Merchant Crab

Balthazar had spent a great deal of time reading books. Some were about geography, some about history, and some were even bestiaries. But out of all his readings, all the many creatures of myth, horrifying legends and stories, one creature always stood out to him as the most terrifying: the taxman.

Half man, half tax collector, the despicable being now stood mere steps away from the crab, and he felt his blood run cold. Which was fairly normal, considering crustaceans are cold-blooded.

He wore a long green gown that reached down to his ankles, a hat with square edges, and a thin chain around his neck from which a thick badge of solid gold hung. His face was old and his cheeks saggy, like two droopy bags jiggling at every turn of his head. A pair of tiny round glasses sat precariously on the tip of his nose, far lower than his eye level, leading to him constantly having to tilt his head up to look through the lenses.

The two Ardville guards stood straight behind him, their spears firmly held vertically against the sides of their yellow dyed leather armor, as the much shorter man leisurely perused the titles of the books on a nearby shelf, hands behind his back.

Balthazar slowly peered through his monocle at the abominable creature.

[Level 15 Tax Inspector]

“Well?” the tax inspector said, glancing at Balthazar. “I’d like to speak with the merchant responsible for this establishment. Go fetch him, will you?”

“I… I’m him. The merchant is me. I’m Balthazar,” the crab said, hesitation taking hold of him, faced with his greatest of foes.

“You’re Balthazar?” The short man asked, taking a few steps closer and giving the merchant a better look through his glasses. “Goodness! You’re a giant crab! That is certainly… irregular. But ultimately meaningless, I suppose. Laws are laws. For everyone.”

“Abernathy,” the other answered. “And no, I’m afraid the report made on your activities did not include that fact.”

Balthazar perked one eye stalk up in curiosity. “A report? On me?”

“Yes. It would seem another citizen, Mr. Antoine, has filed a report on your unlicensed mercantile activities here, concerned you were dodging our fair tax on any business.”

“Of course it had to be him,” the crab muttered with spite, before returning to a normal voice. “I’m surprised the accuser didn’t come along after reporting me.”

“Oh, do not misunderstand my words. The report was not filed today.” Abernathy pulled a small notebook out of his waist pouch and began paging through it. “In fact, it was made a little over a month ago. But, as is the nature of this hard work, sometimes bureaucracy means there is a waiting list.”

The man lazily waved a hand up, making Balthazar doubt hard work was something he was ever familiar with.

“Regardless,” the man said, lifting his face from the book, his eyes slowly accompanying the movement a second later, “we are here to talk about you, Mr. Balthazar. It has come to my attention that you have been running a business operation out of this roadside pond. Buying, selling, and trading goods to adventurers. All of this without a permit, a license, proper regulation, and most importantly, without paying your due taxes. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Balthazar considered whether it would be too late to feign ignorance and revert to speaking crab only. He quickly concluded that would not help him much.

“I, uh… wasn’t aware there were taxes on what I’m doing here,” the crab said, his mind racing for a way out of his predicament.

“Please, Mr. Balthazar, that excuse won’t work, not even for a crab. You seem to have no trouble grasping the concepts of trade and marketing.”

“Well, what is supposed to happen here?” the apprehensive merchant asked, eyeing the two guards behind the inspector.

“Before we can proceed any further, an inspection of your establishment must be conducted. To evaluate the dimension of your business, your profits, as well as anything that might be out of order.”

Balthazar did not like the idea of some inspector going through his place and his things. Not one bit.

A thought occurred to him. It was a long shot, given what he had learned about his Charisma and the inspector being five levels higher than him, with who knew what level of Intelligence, but he had to at least try it.

Puffing up his chest, his golden carapace shining brightly under the sunlight, Balthazar spoke to the tax inspector in his best attempt at sounding confident.

“Come now, Mr. Abernathy, look around. You can tell this is an honest business I run, nothing out of order here. Also, what I provide to all our dear adventurers every day should count as a public service, and should be exempt from taxes. Just ask any member of the Adventurers Guild. They’ll tell you about my excellent reputation with them. To say nothing of my pristine record with the very guardsmen that stand behind you.” The two guards exchanged brief glances at each other while keeping their formation. “They will tell you how I even helped them catch some thieves recently.”

The inspector gazed down at the golden crab from behind his glasses for a moment, seemingly unfazed.

“Very impressive, Mr. Balthazar, but… no, I don’t believe any of that relinquishes you from the requirement of this inspection.”

The deflated merchant slumped down. It would appear his opponent was much too powerful for his crabby charm.

“Now, let us not waste any more precious time, shall we?” Abernathy said. “I have many other important appointments to get to today.”

“I guess,” Balthazar begrudgingly agreed.

There was little sense in arguing at that point, and he saw no outcome of the situation that wouldn’t be negative if he resisted.

The inspector looked at a nearby wood table with multiple trinkets spread over it, waiting to be sorted. With one wrinkly finger outstretched, he slid it across the wooden surface before bringing it up in front of his precariously placed glasses to check for dust.

The nerve of the villainous fiend, to be checking the crab’s immaculate establishment like it was some unkempt low category shop.

Balthazar stepped around the pile of old worn-out shoes that was still strewn about on the floor and followed Abernathy as he looked around.

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“If you see anything you like,” the anxious crab said, “I’m sure we could arrange a good price for it.”

“No,” the wrinkly man said, squinting his eyes at some small pieces of jewelry on a display, “I’m afraid that would go against the code of conduct for an inspector doing his job.”

He was a stingy one, it would seem.

“Tell me, Mr. Balthazar,” Abernathy started, continuing his browsing, “what is your average daily profit here?”

Balthazar gulped silently.

“Oh, heh, you see, uh… that’s hard to say. I don’t really keep an exact count. You know, very hard to count money with pincers for hands.”

“So you don’t keep a ledger,” the taxman said, giving him a brief glance from the corner of his saggy eyes. “Very irregular indeed. Certainly does not bode well for you.”

As the small man moved around the platform with the crab accompanying at a close distance, a giant boulder with eyes slowly approached from the side of the pond’s shore.

With a smile, the golem waved one of his huge stone hands at the two of them. The two guards who were standing by the entrance quickly rushed in, spears pointed forward, ready for a fight, despite their clearly uncertain expressions and glances at each other.

“Hey, hey, hey! Easy!” Balthazar hurriedly said, both pincers up in the air. “He’s my guard! He’s harmless to you. Not a threat!”

“Friend?” Bouldy said, with a slight frown, as he stared down at the crab standing in front of the two pointy spears.

Balthazar looked at Abernathy, who was staring straight up over his lenses at the massive towering being standing a few steps away from him outside the wooden platform. Even if barely noticeable, his expression had the first sign of surprise he had given since arriving.

Without breaking eye contact, the inspector signaled back with his hand for the guards to put away their spears. They tucked their weapons upright between their arms and chests again and returned to their previous positions.

“So, a golem too,” Abernathy said, slowly lowering his gaze from the creature. “Do you have a permit for that?”

Balthazar frantically signaled with his claws for Bouldy to go back to his usual spot. He knew that as tempting as it was, starting a fight with a town inspector and two guards would do nothing but bring a world of problems to his doorstep. Despite him not even having a door at his pond to begin with.

“A… permit? For him?” said the incredulous crab. “You people require permits to have golems?”

“Yes, of course. They are powerful and potentially dangerous creatures. If someone owns one, it needs to be vetted by the town’s authorities to ensure they will not be a threat to the citizens. Were you not informed of the protocol by the one who provided it to you?”

“Well,” Balthazar quietly said as he scratched the side of his face with a pincer, “he was a slightly deranged old wizard who vanished into thin air after we made the trade, so… no, he didn’t exactly mention any of that.”

Abernathy slowly shook his head as he pursed his lips. Reaching for his waist pouch once again, he retrieved his notebook and a quill. With raised eyebrows and looking down at the pages through his distant lenses, he took several lengthy notes.

The crab kept nervously tapping on the wooden floorboards, his anxiety growing.

“Look, Mr. Abernathy,” he finally said once the other finished his notes, “for the purpose of full disclosure, I think you should know that the one who filed the report that sent you here, Antoine, has a grudge against me. He is also the owner of his own general store in town, and sees me as competition to his business, so he has been trying to put me out of mine for a while now.”

“I know Mr. Antoine,” the man said, back to leisurely strolling around the trading post. “I remember well how he got to where he is today. And the rumors about his… methods. He has quite the reputation for being very conniving. I’m well aware of that.”

“You are?” Balthazar said, growing hopeful.

“I certainly am.” Abernathy stopped and faced the crab. “However, rumors are just that, rumors. There has never been proof of any misdoings on his part, not even from his former associates. So, unless you have some kind of concrete evidence to present, Mr. Antoine’s report is still perfectly valid and worthy of being looked into.”

Balthazar exhaled quietly as the inspector gazed at the contents of a crate.

There had to be something, a weakness to his foe, anything that would help him, but the crab could not figure out what.

“You clearly have a lot of supply,” the man said. “From my experience, I can safely say you must be doing fairly well for yourself, Mr. Balthazar.”

“Me?” the gilded crab said, pointing a silver pincer at himself. “Not really. Business is alright, but I’m not rich or anything. Just… getting by.”

“Please, Mr. Balthazar. I have been doing this job for a long time. And I certainly know a Bag of Holding Money when I see one.” Abernathy gave a nod towards the bag tied to the side of the crab’s shell. “Just as I can tell when they’re not too empty.”

Foiled again, Balthazar chose not to respond. Despite all his speech, all his charisma, all his intelligence, the old taxman had him beat at every corner.

“I believe I’ve seen enough,” the inspector announced, coming to a stop in front of the crab. “This is a most unusual case, and only made more difficult by the fact you do not keep a proper ledger of business. Given the circumstances, I believe we will have to settle for an estimation of the taxes you owe.”

Balthazar felt his throat go dry before opening his mouth to speak. “And… and how much would we be talking about here?”

“Considering the estimation of trades, the time you’ve been here, the unlicensed golem, late fees, and so on… I believe a sum of 3000 gold is owed to our town’s coffers.”

“A sum of what now?!” Balthazar exclaimed. “That’s almost half… I mean, that’s a lot of money. You can’t possibly expect me to pay that!”

The crab felt lightheaded. All his precious gold coins, all the time and effort to gather them all. And now they were coming for them. Not lowly thieves, or even birds. No, it was the man. The taxman, to be more precise. It’s always the ones you should expect the most.

Regretting his choice of not keeping all his money tucked away off-shore—in his islet’s hole—Balthazar tried thinking what his next move should be, but he felt difficulty thinking. All the turmoil of that situation was likely dropping his blood sugar levels.

Taking a stumbling step to the side, the crab reached for a basket and flipped it open while the tax inspector observed him, hands behind his back.

“Mr. Balthazar, I’d recommend against any attempts to stall the process of...” Abernathy's words trailed off as he took a long sniff, nearly making his glasses fall off the tip of his nose. “Is that custard pie I smell?”

“W-what?” Balthazar said, his mouth stuffed with a generous chunk of pie.

“My, that certainly is a divine smell,” the old man said, some of his former composure shedding away. “You’ll have to excuse me. It’s been quite some time since I’ve felt that smell. I’ve sworn off sweets by my wife’s demand. Health reasons, she says.”

Realization slowly crept up the crab’s shell, and he glanced at the half custard pie resting in the basket. As much as it pained him, desperate times called for desperate measures.

“It’s as delicious as it smells, I can tell you,” Balthazar said, as he swallowed and put on his best smile. “You… would like a slice?”

The words cut him on the inside as he said them, but he endured.

“Oh, no, no, I shouldn’t,” Abernathy replied, with a clear lack of conviction. “My wife would be furious with me.”

“Oh, now, Mr. Abernathy, your wife is all the way up in town. We’re here. It’s just us. Nobody would tell a soul. Right, boys?” Balthazar leaned to the side, looking at the two guards who, once again, awkwardly glanced at each other without a word. “Is a life without pie even enjoyable? Go on.”

The crab grabbed a plate and offered a slice to the inspector, who looked at it with gluttony in his eyes.

“Oh, alright, fine, just a slice can’t hurt!”

With an eagerness and joy that resembled the crab, the small man tore into the slice.

After a few minutes of pure delight, the man handed the plate back to Balthazar. The glasses had come off, and his eyes looked almost on the verge of tears with joy.

“That was delightful. Simply wonderful! I have to thank you for it, truly.”

“Great! Glad you enjoyed it,” Balthazar said, trying to sound cheerful about the pie he had just given away. “Say, given your agreeable mood, there wouldn’t be any chance we could discuss the previous matter a little better?”

“Now, now, Mr. Balthazar,” Abernathy said, wiping his eyes and putting his glasses back on. “That might have been a delicious experience, but I still haven’t lost my senses. I take my work very seriously.”

The crab felt his shell deflating once again.

“However,” the man continued, “I think, given the special circumstances, that we could arrange for at least some… leeway. I will give you one week to set your affairs in order, and then I shall return here to discuss matters further.”

Balthazar looked suspiciously at the inspector before slowly nodding. “Right, I see. That’s very… kind of you. I’ll make sure I will be better prepared next time. And that we can more properly discuss the situation, perhaps over some more pie.”

“See that you do,” Abernathy said, turning to the guards. “Now I must get going. I feel incredibly sluggish after that, and cannot wait to get back to my office and… rest my eyes.”

Watching the three figures leave, Balthazar sighed. That was a close battle, and it was not over yet. But at least now he knew what must be done. It was time to retaliate and deploy his secret weapon: pastries.

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