Heretical Fishing

Chapter 28: Loving Intent

Chapter 28: Loving Intent

As we arrived back at the smithy, the three of us erupted. I roared with laughter, and the two blacksmiths held each other by the shoulders, yelling incomprehensibly over the top of one another.

When things finally wound down, Fergus hurried to a shelf in the corner with skipping steps. He reached to the very top, selecting a wooden box covered in a dark lacquer. He cradled it in both arms like a baby as he walked back toward us, each step exacting.

“Is . . . that what I think it is?” Duncan asked, his eyes going wide.

“Aye, Duncan. That it is.”

Fergus slipped a chisel from his belt. His eyes narrowed and mouth scrunched in concentration as he cracked the dark box open. I leaned in, curious what had gotten the apprentice blacksmith so excited.

Fergus reached in and withdrew a dark bottle. It was short, reminding me almost of a maple syrup jug but with a more spherical body. Its mouth was sealed with a cork.

Fergus placed the bottle on the bench with great care as Duncan ran to fetch something else. Lacking his master’s delicacy, he returned with three shot glasses and slammed them down.

Fergus reached into a drawer, removing a corkscrew. One muscular hand wrapped around the bottle while the other screwed the instrument down into the cork stopper. He pulled, the cork dislodged with a sharp

pop, and small wisps of vapor floated from the bottle. The smith slammed his palm atop it, sealing the gas in.

I raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two excited smiths. “What is it?”

“This, my dear Fischer,” Fergus said, nodding at the bottle, “is passiona wine.”

“Passiona wine?” I asked. “If the husks are so expensive, that bottle has to be worth an extraordinary sum . . . right?”

“Right!” Duncan nodded. “I’ve been waiting years for this blockhead to crack it open.”

“It was a gift from my grandfather,” Fergus said. “He had a case of them from when he was younger—the husk never used to be so expensive, you see? It’s an heirloom, and I’ve never had a good enough reason to crack it open . . .”

“Until today?” I asked with a smile.

“Until today,” Fergus agreed.

He removed his hand from the top, swiftly half-filling each of the small glasses. He placed one hand back atop the bottle and picked up a glass with the other, holding it high. Duncan and I followed suit.

“To Fischer!” Fergus bellowed.

“To Fischer!” Duncan echoed.

“To my reliable smiths!” I cheered back.

We clinked our glasses above the bench, and I took a sip, breathing in through my nose as I did. The smell made my eyes water, but it wasn’t unpleasant. The drink held a hint of ethanol, but a sweet overtone nearly drowned it out entirely. Before I tasted anything, the liquid warmed my lips and mouth. It lit me from within like a forge. The taste hit me next, and I let the rapturous expression show.

In my life on Earth, I’d tasted countless wines, spirits, and beers. I’d experienced everything from the common ales you’d find in pubs to the most expensive bottles of wine you needed to “know someone” to acquire.

The passiona wine was more akin to a spirit or fortified wine, and it was unlike anything else I had ever tasted. It was complex—sweet and tart to the perfect degree. It held the full-bodied flavor of a naturally fermented cask, and I could tell its sweetness hadn’t been artificially boosted with processed sugar. Even if I hadn’t been told of its origin, I would have known it was based on the fruit of the passiona plant—the taste of passiona pastries suffused the wine, the unique essence instantly recognizable.

I swallowed, and the heat spread down through my chest. I moved my tongue, circulating air around my mouth—the resulting aftertaste was even more enjoyable than the wine itself. The flavor morphed, the sweet tones flooding forward and smothering the pleasing yet notable hints of tartness.

Duncan took another sip with an exultant expression.

Fergus exhaled with a deep sigh. “I can’t believe I made an entire gold piece in one job—I never thought I’d see the day.”

“One gold piece?” I asked, smirking. “I was going to give you two for your contribution.”

Wine sprayed from Duncan’s lips like a whale breaching the surface, and he clamped a hand over his treasonous lips, keeping the liquid within.

Fergus’s eyes were wide as he stared at me—he didn’t even react to his apprentice misting him with a family heirloom.

“That’s too much, Fischer . . .”

“Nope!” I said, taking another sip. I swished it around my mouth before I swallowed, relishing in the comfortable burn.

“You covered the silver, provided a security service, and most important of all, made the best damned ring Julian has ever seen!”

“I suspect that was more to do with your setting of the stone, Fischer . . .” Fergus said, lost in memory. “It seemed to take on a different quality when you—”

Duncan slapped him on the back of the head, not hard enough to risk knocking over any of the wine, but with enough force to halt his words. “Just thank the man, you ox-sized fool.”

Fergus narrowed his eyes at his subordinate, but then sighed, turning back to me. “My loose-lipped apprentice has the right of it . . . for once. Thank you, Fischer.”

“No worries, mate!” I smiled at the two men, took out the two gold coins, and handed them to Fergus. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

We laughed and joked as we finished off the wine, and I noticed the two smiths slowly losing hold of their sobriety.

These two are off their bloody tits . . .

I stood, feeling my head swim a little. It somewhat steadied as I stood in place, and I exalted in the pleasant buzz.

“To Fischer!” Duncan slurred, sipping the last drops from his glass.

“Aye, to Fischer!” Fergus did the same then held the bottle out to me.

I accepted it, and giving it a light swish, felt liquid left in the bottom. “For me?” I asked.

“Aye!” Fergus roared, holding his empty glass high.

I laughed, pouring the rest of the wine into my mouth. I held it there for a long moment, the heat enveloping me. With a swallow, I sighed, my breath warming everywhere the passiona wine had touched. I looked over at the two men who were stumbling toward the back of the smithy.

“Uh, fellas . . .” I pointed to the forge. “Is it all right to leave that thing going?”

“Ah, Hestia’s welcoming hearth—shutter the forge, Duncan.”

The apprentice wobbled to obey, and with a single hand, slammed a metal door down. He returned to Fergus, and the two leaned against one another, muttering and laughing as they poked each other in the chest.

“Thanks again, guys!”

They didn’t hear me; they swayed back and forth, joking about something. I shook my head with a bemused smile.

I tried to forget the wealth sitting in my pocket as I walked toward Ruby and Steven’s tailors—tailorors? Oh my god, not this again. The alcohol was affecting me more than I suspected. I shook the thought away.

Seeking something to ground myself, I dipped into a gap between houses and removed a single gold coin from my pouch. I looked it over, the blue sky above reflecting off its metallic face. I furrowed my brow, cocking my head to the side.

Hang on a second . . . it couldn’t be . . . could it?

With a buzz-fueled stride, I made my way toward the north side of town—a new destination in mind.

George hadn’t moved from the front foyer of his spacious home. He made it back on shaky legs, and after tumbling through the portal, he had simply lay there—thinking.

Does Fischer watch me at every turn? Does he possess the devious eyes of Dolos himself?

George had moved through the streets at an ungodly hour, launching the evidence into the depths where no one but a sea god could find it. And yet, Fischer had found it.

Did he follow me there? What trap does he weave, intentionally revealing his hand in this way? Are there nefarious actors watching me at every hour of the day? Oh, Fischer, bane of treats, ruiner of flavors—how you vex me.

Try as George might—applying his vastly superior, sugar-fueled intellect—he had absolutely no idea what the man’s angle was.

Three loud knocks sounded above George’s head.

“Geee-OOOOOO-ooooorge!” came the sing-song voice of Fischer on the other side of the door.

George felt the blood drain from his face, and without feeling what he was doing, got to his feet and opened the door.

“Fischer . . .”

The crown agent was just about to knock again, but when he saw George, he smiled.

“G’day, mate. I won’t keep you long, I was just hoping you could clear something up for me.”

The smile on Fischer’s face was crooked, and George waited for the executioner’s axe to drop.

“What did you want me to clear up?” he heard himself ask, his voice flat.

“Well, I just sold a ring with a pearl set in it to Julian—er, an iridescent stone, I mean. You know the man, right? You were in his store.”

He knows everything . . .

George felt numb. He nodded.

“Well, Julian gave me this gold, right?” Fischer produced a coin, playing with it between his fingers. “I noticed it was different from the one I gave you. This one . . .” Fischer held the gold coin up in the light. “It has the image of a man on one side, a crown on the other.”

George nodded again, his words failing him.

“The one I gave you had a face on one side and a scythe on the other.” Fischer’s eyes went from the coin to George, his gaze boring a hole into George’s soul. “Do you still have it?”

George reached into his back pocket, producing the coin Fischer had warned him not to spend. He kept it on his person at all times, knowing the consequences to be dire if he lost it.

“Would you mind if we swapped, George?”

George knew it wasn’t a question—it was an order. He held the coin out for Fischer, who replaced it with the regular coin. Fischer inspected it in the light, nodding as he placed it in a back pocket.

“Cheers, George! I have to go make a hat for a crab—see ya later!”

Fischer turned and left, and George stood in his open door, staring after the departed man. After a long while, he closed the door, his body still numb. George turned and slowly made his way up the stairs. The axe had yet to drop, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t coming.

Make a hat for a crab? Oh, Fischer, what game is this? What in Triton’s blowing conch is that code for . . . ?

I tried to keep my wine-addled mind from the coin in my pocket as I walked toward Ruby and Steven’s clothing—shop? Yeah. Shop. It was easier said than done.

“Steven!” I yelled, walking into the store. “Your favorite apprentice is here and ready to work!”

Steven looked up at me over his spectacles, smiling and raising an eyebrow. “My ‘favorite apprentice’ is late. I’ve already got the cuts ready.”

Ruby narrowed her eyes at me as I wobbled toward the front of the store.

“Fischer . . . are you drunk?”

“Uh, a little, yes, but I have a perfectly good reason.”

She laughed at me, but there was no malice in it. “And what, pray tell, would that good reason be?”

I pointed out the door. “Fergus cracked a bottle of passiona wine.”

“He

what?” Ruby got to her feet, eyes pinning me down. “Is there any left?”

I shook my head. “Sorry, Ruby. They drank it all. Well, we drank it all, but I’m only a little buzzed—I reckon those two are visiting noddy land as we speak.”

“Where in Hades’s lightless hell did Fergus get a bottle of passiona wine?”

“You’ll have to ask him in the morning! Or later tonight? I don’t really know—they’re both the size of a brick shithouse, so they could be sober already.”

I turned back to Steven. “You don’t seem too bothered by missing out.”

Steven shrugged. “I’m not much of a drinker.”

He set his spectacles down, picking up the strips of prepared leather. “Shall we get started?”

I grinned. “Ready when you are!”

The next half hour was a rather humbling experience. Steven was a demon with the sewing machine, which I wasn’t too surprised to learn they possessed. It was foot-pedal operated, and his right leg pumped away with ease as he shifted the leather strips around. When he was almost finished, he pointed to a flap of leather, the last unsewn section of the almost complete garment.

“See this bit?”

I nodded.

“Slide this along with the needle as you go. I’ll let you tuck it—just do it as I have with the other strips.”

Halfway through, the needle caught, and it slipped off the leather.

“No problem,” Steven said, gesturing for me to step aside.

He picked it up, and with a few swift movements, removed the incorrect stitching with a hooked needle.

“You were hitting the pedal a bit too hard.”

He set it back down. “Try again. This time, use your palm to move the garment—not your fingers.”

I did so, taking my time to ease it around with my palm as one leg hit the pedal with softer strikes. The strip closed up, and when my stitching started overlapping his, he put his hand on my shoulder, telling me to stop. He leaned down with a small pair of scissors, cutting the thread that connected it to the machine.

A familiar pulse rushed out.

Goddamn System, can’t even let me have a wholesome moment with my new frien—

My eyes were drawn in as before, and I inspected the item without realizing I was doing so.

Leather Patch of the Fisher

Rare

A hat created for a beloved subordinate with loving intent. This hat has a multitude of attributes for those with the requisite knowledge.

What. The. Fu—

“You okay, Fischer?”

I turned to Steven, unable to school the wonder from my voice. “Yeah, mate. I’m fantastic.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, a smile on his face. “Just making sure—your eyes went vacant there for a bit. I thought the wine might be getting the better of you . . .”

“I think I’m mostly sober now, but thanks for caring!”

I picked the hat up, feeling the unyielding material with both hands. “Thanks so much, mate.” I stood up, stretching. “I owe you one for this.”

“No, you don’t.” He led me out to the floor of their shop. “Friends help friends, don’t we?”

I grinned at him. “That we do, mate—that we do.”

As I approached my home, I pulled out the ring Fergus and I had created, inspecting it again.

Iridescent Ring of Silver

Rare

A ring of precious metal, adorned by one of the most sought-after stones found in the Kallis Realm. More than just a symbol of wealth, this ring has a multitude of purposes for those with the requisite knowledge.

I’m glad Fergus didn’t realize I switched them out—that little nugget of wisdom would’ve been hard to explain.

I was quite proud of the sleight of hand used to keep Fergus unaware of the swap. I brought another ring with me from the stash Snips found and had placed it in Fergus’s ring box before closing and passing it to the smith for transport.

My eyes wandered over the inset pearl, the afternoon sun lending itself to the stone’s beauty.

I can’t wait to learn about these ‘purposes,’ whatever they may be . . .

The sight of my favorite crustacean dragged me from my thoughts. Sergeant Snips was sitting by the campfire, watching the new batch of reducing seawater.

I couldn’t help but break into a run. “Snips! I have a surprise for you!”

She ran to meet me, blowing bubbles of curiosity as her spiked legs devoured the distance between us. I held out my creation; her claws clacked in anticipation.