Ow! You poxed son of a whore!” Trent punched the tal leg he’d knocked his head on, then swore as he shook his hand. “You useless pieces of junk! You’re lucky I don’t have you lted down!”
The room of ancient artifacts he was in had beco a regular haunt for Trent, and where he’d previously only used it to hide from obligations, he’d started spending more and more of his plentiful free ti among the relics.
He crawled through the warren, finally finding the open pocket after only getting lost a few tis—a new record. He stretched, rubbing his now-throbbing knuckles where the ancient construct had dared to stand in the way of his closed fist.
If Trent had even the slightest pinch of self-awareness added to the stew that was his consciousness, he would’ve likely recognized he’d beco addicted to checking the screen on the single working artifact in the room. Being who he was, though, Trent just thought he enjoyed being there.
“Let’s see what this Fischer has been up to,” he said, rubbing his hands together in markedly uncognized anticipation. He slapped the screen, nodding as it ca to life.
“At least one of you junkbots is subordinate enough to—what the fuck?” His normally dumb-looking face stared at the screen, making him appear even more vacant than usual.
He rubbed his eyes, wondering if he’d hit his head a little harder than he thought—but no, the screen remained the sa. It had a single additional line of text added.
New Milestone! Sergeant Snips has reached her first stage of evolution!
“. . . what in Poseidon’s pickled sphincter is a Sergeant Snips?”
Barry stared down at the plate of fish, an unquenchable desire to taste it drowning out his trepidation. He tore his eyes away from it, looking up at Fischer.
“W-where did you get this?”
“Caught it just this morning, mate! It’s a mature shore fish, whatever that ans. I’ve been eating the juvenile variant for days, and I thought they were tasty!” Fischer laughed and shook his head. “This thing blows those little snacks out of the water!”
“I . . . it’s okay to eat?”
“Yeah, mate, it’s—” Fischer raised a finger as sothing occurred to him. “Actually, I should probably ntion that Sergeant Snips grew spikes after she ate so, but I’m pretty sure that’s a crab thing? You have nothing to worry about . . . probably.”
“Well then, I—wait, she what?”
“Yeah, she kind of grew spikes and doubled in size? Pretty gnarly, really—wait till you see.”
Barry could sll the fragrance of the fish, close as he was. He’d always assud it would sll disgusting if one were to cook the heretical creatures, like the sll of low tide; the chunk of white flesh on the plate slled nothing like that. It was sweet and complex, with just a hint of sea spray. It reminded him of the crab claw he’d eaten the night before, and his mouth started watering. An insatiable need to taste it coursed through him.
“Y-you’re sure it’s safe to eat?”
“Yeah mate, I think the spikes were more to do with the whole ‘ascended being’ thing, and less to do with the fish.” Fischer shrugged. “I ate almost half a fillet myself, and I feel great!”
“I-I don’t know, Fischer. What if soone were to find out?”
Fischer laughed. “It’s just you and here, mate. I’m not gonna tell anyone, are you?”
Barry’s mouth continued to salivate; he couldn’t hold off any longer. “Maybe just a bite . . .”
Barry accepted the plate. He grabbed a corner of the at, and a chunk fell away between his probing fingers. Before he could second guess himself, he placed it in his mouth. The fish lted atop his tongue, the flavor delivering everything the fragrance had promised. It was much like the crab; sweet, slightly salty, and invigorating. It reminded him of the sun rising above the sea, shining its light over the land and warming his body from up high. An involuntary moan of delight escaped him.
“Good, right?” Fischer asked with a laugh.
Barry shoved another chunk into his mouth.
“Mate, if you think that’s good, wait until I rustle up so salt, pepper, and citrus!”
Barry nodded, unhearing beyond the sensations he was experiencing.
“I’ll leave the plate with you, mate—bring it round later, yeah?”
Barry nodded again, devouring the al as Fischer left.
I smiled at Barry’s reaction as I andered toward Tropica. “Anyone would think the bloke never tasted fish before . . .”
I honestly wasn’t sure he’d take the fish after his reaction to the crab yesterday, but the mont he’d slled the shore fish, I knew I had him.
Winning over Barry was an important first step. I dread of hosting barbecues laden with freshly cooked seafood, the laughing faces of all the villagers surrounding —well, so of the villagers. I could stand to go without the pompous north siders ruining the vibe.
Though, maybe I can rehabilitate so of them over ti with the right attitude and so good food . . .
“Good morning, Fischer!” Sue called as I approached her bakery.
I returned the smile she gave . “Morning, Sue! How’s it going?”
“Good! Everyone has been abuzz over the coffee machine since learning of it—I haven’t even started selling coffee yet, and business has already increased!”
“That’s good to hear! Your pastries are a gift from the departed gods, so I can understand why you’ve been so busy!”
She gave a sly smile. “I’ve already agreed to give you free pastries, Fischer. You don’t need to sweet talk any further.”
I laughed. “I’m not sweet talking you, Sue—the pastries are really that good. Besides, I’m not sure Mr. Sue would approve.”
Her eyes twinkled in delight. “Well, that’s kind of you to say. Speaking of Mr. Sue, I’m not sure you’ve t Sturgill yet, have you?”
“No, I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure! Is he around?”
“Always—hiding out back with his beloved dough, as per usual. Let fetch him.”
A mont later, a man in a black apron covered in flour was dragged from behind a dividing wall, Sue leading him with a broad smile.
“Sturgill, this is Mr. Fischer, the one I’ve told you so much about.”
Sturgill nodded to . “Hello, Fischer.”
“Nice to et you, mate!”
“And you.” Sturgill smiled at . “Thanks for the machine you organized—it’ll do wonders for business.”
“No worries, mate! I think a little coffee will pair perfectly with the delightful pastries you make!”
He nodded again, giving another smile. “I best be getting back to the ovens—wouldn’t do to have anything burning.” He turned and strode back behind the dividing wall.
Sue raised an eyebrow and cocked her head at him, staring at his back as he departed.
“I’m guessing Sturgill is more the silent type?” I asked with a smile.
“That is the most amount of words I think I’ve ever heard him say to soone . . .” she said, still staring toward where Sturgill disappeared. “The man will not shut up when work is finished, but when there’s bread or pastries to attend to, he barely utters a peep—even to .”
“Sounds like a reliable partner to have a business with! You’ve got enough personality to cover the both of you, and he’s clearly got the wares sorted.” I took a bite of the croissant. “These things are bloody delightful.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without him.” She returned her attention to , a smile playing on her lips. “And there you go with the sweet talking again—co back for another whenever you please, Fischer. It’s the least we can do after what you’ve done for us.”
I ate the pastry slowly as I made my way toward Lena’s Café, unbuttoning my shirt as I walked. When I was one corner away, I looked at my reflection in a large window. Struck by inspiration, I reattached two of the buttons—in the wrong places, of course, making myself seem as uncouth as possible.
“Ho, Lena!” I said, swaggering up to the counter.
She turned with a slow regard, her eyes lingering on the appearance of my shirt. Her eyebrow twitched, and it took great effort not to laugh. She turned and started making my coffee, deciding not to acknowledge .
“Are there any jewelers in Tropica, Lena?” I asked her overly large back.
“Probably not that you could afford.”
“So there are jewelers, then?” I asked, voice filled with projected joy.
She sniffed. “There is a jeweler, yes, but I’m not sure they would deal with you . . .”
“Shall we make a deal?” I asked.
She turned with my coffee, placing it on the counter and staring down her nose at . “And what would you have to offer ?”
“Well, the sooner you give directions to the jeweler, the sooner I’ll leave your counter.” I bead a smile at her, and her eye twitched again.
“One block west. Noble Star Jewelry.”
“Cheers, Lena! What would I do without you?”
Before picking up the coffee, I fixed my shirt, taking the ti to smooth my appearance with deliberate care.
“Bye, Lena! I’ll see you tomorrow!”
With my coffee in hand, I could feel the stare she was boring into the back of my skull. With my face hidden, I let my joy show.
I tasted the drink, thoroughly enjoying the first sip. “Ah. Delightful. She may be a bit insufferable, but the lady can make a an brew.”
I probably shouldn’t have been antagonizing the woman that made my coffee each morning, but honestly, I couldn’t help myself.
Sothing about despicable behavior demands retribution, passive aggressive or not.
It probably said sothing about that I felt that way, but who had ti to internalize that particular lesson? There was business to conduct!
I found the jewelers easily enough; a colorfully painted sign read sothing illegible above a store. I was still rather illiterate to the written language of this world, but the image of a cut gem beside the words was a dead giveaway. It seed this stretch of street was the north side version of the market, with many storefronts all smattered together.
I walked into the jewelers, finding the door unlocked despite the early hour.
“We are closed,” ca the gruff voice of an elderly man, hunched over the counter and peering at an uncut gem through an enlarged eye glass.
“Oh, my bad, mate. The door was open. What ti can I co back?”
He looked up at , an unimpressed gaze lingering on my clothes. “That depends. What do you want?”
“Just a question answered.” I rummaged in my pocket, pulling out a single pearl. “Have you ever seen one of these before?”
Julian fought down his frustration at the intruder before him.
“Just a question answered,” the stranger said, rummaging in one of his filthy pockets. “Have you seen one of these before?”
Julian closed his eyes and breathed a great sigh.
Does this look like a market for trinkets? What bauble has this peasant stumbled upon, only to waste my ti with—Julian’s thoughts stopped dead in their tracks, and he felt his eyes go wide.
The man before him held an iridescent stone. Not just any stone, either—it was a relic of the past, one of the treasures that hadn’t been found in countless years, whose numbers only diminished as pieces of jewelry were damaged or lost.
He’d seen the stones in person in the capital, only worn by those of excessive ans. A single ti, he’d seen a beautiful silver necklace made entirely of the precious stones, only the clasp left bare. It had been around the queen’s neck, an abject demonstration of the crown’s wealth.
Realizing he was staring, slack-jawed, he schooled his expression. “Ah, I cannot say I’ve seen such a stone before—it does seem mildly pretty, but I cannot say it would hold much worth.”
“Ah, is that so?” the man asked. “Sha.” He turned away. “Oh well, thanks for the info.”
“W-wait!” Julian said, desperately trying to keep the man in his store. “I-I have so interest, only in a purely scientific manner, you understand? I’ve never seen one before and would like to examine it.”
Julian shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I must admit, my curiosity gets the better of —I don’t suppose you’d be willing to trade it for—”
“Nope!” the man said, still walking away. “Sorry mate, not interested in selling.”
“One gold!” Julian yelled, desperation creeping into his voice. “I’ll give you a gold coin—I’m very curious, you see—”
“I’ll keep that in mind, mate.” He opened the door to leave.
“Two gold?”
The man turned back, his expression unreadable. “Is it worth that much to you?”
“Ah—I—I’m very curious, you see . . .”
“Would you do five gold?” the man asked, face still blank.
“Y-yes! Five gold! May I see it? I—”
“Nah. Sorry, mate. Still not interested in selling it, I was just curious what it was worth to you.” The man stepped outside.
“I-I’m Julian!” he yelled, doing anything to keep the stranger there. “What’s your na?”
The stranger popped his head back in the door. “Nice to et you, mate. I’m Fischer.”
With that, Fischer disappeared, his head vanishing out of sight.
Julian stared at the closed door, uncomprehending.
What in Ares’s calamitous spear was that?
What kind of peasant could walk away from such a vast sum of wealth? Was the man mad, or just stupid? A sudden realization struck him.
He knows what it’s worth . . . ? If he knows it’s worth at least twenty gold and didn’t want to sell it, what purpose did he have in coming here?
The answer occurred to Julian, and it twisted his stomach with sickening ferocity.
Aphrodites’s tumultuous loins! He’s not really a peasant—he’s a crown auditor!
The jeweler ran out the door after Fischer.
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