Merchant Crab

Chapter 304: Battershoal

Balthazar stared up at the old man with eyestalks tense and mouth half open.“What did you just say?!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Alden said, glancing down. “Did I speak my line too quietly for you? Let me try again.” The fisherman cleared his throat, once again to not great effect. “Nobody who comes to Battershoal can ever leave.”

“What do you mean, I can’t leave this place?!” the crab exclaimed.

Old Alden rubbed his prickly chin.

“Hmm, you’re a little dense for a crab,” he muttered. “But, fair enough. I’m used to the adventurers who arrive here to already know the tales about this place.”

Balthazar pinched the space between his eyestalks. “What tales?”

“See that wall of stormy clouds off in the distance?” the fisherman asked while pointing toward the distant horizon over the ocean.

Balthazar turned and squinted at the darker line in the distance. At first, the merchant mistook it for the horizon. Only after a second look did he realize the dark line wasn't the sea at all, but a towering wall of storm clouds surrounding the island in every direction. Lightning danced endlessly within its depths, yet the storm itself never seemed to creep any closer.

“What is that?”

“The Tempest,” Old Alden said with a somber tone. “It has claimed many a sailor’s life. Someone put a curse on this here island to trap everyone on it. Don’t ask me who or how. I ain’t one for fantastical tales. But fact is, for a long time, anyone who dares sail too close to Battershoal finds themselves floating onto the coast along with the wreck of their ship soon after. Most drowned, some lucky ones still breathing—mainly adventurers, go figure.”

The crab shook his shell. “Why would anyone even try to come here, or sail anywhere near that angry storm?”

“Ah, my friend, you’re forgetting who we’re talking about?” the wise local said. “An adventurer arrives at a port city and hears a rumor about an unexplored and mysterious island a couple of days off the coast with untold riches to be claimed, and in no time they’re paying a crew to take a trip with them to this place. They hear the stories about how those who sail here never return and it’s as if it makes them want to come even .”

Balthazar nodded. “Yep, alright. Fair point. That does sound exactly like something an adventurer does—unwise decisions.”

Alden cocked an eyebrow at him. “But you’re here too now.”

“Not by choice! I didn’t even know about this place until landing here.”

“Right,” said the human. “How did you come to be at this here island then?”

The merchant sighed.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I was deep underground in a dungeon, triggered a volcano eruption, and was shot out of a mountain in an explosion of melted chocolate that sent me all the way over the continent until I landed here?”

Old Alden eyed the crab for a moment, as if judging him with an impassive expression.

“Sure. I can believe that,” he finally said.

“Really?” said Balthazar with an air of surprise.

“I’ve seen plenty of outlandish things during my time here. What’s one more?”

“Even flying crabs?” the skeptical crustacean said.

“Oh yes,” Alden said. “There was this one crab I used to watch get sent flying into the ocean all the time by some other one-eyed crab back in the day. That feller would catch some air, I tell ya. I wonder what happened to them…”

“Huh… Alright then,” the crab said with a thoughtful nod. “But hey, how did end up here on this island?”

“Me?” said the fisherman, a hint of surprise appearing on his face for the first time.

“Yes?” the hesitant crustacean replied. “I just assumed you’re not originally from here either. Did I ask something I shouldn’t have?”

“No, no. None of that. I just can’t remember the last time one of yous bothered to ask me about where I came from.” The old man paused before looking at the crab again. “Say, would you like to come inside and have a bowl of fish soup?”

“Oh,” said Balthazar. “Uh… Sure, why not. I had plenty of fish before, but never cooked into soup. Or cooked at all, actually. Mostly they were raw, to be honest.”

The old man led him inside his shack, and Balthazar took a moment to take in the fisherman’s humble abode.

The inside of the cabin was modest, but impossibly cozy. Warm amber light from a crackling fire chased away the chill that lingered in Balthazar's shell after his flight through the clouds, while the rich aroma of fish soup mingled with the comforting scent of old timber. Every corner of the little home felt lived in. Fishing nets hung neatly from the walls beside carefully maintained tools, shelves held rows of jars and odds and ends collected over decades, and not a single bit of space appeared wasted.

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It wasn't the sort of place that impressed visitors with wealth or decoration, but it wasn't trying to. Everything had a purpose. Every chair, hook, cupboard, and weathered cooking pot looked as though it had earned its place years ago and simply never left. The merchant found himself smiling. It reminded him a little of his own bazaar back home. Different smells. Different trades. Same comforting feeling that every object belonged exactly where it was.

“I like your home,” Balthazar said earnestly.

“Thanks,” Old Alden said, sitting on an old chair that creaked under the weight of his old bones. “I built it myself over the years I’ve been here.”

“How many has that been?” the crab asked.

“A lot. A few decades. Maybe more?” the fisherman said while using a ladle to pour some soup from his pot into a bowl. “I’ve lost track. Lost interest, to be honest. After a while with just me and the sea, it stopped mattering.”

“Did you get trapped here while sailing through the tempest too?” Balthazar said while taking the steaming bowl Alden offered into his pincers.

“Yes,” the fisherman replied while serving another dose of fish soup for himself.

“What about before?” Balthazar continued while blowing gently on the hot bowl held in his claws. “Where did you come from?”

“Dunno,” Alden stated plainly. “To tell you the truth, I can’t even recall a time before this here beach and my little shack. It’s as if I’ve always been here.”

“Oh,” the crab said. “And you never leave? Never go anywhere else outside this beach? To check on the rest of the island or something?”

Alden shook his head while cradling the warm bowl in his cupped hands.

“Why would I? I know what’s around these parts, more or less. I know there’s danger out there, and I know it’s nice and quiet here. I’ve got everything I like and need. Why mess with what ain’t broken? My little corner of the world is enough for me, and I’m content with it.”

“Hm,” the pensive crab muttered with a distant gaze in his eyes.

“Something the matter?” the old man asked before sipping on his bowl. “You haven’t touched your soup yet.”

“No, nothing. Just… reminiscing.”

“Alright,” Alden said, taking another sip. “You do your thing and tell me when you’re ready.”

Balthazar took a deep breath and shifted his gaze back to the man.

“Ready for what?” he asked before taking his first sip of fish soup. “Oh, wow, this is really tasty.”

“Thanks,” the fisherman said. “And I meant ready for me to give you the talk so you can be on your way. I might like you more than the average adventurer that passes through here, but I’m still not letting you squat in my house forever.”

“Fair. But what do you mean? What talk?” Balthazar said before taking another, greedier sip from his bowl.

“The same talk I give everyone who washes ashore around this beach before they head off deeper into the island to do… whatever it is you adventurers do.”

“I’m not an adventurer,” the crab said between loud slurping. “But go ahead, give me that so-called talk. I’m curious now.”

Old Alden put his bowl down on the table and paused for a moment, thinking, before sighing.

“Ah, you kind of ruined my performance at this point. I usually do the whole dramatic reveal outside by the shore, followed by the usual questions that I give vague answers to, and only then do we come here to my shack. And normally they don’t come inside to have a bowl of soup with me. There’s a whole method to this whole introduction gig, ya know?”

Balthazar paused, face hovering over his soup, eyestalks tilted up to look at the old man.

“Uhh… Sorry I ruined your… hmm, tutorial?”

Alden waved a dismissive hand at the merchant and clicked his tongue.

“Tsk. Never mind that. I’ll just give you the footnotes to get it over with,” the fisherman said. “Like I said before, welcome to Battershoal. Don’t ask me who named it that, I don’t know. There’s a cursed storm surrounding the island, it traps anyone who comes too close and prevents everyone from leaving. Don’t ask me who put it there, I don’t know. Usually, adventurers head off north, deeper into the island, to look for riches, a way off the island, or both. Don’t ask me if they succeed or not, I don’t know. I’m also supposed to tell you to beware the ‘high-level dangers’ that inhabit this island. Don’t ask me what the hell that is supposed to mean, I don’t know, but apparently it makes sense to most adventurers I say it to.”

The fisherman reclined back on his chair, which complained with another creaky whine, and grabbed his bowl to take another sip of soup.

“And that’s it. My name’s Alden, I’m a fisherman, I live here, and no, I ain’t got any potions, torches, or enchanted swords to give ya. Definitely no quests either, so don’t even ask. Just a few words of advice and a parting wish of good luck out there.”

The old man gestured toward the door without getting up, and Balthazar looked back at it and then back toward him.

“Well, that was… to the point,” the crab said. “I can respect that. Still, where exactly am I supposed to go from here in order to look for a way back to the continent? I’ve got important things to do there. Pastries to eat. Friends waiting for me. A whole business to run!”

Alden put his fish soup down on the table again and stood up from his seat. This time, the complaint came from the old man instead of the chair.

“I’m sure you do,” he said while stepping toward the door. “Head north up the path from here and then take a right at the fork on the road. Walk a while and you should find an adventurer camp somewhere. Try your luck with them, see what you can do. And for the love of everything that is salty, don’t go left on the crossroads. I swear you adventurers can’t follow directions to save your own lives.”

“Again, not an adventurer,” Balthazar said before taking a large and loud gulp to finish his bowl of soup and skittering to the door Alden was holding open. “But alright, I’ll try my luck with some adventurers. Surely someone will have found the way off the island and I can hitch a ride.”

“If you believe so…” the old local said, holding the door open with one hand and pointing the path with the other as the crab skittered past him.

“Thanks for the soup, and good luck with your, uhm… quietude,” the merchant said, turning around on the sand outside the fisherman’s home. “I’d say see you around, but I probably won’t see you ever again after I leave this place, so… bye.”

Old Alden chuckled quietly. “Again, if you believe so… Farewell.”

The crab waved at the old man while walking away.

“And you should consider expanding your horizons sometime. Going out there, exploring places outside your comfort zone. It’s not so bad,” Balthazar yelled back as he reached the base of the dunes.

“I’ll think about it,” the fisherman said, waving from the door of his shack.

Balthazar took the beaten path between the dunes until the beach and his host’s home disappeared from sight.

Upon reaching the fork on the road, the crab looked both ways.

“This is the part where I do like those dumb adventurers, and I follow the correct directions I was given,” Balthazar said to himself.

And with confidence, determination, and countless questions on his mind, the merchant took the right path on the crossroad, toward the adventurer camp the old fisherman had mentioned.

Whether that would be the choice to make, however, remained to be seen.