Merchant Crab

It had been another scorching hot morning, and Balthazar had just emerged from the pond’s waters where he was attempting to cool himself off.

A few paces to the side, Druma stood with his feet submerged, using a wooden bucket to pour water over himself, his wizard hat resting on the shore behind.

“We need to get some shelter built for those crates,” Balthazar said to the goblin. “Or else the heat from the sun is going to spoil all the fruit. Think you can put up some tarp shelter there for shade this afternoon?”

Druma squinted at the crab, water rolling off the sides of his hairless head.

Balthazar rolled his eyes.

“Put the hat on,” he said, pointing a pincer at the hat behind the goblin.

“Oooooh,” said the assistant, as he fit the oversized hat on his head. “Yes, yes! Druma can do!”

A loud grumbling came from Balthazar’s stomach.

“But for now, I think it’s time for a lunch break.”

The crab and the goblin joined the large golem who sat on the ground next to Balthazar’s tent, back straight, hands on his crossed legs. It was yet unclear how effective Bouldy would be if things got ugly, but at the very least, in terms of looking big and imposing, he was doing a fine enough job.

Balthazar adjusted himself into the large cushion that lay in front of his tent. It was his place of choice to look over his pond. Perfect view of the whole area, allowing him to keep an eye on any adventurer who came in from the road and browsed his wares displayed on the many wooden shelves and tables Druma had been dutifully building for the past few weeks, and best of all, sitting on it made him look very regal.

Or at least he felt so. He had never actually seen a king in person, but he felt sure they had a lot of common tastes. Living a life of luxury, surrounded by gold and servants, eating delicious food all day, that certainly sounded like a good deal. Not so much the part about having to put up with a whole kingdom of annoying people, though.

With careful precision, Balthazar carved a generous slice of lemon cream pie with his silver claw, and took a bite at it. Sitting on a small pile of hay, Druma was already munching on one of the meat pasties Madeleine had made for him.

“Something wrong?” Balthazar asked, noticing the goblin’s concerned look towards Bouldy.

“Boss sure big rock don’t want food?” Druma responded between loud chewing.

“Yes, don’t worry about it. I told you, golems don’t need food. It’s magic stuff, or something. You wouldn’t get it.”

“Big rock don’t need food, but maybe big rock still want food?”

Balthazar looked up at Bouldy’s permanently smiling expression, which was currently fixed on the goblin eating beneath him.

“I don’t think it’s food he wants,” the crab said, sending crumbs flying from his mouth as he spoke. “He just wants to watch over his friend.”

Druma squinted his eyes in deep thought. “Boss never have tribe? Other crabs?”

“Who, me? No, no. None of that,” Balthazar said, slowing his chewing. “Crabs don’t do tribes like you goblins do.”

A pigeon landed on Bouldy’s head, who seemed entirely unaware, or at least unbothered by it.

“Damn it!” Balthazar exclaimed, spewing pieces of pie from his mouth. “Get that thing off your head, Bouldy!”

The golem moved his head in order to look up, causing the bird to flutter away.

“Did you… used to like it in your tribe?” Balthazar asked, returning his attention to the goblin.

Druma produced a shrug. “Druma too small next to other goblins. Druma like to build stuff. Other goblins like to destroy stuff.” The small assistant swallowed and stared at his pasty without going for another bite. “Big goblins call Druma ‘smarty pants’ and throw rocks at Druma.”

“Oh,” Balthazar said, deciding it probably wouldn’t do much good to point out the goblin’s low Intelligence in that moment.

“One day humans attack tribe village,” Druma continued, with a vacant gaze. “Many goblin die in fight. Druma too small to help. So Druma hide. Tribe chief say Druma coward. Druma don’t help tribe.” The goblin frowns. “Druma don’t hide no more.”

Balthazar looked down at the crumbs underneath him, feeling unsure about what to say.

“Oh, for crying out loud!” the crab shouted. “The damn pigeon is back!”

The round bird landed in front of the tent and began frantically pecking the ground for pie crumbs.

“Shoo! Get out of here! They’re my crumbs!” Balthazar yelled, as he unsuccessfully attempted to swat the winged menace, who kept fluttering and dodging.

“Druma help boss!” the goblin said, while grabbing his pointy stick.

Joining the fray, he started trying to poke the pigeon while the crab continued to snap at it with his claws. Neither one of them being able to stop the determined bird in his mission to gobble up every single crumb it saw.

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Bouldy watched from above, smiling at the scene like it was all friendly playtime.

“Don’t just sit there smiling!” Balthazar shouted at the golem. “Help us!”

The lumbering stone got up to his feet, causing the ground to shake. The pigeon flew back and away, scared by the vibration, but still hovering above the tent.

“Stupid bird!” Druma yelled, taking his spear over his shoulder and throwing it at the bird.

The stick barely gained any altitude before dropping back down and splashing into the pond. The pigeon continued hovering above them, unafraid.

Balthazar decided it probably wouldn’t do much good to point out the goblin’s low Strength in that moment either.

“Bouldy! Grab it!” the crab told the golem, while pointing his pincer at the damnable bird.

The big rock smiled and slowly moved a hand in the bird’s direction, slowly closing it around nothing, as the pigeon had already steered away from it, now hovering slightly lower.

“Druma got you now!” the goblin said, blindly reaching for another stick atop a table nearby, eyes fixed on the bird just within reach above him.

Balthazar looked back at what his assistant was grabbing. “Druma! That’s not a spea—”

The goblin thrust his stick upwards at the bird and a stream of glowing green orbs shot out, pummeling the bird, who fell down on the ground, leaving a trail of feathers floating above it.

Druma stood dumbfounded, looking at the Staff of Magic Bolts in his hand. “Boss… is Druma… wizard?”

“I… no, of course you’re not,” Balthazar began, unsure of what to tell him. “Now put that back before you hurt someone with it.”

The goblin looked at the staff with curiosity while scratching his head under his wizard hat before putting it back on the table.

“Is bird dead?” Druma asked, joining the other two in a circle around the pigeon, who laid on its back on the ground, wings spread, tongue sticking out the side of its beak.

“I don’t know,” Balthazar said. “Poke it, see if it reacts.”

“Druma don’t want to touch bird,” the goblin said, sticking his pointy tongue out in disgust.

“Oh, you big…” the crab said, annoyed. “Bouldy, check if it’s alive.”

The golem stuck one of its massive fingers out and, as gently as its size allowed, poked the bird’s chest. No reaction.

“Seems dead to me,” said Balthazar.

“What we do with bird now?” asked Druma.

“I… don’t know. I don’t want it rotting away here,” Balthazar said, scratching the top of his shell with the tip of a claw. “Bouldy, you take it and toss it out of here.”

With a nod, the golem took the dead bird in his hand, and before Balthazar could react, pulled his arm back, put one foot up, and flung it at full force towards the open plains to the east, causing a rush of wind that nearly made Druma’s hat fly off his head.

Balthazar stood with his mouth open, staring at the lingering trail of feathers left in the air. “What… the hell?!”

The crab put one pincer up to his face in an attempt to facepalm. Except he did not posses palms to face.

He attempted to facepincer, but it wasn’t quite the same thing.

The point was that Balthazar was quite exasperated at that moment.

“I didn’t mean ‘toss’ like that, you big dumb rock!”

“Friend?” the puzzled golem said.

“Oh, forget it. At least we won’t have to worry about that anymore.”

***

A few hours had passed in the day, and soon the sun would set, which meant it was time to pack in.

Balthazar was carefully folding a towel with necklaces displayed on it when he heard wheels pulling up to the entrance of his pond and stopping. Heading towards the source, he saw an adventurer in leather and steel armor jumping off her small one-horse cart.

“Good day!” the woman said.

“Almost night,” the crab responded, with a not very convincing forced smile.

Balthazar loved to make money, but that didn’t mean he didn’t dislike last minute clients.

They were some of the worst. They’d always show up right as he was about to close up for the day and head to sleep, maybe have a late night pastry, perhaps take a nice bubble bath to relax after a hard day of trading.

But no, because some annoying adventurer with no one to put up with them at that hour felt like it, he would be stuck watching them leisurely browse through his wares as if it was still the earliest hours of the morning and they had all day.

And Balthazar would love nothing more than to shove them out of his pond, but they always had to be the ones who looked like they had the most coin to spend, for whatever reason. Money doesn’t buy friends or hobbies, he figured. Thankfully, the crab didn’t need either of those things, so just money was fine with him.

“Say, friend, you wouldn’t happen to have some nice helmets for sale, would you?” the adventurer asked, running a hand through her long dark curls.

“Of course I do. Helmets, right here. Just take your pick. Anything in particular you’re after?”

“No, not really,” she responded, looking over the small shelf with about a dozen headpieces displayed on it. As her eyes perused the items, what until that moment had just looked like a normal boulder behind the furniture turned its head and looked at the woman. “Uh… what is that?” the apprehensive client asked, hand on the pommel of her sword.

“Oh, don’t worry, that’s just my guard golem,” Balthazar responded, in a casual tone.

“Is… is it friendly?”

“Oh, yes. In fact, I think friendly is all he is,” the crab said, with a hint of disappointment.

The big rock smiled at them. “Friend.”

Relaxing her hand from the sword, she attempted to focus her attention back to the helmets.

“Anyway, as I was saying, whatever is affordable and sturdy. You know, it’s dangerous out there, can’t afford to be fighting baddies with an exposed head. That’s for the big stars, ha ha.”

Balthazar decided to ignore his questions about how the stars in the sky would ever wear helmets in the first place, and instead try to get on with his business, so he could attend his next meeting with a very important cream puff.

“Got just the thing for you here!” Balthazar said, holding up a horned iron helmet in his pincers and presenting it to his client. “Very sturdy and at a good price. My last one of this kind, too. You should grab it before someone else does.”

“Uh… right,” the adventurer said with hesitation. “I was hoping for something a little more… higher level.”

“Sure thing.”

Balthazar would sell that helmet. Eventually. Some day. Maybe.

Pulling a much more solid steel helmet from the bottom of the shelf, he presented it to her. “Pure steel, with a fine finish, and brand new too, not a scratch on it.”

“This is more like it,” she said, with a more satisfied expression. “How much?”

“For my last client of the day? How about 40 gold?” Balthazar said, omitting the fact that any other earlier client would have been offered a price of 35 gold coins.

“Well, I guess there are not a lot of other places open at this hour, so that will have to do,” the woman said, pulling out her coin purse. “You wouldn’t be willing to take my old helmet for a discount, would you?”

“Depends. What state is it in?” the crab asked, one eye stalk rising higher than the other.

“See, that’s the thing. It’s a bit… used now,” the adventurer admitted, with a bit of awkwardness on her tone, as she pulled a bronze colored helmet from the back of her belt. “That’s why I’d be fine with just a couple of coins for it.”

She turned the helmet on her hand to Balthazar, revealing a large dent on the forehead, covered with a splatter of red and a few feathers still stuck to it.

“Just don’t ask me what happened to it. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

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