Merchant Crab-Chapter 274: Poisoned Words

Tristan attempted to force a smile as he slipped down into his seat with a sigh.

Balthazar scuttled to the same spot where his partner had stood a moment before, and the hall went completely quiet, not a chew or sniffle breaking the silence.

“Uhm, well, hello there, fine merchants of Ardville,” the crab said with a quick wave of his claw.

Immediately, a growing murmur started sweeping through the hall as the merchants, traders, and nobles started nodding and smiling approvingly.

[The Gift of the Crab: Success]

What?! Balthazar exclaimed in his thoughts. All I did was say hello to them!

“Mr. Merchant!” a very short man at the end of one of the tables called with his hand in the air. “I mean, Mr. Crab? Could you tell us more about how you keep such a steady supply of goods in your bazaar, isolated as it is out there?”

The crab stared at the merchant for a moment, little more than his hat and forehead visible from behind the other heads.

“Uhm,” Balthazar said after a pause. “As I’m sure you all know, a good merchant doesn’t reveal his sources.”

“Mr. Balthazar!” a woman in glasses and a light blue robe said from the corner seat of the nearest table. “Is it true you have received the key to the city of Marquessa?”

“Oh, that. Yes, I have it somewhere in my backpack. I think? I’ll have to look for it in there later.”

The woman’s eyes widened, and she quickly started murmuring something to the other woman next to her, both looking baffled by the crab’s response.

“My friend,” said the alchemist, Ambrose. “I have heard from reliable sources that your bazaar has access to some unique potions, such as ‘feather’ potions. Please, do tell us more about them!”

Before the crustacean could respond, a portly man wearing more rings than he had fingers spoke up.

“My contacts in the Adventurers Guild have also told me you have been known to deal in orcish weaponry from time to time. Is this true? And if so, how?!”

Balthazar noticed Mayor Bergen pausing his attack on the tender meat of the drumstick in his hand and leaning slightly forward on his table at the mention of orcish weaponry.

“Hmm, yes, true on both accounts,” the crab said.

He took a moment to reflect on what to do next.

Ah, hell, why not? I knew I’d have to do it some day, why not now?

As the men and women around him waited with bated breaths and chins stained of sauce, the eight-legged merchant straightened himself up and cleared his throat to ensure everyone heard him clearly.

“All of that and a lot more is possible thanks to something my associates and I have created. A group of sorts, with business-oriented minds like myself, who, unfortunately, are usually unable to deal with humans such as yourselves. Because you guys are kind of intolerant, truth be told.”

A bubbling murmur spread through the room as the nobles and traders exchanged uneasy whispers and worried looks.

“What is this group you speak of, crab?” the portly man asked.

This better go the way I’m hoping… Balthazar thought.

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“It’s called the Pie Council,” the proud merchant announced. “It’s a union between my bazaar, the skeletons of a dungeon to the west of here, the orc tribes of the southwest, and the lizardfolk of the south.”

“Savagery!” a man with a bushy mustache exclaimed as he sprung up from his seat. “To deal with the savage orcs is complete madness! They’d sooner try to rip your head off your neck than act civilized!”

Balthazar rolled his eyestalks at the noble.

“Well, good thing I don’t have a neck,” the grinning crab said. “And if you weren’t so gullible as to believe every tale you hear about the orcish folk, you’d maybe find that their kind can be great allies and have good senses for business.”

“But…” the woman in glasses started. “Undead, Mr. Balthazar?! Surely you jest! How could anyone ever trade with mindless skeletons?”

“Same way you trade with a crab—you talk. I promise you, just because they don’t have tongues, that doesn’t mean they can’t converse with you.”

The merchant from the pond watched on as the guild members exchanged words and traded thoughts. He could feel the tide shifting, despite not even being a crab from the sea.

“And perhaps it is time for our council to open up and start considering expansion in our dealings. Perhaps with neighboring towns, even.”

After his words, Balthazar could sense the wind of opportunity changing on his bristles.

“Genuine orcish weapons!” one of the merchants whispered to the one next to him.

“We could finally get our hands on a proper supply of those rare ingredients from the south swamps!” Ambrose excitedly said to a woman across from him on the table.

The entire hall was bubbling with restlessness, and Balthazar was feeling rather pleased with himself.

It was going to be another score for him. Another success cementing him as the greatest merchant and deal-maker those lands had ever seen. One more great deal struck by the great merchant crab.

As his eyes scanned the hall and reached the table where he had been sitting a few minutes before, Balthazar’s smile slowly faded.

Tristan, sitting on his chair next to the crab’s empty stool, looked on at him with kind but glistening eyes as he forced himself to smile at the merchant standing in the spotlight.

The opportunity was there. Balthazar could feel a good deal was brewing. A lot of coin and trading was about to be made with those guild merchants.

Yet, it didn’t feel right.

He didn’t feel right.

The crab sighed quietly.

No, Balthazar. Tonight shouldn’t be about you.

Turning back to face all the muttering nobles and traders, the eight-legged merchant spread his arms open before speaking.

“But!” he said loudly. “None of this would have been possible without my most talented associate and the one who will be in charge of all the dealings between our council and anyone interested in negotiating with us—my business partner, Tristan.”

The guild members, most having gone quiet to hear the crab’s words, suddenly turned their surprised gazes to the man sitting next to Olivia.

Tristan looked even whiter now, as if he had seen a ghost, his eyes wide in disbelief as he blinked rapidly.

Balthazar smirked as he noticed a buzzing of discomfort and some grumbling running through the hall around him. The nobles were likely displeased, but the crab didn’t care, they would just have to deal with it.

“So, I’ll leave the floor to my friend over there, as I’m sure he will be more than happy to deal with you all,” said the hard-shelled merchant.

But as Balthazar attempted to take a step toward the table, he found his leg stiff and unable to move.

With a grunt, he tried to move another leg, but it was also stubbornly stuck in place.

He tried another, with the same result.

And then another.

And another.

And… You get the idea. All of his eight legs were rigid and refusing to budge.

With a hint of panic rising within him, Balthazar looked around to finally realize the murmurs and grumblings filling the room weren’t about his announcement.

Everyone else in the room was experiencing the same kind of effect.

Nobles and merchants were bending over their stomachs, their expressions twisted with pain as they found their lower extremities slowly becoming paralyzed.

A warning in bold letters appeared in the crab’s system.

[You have been poisoned!]

The crab’s eyes widened as his stomach began to churn, frantically scanning the room and all the cups, goblets, and tankards dotting the tables, some now toppled as the crowd began to panic and pull at the tablecloths.

The liquor!

A slow, mocking clapping started approaching from one of the side doors.

Turning his eyestalks, Balthazar saw a small man with a pencil mustache and a deranged grin enter the hall with a much larger man in tow.

“Nice speech… crab,” Antoine said, each syllable dripping with vile spite.