Chapter 27: Spiky Sea Snippers

Chapter 27: Spiky Sea Snippers

It was a beautiful day. The sun was high overhead, radiating warmth that was perfectly contrasted by a stalwart breeze blowing ever northward. Small waves crashed against the rocks of the headland, the wind causing their foamy peaks to spray and glitter in the sun. Salt was heavy in the air, its scent a constant reminder of the small joys one could find in life.

The scene was only marginally ruined by the charging, apoplectic crab. Fueled by indignation and an acutely murderous intent, Sergeant Snips shot across the rocks, a torrent of foam spewing from her mouth. The otter’s sidelong glance was filled with terror as it turned to dash for the safety of open water, the sclera of its eyes starkly visible.

The creature had just learned, by hard-won experience, the age-old adage about poking the bear. In this case, the ‘bear’ was a watermelon-sized crab, covered in inch-long spikes, possessing uncommonly agile legs and a thirst for recompense.

Sergeant Snips’s claws were raised, power swelling inside her mighty joints. The otter launched itself for the water, the twin blasts from Snips’s clackers striking the oyster beds from where it had just jumped. My guard crab didn’t jump in after it, showing a respectable amount of restraint as she shook with fury. I walked up behind her, setting a calming hand atop her carapace.

“Nicely done, Snips.”

Her lone eye turned to regard me, part of her anger melting away. She cocked her head, and I answered the unspoken question.

“I know you missed your attacks on purpose.” I smiled at her. “That was good restraint, and I’m proud of you.”

She dipped the front of her head down, blowing bubbles of regret for her outburst.

“It’s fine—really. What do you say we go have that meal?”

She blew bubbles of assent, and we set off back for the house.

“You know, Snips . . . I think the otter was just trying to play with you.”

She paused mid-bite of the sand crab leg, her eye seeming to narrow at me.

“I’m serious!” I said with a laugh. “In the very least, it wasn’t trying to hurt you. It seems rather intelligent for a wild animal, and it has to know that it couldn’t hurt your magnificent shell with a small stone . . .”

She preened when I complimented her shell, puffing up subconsciously. I smiled down at her, glad to see she was feeling more herself after some lunch.

I cracked the shell of a sand crab claw, and with no small amount of satisfaction, bit down on the sweet meat. Once again, the flavor of the flesh mixing with the salty water it was cooked in took my senses on a relaxing trip that was even more enjoyable with the company of the continually reliable Sergeant Snips.

It’s a shame about the salt, though . . .

When I checked on the reducing sea water before cooking the crab, I found the moisture content boiled away as expected, but the sludge in the bottom was an off brown color, telling me something had gone wrong. I suspected the water needed to be filtered somehow, or perhaps I’d made the fire too hot, burning the salt in the process.

No matter—I’ll just have to try again.

The sound of Snips crunching down on her half of the crab was a comfort, and we lapsed into relative silence, both drawn in by the taste of our impromptu lunch.

A repetitive noise rang out, making both of us freeze on the spot—me with excitement, Snips with anger.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The otter had returned.

I shot to my feet, as did Sergeant Snips. “Would you mind staying here, Snips?” I asked, voice urgent. She had already taken a step, but stopped, turning to look at me with curiosity.

“I want to try feeding it—I worry it might run away the second it sees you.”

She blew a small stream of bubbles as she seemed to contemplate my request.

I bent down to her level. “Please, Snips? I know it’s been messing with you, but reckon it would make a reliable ally if I can win it over with some food . . .”

She pointed at me, then herself, clacking her claws.

“I promise I’ll be okay—I don’t need defending from a little otter.”

She considered, her clackers moving open and closed as her thoughts roiled.

With a single nod of her body, she sat back down on the sand, picking up a cooked leg and taking a crunching bite.

“Thank you, Snips!” I let my genuine excitement show. “I’ll be right back!”

I picked up the remainder of my lunch and ran for the headland. Each time the tapping of the otter’s rock paused, I worried it wouldn’t return, the bearer having jumped into the ocean and swam away. Each time, though, the tapping resumed. I rounded the headland from the southern side, doing my best to be silent.Diiscover new stories at novelhall.com

The otter was hitting an oyster when I caught sight of it, roughly twenty meters downwind. It saw me from the corner of its eye, and its entire body went rigid as it turned to stare at me, its white sclera clearly visible once more.

I held one hand up in a passive gesture, showing my palm. With the other, I held the crab high, letting the wind carry the smell of it toward the otter. Its head lifted, its cute little nose twitching as it breathed in the aroma of the freshly cooked sand crab.

I took a slow step forward, and it dashed further away, stopping after three bounds and turning to watch me.

I focused on Julian. “I brought that ring we spoke about, mate. Is now a good time to have it appraised?”

“Yes—of course.”

He knelt down behind his counter, coming back up with a silk-covered chest. He opened it up, removing something akin to a microscope.

“May I see it?”

I nodded at Fergus, who produced the ring from inside a small wooden box filled with padding.

“Would you mind putting it back in the box?” Julian asked. “Leave the stone facing up.”

Fergus cocked his head but did so with gentleness belying his size.

Julian took the box and set it atop the tray beneath the eyepiece. He placed one eye to the opening, peering down as he spun the box around at different angles.

I heard the door open behind me and glanced back to see George leaving. I returned my attention to Julian.

“So . . . what do you think?”

The jeweler put a cloth glove on one hand, then picked up the ring from the box. He examined the silver sections of the ring beneath the eyeglass, too focused to answer my question.

“This is,” he said, “possibly the finest ring I have ever seen. The workmanship, the symmetry, the stone itself . . . where did you get it?”

I grinned, gesturing between Fergus and myself. “We made it, mate.”

“. . . You really made this?”

“Aye,” Fergus said, beaming with pride.

“If you were to sell this in the capital, I suspect you’d fetch at least twenty-seven gold.”

I whistled. “That’s a lot of dosh—how much could you pay us for it?”

“Er . . . dosh?”

“Yeah, dosh! Cash; coin; gold—same thing.”

“Oh . . . right. Well, I could pay you two less gold for the trouble of transporting it. There are guard fees, you see. Not to mention the capital taxes, and that’s not even considering the—”

“No need to justify it, mate,” I interrupted. “That sounds like a fair price. Do you have that much gold on you?”

Julian laughed, the noise high and fleeting. “No. I hold around ten gold with my guard at a time. Any more will need to be delivered from the capital under escort.”

I grinned. “How often do you get deliveries under escort?”

“They come with the merchant that visits Tropica once a month on Fielday.”

I still need to work out what’s going on with these weekdays . . .

I returned my attention outward, focusing on Julian. “Would you give us ten gold now, take the ring, and deliver the remaining fifteen with the merchant?”

Julian’s brows furrowed momentarily, but they raised as he smiled. “Y-yes, of course!” Julian rubbed his hands together. “It’s a little unorthodox, but you bear two witnesses, and I am nothing if not my reputation.”

“That’s fine with you boys?” I asked, turning to Fergus and Duncan.

“Aye,” they both said, before squinting at each other in suspicion.

I let out a laugh. “It’s a deal, mate.”

I held out my hand, and after removing his cloth glove, Julian shook it.

The otter retreated further than was strictly necessary. It swam ever southward, wanting to put as much distance between itself and the sharp-clawed antagonist as possible. The scent of the stolen morsel was unbearable, and only the fear of the spiked1 following her held her powerful jaws at bay.

She had tried repeatedly to lure the crab into playing, but each time it had responded with increasing aggression—during the last of which, she had genuinely feared for her life. Spiky sea snippers were no fun, as it turned out.

She emerged onto the rocks she called home, running swiftly between a gap in the stones. She curled up in a back corner, tearing into the crab with ravenous delight.