Heretical Fishing

Book 2: Chapter 51: An Unexpected Guest

Book 2: Chapter 51: An Unexpected Guest

The following month was perhaps the most restful period since my arrival in Tropica, despite the growth of Barry’s congregation and their escalating shenanigans.

We’d run out of metal to make more oyster cages after only a day, and it took us a mere few hours the following morning to secure the seventeen cages in the shallows of the bay. Maria had unlocked the blacksmithing skill, and as with woodworking, she found it a relaxing hobby. We added it to the roster of activities, finding time to work on projects when we weren’t too busy swimming, eating, fishing, relaxing in the sun, or petting our veritable army of cute animal pals.

I had given all the lemons to Sue. The pastries that she and Stergill had made as a result were to die for, and it inspired Maria and I to spend each evening in the kitchen trying to make our own sweets.

Four Fieldays later, we waited on the patch of dirt west of Tropica for Marcus’s arrival—he never came.

That evening, I lowered myself into the underground spa hidden within the church. A blissful groan escaped my throat.

“Ahhh—I think I could live down here...”

“Tell me about it,” Maria replied with a blissful smile on her face.

She leaned back against a rock in the center of the pool. Her skin was flushed with the spa’s heat, adding a hint of pink to the sun-kissed skin visible beneath her frilly swimmers. A washcloth covered her eyes, but above it, I noticed a hint of tension creasing her forehead.

“Something on your mind?” I asked.

Her lips pressed into a firm line, then she sighed, removing the washcloth.

“Just worrying about Marcus—same as everyone else.”

“It’s really that big a deal? I would have thought he’d be late now and then.”

“Not Marcus—never Marcus. The man has an entire wagon filled with replacement parts should an axle snap, along with a handful of spare horses. There’s a reason he’s so beloved despite his occasionally over-the-top prices.”

A knot of worry formed in my stomach, but I took a deep breath, focusing instead on the spa’s heat as I let the anxiety go.

“I’m sure he’s just late.”

Though I was excited about the material to make more cages…

“You’re probably right,” she said, but her brows remained furrowed. “It has just never happened before, so I can’t help but worry about everyone in the caravan.”

A realization hit me, and I slapped the water with one hand as I bolted upright.

“Oh... no...”

“What?” she asked, her back stiffening.

“I just remembered that Marcus is the deliverer of coffee beans!” I made my eyes go wide. “This is a disaster...”

Maria shook her head at me.

“Oh, now you’re worried.”

“This is no longer a joking matter, Maria.” I grinned and shot her a wink. “Now the great Fischer’s comfort is at stake—that should be enough to terrify anyone.”

She snorted.

“The truly terrifying thing is you speaking about yourself in third person.” She shivered. “Talk about bone-chilling.”

“Hmm. Quite a heretical opinion you’ve got there, young lady. Don’t let any of the followers of Fischer hear you spit such venom.”

Her entire body cringed, and I cackled at the disgusted look on her face.

“All right, I’ll stop. Sorry.”

“Too late,” she said, moving to the edge of the pool. “You’ve tainted the spa. The only thing that will clear my palate is a certain lemon-flavored pud—”

“Shh!” I hissed. “Don’t spoil the secret of what I’m serving tonight!”

“Well, you’d best stop referring to yourself in third-person, then.” She smirked at me as she stepped from the pool. “Lest I scream your secret recipe from the rooftops in retribution.”

I clutched at my chest, then raised a hand to my forehead as if I’d faint.

“Oh, such cruelty, such barbed words. How could you threaten the great Fischer so—”

I cackled and ducked the bucket she threw at my head, weaving through the water as anything not nailed down came sailing my way.

***

Beneath the fading afternoon light, I prepared a throne for the guest of honor. I placed the specially crafted wooden frame on the ground, then filled it with as many plush pillows as I could fit inside it. When it was finished, I nodded.

“Ready.”

Not skipping a beat, Maria lowered the egg—and the bunny draped over it—down into the pile of pillows. Cinnamon peeped her thanks, perked up as if she was a queen atop a throne, then promptly flopped back down over the egg. She had been sitting on it for the entire month, only taking breaks to eat or go for a quick hop around—even then, she ensured the egg was tucked away somewhere warm before leaving.

She somehow knew that it was due to hatch tonight, and given Maria and I had spent most evenings experimenting in the kitchen with different ways to cook the ample supply of lemons, throwing the motherly bunny a party was a no-brainer. Cinnamon wiggled, pushing the pelican egg further down between two pillows. She let out a contented sigh and closed her eyes, her ears relaxed and falling to either side of her head.

With the guest of honor situated, I turned my attention to the fire. Getting the perfect amount of heat to the dessert I was making had been the hardest part of the whole recipe. I considered baking it in an oven, but the difficulty of emulating an oven atop the campfire was a challenge I found surprisingly addictive. It had taken weeks to perfect, but I was finally there—or at least I thought I was.

I guess I’ll find out tonight... I mused, placing the tray on a rack over the coals.

“Hey, Fischer!” Leroy called, striding across the sand as he arrived with his wife, Barbara.

“G’day, mate,” I replied, not taking my attention from the campfire.

Maria let out a lilting giggle.

“He’s in the zone right now.”

“Sorry, mate,” I said, not raising my eyes. “Trying to cook dessert on an open flame is a whole thing.”

“No need to apologize—it’s my dessert you’re cooking, after all.”

“Our dessert is probably more fitting, dear,” Barbara said, amusement in her voice.

“I said what I said—you can certainly try to eat some of it, but I won’t go easy just because you’re my—ow!”

From the corner of my eye, I saw the speed with which she jabbed an elbow into his ribs.

“A little too much...” he groaned.

“Oh! Sorry!” She softly rubbed his side. “I’m still getting used to this whole cultivator thing...”

The rest of the village’s cultivators trickled in as the day’s light bled away. Though I knew the sky was likely a beautiful blend of pink and purple, I didn’t spare it a glance—such was my desire to prepare the perfect pudding. There was a tray covering the dessert. It served two purposes: simulating an oven, and hiding what I was cooking from surrounding eyes. As twilight faded to night, I removed the tray and turned my back to everyone. Snips lifted the cover so I could take a peek.

The hint of lemon was the first thing that hit me, and I couldn’t help but take a deep breath through my nose, delighting in the scent. The top of the pudding was a golden brown, and when I poked it with one finger, it was bouncy, but firm.

“Perfect...” I said, peering up at Snips. “Thanks for the assist.”

She hissed a few happy bubbles, closing her eye and leaning forward.

“Of course I can reward you with a good scratch—that’s only fair!”

I set the tray down and rubbed Snips’s sturdy carapace. She leaned into it, hissing softly as I got the parts of her head that she couldn’t reach. Corporal Claws, ever the jealous type, dashed forward and presented her neck. I gave her a good scritching too, delighting in the contrast of shell and fur. The moment I stopped scratching them, their eyes moved to the tray sitting on the sand—they’d tasted every one of my trial puddings, and though they weren’t usually ones for sweets, this dish proved to be the exception.

“All right, everyone,” I said, standing up with the tray. “Who’s ready to try some pudding?”

The sea of friendly faces lit up, and a few cheers even broke out—the loudest of which was Duncan, who was swiftly clapped on the back of the head by Fergus.

“Woo!” Duncan said again, much more reserved this time.

“What is it?” Barry asked, craning his neck to get a good look.

“This, my friend, is a self-saucing pudding.”

“How in Hecate’s magical teat—” Leroy cut off, shooting a glance at Barbara. She raised an eyebrow at him. He cleared his throat. “How in Hecate’s magical torch did you create a pudding that sauces itself?”

“Better,” Barbara said, lowering the elbow.

I laughed.

“It’s not as magical as it sounds—the sauce is created when it cooks.” I moved the tray, making the firm pudding jiggle a little. “As it sets, a fluffy lemon sponge rises to the top. Beneath it... well, I suppose it’s easier if I just show you.”

I walked over to the table, set the tray down, and picked up a metal spoon Maria and I had made at the smithy. I plunged it into the pudding, making sure I scooped plenty of the lemon sauce from underneath. When I put the spoonful into a bowl, steam rose from the sauce as it spread out beneath the fluffy sponge. As I dished out the rest, my mouth watered. The smell of flour, sugar, and lemon was being wafted up into my nostrils by the rising steam, and my body seemed to demand I take a bite. When there was a bowl for everyone, Maria helped me pass them out, and we picked up the last two bowls for ourselves.

I sat in my chair, and just as I was about to take a spoonful, an alarmed squeak caught my attention. Cinnamon was up on all fours, her back arched as she stared down at the egg. I leaned forward, peering at the white shell—just in time to see it shake.

“The egg!” I yelled, leaving my bowl behind and dashing for the bed I’d made her. When I got there, I glanced back. “You guys can eat up—don’t wait for me.”

“There’s no way I’d miss this,” Maria replied, leaving her own bowl behind.

It seemed everyone else agreed; they stood and formed a loose circle around Cinnamon’s throne of pillows. No one made a noise, but then a loud mmm came out. Duncan had a spoon hanging from his mouth and a bowl in his hands. The sound of delight continued coming from his throat.

“Really?” Fergus demanded, shooting a scornful look at his apprentice.

“What?” Duncan challenged around a mouthful of pudding. He chewed and swallowed. “Like you can’t stand and eat at the same time.”

“He’s got a point...” Barry said, glancing back at his bowl.

A mass exodus occurred as everyone—except for Maria and I—retrieved their dessert. Even my animal pals got their bowls—minus Pistachio, who merely watched with keen eyes. There was a cracking sound, and I leaned down, peering closer at the egg. There was nothing there.

I cocked my head to the side. “What the...”

Someone across from me dropped a bowl, and I glanced up. Barry still held his spoon in one hand, but the other had gone slack. His eyes stared past my shoulder. I whirled.

Behind me, ten meters or so across the sand, a crack was tearing through space itself. It was as long as Cinnamon’s body, but then another crack shot out, loud enough to rumble the ground beneath me. The rent in space tore wide, and tendrils of inky black snaked out like shattered earth. A power stronger than I’d felt before came from the tear.

“Get back,” I said, stepping forward and pushing Maria behind me. “Something is coming...”

No one moved, all eyes fixated on the broken air. A paw as big as my head and darker than night stepped through it, padding softly onto the sand.