Heretical Fishing

Chapter 41: Another Task

Chapter 41: Another Task

With Sergeant Snips and Corporal Claws napping peacefully in the sun, I made my way toward the fields.

Those two really did a number on themselves by working all night.

As soon as the food had settled, they both started falling asleep, and I stroked them until they passed out.

The passage toward the fields was pleasant; the sun warmed my skin, perfectly contrasted by a cool breeze blowing from the east. When I arrived, the work was well and truly underway. Maria and Roger were working on the field closest to the ocean, once more mixing the soil and sand, as per Barry’s instruction. Barry, the madman that he was, occupied the other field, doing the same amount of work as the other two.

“Morning!” Maria and Barry both called, while Roger simply nodded at me.

I walked toward Barry. “What’s the plan for today, chief? Want me to jump in and mix up some dirt with you guys?”

“Sounds good to me, Fischer! Unless you have plans, of course . . .”

“Nonsense, mate. I’m happy to help. I did want to run an idea past you though . . .”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“Well, that totally depends on what you can tell me about the fertilizer you use.”

Barry shot a look at the other two, and seeing they weren’t listening, leaned in and spoke softly. “Are you suggesting what I think you are?”

I grinned. “If you’re thinking I want to catch a fish for food and use the inedible parts of its body for fertilizer, you’re bang on the money, my friend.”

Barry glanced toward the others again before returning his focus to me. “I’m all for it, but I don’t think Roger would take too kindly to the idea.”

“Yeah, I figured.” I shot him a wink. “That’s why I’m asking you, not him. What do you guys usually use for fertilizer?”

“Most farmers in Tropica use cow manure from the pastures to the north, but I think blood-bone fertilizer is more suitable as a jumpstart for these fields—I have plenty of it spare, as we often replenish the soil every few harvests.”

Not sure what I was expecting, but that seems pretty similar to Earth.

I let out a soft chuckle at myself.

What did I expect, magic fantasy dust?

Barry raised an eyebrow at my mirth, but I shook my head.

“Don’t worry, mate—just had a giggle-worthy thought.”

I peered at the fields, taking in their size. “I can’t say I’d be able to get anywhere near enough for the entirety of one field, let alone two. What do you reckon about me catching something, and we test it on a small patch?”

“That sounds prudent—if you catch it today, we can fertilize the field with it tonight when they leave.”

“Sounds like a plan, Barry! I’ll get to it!”

I walked over to Roger and Maria on the way back to my shores.

“How are you guys going? Looks like you’re killing it.”

They both gave me odd looks.

“. . . killing it?” Maria asked.

“Er—sorry, I mean that you guys are doing a good job.”

Roger snorted, muttering something under his breath. Maria shot him a chastising look, then turned back to me.

“We’re doing good. Thanks again for letting us use your land. How are you doing, Fischer?”

I beamed with genuine excitement. “I’m doing great! I have something to take care of today, so I won’t be able to help in the fields—it looks like you have things covered, though!”

Roger snorted again and shook his head, causing Maria to let out an exaggerated sigh.

“Don’t mind him—what he means to say is thanks for letting us use your land, and for all your help so far. Right, Dad?”

Roger grumbled something inaudible as he continued tossing soil.

“You’re welcome!” I said, making him scowl further. It only increased my enjoyment of the interaction.

I let out a content sigh as I breathed out a lungful of salty air. “What a beautiful day.”

Birds were circling high above me, their calls barely audible over the wind and the soft crashing of waves against the shore. I held my trusty fishing pole in hand, and I watched the tip intently, waiting for a fish to take the bait.

If I can catch one more, I’ll get even more fertilizer.

I’d already caught a mature cichlid; it was wrapped in a wet towel beside me.

I can have one fish for me and my animal pals and can gift the other to Barry as thanks for all the—

My thoughts cut off as something bit the line, and the bamboo pole almost jerked out of my hands.

“Woah! Fish on!”

I walked forward, moving with the pull of what had to be a massive fish. The rod trembled violently as it shook its head, doing everything it could to get away. I walked all the way down to the shore, but with nowhere left to go, held firm. I leaned back away from the water, not intent on taking an impromptu dip in the river mouth. The fish pulled; I leaned back with all I had. All at once, the line went slack, and I fell back onto the rocks with an involuntary oof.

“Heavens, what was that?”

I wound the line in, hand over hand.

Did it snap the line . . . ?

I caught sight of the sinker and hook, and with one last tug, I lifted them up.

Woah . . .

The hook, even as large and thick as it was, had bent. Whatever had taken the bait was so large that it completely bent the hanger, letting it slide out of the fish’s mouth.

I guess that’s what I get for using a wall hanger for a hook . . .

It was greedy of me to try for a second fish, and I paid the price.

Just like Icarus, I flew too close to the sun. More like Fisharus . . .

A sharp laugh burst from my mouth, half at myself, half because of the joy and purpose having another task brought me.

Guess I’ll have to go see Fergus . . .

Processing the fish I’d caught was a slow endeavor; I took the time to remove every bit of edible flesh possible, showing respect for the life taken as best I could.

“Thank you,” I whispered aloud as I scaled its entire body, collecting all the scales in a pot.

The obvious cuts to remove were the fillets on either side of the fish, and I did so with small, exacting slices.

Following the example of a cliff-fishing Aussie I’d watched in my previous life, I removed other bits of flesh. First were the cheeks, two small muscles on either side of the head that the fish used to open and close its mouth. Next, I removed what said fisherman had called ‘wings.’ It was a long strip of flesh that ran beneath the fish, including both its pectoral fins. Even having watched a video on doing it, the process was a little confusing. Still, I was glad I made the attempt; I did a respectable job, by my estimate, and I couldn’t wait to try them.

Because I took so long to process the fish, a crowd of onlookers gathered. The seagulls must have spotted the fish from above, and four of them stood on the nearby rocks of the headland, watching me with hungry eyes.

“Sorry, fellas—I don’t have any scraps for you today. My friends need the leftover frame.”

They didn’t respond, of course, other than to continue staring between me and the morsels just out of their reach.

I placed the wings in a smaller pot with the cheeks and fillets and started breaking down the leftover skeleton. My sharp, System-produced knife and my improved body made short work of it.

I turned to the birds, giving them a sheepish glance. “Sorry, guys—next time, okay?”

I made my way back toward the house. My heart melted as I passed Snips and Claws, both of whom were releasing soft snoring sounds, and I petted them gently before taking the pots inside.

“G’day, Fergus!”

The large smith turned from his hammering, giving me a broad grin. “Hey, Fischer! With you in a moment!”

I walked over to the anvil, not invading his personal space as I watched him work. With each swing of the hammer, the bar he was shaping got closer and closer to its intended form. He started hammering harder, and the muscles of his arms bulged with the effort.

Who needs to hit the gym when you’re hitting metal all day? My man is jacked!

The hammer fell one last time, and Fergus took a deep breath as he inspected the bar. His eyes ran up and down the length as he checked for any defects or mistakes. Nodding to himself, he dropped it in a quenching pit filled with oil.

“To your liking, mate?”

He grinned at me. “Aye, not that digging bars need a perfect finishing touch—still, it never hurts to pour care into something you make.”

I smiled. “Couldn’t agree more, Fergus. What day is it, by the way? I’ve lost track.”

“Resday.”

So Crafday, Winday, then Resday today, and Sunday tomorr—

“So, what brings you here?” Fergus asked, interrupting my thoughts. “Other than my beautiful face, of course.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me, causing a laugh to escape my throat.

“Purely selfish reasons for my visit, I’m afraid—I wanted to see that beautiful mug of yours. Oh, and craft some things.”

He roared a laugh as he took off his gloves. “You’re only human, after all! What did you want to make?”

I pulled out my bent hook, holding it toward him. “I’ve been sharpening wall hangers to use for my heretical activities, but as you can see, they stand no chance against my foes.”

Fergus raised both eyebrows after accepting the bent hook, and his eyes narrowed as he tried and failed to bend it with his hands.

“What in Hephaestus’s hammer bent this . . . ?”

“Big bloody fish, mate.”

His eyes met mine. “Do I need to be worried? Can you even handle something strong enough to bend this?”

I gave him my best reassuring smile. “A fish is still a fish—they’re as good at fighting on land as you’d be fighting underwater.”

“Just a normal-looking fish? How does it bend metal?”

“You’d be surprised how much force they can exert underwater; their bodies are built for swimming. It felt like the biggest thing I’d hooked so far, but don’t worry—I’ll keep my heresy to my little patch of sand.”

“Still . . .” His eyes roamed back over the bend in the hook. “I’m a little awed by the strength . . .”

“I am too. That’s why I wanted to try my hand at crafting my own hooks!”

Fergus rubbed his chin in thought and turned to peer at a shelf in the back of the smithy.

“One moment.”

He returned with a box filled with casings similar to the one we’d used to create the silver ring. “You can start with these molds; it’ll save you some time.”

“They’re the ones you use to create the wall hangers?”

“Aye. You can reshape them as you need after you take them from the mold . . .”

Fergus looked back at the shelf then gave me a wide smile. He walked over to it, grabbed a smaller box, and brought it over to me.

“If you use these hooks I’ve already made, you can heat and shape them, then use the reshaped hooks to create your own casings.”

“Mate. You’re too good to me.”

He shook his head. “You’ve helped me plenty—it’s the least I could do.”

“Well, thank you. I appreciate all the help. Any advice on the best way to go about it?”

“I can do better than that, mate! I’ll help!”

I grinned at his use of ‘mate’; he gave me a coy smile back.

“I can’t turn down that offer, my man! Are you free now?”

“For you, Fischer?” He set his gloves down. “Always.”