Merchant Crab

Balthazar, the talking crab. The merchant crab. Shrewd business maker. So much intelligence, such charisma. Reads so many books, makes so much coin.

And what did all of that even mean?

Could talk a drunken giant down, was able to outsmart a master merchant, managed to defeat a taxman. And now?

Stuck in the middle of a road, unable to go forward.

So sure that he was the smartest. Owner of his own destiny. All he did was his own choice.

But was it, really?

“Come on, Balthazar, what are you doing?” the crab told himself, his breathing speeding up. “Just take another step. There’s nothing there.”

But no matter what words he said, the rest of him wouldn’t budge.

Despite there being no physical barriers in front of him, his entire body and mind felt as if taking another step would mean walking off a cliff.

In front of him there were just mere cobblestones filling the path, some more loose than others, some cracked, some missing entirely, replaced by mounds of dirt. Everything about that side looked identical to the one he stood on.

But be so as it may, none of his eight legs made the move forward.

“Damn it, what is wrong with me?!”

He knew there was no other way, that he needed to make it up that road and reach the town gates, find a guard, anyone who could get some help for Druma. But despite his desperation, he could not bring himself to move one step further away from the pond.

He thought back to the conversation with the enchantress, and Tom’s story. Could they have been right all along? Was he just part of some puppet system that dictated where he could go and what he did?

He shook his shell vigorously. That was not the time to dwell on it.

His friend was in suffering, and he didn’t know how to help, or what could happen to him, but he’d be damned if he’d leave someone under his care in trouble.

To think, what people would say about him, his reputation. Couldn’t have that!

Walking back a few paces, Balthazar turned back to face the city again and took a deep breath.

“You can do this,” he whispered.

As fast as a crab can, he began running forward, determined to cross the imaginary line his body dared not walk.

He would go through, even if it meant jumping and landing upside down.

Just a couple more steps.

Almost as if his heart was about to burst, a fright took over the merchant. All his legs buckled and brought him to a stop. He teetered and fell forward on his chin, still behind the point of no crossing.

“Whyyyyy!” Balthazar cried out, slamming against the ground with his iron pincer in frustration. “Druma shouldn’t pay for my issues, damn it. He’s always done nothing but try to help me, and now I can’t even walk up a road when he needs me most.”

With another jump in his heartbeat, the crab quickly stood up and turned around as he heard shuffling sounds from the tall grass.

A large humanoid figure emerged from the plains, what little daylight still remained only allowing Balthazar to make out a muscular frame and green skin.

“Khargol?! Is that you?” The suddenly hopeful crab exclaimed.

“Merchant crab? We did not expect to find you out here on the road. We came to sell more—”

“Never mind that!” Balthazar quickly interjected, rushing closer to the orc chieftain and his two warrior-brothers coming out of the grass behind him. “I need your help with something. It’s very urgent.”

The orc’s already permanent scowl deepened. “Has something happened, merchant?”

“Yes, but there’s no time to explain. I need you to go up there to the gates and have them send a healer down to my pond quickly.”

Stolen novel; please report.

Realization quickly came to Balthazar as he remembered what he was asking, and to whom.

“I’m afraid we cannot do that, merchant,” Khargol said, with a firm but calm expression. “Orcs are not welcome among humans. They would likely attack us on sight if we were to approach their gates. You are famous among their kind, are you not? Why do you not go?”

Balthazar looked back, towards the gates up the hill, so close, yet so far away.

“I… I tried, but I can’t. It’s… complicated to explain. And I don’t know what else to do to help my injured friend.”

“Tell me what happened, crab,” the imposing orc said.

“We were attacked by a pack of wolves. We managed to repel them, but my assistant’s leg was bitten while he was fighting one of them, and I think the wolf might have been diseased or something, and it infected him. I tried health potions, but they don’t help, and now he has a fever.”

As he explained the situation, Balthazar felt vulnerable, exposed, as if expressing his concern was making him look weak. He stared at the cobblestones on the road, expecting to hear a chuckle from the mighty orc chieftain, and for them to mock him.

“Take us to him,” Khargol said with a serious and clear tone.

The crab looked up at the orc. His expression remained as stoic as usual, but there were no signs of mockery or a sneer.

Balthazar could not afford to waste any more time thinking about his own insecurities, Druma was waiting.

“Follow me,” he said, and quickly skittered back to his pond, leaving the edges of his domain behind.

As the crab and the three orcs made it to the pond, they found the goblin lying on his stack of hay, with Bouldy and Blue next to him, watching his shallow breathing.

“Don’t worry, they’re with me, they will help,” Balthazar quickly said to the drake and the golem as they turned to face the new arrivals.

He approached the goblin, who was even paler than before, and covered in sweat.

“Hey, Druma, I’m here. How are you doing, buddy?”

His assistant mumbled something unintelligible without opening his eyes.

“He’s burning up, and probably delirious,” Balthazar said, turning back to Khargol. “Do you have any idea what it might be?”

The tall orc came down to one knee in front of the haystack and lifted the bandage covering the wound.

“It is clearly infected, but I cannot say what ails him exactly,” the orc said.

“Damn it,” said the crab. “Then we’re back to square one, with no idea of what to do.”

“I said I did not know what his affliction is, because I am not a healer,” Khargol said, as he stood back up. “I did not say I would not help.”

“Then there is something you can do?” Balthazar eagerly asked, his eyes widening. “Please, if you can help him I will buy your loot for triple the rate! Well, wait, let’s maybe say double for now, that’s a more fair start. But still, name your price, and I will meet it. Within reason.”

The orc raised one of his huge palms, gesturing for the crab to stop.

“This is not a negotiation. I do not require a payment from you for this, merchant.”

He turned his gaze to the other two orcs.

“Burznarfuogol. Yaturwurtguthvarbu. Return to the village and inform the shaman that I require her aid. Say it is urgent, and return here with her quickly.”

Without needing to utter a single word, the two warriors saluted their chieftain by bringing a clenched fist to their chests and dropped their loot sacks before leaving with a hurried pace.

“A shaman?” the crab inquired, still watching the warriors disappearing onto the quickly darkening road.

“Yes,” Khargol said. “She is our healer. Very ancient and wise. If someone can help your goblin friend, it will be her.”

Balthazar thought back to the books he had read about goblins, orcs, and other such races.

They mostly described orcs as savage warriors, mindless brutes, which he now knew not to be entirely accurate. But the texts also made mentions of the relationship between orcs and goblins, and they were not exactly friendly ones.

“Why are you willing to help a goblin?” the hesitant crab asked. “I thought your kind wasn’t too fond of them. Is that not correct?”

Khargol let out a sharp exhale. “Have you been reading human books, crab?”

Balthazar emoted a semi-shrug with his shell.

“What adventurers and other humans think they know about us is what we allow them to know,” the chieftain explained. “Parts of it are true, others only partially true, and some are complete falsehoods to keep them away. It is true that most goblins are wild and savage, and we do not welcome them among us. But unlike humans, we do not treat everyone the same based solely on their kind. I may not know your assistant here, but I know you now, and can extrapolate that you would not have a savage goblin as a worker. And regardless of what reputation we might have, orcs have honor, and we value life and bravery. If your small friend was brave enough to stand up to a wolf, he has a brave spirit, and I’d be bringing shame upon my tribe if I denied aid to an injured warrior.”

He made a brief pause and then smirked.

“But if he wakes up and acts like a typical psychopathic goblin trying to stab us with a spear, I will still snap him in two.”

Balthazar stared emptily at the ground, pondering on what Khargol had said. He was still having a hard time coming to terms with the idea of an orc being so… intellectual. Prejudices were a hard thing to overcome, it would seem.

“Do not worry, merchant,” said the orc as he crossed his muscular arms in front of his chest and stared off into the distance of the plains. “My brothers will bring our shaman, and she will know what to do.”

Balthazar looked up at the stoic orc.

“I just hope Druma can wait that long. It’s practically night now, won’t they have to wait for morning to return here?”

Khargol let out a chuckle, despite showing no signs of smiling.

“Burznarfuogol and Yaturwurtguthvarbu have been my warrior-brothers since we were knee high. We have explored the wilds together for years. They know how to navigate these lands, even at night. Fear not. If I tell them to bring our shaman here, they will see it done faster than you can imagine.”

Balthazar looked back at the feverish goblin, who kept shivering and twitching, either from pain or from nightmares.

The crab was still feeling great concern, but the small hope that someone would come to help soon gave him some solace.

He just hoped that shaman was the real deal.