Merchant Crab

Balthazar ran.

He had no idea where he was going, but he was going there very quickly.

Branches whipped past his shell. Leaves slapped against his eyestalks. Vines caught around his legs only to be torn free as he barreled through the undergrowth.

Behind him, somewhere in the jungle, a minotaur was probably still looking for him.

At least, Balthazar assumed it was.

He hadn't stopped to check.

Checking seemed like the sort of thing that got merchants killed.

“And so the brave merchant fled before the monstrous beast, his courageous heart burning with the desire to survive another day!”

“Not now, Bartholomew!”

“He raced through the untamed wilderness, displaying a speed that would surely leave even the fleetest of—”

“I said not now!”

“Very well, noble host.”

Balthazar continued running.

There was silence for perhaps five seconds.

“Yet despite the terror that gripped his soul, the great Balthazar did not falter. He did not surrender. He did not—”

“Bartholomew!”

The barnacle did not respond.

“Sir Bartholomew,” the crab begrudgingly corrected.

“Yes?”

“Where am I even going?”

The barnacle paused.

“An excellent question.”

“That wasn't rhetorical!”

Balthazar ducked beneath a low branch and nearly collided with a tree.

He skittered around it, then glanced over his shoulder.

No minotaur.

No roar.

No giant battleaxe coming through the bushes.

He slowed slightly.

Maybe he'd lost it.

Or perhaps it had simply decided he wasn't worth chasing.

Balthazar sincerely hoped it was the second one.

He took a few more steps and finally stopped to catch his breath.

The jungle stretched in every direction.

Tall trees blocked the sky. Thick vines hung from branches. Ferns and broad-leafed plants crowded the ground, leaving barely any clear path through the vegetation.

Balthazar had absolutely no idea where he was.

Then he noticed something familiar.

Three trees stood close together a short distance ahead.

The merchant's eyestalks rose.

“Wait…”

He skittered toward them.

Three trees.

Growing close together.

That was one of the instructions Rowan had received from the Trader.

Balthazar looked around.

“Wasn't there supposed to be a path after that?”

He examined the ground. It was hard to make out, but there was a vague semblance of a beaten path behind the roots. Or at least what once had been one.

As he moved between the trees, something caught the sunlight beneath their tangled roots.

Balthazar stopped and backed up.

There it was again. Something shiny.

His eyes narrowed.

The crab approached slowly and crouched beside the roots.

Nestled in the dirt was a small glass marble.

Balthazar carefully pulled the glass sphere free and turned it between his pincers.

It was the same kind as the one he'd given the Trader.

“Huh,” he said before looking around. “How did you end up here?”

There was, of course, no answer—not even from the barnacle.

Balthazar shrugged.

“Well, whatever. It's shiny,” he said before continuing forward.

The trees opened into a clearing. Balthazar stepped through the last curtain of leaves and stopped.

Ancient stone ruins stretched across the clearing.

Broken walls rose from the tangled vegetation at odd angles. Moss covered almost every surface. Thick vines crawled over collapsed sections of stone, disappearing into cracks and reemerging several feet away. Roots had pushed through the foundations, splitting old blocks apart.

It was as if a stone colossus had fallen in the middle of the jungle ages ago and nature had spent centuries reclaiming it.

A wide stone ramp led toward what appeared to have once been an entrance, now a gaping maw capable of swallowing entire parties of adventurers.

There was no sign.

No statues.

No carving that Balthazar could recognize.

Nothing that explained what the place had once been.

It could have been a temple.

A fortress.

A manor.

A particularly elaborate bakery.

Alright, probably not that last one, Balthazar thought.

The merchant took a few cautious steps forward and a familiar notification appeared in his vision.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

[You have discovered The Ruins of Broken Whisk]

Balthazar's eyestalks rose.

“Broken Whisk?” he said while looking at the ruins again. “That's a strange name for an old pile of broken rock walls.”

Then he noticed someone standing beside the ramp leading to the entrance—a figure with several burlap sacks resting on the ground nearby.

The man was wearing a trench coat and cowl, both covered in dirt, leaves, moss, and various bits of jungle debris, like someone who had been traversing an even denser patch of jungle than the one the crab had just come out of.

Balthazar squinted.

“Wait…” the merchant muttered as he pulled out his monocle.

The system displayed information similar to what it had shown him back at the Trader's camp.

[Trader - Level 42]

Balthazar lowered the monocle.

Then raised it again.

[Trader - Level 42]

“Level 42?” he whispered with a frown. “He was level 41 before. Is he not… the same guy?”

The Trader looked exactly as he had before. Except now he was standing on a completely different spot over an hour away from the previous one.

Balthazar looked back toward the jungle.

Then at the Trader.

“How did he get here?”

The Trader looked up with his same grin from before.

“Welcome!”

Balthazar's eyes narrowed.

“Are you the same Trader I met back at the camp?”

The Trader chuckled. “Of course I am. The one and only.”

“How did you get here?” the merchant asked.

“I traveled.”

Balthazar glared at him and his mouth twisted in annoyance.

“You don’t say?” the crab said. “But how did you get here before I did?”

The Trader chuckled again.

“Many years ago, I was briefly a courier. I still put a few tricks from those days to good use now.”

Balthazar's eyestalks tilted.

“Oddly enough, that actually does explain a fair bit,” said the merchant. “You wouldn’t happen to know a guy called Rob, would you?”

“Who?” asked the Trader.

Balthazar waved his pincer dismissively. “Ah, never mind.”

“What about your fellow adventurers that began the trip with you?” the human asked. “Did you lose them on the way here?”

The crab glanced away like someone trying not to look guilty while definitely looking guilty, despite not actually being guilty, but still feeling slightly guilty.

“They were not my ‘fellow’ anything,” he said. “But yes, you could say I… lost them on the way. Not worth talking about right now, though.”

“Very well then,” the Trader said.

He then pointed at the marble still held in Balthazar’s pincer.

“I see you've found another one.”

The crab looked down. “Ah. Is this one of yours too?”

The Trader smiled and nodded.

“Do I get another reward?”

“I can tell you what I know about these ruins.”

Balthazar considered that.

“Alright. Deal,” responded the merchant. “It’s just glass anyway. Not a real shiny. Like gold.”

He placed the marble on the man’s waiting palm.

The Trader took it and retrieved the same long glass tube from earlier from inside his coat.

He uncorked it, placed the marble inside, and let it roll down the tube until it came to rest on top of the first.

“You really like those things,” the crab commented.

“They're important.”

“For what?”

The Trader glanced toward the overgrown entrance above them.

“Want me to tell you about these ruins?”

Balthazar did not miss the change of subject by the strange figure, but he figured between information about some marble collection or the spooky ruins he was about to step into, he’d much rather have the latter.

The merchant nodded.

“They are old,” said the Trader.

“I gathered that on my own,” said the crab.

“Very old,” the hooded man said.

“How old?”

“Nobody knows.”

Balthazar rolled his eyestalks.

“Nobody remembers what they were built for.” The Trader gestured toward the crumbling walls. “Perhaps they were a temple. Perhaps a fortress. Perhaps something else entirely. Perhaps they were always ruins from the very start.”

Balthazar frowned.

“That last one doesn't make sense. Why would anyone build something that is already ruined?”

The Trader smiled his slightly creepy smile. “Who knows?”

The crab pinched the empty space where the bridge of his nose would be if he had one.

“You’re not trading me information, you’re trading me everything you don’t know!”

“I know they are dangerous,” the Trader said.

“Please don't tell me there are minotaurs in there,” said Balthazar.

“No. Not that I know of.”

“Worse?” asked the crab, cocking an eyestalk. “Tax collectors?”

The Trader's grin remained perfectly straight. “I doubt it.”

Balthazar wiped the nonexistent sweat from the forehead he did not have. “Oh good, that’s a relief.”

The Trader gestured toward the entrance.

“The ruins are filled with traps. Old ones. Very old ones. They were designed to keep persistent explorers away from whatever secrets lie within. Some say those secrets involve a way through the jungle.”

Balthazar's attention sharpened.

“A way through?”

“And perhaps a path toward the center of Battershoal.”

The crab looked toward the dark entrance. He wasn’t too keen on heading into dark and dangerous places, especially on his own, but he also knew he had no other leads on how to get to the heart of the island and possibly find a way to get off that island.

The Trader reached into one of his sacks and pulled out a small lantern.

“The ruins are also incredibly dark. You would be wise to bring something to light your way.”

Balthazar waved a pincer.

“I'm good. I've got plenty of torches.”

The Trader chuckled.

“Do they burn underwater?”

Balthazar paused.

“Why would they need to?”

“A good portion of the ruins are flooded,” the Trader replied. “Some areas require navigating underwater.”

Balthazar scoffed.

“Well, I'm a crab. I can swim.”

“I don't doubt it.” The Trader pointed toward Balthazar's Crab Bag. “But what about your torches?”

Balthazar looked down.

He had several.

Then he imagined trying to carry a lit torch underwater.

He sighed.

“Fair point,” the merchant said. “Fine. Let's trade.”

The Trader smiled and nodded approvingly.

“A torch for a lantern?” suggested the crustacean.

The other shook his head. “That is not a fair trade.”

“Alright, alright. You got me,” Balthazar said. “Two torches then.”

The Trader laughed.

“This is no ordinary lantern,” he said as he held it up. “It will not be extinguished by water.”

Balthazar looked at it.

The lantern was made of old and rusty iron, with a thick glass chamber surrounding a strangely yellow flame.

“Alright, alright,” the merchant said as he opened his Crab Bag. “Then how about this?”

He rummaged around.

He pulled out a length of rope.

“No.”

A wooden ruler.

“No.”

An old and stale brioche.

“Tempting,” said the Trader, eyeing the bun.

“Not for sale,” the crab quickly replied.

After some more rummaging, a small brass bell finally emerged.

Balthazar held it up.

“This is a Customer Service Bell™.”

The Trader looked intrigued.

“Why did you just whisper the letters T and M at the end of the name there?”

“Don’t worry about that,” said the crab, still holding the miniature bell. “The point is, you ring it when you need assistance.”

“And why would I need one?”

“You're a trader. Customers come to you. You ring this when you're ready to help them.”

“I don’t think that’s exactly how that works,” the Trader said as he looked at the bell.

Balthazar gave it a little shake.

Ding.

The Trader's grin widened. “That is rather charming, I will admit.”

“I'll trade it for the lantern,” the merchant told the trader.

The man in the trench coat considered the offer.

“Very well,” he finally said before accepting the bell from the crab and handing him the lantern.

The Trader immediately tied his new item to one of the front pockets of his coat.

It gave a soft ding whenever he moved or shifted around.

Meanwhile, Balthazar was busy inspecting his new lantern carefully.

The yellow flame flickered behind the glass. It looked unnatural. But it was still a light.

“Pleasure doing business,” said the Trader.

Balthazar turned toward the ruins.

The entrance yawned before him, black and silent. Like a crab hungry for pastries.

“Alright. See you soon. I hope,” Balthazar said to the Trader before taking a deep breath and a few steps up the ramp leading to the entrance. “Let's see what secrets you've got.”

“And thus does our intrepid merchant bravely enter the ancient ruins, lantern held high as he ventures into the darkness where untold dangers—”

Sir Bartholomew was back at it again, and Balthazar rolled his eyestalks.

Just wishing to do anything else other than having to listen to the barnacle for another minute, he stepped inside.

The yellow light disappeared into the darkness ahead.

Behind him, the Trader's new bell gave one more ding.

Then the ruins swallowed the merchant whole—like a crab devouring pie.