Merchant Crab

The afternoon was breezy, and the sun was retreating behind the clouds, quickly ushering in a new cold night. Autumn’s arrival meant days were shorter, and the weather less pleasant, both things bound to impact a crab’s roadside business.

Balthazar didn’t mind. He liked the pleasant feeling of the wind on his shell, the smells of the trees and their leaves, the colors of the season, with all their browns and oranges.

It all felt… comfortable to him.

While stoking the coals of his fire pit with a metal rod, the crab let out a long sigh and decided it was time to close up the bazaar for the day. The orange glow in the horizon was rapidly being overtaken by the purple hue of night winning the day cycle race, and there would be no more adventurers on the road by the time he finished putting his things away, collected his sign outside, and closed the front doors.

“Alright, let’s do it,” he whispered, willing himself to stand up from his lazy fire gazing.

A few more things to do and he would be free to retreat to his central islet, into his tent, onto his comfortable cushion, where he would savor Madeleine’s latest baking experiment: a chocolate-filled éclair.

Ever since she moved to her new market spot, away from Antoine’s tyrannical rent prices and the added stress that came with making ends meet, the young baker had found herself much more free and keen to let herself try new things with her products.

According to Rye, she was spending a few hours every day, after closing her stall, visiting the town’s library, looking for books and any type of literature she could find with more recipes. Old diaries, texts from faraway lands describing exotic delicacies in unknown languages, anything that piqued her interest and gave her new ideas to try in the kitchen. She was no longer satisfied with being just a baker that made the same things every day. She wanted to create new delicious treats that surprised the taste buds, and Balthazar was thrilled for her.

As well as for himself.

Being her most loyal client and also favorite crab friend, she was using his very advanced and refined taste for pastries and everything sweet as the test subject for her new creations, something Balthazar was more than glad to help with.

Because that’s what friends do, of course.

When your baker asks you to try her new dessert and sends you basket after basket of new and amazing pastries, you just do what you have to do and try them all, for friendship’s sake.

“She’s so lucky to have me,” said the crab, smiling as he took down the wooden sign by the road.

As Balthazar turned to go back inside, something in the corner of his eye caught his attention.

There was a figure walking up the road, a human silhouette against the green background of the forest behind.

Whoever it was walked with a slightly abnormal gait, a posture of someone perhaps injured, one arm hanging lower than the other.

The odd character wore a large hood over the head and part of the face, from what appeared to be a wide poncho that went down almost to the knees.

Balthazar found himself stuck in place, staring at the figure as it approached. Something about it felt different, unusual, and got the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up. And he didn’t even have a neck. Or hair.

Still holding on to the sign with both pincers, the crab watched quietly as the (presumed) human stopped in front of him, boots covered in dust and mud, the black of the clothing looking washed out from too much time spent under the sun.

Despite not being able to see the person’s eyes, Balthazar could tell by the head tilt that whoever was under that large hood was reading his sign.

“Balthazar’s Bazaar,” a dry, harsh voice said. “Do you sell any water?”

Whoever that was, presumably a man, sounded exactly like someone in dire need of water. His voice sounded like sandpaper, talking from a parched throat that had not made a sound in days.

“Of… of course, got plenty of water inside,” the crab finally responded, snapping out of his bewilderment and remembering his business instincts.

Odd as that fellow might be, you don’t deny water to someone in need. Not if they’re looking to buy it, at least.

“Come on in,” Balthazar said, signaling for the man to follow as he walked down the path to his front gate. “I was about to close, but I always got time for one more client.”

The strange figure followed him to the bazaar quietly, limping slightly as he went. Despite everything, the crab did not feel threatened by him, or as if he was dangerous. The stranger simply gave him a sense of… curiosity.

As the man passed him and entered the hall, Balthazar eyed him with his monocle, interested in finding out what he was.

Instead, he saw something he had never seen before in all his time using that magic lens.

[???]

The crab frowned, peered through the monocle again, even rubbed his eye, but the familiar text that would appear above the person’s head with their level and class insisted on not appearing as it usually did, instead displaying nothing but question marks.

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“What in the hell?” Balthazar whispered to himself.

As they went inside, the crab looked around at some random items on his shelves, making sure the monocle could still identify them. Everything else displayed normally, except the stranger.

Trying to not let his reaction show, the merchant skittered his way around the counter and got onto his stool.

“Sure was a dry day today, you must be parched, mister…” Balthazar said with a mercantile friendliness, hanging the last word, waiting for the other to finish it for him.

“Yes, I am. I would be very glad to get some water, if you have any,” the stranger said, half sitting on a stool and placing one arm on the counter.

As his hand appeared from under the poncho, Balthazar noticed it was covered in strips of bandages, wrapped from his palm all the way down to his fingertips.

Whoever this mysterious fellow was, he seemed determined to keep his identity to himself.

“Sure thing,” Balthazar said, grabbing a water skin from under the counter and placing it in front of the thirsty man. “Here you go. 5 gold and you can keep the skin too.”

Without hesitation, the man grabbed the container, opened it, and tipped it into his mouth, drinking loudly from it.

While Balthazar still couldn’t fully make out the man’s face, he saw more of the same old-looking, stained bandages that covered his hands wrapped around the lower part of his face and his neck.

“You sure needed that, hah,” the crab said with a chuckle. “You got caught out there in the wild without water? It’s pretty late to be wandering too. Found trouble on the roads, maybe?”

The stranger put the water skin down on the counter with a timid slosh sounding from within, indicating there was now little liquid left in it.

He let out a quiet sigh of relief before speaking again, this time in a slightly less raspy but still coarse voice.

“You sure are very nosy for someone without a nose.”

“Ah, ha ha, good one. So I’ve been told.”

“Do you have some other travel supplies here for sale?” the man asked, repositioning himself on the stool slowly and with difficulty, like someone who is sore all over would.

“Of course,” the salescrab exclaimed. “Got a bit of everything in my bazaar. What would you need?”

“Just some basic things,” the other said. “Some dry rations for the road. Some salves, a potion or two. A couple of these.” He shook the water skin on the counter. “And a torch, maybe even a lantern, if you got any that are travel size.”

“Not a problem,” Balthazar said as he gathered items from the nearby shelves.

All of those things were items commonly requested by adventurers going on longer trips through the wilderness, so he was used to selling them daily.

Glancing back at the man’s worn-out clothes and rags, a thought occurred to the crab.

“You can pay for these things, right? This is a bazaar, not charity.”

The stranger shifted in his seat.

“Yes. I’m sure I can. I’m sure I got something of value to trade,” he said, pulling a satchel from under his poncho and searching through it.

“I usually prefer coin for—”

Balthazar’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor as he saw the man pull a shiny object out of his bag.

A statuette in the shape of a woman, some kind of princess or muse, the crab couldn’t tell for certain, and he didn’t much care to, as what really caught his eye was the fact that it was made of pure, solid gold.

The stranger placed it on the counter with a heavy thud that left no question the figurine was not hollow at all. It was about as tall as the man’s forearm, and the base on which the depicted woman stood had several precious gems encrusted all around it.

“Hopefully you’ll take this as payment,” the nameless adventurer said. “I don’t really have anything else I can pay with at the moment.”

“I… You…” Balthazar stuttered as his eyes remained fixed on the statuette.

Gold coins were one thing. He loved their shiny glint and the captivating appeal of their value, but that piece of beautiful art was something else entirely. He wanted its golden perfection.

Then, as if an echo sounded inside his shell, Balthazar remembered what had happened the last time he let his fascination for a golden artifact take over him.

Giving the statue a side-eye, he tried looking for any signs of something amiss with it. Could this be another cursed item, like the damnable box that summoned all those mosquitoes the other time?

The figurine looked perfectly normal. Fascinating and beautiful, but harmless.

He scanned it with his monocle, looking for any sign of it being cursed like the box, but this time nothing seemed out of place.

[Golden Statuette]

It really appeared to be just a statue of a female muse of some kind.

Still suspicious about such a generous offer from someone so conspicuous, the shrewd merchant turned his gaze back to the man.

“Where did you get this? This better not be contraband. I don’t deal with that kind of stuff.”

“No, I’m no criminal, I assure you,” the stranger said.

“Is this some kind of elaborate fake?” the crab insisted. “You have no money. Where would you get something like this?”

“It’s entirely genuine, I promise you.” the stranger paused for a moment, his face obscured by his hood. “In fact, that statuette came from a hoard.”

Balthazar’s left eye stalk rose higher. “Excuse me?”

“A dragon’s hoard. It was part of the pile of treasure in a dragon’s lair.”

“You trying to pull my leg here, aren’t you?” the crab said. “Nobody has seen a dragon in ages.”

“Well, I have,” the stranger said, his rough voice going lower. “I have been to places many don’t even know exist. Seen things most don’t even dream of. A dragon lair deep in a cavern under a mountain is hardly the strangest one. I barely made it out, but this was the only thing I had time to grab.”

“Are you serious?” Balthazar asked, his voice mixing doubt with a wish to believe the tale. “A whole cave filled with gold and treasure?”

“As serious as death itself.”

The crab had read the tales, the stories, the myths. The books told of the dragons of old and their taste for treasure and gold. In a way, Balthazar saw a lot of himself in them. Mighty creatures of great intellect with a desire to collect gold and shiny things.

Balthazar did not actually believe the man's story. There was no way dragons still existed. If they did, all those insane adventurers would be tripping over themselves for the opportunity to fight it, foolish as that would be. The crab knew when someone was fabricating a fanciful story to impress someone. He would know, he had done it plenty of times himself. It was just that, a story, but that did not change the value of the statuette in his eyes.

Let the stranger have his tale, so long as the crab would get his prize.

“And you’re just willing to part with this in exchange for some rations and basic supplies? Just like that?”

“Like I said, I’ve been to many places,” the odd man said, the weight of someone very tired hanging in his voice. “These things, these… treasures, become meaningless when you’re out there and need the most basic of things, like water, food, or shelter. I don’t need this statuette, but I do need those supplies. So yes, you can have it. To me, it means little at this point. Just another trinket from another adventure.”

“Deal, then!” Balthazar exclaimed, waiting not another moment after the man finished speaking. “Better not come back here later with regrets, either. Every sale is final here.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” said the stranger. “Chances are we won’t even cross paths ever again, crab. My journey is long and still nowhere near its destination.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say,” the crab said, pushing the pile of supplies across the counter, eyes still glued to his new treasure, admiring its beautiful glow, its smooth surface, each perfectly carved detail.

Seeing the merchant was so taken by his payment, the client simply took his travel supplies, stored them in his satchel under his poncho, and made his way out of the bazaar without another word, off into the sunset.

Back to his journey, far, far away.

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