Merchant Crab

The conspicuous crab walked out of his bazaar with a tiny pouch in one pincer and a wrapped napkin in the other. He stopped in front of the horizon, where a large streak of orange was painted over the late afternoon sky, and looked around suspiciously, as if looking for anyone following him.

As Balthazar approached a dense area of vegetation, he stopped between some ferns, and while looking off into the distance, the crab leaned closer to a bush and spoke.

“You got the information?”

“Yeah, I got it. Wasn’t easy, though. Had to jump through a lot of hoops to get it,” the bush responded.

“Alright, give me the details,” Balthazar said, sitting down next to the bush and unwrapping the piece of key lime pie he had brought along.

“So, I thought your request was a bit weird,” the informant started, “what could Antoine, a prolific, rich merchant, have to do with some random toad, but I’ll give you that, you were onto something.”

“Of course I was, Rob. My gut is always right,” the crab said, proceeding to fill said gut with small chunks of pie while still not looking directly at the plant he was conversing with, and instead staring off into the distance, as if only there to enjoy a sunset supper.

“Right… anyway,” the thief said from within his hiding bush. “I poked around some of my sources and…” He paused, his eyes peeking from behind the leaves, staring at the crab’s pie. “Hey, you, uh, think I could have a piece of that while I tell you about it?”

“My pie?” Balthazar said, chewing with his mouth open. “Don’t you think it would look very odd if anyone saw me tossing pieces of my precious pie into a bush? They might suspect something. Better not risk it.”

“I’m already paying you, am I not?” the chewing crab said. “So start talking before I finish this.”

“As I was saying,” the man continued, “I asked a fellow… worker about it.”

“Another thief, then?” Balthazar interrupted.

Despite being hidden within the bush, the eye roll Rob made was strongly implied in his answer. “Yes, a thief. Can I keep going now? He had some information regarding mister guildmaster and a toad that he had received from a tavern keeper. You know how it is. People have a little too much to drink and start blabbing on, so those guys always have some juicy info in their pocket.”

“Hmm, really?” said the crab. “Never would have expected Antoine to be the type to get drunk in taverns.”

“No, no, no,” said the thief. “It wasn’t Antoine. The tavern keeper heard this from a carriage driver who stops by every night after work. Guy gets in his cups and ends up sharing some funny tale about this toad in the guildmaster’s manor.”

“Oh, I see. So it was Antoine’s carriage driver. Makes sense. I can definitely see him having one of those.”

“No, no! You’re getting it wrong again,” Rob hurriedly said.

“So Antoine doesn’t have a carriage driver?” said Balthazar.

“No. I mean, yes, he does!” the frustrated informant exclaimed. “It’s just not this driver in specific, this guy doesn’t work for Antoine.”

“Then what the hell does he have to do with this?”

“I was getting to that! This driver knows Antoine’s actual carriage driver. They’re buddies or something. And he told his friend something about the toad, which he then repeated one drunken night at the tavern. Are you following now?”

“I am. I think?” Balthazar said, sounding slightly confused. “So Antoine’s carriage driver saw this toad and then mentioned it to his friend and—”

“Wrong!” the bush interjected. “The driver didn’t see anything himself.”

“Then who did?!” the increasingly annoyed crab asked.

“I was trying to get to that, if you’d stop interrupting me!” the angry shrub muttered. “The carriage driver and the maid at Antoine’s manor have a bit of a fling, and they like to sneak around back at the end of the day when no one’s around. In one of their little encounters, she apparently mentioned to him something about a toad.”

“Alright, so it was the maid!” Balthazar concluded.

“Yes!” said Rob. “The maid saw the toad, and then she told about it to the carriage driver, who then mentioned it to the other carriage driver, who then spilled the story while drunk to the tavern keep, who then shared it with my informant in that part of town, who hooked me up with the details, which I am now relaying to you! Is that clear now?”

“Hardly! But what are the actual details, damn it?”

“Oh yes, right, almost forgot that,” the thief said, shifting around inside his bush. “The maid says the servants are never allowed in the manor’s basement, but one day she caught a glimpse inside when Antoine was stepping out, and she could swear she saw he kept a toad in a cage there, which seemed like a very strange pet for a man like him.”

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“I knew it!” the crab exclaimed, clacking his claws together. “There is no way that’s a coincidence. That had to be Henrietta!”

“I agree, but where did he get a talking toad, anyway?” Rob wondered.

“I don’t know, but you should keep digging to find out more,” Balthazar said, swallowing the last of his pie while standing up.

“Can do, but before you leave, aren’t you forgetting something?” the informant asked, moving around in his shrub.

“Don’t worry, I’m not. Here’s your pay for the info.” He retrieved a tiny emerald from his pouch and tossed it inside the bush. “Now scram, before someone sees me throwing gems at the shrubbery.”

The crab walked away from the vegetation, back through the same path he came, the sun now almost gone over the horizon.

Curious to see if the toad was still at her stand, Balthazar took a quick look across the road. His eye stalks shot up as he found the toad on the ground, bag around her body, looking ready to leave for the day, but still held back in conversation with three large figures around her.

Khargol, the orc chieftain, and his two warrior-brothers stood by her stall, arms crossed, exchanging words with Henrietta that the crab couldn’t hear.

“No!” Balthazar whispered to himself, as he hid behind a boulder. “Even the orcs?”

The toad’s trickery clearly knew no bounds, and now even the mighty orcs were falling prey to her scheming.

Feeling like the last bastion of sanity around those parts, Balthazar had half a mind to run out there and try to snap them away from her snare, but the crab had learned better by that point. Acting rash always seemed to end up going badly for him and favoring his competitor. He needed to act smarter, be the clever crab he knew he was, to outmaneuver Antoine and his toady.

Or maybe just throw caution out and torch her stand, if all else failed. That was an option he had not discarded yet.

Balthazar snapped out of his pyromaniac fantasies as he realized the toad was leaving and the orcs were coming his way.

“Well, well, well, look who it is,” the shiny merchant said, stepping out from behind the rock. “Had a nice conversation with my competition, did you?”

The orc chieftain looked down at the crab with a scowl slightly more disapproving than his usual one.

“I sense you have words you wish to speak, crab,” Khargol bluntly declared.

“Me? No? You think?” the snarky crab replied.

“Perhaps not, then,” said the orc.

“Do your people not have a sense of sarcasm?” Balthazar asked.

“We do, but we find it displeasing.”

Balthazar’s mouth twisted into a frown, but he decided it was best not to engage in a bickering battle. Old and frail tax inspectors were one thing, but tall and muscular orc chieftains were something else entirely.

“Come on, we shouldn’t stay on the road. It’s almost dark,” the crab said, waving for them to follow him inside.

As the trio stepped inside the bazaar, they all looked around, examining the new constructions.

Burz and Yatur inspected one of the pillars, running their hands through the wood and giving it a few knocks with their knuckles.

“Solid work,” Yatur grunted, with an approving nod.

“I had heard you were improving your camp,” Khargol said, looking around at the roof over their heads. “You should be proud of the outcome.”

“Oh, did you?” Balthazar said, still feeling miffed. “From whom?”

“Our mutual connection, the traveling skeleton.”

“Looks like everybody’s talking about me these days,” the crab said with a hint of sarcasm.

“This displeases you?” the chieftain asked. “This should be good news to a trader, to have their name be spread through the lands. Even the lizardfolk from the marshes have mentioned hearing tales of you to us recently.”

“Lizardfolk?” Balthazar repeated, looking intrigued.

“They are reclusive and mostly keep to themselves,” the orc explained, “but as ostracized races in lands largely occupied by humans, we maintain relations and meet often, to exchange goods and show goodwill to one another. Perhaps you would be interested in dealing with them too, one day. They are fine fishers and weavers.”

“Sure, maybe,” the crab said. “For orcs, you sure get along with just about anybody. Skeletons, lizardfolk… even toads.”

Khargol crossed his bulging arms and stared down at the merchant.

“Are you under the impression that we owe you some kind of exclusivity? We came here to do business with you, but if on the way we met another merchant with offers to make, it is only logical that we stop and converse with her. Would you not follow the same reasoning if it were you, crab?”

Balthazar scrunched up the corner of his mouth. Damnable orc and his logical thinking. Who gave the pile of muscles a pile of brains too?

“Yes, well, maybe you’d be more hesitant to deal with someone if you knew they were bad news,” the merchant said to the orc.

“Is that so?” the skeptical orc asked. “She seemed quite respectable to me. We might have even conducted some business with her, had she not said she was late and couldn’t stay longer.”

“Probably late to run back to her owner!” Balthazar exclaimed with disdain. “I looked into her, and you know what I found? She works for Antoine!”

“And who is this Antoine you speak of?” Khargol asked, with one eyebrow rising.

“He’s the pompous master of the merchants guild up in town who’s been trying to put an end to my business ever since I started cutting into his profits. He’s played all sorts of dirty tricks, even had a group of thugs try to frame me for stealing and nearly clobber me to death once, and looks like his latest involves that Henrietta character. I had a source of mine looking into it, and they found from a trustworthy source that Antoine kept a toad in a cage down in his basement. Now suddenly she shows up, right across from my pond? No such thing as a coincidence.”

“Interesting,” the orc said, uncrossing his arms. “It sounds like you have an enemy in this man. Perhaps you should consider a wiser approach in your battles against him.”

“What do you mean?” the crab asked.

“You should try to make more allies, rather than increase your list of enemies.”

“How so? Surely you’re not suggesting her, right?” the skeptical merchant said.

“And why not?” said the chieftain, with a hint of a smirk behind his large tusks.

“Because she’s an ally of Antoine, my direct enemy, in case you didn’t catch that part yet!” Balthazar blurted out, opening his arms in outrage at the mere suggestion being made. “Why would I ever want to befriend someone like that?”

“Tell me, merchant crab,” the orc said, “would you consider someone who keeps you in a cage in their basement your ally, a friend, or someone that deserves your loyalty?”

The crab froze for a moment, staring off to the side, vaguely focusing on one of the other orcs, who was looking around the bazaar, casually inspecting a crate full of cabbages. “Oh. Well…”

“Do you see what I am getting at now?” Khargol asked.

Balthazar pondered on the chieftain’s point. He had not really considered things in that way, but his logic was, once again, solid.

But reason and logic be damned, the crab just wanted to keep hating on the frog. Was that too much to ask?

As he would come to find, it was.

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