Merchant Crab-Chapter 277: The Duke’s Due

Antoine lay in a heap on the floor, unconscious, his mouth slightly ajar, drool pooling beside it. Standing over him was his bodyguard, Bruce, scowling as he cracked the knuckles of his right hand.

“He’s right,” the mercenary said. “I always hated your stupid mustache.”

“Woah,” Tristan muttered, staring down at Antoine and then up at the man who had decked him in the back of the head. “I can’t believe that worked…”

“In order to make others believe you, you needed to believe in yourself first, partner,” the rooted crab said with a weak smile, little more than his mouth and eyestalks still able to move. “By the way, not to ruin your moment or anything, but I’m feeling my heart starting to falter—and I don’t mean in an emotional kind of way.”

Tristan jolted in place before turning and rushing to Ambrose on the next table.

“The poison,” he said, kneeling close to the nearly unconscious alchemist. “What can we do to stop its effects?”

“There is an antidote,” the small man struggled to say from his paralyzed position on his chair. “But it would take a whole week to synthesize.”

“No, no, no,” the graying man said, grabbing the other by his rigid shoulders and shaking him. “There has to be something else, Ambrose!”

“There… there is one other thing that could work,” the white-haired older man replied with difficulty. “But it’s even further out of reach.”

“What is it?! Just tell me!”

“A rare alcoholic beverage from a far-away desert land,” Ambrose explained. “It’s very strong, and its potent composition actually contains ingredients capable of nullifying the effects of Eclipsus Extract. But it’s no use, nobody on this side of the continent probably has even seen a bottle of that rum.”

Balthazar frowned as he listened to their exchange.

“Oh, you must be kidding me…” he muttered before raising his voice. “Hey, Ambrose! What’s the name of this drink?”

“It’s called… Babarhum,” the master alchemist uttered with his last shreds of strength.

Had the crab been able to, he would have smacked the side of his pincer against his face right there and then.

“Tristan!” Balthazar called. “My backpack, outside! Get it!”

The human sprung up to his feet, looked toward the closed front door and then back at Bruce.

The hired muscle let out a quiet grunt and gave a single nod before tossing him a keyring.

“Go.”

Catching the keys in his hand, the merchant dashed toward the entrance and unlocked it.

After disappearing for a moment, he reappeared, carrying the Backpack of Holding Stuff & Things.

“Here it is, partner,” Tristan said, putting the bag down on the stool the crab had been sitting on earlier.

“If you don’t mind reaching inside it yourself…” Balthazar said with a few groans. “I would, but you know how it is… I’m waiting for the polish on my pincers to dry right now… Ow…”

“Oh!” the sweating man exclaimed, pulling up his right sleeve and reaching inside the backpack.

After a few seconds, his arm was already shoulder deep, and he began to frown while rummaging.

“Partner, you really should tidy up in here. I’m finding everything except what I’m looking for!”

“Oh, lemon curds…” the eight-legged merchant groaned. “Just… turn your arm to the right after the first box, then go down the left after the bundles of hay, past the crates of Potions of Hydration. If you feel the wooden door of a wardrobe, you’ve gone too far.”

“Got it!” Tristan exclaimed before pulling a square bottle made of thick, dark glass from the backpack.

As the crab’s business partner stood back up to move toward him, Balthazar quickly interrupted him.

“Get Suze first!”

Halting suddenly and turning to his right, Tristan took the bottle to the little girl lying on the floor, now fully paralyzed and seemingly unconscious, her eyes open but fixed on the ceiling above.

“Please wake up, Ms. Suze, please…” the strained man whispered, his voice tight as he poured some rum into her mouth.

After a few seconds, Suze suddenly gasped and coughed before springing up onto a sitting position, her entire body jolting as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on her.

“Woah!” the little girl exclaimed, her eyes wide and her breathing fast.

“Ms. Suze!” Tristan exclaimed, a smile of relief spreading across his face.

Wasting no more time, they split up the task of distributing the rum. Suze took a small glass to Olivia’s lips, who was barely able to move her neck anymore, while Tristan rushed to Balthazar.

As the human merchant tipped the small dose of Babaurhum into the crab’s mouth, he had to fight the urge to retch. The thick, intense liquid burned all the way down his throat, making his stomach lurch as it landed there, its lingering taste nearly bringing the rum back up.

The crab had felt the smell of Babarhum before, but nothing could have prepared him for the taste of fermented fruits long past their prime mixed with the kind of spices that make your eyes cry from just being in their vicinity. It was as if someone had taken everything great about sugar and made the complete opposite of it through some horrible alchemical process.

It burned in his throat, it stung in the roof of his mouth, it prickled on his tongue, and it bubbled in his stomach. It was, without a doubt, the foulest thing Balthazar had ever tasted, and he couldn’t believe anyone in their right mind considered drinking that a pleasure or privilege.

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On the plus side, it was so bad that even the poison seemed to have fled his body in horror.

One at a time, Balthazar felt his rigid legs snap back into full mobility, and he flexed his shell with immense relief.

“Are you alright, partner?” Tristan asked, still kneeling next to him.

“Yes, go!” the crab responded. “Get the others.”

With a nod, the man of the night rushed to Ambrose. After being back on his feet too, the alchemist joined the effort to distribute a tiny dose of the life-saving rum to each person present in that hall.

After just a few minutes, all the guild members were slowly recovering their ability to move and breathe freely, many still visibly shaken by the experience as they sat back down and fanned themselves or asked for a glass of water.

Or perhaps that had more to do with the ingestion of the rum than the poison, Balthazar figured.

As he looked around with hopes of spotting a sweet pastry somewhere to wash the foul taste of the rum with, the crab noticed Bruce.

The mercenary was just standing there, watching the room with a scowl—which Balthazar was starting to realize was likely just his default expression.

“Hey, uhm… Thanks for… uh…” the crustacean awkwardly started saying.

“Don’t mention it,” the former bodyguard quickly said with an unfriendly grunt. “Didn’t do it for you.”

“Ah, right…” the crab replied, feeling very uncomfortable as he stood next to that human wardrobe. “Why did you do it, though? I imagine Antoine was paying you. A lot.”

Bruce crossed his thick arms and exhaled sharply, his gaze forward, scanning the room.

“Not enough to put up with him any longer,” the merc said. “I was already sick of him for a while, it was only a matter of time until the coin stopped outweighing his insufferable personality.”

“Oh,” said Balthazar. “And what finally tipped that scale, if I may ask?”

The man groaned quietly.

“Your friend over there. His words were true. The pencil-mustache would throw me to the wolves sooner or later if I didn’t do it first. So, that’s what I did. Good riddance.”

The mercenary hawked and spat on the floor disdainfully.

Balthazar stared at the heap of dirty expensive clothes by the name of Antoine lying on the floor in front of them.

“And…” Bruce added, in a quieter tone. “I don’t like kids. Don’t like seeing them suffer, either. Poisoning the girl wasn’t part of the job. Your partner was right—I may be a merc, but not even I am that sick in the head.”

“Huh…” the eight-legged merchant muttered, unsure of what to say after discovering that even hired muscle bandits can have a more profound side.

As everyone else finished receiving their dose of rum, the mercenary uncrossed his arms and stepped forward, toward the front door.

“Where are you going?” Balthazar asked.

“I’m not stupid,” Bruce said. “I know what I am, and that nobody here is going to pat me on the back after what happened tonight. They’re more likely to throw me in the dungeon with him.”

After poking the side of Antoine’s snoring body with the side of his boot, the bald enforcer stepped over him, making his way to the exit.

“Where will you go?” asked the crab, unsure why he even wanted to know.

The former bodyguard cocked an eyebrow back at him.

“I just told you I’m not stupid. Why would I tell you that? I’ll probably take that dirtbag’s coin and set myself nice and good somewhere far away from here. Maybe I’ll find myself an island to rule over. That’d be nice…”

As he passed one of the tables, the merc stopped and looked down at Suze, who was helping Olivia up.

“Take this as a lesson that you’re too young to be drinking… kid,” he grumbled, his voice clearly coming out slightly more awkward than he intended, and leaving the little girl staring up at him in confusion.

Pushing his gaze forward, Bruce quickly made his way out of the hall just as Abernathy regained enough strength in his legs to stand up.

“Someone go call the guards already!” the town official exclaimed.

The sound of chairs falling and a wooden table being flipped startled Balthazar as he turned to look at the source of the commotion.

“LET ME AT HIM! LET ME AT HIM!!!”

Seven other men were trying their best to hold back Mayor Bergen as he reached with one arm forward toward Antoine’s unconscious body at the center of the hall, nearly dragging them all along with him.

Red rage filled the man’s face. He gritted his teeth behind his thick, tousled beard, a meaty fist shaking in front of him, raring to wrap around the vile merchant’s neck.

“Please, sir, calm yourself!” Abernathy pleaded, while being prudent enough to keep his distance.

As the raging bull of a man sent platters flying and tankards rolling in the background, Balthazar shuffled his way to Abernathy’s side.

“Your guards better drag Antoine’s body to his cell quickly, for his own safety,” the crab said in a slightly sardonic tone.

The town official glanced away from the mayor to look at him.

“No, Mr. Balthazar,” Abernathy said. “After everything that happened, Mr. Antoine won’t be going to Ardville’s prison. Some place far worse awaits him now. It will be a pair of shackles and a life of forced labor on Hollow Island for him.”

“Oh…” the merchant muttered.

He nearly felt bad for the disgraced guildmaster. But after one glance back at his crumpled body and the feathered hat resting on top of his bottom, that feeling went away very quickly.

“Well, I guess this guildmaster nomination thing isn’t happening tonight either,” Balthazar said.

Abernathy turned his face fully to look down at the crab, one eyebrow raised higher behind his tiny glasses.

“Make no mistake, Mr. Balthazar. Just as Mr. Antoine’s fate has been sealed here tonight, so has Mr. Tristan’s. This meeting was already mostly a formality for those still unsure about your partner’s suitability for the job after his troubled last few years, but now? With what we all witnessed from him tonight? I assure you, not a single member of the Merchants Guild will raise a single word against having him as the new guildmaster.”

Balthazar’s eyestalks stood up, and he turned his gaze to Tristan, who was on the other side of the hall, helping Ambrose get an elderly and frail merchant lady sit back on her chair.

“He did not just show skill in an argument, in convincing others, and to have the gift of the gab on his side,” Abernathy said. “No, your business partner displayed great courage in the face of a dire situation. He could have tried to run, to leave every member of this guild behind. But he stood up, he rose to the situation, despite his own inner demons—and even the exterior one staring him down. Mr. Tristan may have broken in the past, but it became clear here tonight that he is now stronger for it, and that he has the kind of making that a guildmaster needs. I suppose we shouldn’t have expected anything less from someone the merchant crab picked to be his associate.”

The town official looked down at the crab through the corner of his eye, and the faintest of smirks appeared in his otherwise stern expression.

Balthazar smiled without saying a single word.

He wouldn’t need them tonight.

His job was done, and his partner had it covered from there.

As the feeling of contentment swelled in him and the bad taste of Babaurhum slowly faded away, a system notification appeared in the merchant’s eyes.

[Trade completed. Experience gained.]

[A Town Drunk traded for a Guildmaster]

[You have reached level 35]

[10,000 trades completed! You have gained the rank of Master Merchant.]