Heretical Fishing

Chapter 34: Fun

As I took one last sweeping stroke with the file, the reel seemed to transform. It shrunk and smoothed out infinitesimally, the change so minute that I hoped the brothers wouldn’t notice. Along with the transformation, the System tried to send me another message that was, thankfully, suppressed. What wasn’t suppressed was my eyes being drawn into the reel, as with my previous creations.

Ironbark Reel of the Fisher

Rare

Crafted of ironbark, this reel has a multitude of attributes for those with the requisite knowledge.

“Hephaestus’s chisel!” Brad yelled. “What was that?”

I schooled my face before turning to Greg and Brad, taking in their shocked expressions.

“What was what?” I asked, feigning ignorance.

“That damned thing just smoothed and shrank!” Brad answered, his eyes wide, still yelling.

“Did it?” I cocked my head as I turned back to the reel. “It looks the same to me . . .”

I ran my hand over it, feeling how smooth and hard it had become. There was no doubt about it; the reel had transformed.

“Well,” I said, opening the vice and picking up my creation, “I need to go about sorting out a bearing for this thing—you said two irons, right?”

“Yes, but that was for me to do the work . . .” Greg said with a vacant expression. “You did most everything . . .”

“No worries. Chuck in some linseed oil for me to take and we’ll call it square. Deal?”

“Y-yeah, that sounds fair . . .”

I withdrew the coins from my pouch, placing them in Greg’s hand. Brad walked to a bench, bent down, and picked up a small tin of what I assumed was linseed oil. He placed it before me with a thoughtful expression, staring off into space.

“Well, thanks for the help, guys! It was a pleasure meeting you both!”

I turned and strode from the shop, heading for my next destination before they could ask any more questions.

“All right, what was that?” Brad asked, turning to his brother. “Are you pranking me? Is he some secret master from the capital?”

“No . . .” Greg said, still staring at the door Fischer had departed through. “I have no idea what that was . . .”

“Well, he’s either a master at woodworking, or he’s a cultivator from one of the stories—who else could have so much aptitude with a profession they’ve never done before? We might have to tell someone . . .”

They looked at each other, and after a moment’s pause, burst into laughter.

“Yeah, a cultivator of old,” Greg said through his mirth. “Next thing we know, he’ll be shooting lightning from his crotch and beams of water from his fingers.”

“Still,” he continued, “I believed him when he said he’d never worked with wood before. Did we imagine the reel changing?”

“Who knows?” Brad shot Greg a wink. “All I know is, we just sold a chunk of ironbark wood and a tin of linseed oil for a great price.”

Greg scowled at his brother. “Don’t say it like that—it makes it sound like I overcharged him.”

Brad rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. It would have taken either of us the rest of the day to do what he just did in less than an hour. Besides, he was the one to offer the same price despite him doing all the work.”

Greg leaned against a bench and looked back toward the door. “I don’t know what to make of him . . .”

Brad walked over and sat on the bench. “No use overthinking it. Whatever he is, he’s bloody good with wood, despite not even realizing what he did.”

What the fuck was all that? I’d made a wooden version of something famous back home—an Alvey Reel. Though, I’m pretty sure Alvey is just the brand—what the hell kind of reel would you even call this thing?

It looked like a hand reel, but with the addition of a metal bracket, I should be able to attach it to one of my bamboo rods. I rolled it over in my hands, admiring the smooth surface. It was like polished stone, the finish entirely too fine for the toothy file I’d been using. Even the sections I didn’t file down had flattened, their edges and faces becoming uniform. I’d noticed something similar with the other things I’d created that the System assigned names to. Even Fergus took note that something with the ring changed when I put the pearl in the setting, but it had been a much more subtle affair. The transformation of the reel was, frankly speaking, astounding.

Even with my improved body, I could tell the wood was incredibly tough. Compared to the common trees I’d been felling near my property, the gray-tinted wood was something else entirely. The hardwood was, all at once, compacted and compressed. It ended up looking like it was made on an assembly line from Earth before being sanded by the finest grit sandpaper possible.

I felt the smile coming to my face, and it spread so wide my cheeks started to ache.

Who cares about the details? I have a reel!

“You certainly look happy, Fischer,” a welcome voice called from behind.

I turned, beaming a smile back at Maria. “I am! I just created this nifty new reel for fishing.”

I held it out, letting her inspect the creation.

“Wow. It’s so smooth . . .”

Her eyes sparkled as she inspected it. Her head cocked, freeing a loose strand of hair from behind her ear.

“Can . . . can I touch it?”

“Of course! Wanna hold it?”

I held it out, and she picked it up, her core bracing as she hefted its weight.

“Wow, it’s heavier than I thought it would be!” She moved it around in her hands, feeling the sides and concave indent with deft fingers.

“Ironbark, right? How on Kallis did you get it so smooth? I’ve never seen ironbark with such a fine finish—it must have taken days.”

“Something like that,” I said with a smile. “I have Brad and Greg to thank for the workmanship. Those two seriously know what they’re doing when it comes to wood.”

“I figured those two would have been behind it, but it’s still impressive.” She raised her eyes to meet mine, her gaze filled with curiosity. “So what does it do? How is this going to help your fishing?”

“See the concave bit?” I pointed at the outer ring. “That’s for winding line around. I’m going to attach it to a fishing rod, and with a handle and bearing in the middle that Fergus is gonna help me with, I’ll be able to reel in fish when they get hooked.”

She looked back down at the reel. “It’s so beautiful, it almost seems to be a waste to use it on heretical activities.” The gleam in her eye and the playful smile let me know she was teasing.

“Oh, absolutely!” I grinned. “Alas, what else is a heretic like myself supposed to do with it?” I winked at her. “I’m nothing, if not consistent.”

She laughed, genuine joy spilling out. “Well, I’m glad your activities are going well, if nothing else.”

“What about you and Roger? How goes the farming?”

She grimaced. “Honestly . . . not great.”

“Oh? Sorry to hear. Anything I can do to help?”

“Not unless you can fix soil,” she said with a sigh. “We’re struggling with crop rotation. We simply don’t have enough land to plant the crops we need to fix the levels in the soil while still farming enough wheat and sugarcane to make a living.”

I winced. “That’s a pickle. How much land do you have to farm on, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“We only have four standard fields. Dad thought we’d be able to afford much more when first coming here, but we could only buy three at the time. With the cost of living and operating, we’ve only been able to expand to a fourth field in recent years.”

“Damn, margins are that tight?”

She nodded, giving me a rueful smile. “They really are. But listen to me, harping on and ruining your good mood.” She handed the reel back to me. “I’d better get back out to Dad, he’s churning soil out there by himself.”

“You didn’t ruin my mood, Maria—always happy to be a sounding board.”

She grinned, hiding her troubled feelings.

“Well, I’ll see you later, Fischer.”

“See you next time!” I said as she turned and left.

As I strode off toward the smithy, possible solutions started churning through my mind.

Maria glanced back at Fischer as she left, seeing the man already off and moving with purpose-filled strides.

“Maybe we need to take up some heretical activity of our own . . .”

She laughed at herself with a shake of the head, causing her hair to tickle the sides of her face. “It might actually be worth it with how carefree Fischer always seems . . .”

Her troubled thoughts returned as she made her way back to the fields.

How are we going to get out of this mess?

She had underplayed the situation they found themselves in to Fischer; the levels in the soil were getting so bad that if they didn’t find a way to improve the crops soon, they’d be in serious financial trouble.

She caught sight of her father attacking the soil as she stepped past a neighbor’s flourishing field of cane. He was taking his frustrations out on the barren field, using overhand strikes to plow the earth.

“Dad, you’re going to hurt yourself if you keep up at that pace,” she gently chided.

Her dad glanced at her, then stood back, leaning on the haft of his hoe. “It’ll hurt me more if we can’t get these damned fields sorted. We just can’t keep up with the cost of operating and the price of the medicine your mother needs.” Her dad’s eye twitched as he reminded himself of the medicine, and in a single movement, he stepped back, grabbed the plow, and threw the head high.

With a grunt, he slammed it down into the ground.

“Damn this bloody village!” He slammed it down again. “Damn the bloody lord!”

Using his whole body, he rammed it home in the soil a final time before letting go of the haft.

“And damn Demeter’s fickle bloody heart! God of farming, my ass!”

Maria rushed to him, knowing he would only spiral if she couldn’t drag him out of it. She wrapped her arms around him, ignoring the sweat and grime on his work-slickened body.

“It’s okay, Dad. We’ll work it out. We always do.”

Her father relaxed in her arms, if only a little, and he wrapped an arm around her. Despite her words, Maria’s heart sank.

What are we going to do . . . ?

The otter swam through the waves of the ocean in search of her target. She knew the general area the crab resided in but couldn’t find her anywhere. Struck by inspiration, she approached the rocky headland, and after selecting a choice rock, started banging.

She brought the rock down on the oysters, delighting in the speed and strength the changes to her body granted her. She was able to work through them with a previously unseen speed, and she slurped the delicious treats down. After a few, she stopped, tasting the oyster on her tongue.

Taste . . . not good.

The texture and flavor were still there, but after experiencing the food the human had provided, her body seemed to crave more. She struggled to come to terms with a dissonance coloring her mind; the trickle of information received was not yet enough for full comprehension.

Movement caught her eye, dispelling the half-formed thoughts. She spun to look at the side of the rock, half a crab and a lone eye visibly poking around the side of the headland. The otter, not knowing what she was doing or why, waved. Blinking and scuttling to the side, the crab revealed more of her body. The otter waved again and took a few steps forward. With one raised pincer, the crab slowly waved back. The otter took more steps, closing the distance and tilting her head back and forth as she took in the crab.

She’d not before realized just how different the crab was, but since whatever happened in her den, she could now see just how distinct its form was. It wore a black piece of . . . cloth on its eye, something only humans usually did. The crab was also larger than normal and covered in vicious-looking spikes.

The otter walked forward more, and trying to display her own intelligence, nodded at the crab. The crab, its entire body now visible, nodded back, and with a final wave of a dangerous-looking claw, turned to leave.

Seeing an opportunity, the otter snuck closer on silent legs. She picked up a spherical rock and slowly raised her arm. With a swing of her empowered forepaw, she launched the stone at the crab’s back. It sailed through the air, and excitement swelled within the otter as it approached the mark.

Tink.

The otter chirped in delight as she turned and dashed for the safety of the water. The crab hissed in fury behind her, and eight hardened legs struck the rocks as it tried to catch her. It was too late; the otter dove and slipped beneath the small waves on the shore, gliding away.

Fun.

Crab is fun.

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