Merchant Crab

By the time Balthazar returned to the Trader’s camp, his headache had reached what he considered a truly unreasonable level.

He had not even known crabs could get headaches.

At first, he had assumed the dull throbbing behind his eyes was simply exhaustion. Then the barnacle continued narrating.

And narrating.

And narrating.

Every wave.

Every pebble.

Every time Balthazar stepped over a piece of driftwood.

Every time Pebbles made a sound.

Every time Balthazar stopped to scratch an itch on his shell.

Everything had been accompanied by a dramatic description delivered with the gravitas of a royal chronicler documenting the fall of empires.

“And so the mighty merchant traversed the vast jungle, his noble limbs carrying him onward beneath the watchful gaze of the heavens, when suddenly a terrible foe nearly brought our hero’s downfall at—”

“I tripped on a stick,” the crab said with a tired voice.

“A perilous obstacle that lesser creatures might have mistaken for mere driftwood!” the narrating barnacle exclaimed.

“It was a stick.”

“Yet through the courage and agility of Balthazar, the treacherous branch was overcome!”

“Please stop,” Balthazar pleaded.

“The great merchant then continued his journey, undeterred by—”

“Please.”

“—the dangers that surely lurked beyond the horizon.”

“Bartholomew,” the crab called.

“I believe you have once again forgotten my—”

“Sir Bartholomew,” Balthazar quickly added.

“Yes, noble host?” responded the barnacle.

“Shut up.”

There was silence for approximately seven seconds.

Then the barnacle began again.

By the time Balthazar finally spotted the camp ahead, he was considering whether the system had some kind of skill that allowed him to remove his own ears.

Then he remembered he didn't have ears.

Perhaps that was why he had a headache.

Then again, he also didn’t have a head.

Maybe it was more of a shellache.

He decided he liked that word better.

“And at last, the weary traveler reaches his destination! After traversing the unforgiving jungle, enduring the cruel winds, and—”

“We're here,” Balthazar muttered.

“Indeed!” responded the unwanted narrator.

The merchant sighed. “I need to have a conversation with someone now. It would be extremely inconvenient to do that while someone keeps loudly talking over us. You understand that, right?”

“Of course!” replied Sir Bartholomew. “It is in the interest of any good chronicler to allow time for debate to occur unimpeded.”

“Good,” the crab said. “Glad we came to a—”

“And after such dialogue finishes,” the barnacle added, “I shall provide a summary of the events that I have witnessed.”

The crab groaned and skittered into the camp without bothering with another word.

The three adventurers from earlier were still gathered around their tents, each busy with their own equipment. The warrior was sorting through a pile of supplies beside one of the tents, while the ranger sat nearby checking the strings of his bow. The mage was rummaging through his belongings with an expression of increasing frustration.

Balthazar barely spared them a glance. He had more important things to deal with.

The Trader was standing beside a tree, as casually as ever, his coat hanging loosely around him.

Does this guy never sit down? Balthazar thought.

The man in the trench coat looked up as the crab approached.

“Ah, I see you're back. How was the beach?”

“Crabby.”

The Trader chuckled.

Balthazar reached into his Crab Bag and pulled out the marble.

“But here's your marble, as agreed.”

“Good, good,” the hooded man said with his usual slightly creepy grin and an extended hand.

The crab dropped the little glass sphere into his palm and the Trader inspected it for a moment before reaching inside his coat.

Balthazar's eyestalks followed the movement.

The man's hand disappeared farther than it reasonably should have.

A moment later, he pulled out a long and narrow glass tube.

The Trader carefully uncorked its end and slipped the marble inside. It rolled along the length of the tube before coming to rest against the opposite end.

“What is that?” Balthazar asked while still staring at the glass tube.

“My marble collection.”

“It’s… one marble,” the crab said with one eyestalk raised higher than the other.

The Trader smiled. “For now.”

“You keep your marbles in a glass tube?”

“Where do you keep yours?” the grinning figure asked in response.

The merchant frowned. “I don’t have a marble collection.”

Somehow, the Trader’s grin stretched even wider. “You should.”

Then he held the tube up to the light.

“There are eleven more.”

The crab looked around the island as if expecting eleven glass spheres to suddenly reveal themselves in the surrounding jungle.

“You lost twelve marbles?”

The Trader nodded.

“Where?”

“Around Battershoal.”

Balthazar stared at him.

“All around the island?”

“More or less.”

“How in the world do you lose twelve marbles all around an entire island?”

The Trader shrugged.

“If you

lost all twelve in one place, I could understand that. You trip, spill them, they roll down a hill, or you forget where you put them. Something like that. But all around an island? That's almost like you went around purposefully spreading them everywhere.”

The Trader simply chuckled.

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Balthazar narrowed his eyes. “Did you?!”

“I travel a lot.”

Balthazar’s eyes narrowed even more. “That’s not a no.”

“It explains quite a lot, actually,” said the Trader. “But if you find the others and bring them back to me, something wondrous might happen.”

Balthazar paused. “Wondrous like what?”

The Trader smiled. “Who knows?”

The merchant looked at him with his mouth half-open. “Uh… You, I’d imagine?”

“You'll have to find them all to find out,” the man said while storing the glass tube back into his coat.

Balthazar stared at the man.

“This sounds like another quest. Worse—this sounds like a collectibles quest!”

The Trader chuckled again.

“Whatever,” said Balthazar, waving a dismissive pincer. “Not important right now. I’ve done my part. Time to pay up.”

The Trader folded his arms. “Fair is fair. What information would you like to know?”

Balthazar straightened.

“How do I get out of Battershoal?”

The Trader's expression didn't change.

“Nobody knows.”

Balthazar stared at him in disbelief. “What?”

“Nobody knows how to leave,” the other repeated.

“But I got your marble.”

“You did.”

“You promised me information.”

“I promised information in exchange for the marble. But I cannot give you information I do not have.”

Balthazar's pincers slowly lowered.

“That feels like cheating.”

“It would be cheating if I had information about how to leave and refused to give it to you. But I cannot trade something I do not possess. That would be rather unethical for a legitimate trader.”

The crab frowned.

“I don't like your definition of legitimate.”

“I assure you, it is a perfectly sound one.”

“My shellache is coming back,” Balthazar grumbled under his breath.

“If you'd like to ask about something else I do know, however, I'll gladly pay what I owe,” the smiling trader said.

Balthazar considered that, then he turned around, causing the Trader to raise an eyebrow.

The crab kept turning until his backside faced the man.

“Do you know how I can get rid of this thing?”

There was a brief silence while the Trader leaned to one side, examining the crab’s ample backside.

Balthazar waited, feeling increasingly awkward.

“So? You done staring?”

The Trader rubbed his chin.

“I would gladly trade for it.”

“Really?” the hopeful crustacean said.

“It is certainly an interesting stone you've got there.”

Balthazar froze. “A stone?”

He twisted his eyestalks backward as far as they would go.

There, peeking out from one of the side pockets of his Crab Bag, was Pebbles.

“Cree-cree!”

“No! Not Pebbles!” Balthazar snapped. “I meant… that!”

He pointed at the barnacle.

The barnacle immediately spoke.

“Good day to you, good sir! Sir Bartholomew of Riviera, at your service!”

The Trader blinked.

“Oh. I thought that was just part of your shell.”

“No!” Balthazar exclaimed, sounding genuinely offended. “I have standards.”

The Trader nodded thoughtfully.

“I'm still interested in buying the pebble, though.”

“No! She's not for sale!” The crab pointed at his unwanted guest again. “The barnacle, though? You can have him for free. Well, wait… no. For a very discounted price.”

“Sir Bartholomew must protest—”

“Tell me how to remove him and he's yours.”

The Trader looked at the barnacle again.

Then at Balthazar.

Then back at the barnacle.

“I don't know how.”

Balthazar's shell sagged.

“Of course you don't.”

“Barnacles can be rather stubborn.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Sir Bartholomew would like to point out that his attachment to the noble host is the result of a profound and mystical—”

“Not now, Bartholomew.”

The Trader chuckled. “Anything else?”

Balthazar turned around again.

“Fine. Quick questions.”

“Go ahead.”

“You really don't know how to get off the island?”

“Afraid not.”

“That sounds like it'd be pretty valuable information.”

“It would. If you ever find out how, I’ll gladly trade well for it.”

Balthazar nodded.

“Any clue how to clear the Tempest?”

“None.”

“How to get around it?”

“Nope.”

“Anyone you know on this island who might know?”

The Trader thought for a moment.

“Can't think of anyone.”

“Are there no cities or villages on Battershoal?”

“Not really.”

“So no bakeries either?”

“None.”

Balthazar's eyestalks drooped.

“I like this place less and less the more I learn about it.”

He sighed. Then his expression changed.

“Look, I really need to find a way back to the continent. Back home. Back to my friends, my…” Balthazar hesitated. “My family. I need to get back to them.”

For once, the Trader's usual chuckle did not come. He simply watched the crab.

Then he spoke in the same calm tone as always.

“If you wish to find the way out of Battershoal, you will need to follow the same path as every other adventurer who found themselves stuck here.”

Balthazar looked up. “Which is?”

“Head deeper into the jungle.”

The crab frowned.

“Toward the center of the island. Follow the myths, the tales, the legends. Attempt to uncover what secrets lie within the heart of Battershoal.”

Balthazar stared at him.

For a moment, he looked annoyed.

Then confused.

Then suddenly very still.

“Wait.”

His eyes widened.

“Did you just say… heart?”

The Trader smiled.

“Ah. That caught your interest, did it not?”

Balthazar immediately opened his system.

The familiar quest remained there.

The one he'd received after heading deep into the core of the dungeon under Semla Mountain.

[Find the Heart]

His gaze shifted from the system to the Trader.

“You know something about that.”

“I know something about the myth of Battershoal.”

Balthazar sighed.

“How much?”

“I could tell you that information as payment for the marble you brought me.”

The crab stared at him.

“You're really committed to this whole trader thing, aren't you?”

The Trader grinned. “It's my profession.”

“Alright, fine. Give me the details.”

The Trader leaned back.

“Nobody really knows how Battershoal came to be. Some say it was created by a giant baker.”

The crab's eyestalks tilted.

“A baker?”

“A giant baker.”

“You mean a baker giant?”

“I’m not sure, actually. Is that relevant to you?”

“Not really. Just… continue.”

“The baker was said to have spent an entire day preparing a great batch of batter. Unfortunately, the recipe went terribly wrong. Frustrated by the mistake, the giant angrily tossed the entire batch into the ocean with great force.”

Balthazar's expression remained flat. “Riiiight…”

“The batter landed upon an underwater volcano.”

“Mhmm.”

“It caused an eruption.”

“Sure.”

“And the batter expanded. And expanded. And expanded.”

Balthazar's mouth slowly opened.

“Until it eventually sprouted into an island.”

Balthazar shook his shell.

“Yeah, no, I highly doubt that. Trust me. I know bakers. Bakers make pies. They don't make islands.”

“Perhaps,” the shrugging trader said.

“But what about the Tempest? And the curse?”

“Nobody knows what truly caused them either. There are theories. Rumors. Old stories. A powerful but heartbroken mage cursed the island. Greedy adventurers dug too deep in search of treasure and awakened something terrible. Some even believe it’s something called climate change, whatever that is.” The Trader's expression became slightly more serious. “But most agree on one thing. Whatever the source of the Tempest is, it lies deep within the island. Past the dense jungle. At the very heart of Battershoal.”

The crab stared into the jungle.

That couldn't be a coincidence.

His system had given him a quest to find some mysterious heart.

Then he had crashed onto an island where a supernatural storm prevented him from leaving.

And now he was being told that the source of that storm supposedly lay at the very heart of the island.

Balthazar slowly lowered his eyestalks.

“Alright, fine. How do I get closer to the center?”

The Trader pointed toward the adventurers.

“Ask them.”

Balthazar looked over.

The three were busy packing their equipment.

“They're heading deeper into the jungle?”

“They are.”

The crab sighed.

Of course they were.

He skittered toward them.

“Hey.”

The three adventurers looked up as Balthazar stopped in front of them.

He suddenly found himself unsure how to phrase what he wanted.

“Would you, uhm… Do you need a merchant to tag along?”

The three exchanged glances.

Then they all shrugged.

“What can you offer our group?” the warrior, Gideon, asked.

The crab put on his best salescrab smile.

“Goods at even gooder prices?”

The mage, Cedric, suddenly perked up.

“Oh! Do you have socks for sale?”

Balthazar's expression immediately changed. “Of course I do.”

The mage held up one foot.

“Mine all have holes in them.”

Balthazar smirked.

“Then you've come to the right merchant.”

He turned toward the jungle.

“Let's get on the road, and we can discuss that.”

“And thus, dear audience, does our intrepid merchant embark upon a grand new expedition into the unknown, accompanied by three courageous adventurers, a mysterious pebble, and—”

“Not another word, Bartholomew,” the crab dryly stated.

“—a most distinguished barnacle.”

Balthazar sighed. “Shellache.”

“A terrible affliction indeed,” said the barnacle.

The crab started toward the jungle.

Behind him, the three adventurers gathered their things and followed.

The Trader watched them leave with his usual smile and a short wave goodbye.

And somewhere beyond the dense trees, at the heart of Battershoal, something waited. But for now, the crab was more concerned with selling some socks.

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