I swear I will take him down.

I stared in confusion after Sebastian, who was running away with a rather embarrassing gait, his tall, stick-thin frame not suited to physical endeavors.

Well, he took that way worse than I thought . . . it was just a mug . . .

I shrugged. “Weird bloke . . .”

It was still too early for most of the villagers to be out and about, with only a few of the farmers setting off for their fields. All gave me a smile, nod, or wave, and I returned each one, not letting the odd interaction with Sebastian taint my disposition.

I got my fantasy croissant from Sue first, thanking her before setting off for Lena’s Café on the north side of town. No one was in line there, and the owner, presumably Lena, looked me up and down with disdain as I arrived at the counter.

“You lost, boy?”

“Uh, I don’t think so, no.” I gave her a smile and brushed crumbs from my shirt. “Just here to collect my coffee—I believe George organized for me to have one each day?”

She sniffed. “If you’re going to be returning for the next week, I suggest wearing something more befitting the better side of Tropica.” She eyed my plain clothing again. “It wouldn’t do to have you scaring off customers.”

My eyebrow wanted to twitch, but I carefully schooled my features. “I’ll keep that in mind, Lena. Sort a coffee out for me, and I’ll get out of your hair, yeah?”

She sniffed again, looking down her nose at me, but thankfully started making my coffee. I tried to watch her work, but her large body unfortunately blocked my view of the coffee machine. From what I could see, it was quite similar to the ones on Earth, but much more basic; there was a chimney attached, the water inside likely being heated by a fire somewhere within.

She spun, placing the mug down on the counter and darting her hand back as I went to grab the drink.

“Cheers, Lena. See you tomorrow!”

“There is a two iron fee if you don’t return the mug.”

I winced internally, getting a bit of insight into Sebastian’s reaction.

Still not enough to justify that level of fury, though . . .

“No worries,” I said over my shoulder, already planning what I could wear tomorrow to piss her off even more.

I’d been cognizant of the fact that getting a machine for Sue might affect the sole existing café in the village, especially with the price Sue could offer the coffee. If the rest of the north siders had the same prejudice as Lena, however, they probably wouldn’t come to the south side of Tropica and mingle with who they saw as less than.

After meeting the woman, I don’t particularly care if Sue takes all of her business.

I breathed in the rising fragrance of my mug, then took a sip of the coffee. It was delicious.

Let capitalism rise.

Sergeant Snips was awaiting me eagerly when I returned, the rising sun reflecting off her glittering carapace as she waved enthusiastically with both claws.

She’d already collected the larger bamboo rod, my bucket, and three of the baitfish from where I’d buried them in a tea towel. Her body went tense, and she cocked her head, looking between me and the fish, the question clear.

“You’re allowed to eat them, Snips,” I said with a laugh. “As long as we have some left to fish with, you don’t need my permission.”

She relaxed, almost seeming to sigh, and started snacking on one.

“You ready to go?”

She bubbled her joyous assent between bites, and I followed her down to the shore.

I found a spot on the rocks where ocean met river. Snips settled down beside me, content to watch. I placed an entire baitfish on the large hook, and breathing deep of the sea spray and wind, started whirling the end of the line round and round.

I let go, casting it out into the water. The moment between letting go of the line and when the rock hit the water was a welcome flash of silence. Only the sound of water lapping at the rocks could be heard, and we both watched the sinker and fish-laden hook arc high into the sky.

A few seconds later, they hit the water with a soft plop, and I held the rod out to let the line freely travel. It went taut, and I felt the thump of it hitting the sandy floor. The tide was still running out, but had almost stilled, telling me the tide would soon turn.

“Dawn is a great time for fishing, as is when the tide turns,” I said to Snips. “I’d wager having both at the same time gives us a splendid chance of catching something!”

She looked at the line, her eyestalk and posture broadcasting the curiosity she felt. I took a seat beside her, and we sat in companionable silence. I held my hand on the top of her carapace, finding comfort in the feel of her. I closed my eyes and bathed in the moment.

The smooth wood of the bamboo in my hand, the line taut and softly pulling when waves atop the water crossed its path; the cool, sturdy carapace of Sergeant Snips, her body seeming to radiate vigor; the sound of the churning river and ocean meeting; the calm breeze that blew fitfully, coming and going in sporadic bursts of varying intensity; and the calls of gulls and other birds singing their beautiful songs to greet the sun that shone down on me, warming my skin—all served to ground me in the moment, no thoughts strong enough to break through the all-encompassing sensations of the body.

Tug.

I removed my hand from Snips, placing it firmly around the rod to join the other.

Tug.

My eyes remained closed as I tightened my grip.

Bump . . . tug.

I heard the soft sounds of Snips standing, responding to the hits.

Tug, tug, TUG.

The fish swallowed the bait, and I roared a laugh of delight as I finally opened my eyes. The bamboo rod bent down at a ninety-degree angle, the enormous fish doing its best to swim away, thrashing its head and making the rod tip shake. Joy and excitement flooded my entire being as I shot to my feet.

“Fish on, Snips!”