Heretical Fishing

Chapter 23: Iridescent Stone

Agrin made its way to my face as I left the store. Julian’s reaction and increasing purchase price had been everything I needed to know.

They do know of pearls here, and they’re exceedingly expensive. He was trying to rip me off, so I’ll need to find somewhere else to sell . . .

“Fischer! Wait!” Julian yelled, throwing the door open behind me.

“I-I was only joking, you see!” He had a manic smile, his eyes wide. “Of course I know what iridescent stones are worth, as do you, right? Why don’t you come back inside and we can talk properly?”

I looked around the empty street, the hour too early for the north siders to be out and about. “Here seems fine, mate. I can appreciate a good joke as much as the next bloke, but I didn’t think you were trying to be funny . . .”

Julian wiped his brow free of accrued sweat. “A simple misunderstanding . . .” He glanced around. “I, of course, know that each stone would sell for twenty gold on their own and would be worth more if adorned in a precious metal. From your bearing, I knew you did too, and was trying to jest, you see? My wife always says I have an odd sense of humor.”

I kept my expression blank as Julian rambled.

“I see—just a joke, then.” I smiled at him. “No worries. If I were to come back, seeing as though you’re a legitimate and reputable merchant, could I expect an honest appraisal of my wares?”

“Y-yes, sir! Of course!”

“Good to know. See ya, Julian.” I turned and walked away.

“Y-yes, Fischer! Until next time!”

I pondered the interaction as I made my way back through town. Something had changed the merchant’s demeanor; he seemed almost panicked when he ran out his door to meet me.

Is it that the pearl is worth much more than twenty gold, or was he worried I’d tell people about his underhanded negotiating . . . ?

I sighed, dismissing the worries.

This is exactly why I didn’t want to get involved in any business dealings. I know it needs to be done, but I’d just rather be fishing.

I walked up a set of steps and knocked three times on the door.

George set his sugar-crusted pastry down, fighting the rising tide of anxiety. “Is no moment sacred to me?” he asked. “Can I not have even my second breakfast unmolested?”

“I’m sorry, dear,” his wife said around a mouthful of dough and sugar. “Want me to get it?”

“No, Geraldine, it’s fine.”

She stood, coming to massage his shoulders with her plump hands. “I worry about your health, dear. All this stress isn’t good for your digestion.”

“That is the burden a lord must bear.” He sighed, pushing his chair out and standing with a groan. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

As George walked down the stairs, the knock came again—three sharp bangs, whose strength could only belong to one man. The anxiety flooded up from where he’d suppressed it, and he stood before the door a moment, composing himself.

Wiping beads of sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief, he swung the door open and plastered a smile onto his face. “Good morning, Fischer! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Morning, mate! Sorry for the early visit—I had a rather pressing question for you.”

“It’s no problem! I am at your beck and call, good man. What was your question?”

George was rather impressed with his composure thus far, and felt he was getting better at interacting with the crown agent before him.

When Fischer spoke, that composure was shattered like a lolly dropped on stone.

“What’s an iridescent stone worth?” Fischer asked with complete nonchalance.

“A-an iridescent stone, you say?” George wiped the sweat pouring from his face, and he tried to keep his smile genuine. “They go for at least twenty gold on their own, but are worth more if fixed by a . . . a talented jeweler . . .”

George’s voice had started to tremble, and Fischer raised an eyebrow.

“You feeling all right, mate?”

“Y-yes. Thanks, Fischer. Is that all?”

“Ah, yeah, mate. That’s all I came to ask. Sure I can’t help you? You look white as a ghost.”

“No. Thank you.” George slammed the door, his hands tingling and numb.

Triton’s pointed beard—how does he know? Will this treacherous man leave no stone unturned?

George moved as fast as he could back up the stairs. When he reached the second floor, he was out of breath and light-headed. He stumbled, catching himself on the banister.

“George!” Geraldine yelled, running to his side at a respectable pace for her ample size. “What’s wrong, dear?”

“The—the stones . . .” George wheezed.

“The stones? What about the stones?”

“F-Fischer knows. He knows how we . . . we’ve been . . . hiding the funds,” he said between gasps.

“By Thalassa’s lathered seahorse!” she cursed, leaving his side as she waddled toward the box of embezzled goods. “We have to destroy the evidence!”

Man, George started that interaction so well, but his social anxiety really came flying out at the end. I shook my head. Poor bloke. I should probably stop knocking on his door—he’s only getting worse.

“Sorry, George,” I said to myself. “Your anxiety served the greater good.”

I breathed in deeply, relishing the fresh ocean air. I smiled as I considered how things had played out.

The pearls the crabs had gathered for me were the key to my financial freedom. If I sold even one of them, I’d have more than enough to sustain myself for the foreseeable future.

It’s probably best if I only sell one anyway—I don’t want to draw too much unwanted attention to myself and the crab safe haven I’m trying to establish.

I nodded to myself. Sell a single pearl, and I’ll hopefully be able to discard the business pants for a while.

I picked up the pace as I strode to my next destination.

“Morning, Fischer!” the burly blacksmith greeted.

“G’day Fergus! How are ya, mate?”

“Always a good day at the smithy!”

Fergus put a crucible inside the forge with his oversized tongs, then set them down and walked over to me. “What can I do for you today, Fischer?”

“Mostly a question, mate—probably a dumb one.”

“Nonsense!” He took his gloves off and gave me a smile. “No such thing as a dumb question, as my dad would say. What did you want to know?”

I returned the smile. “Are you capable of making or acquiring a silver chain?”

“Silver, aye?” He scratched his chin. “We can forge strips and make chains, and we’ve done so before, but I can’t say I’ve ever worked with silver . . .”

“Think you’re capable of it?”

“Capable?” He held a hand to his chest in mock affront. “Fischer! You wound me!”

“Sorry, mate,” I said with a laugh. “I didn’t mean it as an insult—I couldn’t tell you the difference between a forge and a campfire. Forgive the ignorance.”

“I jest, Fischer, I jest.” Fergus crossed his sizable arms in front of his chest as he thought aloud. “I can definitely work with silver. The only reason I haven’t is there’s no demand for it on this side of the village. We’re kept busy with the usual fare—horseshoes, cutlery, metal joinings, and nails.”

“All right.” I nodded, reaching a decision. “I’ll need to show you something, but can you keep it between us?”

“Well, I don’t keep any secrets from Duncan if it’s work related, but I can assure you he’s as tight-lipped as I am when it comes to requests.” He leaned in, whispering. “You should see some of the things the north siders bring our way when they don’t want their uppity smith gossiping. I won’t give you names or specifics, but the things I’ve had to craft, Fischer . . .” He shook his head, looking down at his hands. “Some things you can’t wash off.”

“I can only imagine, mate.” I reached into my pocket, grabbing the pearl and holding it up to Fergus. “Do you know what this is?”

He fumbled in his pocket, withdrawing a set of spectacles. Leaning in, he cocked his head back and forth as he inspected the stone.

“It’s beautiful, but what in Hades’s empty glare is it? I’ve never seen anything of the like.”

“Have you heard of iridescent stones before—”

“IRIDESCENT STO—” He cut himself off, glancing around and leaning further in. “Iridescent stone? That’s truly an iridescent stone?” His eyes were transfixed on the pearl I held in my hand.

“You can pick it up if you like, mate.”

“Y-you’re sure?”

I laughed at the reverence. “Yeah, mate. Take a closer look.”

His fingers pinched it with a gentleness that belied his size, and he placed it carefully in his palm, moving his head side to side as he inspected it in the light.

“It’s marvelous. I never thought I’d actually see one in person, let alone be able to inspect it . . .”

“The stone is what I want the chain for.”

“You’re thinking of making a necklace?”

“That’s the one. The jeweler Julian up north will buy it, but he said they’re worth more if they’re set in precious metal. I thought I could share the love a bit and spread the funds around.”

“If you provide the silver, I’ll happily do the work for free, Fischer. I’d love to create something with this . . .”

Fergus’s head darted up, his gaze going vacant. “Take it back—one moment.”

He placed the pearl in my open hand with deliberate care then ran to the back of his workshop. He came back with a box and started shuffling through it.

“I think a ring might be better suited. Here, what do you think?” Fergus held a casing in one hand, a small iron ring in the other. “While I’m confident in my ability to work with silver, a chain of the soft metal would be easily broken—a ring would be much more durable, and easier to sell.”

“Mind if I look at the ring, mate?”

His hand darted forward, offering it to me.

I eyed the ring, holding it up to the light. It was smooth and absent of blemishes, its iron body basic, but still elegant. There was an empty setting in the top, with prongs outstretched—waiting for a gem or stone to be placed inside.

“You created this one?” I asked.

“Aye. The one you hold came from this mold.” He indicated the casing held in one hand. “We sell them occasionally, so I always keep one spare.”

I gently dropped the pearl into the casing—it fit perfectly.

“I think you’re on the money there, Fergus. Tell you what—if you can create a ring exactly the same but out of silver, and you set the stone in it for me, I’ll give you a gold coin.”

His eyes widened, then narrowed. “You yanking my chain, Fischer?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Nah, mate. I’m being sincere. It’ll boost its value, and your skilled hands are the only set I trust to do it.”

“It’s still too much, Fischer. I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but it is way too much. It’s so much money that I don’t want you coming back and causing an issue when you realize.”

It was my turn to hold my hand to my chest in mock horror. “Fergus! My good man! Who do you take me for, a spoiled noble brat?”

He smiled at me through a wince. “It never hurts to be sure with these things, Fischer . . .”

“Okay. So, it’s too much, right?”

He nodded. “Aye. Too much.”

“No worries! Let’s strike a deal then! I have some things I want to craft, and I’m trying to distance myself from bartering and purveying as much as humanly possible. Let’s call the gold I give you a favor between friends, and the things I come and craft the same.”

Fergus rubbed his hands idly in thought. “I don’t think you could possibly request things to outweigh the worth of a gold coin, Fischer, but I feel the need to ask before signing up—what are you looking at making?”

I thought for a moment, sorting through my mind. “A thick metal griddle for cooking, some cogs and other bits for a fishing rod I’m creating, and some metal nails and brackets for a fence.”

Fergus blinked at me. I blinked back, worried my request had overstepped his expectations.

He roared a laugh, clapping me on the shoulder. “You’re a goddamn madman, Fischer—aye, I’m happy to call it an exchange between friends, but I still think I’m getting too much out of it.”

I grinned at him. “Nonsense, mate. I’m getting more value from the stone because of you! Besides, friends don’t count favors, and unexpected fortune should be shared.”

Sergeant Snips gazed out at the squad arrayed before her. Her reliable crabs were relaying their reports of the perimeter, communicating with a series of bubbles, clacks, and gestures. A blur of brown caught her eye, and her lone stalk darted toward the interruption.

Ah—the interloper returns.

The otter swam in closer, stealing glances at their meeting as it whirled above them in the currents. Sergeant Snips fought down the rising anger. Her master had said to share their lands with the furry scoundrel, but that directive railed against her instincts.

The otter swam down closer, annoyingly intelligent eyes looking between her and the squad of crabs.

She raised both claws in warning, blowing a small stream of animosity-laden bubbles. She would tolerate the fiend’s presence on the master’s property, but spying on their meeting was an unacceptable intrusion.

Sensing their sergeant’s animosity, the squad of crabs also raised their claws, clacking and blowing angry streams. The otter swam even closer, the warning only seeming to increase its curiosity. Its eyes lingered on the spikes now protruding from her carapace and limbs, cocking its head back and forth in thought.

Sergeant Snips clacked both of her mighty claws, sending two arcs of force out to either side of the otter. This was finally enough, and the interloper turned and swam away.

Yes. Begone, smasher of shells and stealer of meat—flee before the might of my improved form.

She lowered her claws, and with a single nod of her mighty carapace, the meeting resumed.