Chapter 17: A Productive Day

Chapter 17: A Productive Day

You know, maybe that lobster bloke ain’t all that bad, I thought as I power walked through Tropica Village. People I’d never met before were smiling and waving at me, which was a welcome change from the usual suspicion and derision I faced. Guess they’ve heard about the coffee machine coming in hot . . .

Before I even realized it, I reached Steven and Ruby’s . . .

tailors? Tailorors? Whatever, I reached the clothes shop. The second coffee was kicking in, and in retrospect, it may not have been the best idea to subject this new body to who knew how many shots of coffee for the first time.

Ah well, it’s gonna be a productive day, baby! I paused. Did I just call myself baby in the third person? Definitely too much coffee . . .

“Hello, Fischer!” Steven greeted, skull-dragging me out of my questionable introspection.

“G’day, mate! How are ya?”

“I’m great, thanks! Is it true you’re buying Sue a coffee machine?”

“Not me, George is, but you’re goddamn right she’s getting a coffee machine, Steven! The people need it!”

He gave me a funny look. “Are you all right, Fischer?”

“Yeah, why mate?”

“You seem a little off? And your hands are shaking.”Diiscover new stories at novelhall.com

I looked down. “Huh. They are, aren’t they? How ’bout that? Anyway, I need a hat, Steven. What you got for me?”

“Oh, right. What did you have in mind?”

“Straw hat, wide brim, red band around it.”

If you’re gonna wear a straw hat anyway, you may as well look like the future king of the pirates while doing it.

“Hmmm, we’ve got a few different types of straw hats, but we don’t have any spare red fabric at the moment . . .” He looked around the store. “I could steal some from one of those red shirts if you don’t mind waiting—”

“Forget it.” I waved the half-formed suggestion away. “It’s probably an intellectual property infringement waiting to happen. Let’s just go with a plain straw hat—I do want the wide brim, though. Real wide.”

“O-okay. One moment . . .”

He walked out back, returning with two boxes stacked atop each other. “We’ve got two different types of straw hats in. Which one would you . . . Fischer?”

“Yeah, Steven?”

“You sure you’re all right?”

I realized I was bouncing on my heels at an erratic pace. I stopped. “Yeah, sorry, I think I had one too many coffees, but they were free, so what was I gonna say, no? I’m only human, Steven.”

“Ah, I get it now,” he said with a laugh. “You should see Ruby when she has an extra pot of tea in the morning. So, you wouldn’t recommend having two when Sue’s machine gets here?”

“What? Oh, no, I’d absolutely recommend it.” I leaned over the boxes. “Now let’s have a look at these hats . . .”

I walked out of the clothes shop with a spanking new hat, which Steven had refused payment for, saying something about the coffee machine, or the passiona pastries? Honestly, I forget. I was thinking about like five other things at the time.

I jogged to Thomas’s tool store, stopping by Sue’s for my complimentary baked good.

“Fischer!” He gave me a broad smile, his glorious mustache lending it even more joy. “Back for more tools, lad? What do you need?”

“Thomas! How are ya, mate? Your mustache is looking on point, by the way!”

He cocked his head. “Thank . . . you?”

“No worries, mate, I’m just calling it how I see it. I’m looking for an axe. You got anything?”

“Of course! What’s it for?”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Is it from the sea?”

“ . . . maybe.”

“I’ll keep you company, but I don’t think I’ll partake if it’s all the same to you.”

“No worries! Your company is more than welcome. Let’s get a fire going.”

We walked toward the headland, and as we rounded the corner, I caught sight of my home.

“Fancy a tour of my humble abode, mate?”

Barry’s jaw dropped, and he looked between me and the house with disbelief. “When did you . . .”

“Over the last couple days. Come on, I’ll show ya.”

We walked through the house, and Barry showed an enjoyable amount of awe and confusion.

The cat was out of the bag with George finding out about it, and I’d trusted Barry so far with enough information to bring me down. It was only a matter of time until more people found out, so I saw no harm in letting my friendly neighbor know.

“Where . . . where does the water come from, and where does it go?” he asked, flushing the toilet at my prompting.

“Not too sure, to be honest.”

“It’s like something from the stories, Fischer.” He turned a tap on, held his hand under the cool water, and turned it back off. “It’s like magic.”

“It’s called plumbing,” I said with a laugh, “and it’s common where I’m from.”

When we got to the kitchen, I gestured at my lack of a stove. “Haven’t found time to sort out somewhere to cook, so I’ve just been using a campfire.” I picked up the pot with a crab inside, opening the lid and showing Barry. “This is dinner if you change your mind.”

The crab held its claws up in protest, promising a swift pinch for anyone daring enough to approach.

“Er—no, Fischer . . . thank you, though.”

I shrugged, walking out of the house with the pot and nodding for Barry to follow. “No worries, offers open if you change your mind!”

I set to starting the fire, and Barry sat in contemplative silence.

“How did you do all this, Fischer?”

“Do what, mate?”

“This.” He gestured vaguely at the house, the metal pot, and the surrounding area. “It’s only been days . . . I’ve never seen anything of the like.”

“You have to allow a man a bit of mystery, mate.” I gave him a smile, unable to contain the elation his confused face brought me. “Besides, I’d say Sergeant Snips is a bit more amazing than that, wouldn’t you?”

He nodded, giving a deep sigh as the corners of his mouth turned up. “You’re a stalk of wheat, filled with unhusked grains of mystery.”

“That’s quite philosophical, mate, but you’re not wrong. Thanks for accepting me and not pushing too hard on the details—I like you, Barry, and I’m glad we’re neighbors.”

He grinned at me. “I have a feeling things are going to just get more confusing with you around, but I’m glad you moved in—you’re a source of constant amazement.”

“Glad to hear it, mate. You, uh, might want to turn away for a moment if you’re a bit squeamish.”

With two swift movements, I grabbed the crab and put it on a block of wood with one hand, then dispatched it with the knife in the other before it realized I had even removed it from the pot. I emptied the river water on the sand, put the crab back in the pot, and stood up.

“Back in a moment, mate—need to clean this and get some sea water.”

As the pot boiled, we sat in companionable silence, both lost in the flames of the fire. After twenty or so minutes, I checked my dinner. The shell was a bright pink; it was ready. I took the crab out with a pair of tongs, setting it on the wooden board to cool.

A welcomed clacking drew my attention, and Sergeant Snips emerged from the river, claws held high, a stream of excited bubbles streaming from her cute little head.