Heretical Fishing

Chapter 43: Lemons

In a long-abandoned room, high in the capital city of Gormona’s castle, a construct sat among a sea of similarly forgotten relics. Despite there being noMone present, not a single pair of eyes there to witness its efforts, it sprung to life. Text typed itself out on the screen, a single line intended to inform the long-departed rulers of this land about a cultivator’s advancement.

New milestone! Fischer has advanced to fishing 25!

“About this deep, you reckon?” I asked.

Barry nodded. “Aye, Fischer—that should be the perfect depth for the sugarcane’s roots.”

“You want to put a bit of dirt on top,” Barry said. “Like so.”

He threw a handful of soil atop the fertilizer, and I nodded.

“And we just plant the stalk of sugarcane right above it?”

Barry removed one from the satchel over his shoulder, holding the stalk out to me.

I accepted it. “I still can’t believe you propagate sugarcane like this . . .”

Barry raised an eyebrow, smiling at me. “Did you think it grew from seed?”

“Well . . . yeah. It really just regrows itself if you don’t pull the stalks out?”

“It does, yes, but as Maria and Roger have shown, if you leave the field for too long without planting something else, the soil quality will worsen. You have to occasionally rip the entire stalk out and start the cycle over.”

I held up the palm-length section of cane. “Yeah, but we can just chuck this thing in the ground and it’ll grow? That’s wild, Barry.”

He laughed, loud and full of joy. “There are plenty of plants like that, Fischer—they’re called perennial, meaning they grow for a long time with the right conditions, if not indefinitely.”

I shook my head, still amazed. “Man, you almost make farming sound interesting.”

He laughed again, even more jubilant than before. “It’s never too late to abandon your heretical ways for a life of farming, you know.”

“Oh? And where would you get your seafood fix if I wasn’t living the life of a heretic?”

Barry’s eyes sparkled as I brought up the food.

“You, uh, have any of that fish you can spare for your favorite neighbor . . . ?”

“But of course! How else could I repay the kindness of Helen’s sangas?”

“. . . sangas? That’s what you call sandwiches where you’re from . . . ?”

“Struth, mate.”

“All right, you lost me again.”

We grinned at each other, and I placed the sugarcane stalk inside the hole.

“Do I cover it with loose soil, or do I pack it down?”

“Pack it down a little. You don’t want any air pockets, but you also don’t want the soil too constricting.”

I pressed down after filling in the hole, taking care not to use too much strength because of my improved body.

“Good?” I asked.

“Perfect—let’s move on to the next one.”

We repeated the process with small chunks of fish fertilizer in the northwest corner of the western field—the closest to Barry’s home.

“Shall we do the rest of the fields without fertilizer, or do you have somewhere to be, Fischer?”

I grinned. “Wanna race?”

Barry stared at me, and in a single movement, dumped half the satchel of stalks on the ground and sprinted for the eastern field.

I roared a laugh. “You’re on, Barry!”

Unlike our previous races, Barry was annihilating me. It wasn’t a test of strength or endurance; the planting required care and precision. If anything, my empowered body slowed me down, and I took much longer than Barry each time I pressed down the soil atop the stalks.

“What’s the matter, Fischer?” Barry called, taunting me. “Can’t handle a little farming?”

“Hey!” I yelled back, laughing. “I’m doing my best!”

In less than an hour, Barry was finished and he came over to join me.

“Oi! I don’t need help from a goody-two-shoes farmer like you!” I joked.

“Two shoes?” Barry raised an eyebrow. “How many shoes do you usually wear?”

I chortled, the question catching me off guard.

“Never mind. I can’t lie; I’d appreciate your help with my share of the field.”

I passed him half the remaining stalks, and we finished the field together, Barry still excelling well past what I could accomplish.

“Whenever you’re finished, mate,” Barry taunted.

“Whatever,

nerd.”

“Do I want to know what that means?”

“It means you’re smart.”

Barry cocked his head. “And that’s an insult where you come from . . . ? That sounds more like a compliment to me.”

I snorted. “That’s exactly what a nerd would say.”

I glanced over with a cheeky grin; Barry just shook his head with a confused smile.

When I’d planted the last stalk, I stood and stretched my back. “Ah, man, that was harder than I expected!”

“But how do you feel now that you’re finished?”

I rubbed my chin in thought. “I feel good. My body is a little sore, but I helped my friends, and that gives me the warm fuzzies.”

Barry sighed. “Warm fuzzies?”

“Yeah! The warm, fuzzy feeling of helping someone out, or seeing a cute animal and petting their hard shell.”

“I’m not sure if that’s wholesome or horrifying . . .”

“Was the hard shell imagery too much?”

“A little . . .”

“C’mon!” I gave him an incredulous look. “You’re really telling me Sergeant Snips isn’t a beacon of cuteness?”

“Cute isn’t the word I’d use, but I can see where you’re coming from . . .”

“Speaking of, there’s someone I need to introduce you to . . .”

With the afternoon sun setting to our right, Barry and I made our way toward where I’d last seen Snips and Claws. When I caught sight of the campfire, my trusty guard crab stood tending it, placing small logs into the flames. Sergeant Snips heard us approaching, and she spun. She scuttled at us with incredible speed, her spindly legs making short work of the distance. A stream of joyous bubbles greeted us, and I bent down, petting her head.

“Good afternoon, Snips—or should I say good morning? Did you sleep well?”

She nodded, leaning into my touch.

“Hello, Sergeant Snips,” Barry said, bending down to be closer to eye level.

She tilted her head in thought and wrote in the sand.

Barry’s eyes went wide.

“You . . . you can write?”

She nodded, dragging her claw through the sand to underline whatever she’d written.

“Snips? You mean I can call you Snips?”

She nodded once, happy her decree was understood.

Barry smiled. “Of course. Whatever makes you happy.”

She bubbled her approval and started walking back to the campfire. I noticed she’d retrieved the pot with fish in it from the kitchen; it sat on the sand by the fire.

“Oh! Did you want to try cooking, Snips?”

Her head jolted back, she shook it emphatically, then pointed at me with her claw. I couldn’t help but laugh at her insistence.

Guess she really likes my cooking, huh?

“Of course, Snips! I’m always happy to cook.”

“So,” Barry said, “who was it you wanted me to meet?”

As if called from the depths, a four-legged creature sprinted from the river. She ran straight for us, her mouth open and tongue lolling as she approached. Her eyes caught sight of Barry, and her body went rigid. She skidded to a stop, leaning back and staring at Barry with clear trepidation.

“He’s a friend!” I called, urging her on with one hand. “I brought him here to meet you!”

With narrowed eyes, she resumed her approach, now walking rather than sprinting.

“This,” I said to Barry, “is Corporal Claws.”

His shocked expression was a joy to behold.

“She’s . . . like Snips?”

“Sure is, mate.”

“Two creatures on the path to ascension . . .” Barry shook his head. “Unbelievable . . .”

“What can I say?” I shot him a wink. “I have a way with the ladies.”

“Please don’t ever say that again when talking about animals—awakened or not.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Barry. You’re worse than webnovel commenters demanding that stories devolve into harems—joking or not.”

He gave me his most confused look yet, and I chortled for the second time that day.

Corporal Claws reached us, and I bent down to pat her, delighting in the cute little chirps she gave.

“This is Barry, Claws—he’s a neighbor and a good mate of mine.”

She gave him a nod, and Barry, still looking rather out of his element, nodded back.

“Is it all right if Barry pets you?” I asked Claws.

She instantly nodded, not needing a second to consider it. Barry stared down at her as she stood on her hind legs, offering her head up for a good scritching. Barry looked at me, looked back down at Corporal Claws, and made no move. Claws mimed scratching behind her head, giving an insistent chirp. Obeying the order, he bent, scratching the spot behind her ear that Claws had indicated. He started softly, but as she leaned further into the scratches, he once more obeyed, fingers pressing firmly into her coat. Corporal Claws chittered and cooed, broadcasting her enjoyment to the world.

“Your fur is so soft . . .”

Claws nodded slowly, making Barry’s fingers scratch different parts of her head. She pulled away, shaking her entire body, which caused her legs to spread wide so she didn’t fall over. She looked like nothing so much as a dog shaking water off, and I couldn’t help but smile at the joy flourishing within me.

Barry had an awestruck expression, and I spoke to bring him back to the present.

“I assume you don’t mind if Claws joins us for dinner?”

His head turned slowly, as if moving through honey.

“N-no, of course not . . .”

“Didn’t think so, but thought I’d make sure—I’ll start cooking!”

Claws chirped to grab my attention, and she began fervently rummaging around in both pockets.

Her paws withdrew, holding two rock-like objects in each.

“. . . oysters?” I asked.

They were large—bigger than the ones I’d seen on the shore, anyway. Claws nodded, and she walked forward on her hind legs, holding the four oysters out to me.

“Where did you find them . . . ?”

With her forelimbs now free, she chirped and started drawing in the sand. She drew a checkered pattern, an open hatch, and a bunch of oysters within.

“. . . the cages off the shore?”

She nodded, chirping in the affirmative.

The oyster cages had oysters in them already? Of that size . . . ?

“Were there more in there than those?”

She pointed at the oysters in my hand then made a minimizing gesture with both paws.

“Smaller ones . . . ?”

Affirmative chirp.

“Huh . . . that’s surprising.”

“Uh, I don’t mean to butt in,” Barry said, “but you can understand what she’s saying?”

“Yeah, mate—you can’t?”

He shook his head. “No, Fischer, certainly not.”

“Same as Snips then, huh?” I petted the crab in question, making happy bubbles come forth.

“Do you have lemons, Barry?”

“Er—lemons . . . ?”

“Yeah, you know—citrus fruit, yellow and kind of egg shaped, tastes sour?”

“I know what lemons are, but no, I don’t have any lemons on me . . .”

I barely heard the end of his response.

They have lemons here!

“Are there any in Tropica?” I demanded, not caring to hide the desperation in my voice.

“Tropica? I doubt it, unless one of the north siders has some stashed away—they’re exceedingly expensive, just as with passiona.”

My excitement died; my stomach dropped. “Let me guess—the seeds are engineered to not reproduce?”

“Just so,” he said.

This fantasy-land Monsanto is really killing my vibe. I need lemons.

I let out a great sigh. “Ah well, I supposed that’d make things too easy on us, huh, Snips?”

Sergeant Snips nodded, definitely not understanding the nuance of my frustration, but still supporting me unconditionally.

I petted her again, taking solace in her company.

“Well, no matter—they’d have gone really well with the oysters.”

Barry furrowed his forehead so much that his eyebrows almost touched.

“You’re planning on eating those . . . rocks . . . ?”

I blinked; Snips blinked; Claws’s head spun and glared at him.

Snips was the first to break. A low noise came from her, transforming into a churning hiss of bubbles and laughter. She fell on her back, kicking her legs up in the air. I joined in. I didn’t know when I hit the ground, but I found myself sitting, one hand bracing against the sand, the other wiping tears from my eyes.

Corporal Claws didn’t find it as entertaining as Snips and I did, but she still let her amusement out in little chitters as she glanced between all of us rapidly.

“They’re—they’re not rocks, Barry. They’re a type of shellfish.”

Barry shook his head, laughing at himself. “So you do plan on eating them?”

“I reckon you should try one too, mate—they’re best served fresh.”

Without further ado, I held them back out to Claws. “Would you open these for us?”

She nodded as she ran toward me, collecting the oysters and setting them down on a log used for sitting. Claws flexed her paw, and five of her namesakes sprung out, sending Barry’s eyebrows flying up.

“You’re gonna get wrinkles if you spend too much time around us,” I said, giggling.

With a series of adept movements, Claws unhinged each oyster and discarded the lids.

She passed one to me and Snips first, then gave one to Barry, and finally, picked up her own and slurped it down with glee.

“After you, mate,” I said to Barry.

He stared down at the mollusk, and after gathering his courage, poured it into his mouth, copying Claws’s action.

His face immediately transformed.

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