Heretical Fishing

Chapter 15: Farming

Chapter 15: Farming

There you are!” I said with a laugh.

Sergeant Snips clacked her claws in delight as she emerged from the river.

“Do you have a moment to spare, Snips? I have a need for those clickety-clackers of yours.”

She held out her claws, looked at them, then looked back at me and blew questioning bubbles.

She nodded vigorously, urging me on with said clackers.

“All right! With me, Sergeant!”

I strode off toward the forest, my ever-reliable guard crab following. I looked about the trees as I tried to spot some pole-worthy trunks. Finding a suitably small and straight tree, I pointed at its base. “Reckon you could cut this down for me?”

Sergeant Snips obliged, unleashing a blast with both claws that sliced most of the way through the trunk. The tree fell, and she scuttled out of its path.

“Damn, Snips! That’s some serious firepower!”

She blew happy bubbles as her single eye glanced between me and the fallen sapling.

“Would you be a dear and trim the top and branches off?”

A few cuts later, and I had a ten-foot-tall pole that was between four and five inches in diameter. I bent to pick it up and test its heft. I lifted it with ease.

Is this new body ridiculously strong or is this tree just super light—I can probably carry all four poles with ease.

I thought back to the objects I’d had Fergus and Duncan build and their reactions to me carrying my newly acquired cages back home.

Guess it’s probably the body . . .

I shook the thought away. Strength was nice, and I was happy to make use of it, but there was no need to overthink it.

“All right, Snips, we need three more like this one. See any suitable trees?”

She scuttled off further into the forest in search of saplings, blowing gleeful bubbles all the way. I shook my head with a smile as I trailed her.

I set the four poles down on the sand. “Thanks for the help, Snips!”

Her carapace dipped below the water of the beach, her claws still visible as they franticly waved goodbye.

“All right,” I said to myself. “Now to find a good spot . . .”

I could have asked my friendly crab to have a look for me, but if I was being honest, I was excited to go for a swim. I owned a beachfront property and hadn’t even been for a single dip in the ocean—a crime against my Australian heritage.

Stripping down to my jocks—that the tailors Steven and Ruby had thankfully had the foresight to provide—I slowly walked out into the softly lapping waves. The water was the good kind of cold, enough to jolt the nervous system and wake me up, but not so freezing as to be uncomfortable.

I got up to my waist in the ocean, took a deep breath, and plunged my head under. I sat there for a long moment, holding my breath as the cool water surrounded me. The peace of the sea washed over me, and a content smile made its way to my face unbidden.

I swam out, floating on my back, the mid afternoon sun warming the top of my body just as the cool ocean caressed my back. I lost track of time, allowing the moment of mindfulness to linger.

All right, that’s enough relaxation.

I flipped over to my front, and casting my eyes over the ocean floor, I began my search. The entirety of the bay should be suitable for my purposes, but I was intent on finding the perfect spot that wouldn’t impede my fishing and would keep my cages in the ideal tidal zone.

It didn’t take me long. I picked a spot fifty meters northeast from the last bit of rock protruding from the headland. It was high tide, and I could still touch the sand while keeping my head above water, meaning the cages would stay submerged most of the time while still getting enough much-needed oxygen.

I swam back to the shore, tied my poles together with a length of line, and swam back out with them. I untied the first one and got to work, planting it firmly in the sand. I thought it would be quite challenging, but with my strength, I was easily able to lift myself atop the pole and twist it back and forth to root it firmly in the sand.

When the first one was buried a full five feet into the sandy flat, I gave it a good pull, and finding it holding steadfast, nodded to myself. I repeated the action for the other three poles, and when the final one was planted, I lifted myself atop it, inspecting my handwork. The four poles were placed in a line with just over six feet between each, their rigid forms visible to me through the clear waters of the bay.

As I was securing wire between the poles and attaching the first cage, a stream of bubbles floated up beside me, announcing the arrival of Sergeant Snips. She crawled up one of the poles, perching atop it and looking at my construction with intent curiosity.

I laughed at her expression and the way she cocked her body back and forth. I gave her a good rub on the top of her shell. “You’ll just have to wait and see, Snips.”

Her lone eyestalk was glued to me as I went about securing the six cages between the poles. The thick wire the blacksmiths had given me was perfect and would probably last years in the salty water. With a final twist, it was finished.

I turned to Sergeant Snips. “We just need one more thing—want to help me gather it?”

She blew so many bubbles that I had no idea what she was trying to say, but the enthusiastic bobbing of her head told me it was a definite yes.

“All right,” I said with a laugh. “Meet me over at the rocks of the headland.”

She emerged way before me, scuttling back and forth on the shore with impatience. When I’d almost reached the shore, she raced to the rocks, staring back at me and almost vibrating with anticipation. I jogged over and picked up my hammer and file, not wanting to keep my anxious guard crab waiting.

“See these?” I asked, bending down and pointing at the rocks.

She peered where I’d shown, cocking her head in confusion. I took the file, held the tip of it to the rocks, and with a swift smack of the hammer, peeled away the top shell I’d dislodged. Sergeant Snips leaned in so close that her eye almost touched the meat of the oyster.

“Try it,” I urged.

She tentatively picked it up between her claws, seemed to smell it, and took a testing bite. Her body went rigid, and in the next second the entire thing was gone, sucked into her open mouth with glee.

I barked a laugh at the reaction, and before I could do anything, she lowered her claw to another of the shellfish and snipped it open. Well, she tried to snip it open, but all she succeeded in doing was showering us in shell, rock, and a fine mist of executed oyster.

“Er, maybe try a little softer, Snips.” I wiped the liquefied mollusk from my face. “Want me to open another?”

She shook her body, and with a much more controlled clack of the claws, another oyster’s lid flew away. She swept the salty flesh into her mouth faster than the eye could see.

“Make sure you don’t eat all of these suckers, all right? I want some too, and we need some for the cages I just made.”

She nodded at the former, then cocked her head when I said some were for the cages, once more lost in confusion.

I cracked one open for myself, savoring the unique flavor as I chewed and swallowed.

[Error: Insufficient power. Superfluous systems offline.]

I was having a nice time with my friend, System . . . I shook my head as I dismissed the prompt. “Want me to show you what I’m doing with them?”

She nodded vigorously, her inquisitive nature kicking in.

Using my large nail, I slowly chipped away at the oysters I intended to farm. I was deliberate and exacting, careful to dislodge each shell without damaging the lid or base of the oysters’ now-mobile homes. When I had twenty-four of them in a pile, I started slipping them in my pouch.

“Back to the cages, Snips!”

Once more, she beat me there by a mile, swaying back and forth atop one of the poles with little patience as I swam over.

“These things are tasty, right, Snips?” I asked when I reached the first cage.

She nodded and blew bubbles of ascent.

“They’re called oysters, and food isn’t the reason I’m putting them in these cages—at least not the entire reason.”

Her body tilted in thought—ever the attentive student.

I opened the roof of the cage, sliding four oysters inside. “These things can grow something called pearls. Everyone else in this town is a heretic and thinks eating fish or anything else from the sea is unthinkable.”

She blew bubbles of dismay, and I nodded.

“I couldn’t agree more, Snips. That means I can’t make money from selling fish, but the pearls these have a chance to produce means in the future, I might be able to secure a reliable source of income.”

She looked between the caged oysters and me, blowing curious bubbles that I took to mean “How?”

I slid a cut of wire around the top of the cage and twisted, securing it in place. “They reproduce by making larvae that float through the ocean and attach themselves to surfaces. I think just putting the cages here might have been enough to cultivate them, but by placing oysters directly in the cage, we ensure that the larvae are as close as possible when the oysters spit them out.”

She paused, digesting the information, then nodded, blowing bubbles of comprehension.

“Clever girl, Snips. I’m not sure how long they’ll take to grow—I don’t actually know that much about their life cycle. But, with luck, we’ll be able to harvest pearls from them soon.”

I looked up at the fading light, the beauty of the sunset demanding my attention as it colored the western sky. A claw tapped me on the shoulder, drawing my attention. I turned to Snips, raising an eyebrow. She gave me a wave of the claws, a dip of the carapace, and jumped off the pole, sinking into the ocean and out of sight.

“Bye, Snips!” I yelled.

Shaking my head in amusement at my pal, I set about filling the rest of the cages.

I dug up a rather stinky bit of eel, leaning my head as far away from it as possible. Using a stick, I stabbed the bait, then carefully lowered it into the final bit of smithing Fergus and Duncan had done for me. I folded a bit of wire over the bait, securing it to the bottom of the crab pot.

Maybe I should have warned Snips about this. Ah well, she’ll recognize the eel as the one she cut for me . . . probably . . .

I tied a length of line to the crab pot and set off toward the coast. I walked it out into the sea from the sandy beach, not trusting the relatively thin line to hold up against the sharp rocks. I tied the end of the line to a large stone, and with the excitement of the unknown, I walked back to the house, trying to put the crab pot out of mind, lest I check it every ten minutes and catch absolutely nothing. I felt a smile come across my face. It had been a long, productive day, and I’d taken steps to improve both my life and that of the villagers.

Guess I’ll cook some fish and call it a night—oh, alongside some fresh oysters, of course!

Trent, the first in line to the throne and bane of all serving staff, opened the door to his hideout and slipped inside. He’d escaped the feast by pretending to go to the bathroom—only after filling his stomach with hunks of meat and countless sweets, of course.

He closed the door behind him with a soft click and started making his way into the veritable sea of ancient relics. A tiredness stole over him as he crawled further into the mess, and he relished the nap he was about to have while the rest of the royal family were downstairs doing useless things, like conversing and networking.

He found a familiar pocket and took a moment to check if the working relic still held power. He’d been surprised that it still showed information from the time of the ancients, listing the advancements of some long dead or ascended person named ‘Fischer.’

He stretched as he got to his feet, and with practiced precision, gave the relic in question a good, hard slap.

That’s what you get for insulting me, idiot. You will rue the day you looked down on Trent, the magnificent inherit—His thoughts cut off as the screen came to life, and another line of text had joined the other two.

New milestone! Fischer has learned blacksmithing!

His eyes became saucers, and his already drooping mouth opened even further.

What in Poseidon’s salted taint is going on . . . ?