Merchant Crab-Chapter 298: Festus

The sun had just gone down when Balthazar stepped out of the Semla Volcano access tunnel. Tom had asked him to come check on the recent work the skeletons had done on the halls, much of it influenced by ideas and suggestions from Sir Edmund, who had apparently gotten along with all the other undead down there right away.

The ghost had a lot to say about the whipped cream spring down in the central hall, given his self-proclaimed vast knowledge in all matters related to fountains, having died next to one and haunting it for a very long time, as he made sure to repeat to every skeleton he met.

Under his instruction, the skeletons spent days making grandiose improvements to the source of whipped cream, which they had decided to name The Calcium Spring.

The merchant was impressed with their work, the marble and gold details were great, the spirals the skeletons had carefully carved were impressive, and the light show that was rigged to trigger whenever any adventurer stepped into the hall was nothing short of amazing.

Yet, Balthazar just could not find the will to feel truly excited.

It had been several days since they had returned from the depths of the volcano and the core gate, and despite his hopes that time would wash away his thoughts about what hid at the bottom of that dungeon, the obsession remained.

The crab had tried asking passing adventurers if they had ever heard about core keys, but as he suspected, they were just as clueless as him.

For days, the merchant had grown more and more quiet, lost in thought, and sighing around the corners of the bazaar countless times a day. He knew his friends were noticing his behavior, but not even they knew what to do about it anymore.

Nothing seemed to cheer the crab up.

Taking the long path around the shore of the pond, Balthazar adjusted the brim of his wool hat and gazed up at the moon, with not a cloud around it. It was going to be a clear night, but the crab planned to tuck in early. Maybe sleep would give him a break from those thoughts about the damnable mystery door.

“Alright,” the low-spirited merchant said to himself as he entered the back of the bazaar. “Just one quick coin count and off to the pillow with me.”

As he skittered into the gazebo, the crab’s eyestalks frowned. Something was different about his bazaar.

“Since when do we have red and green lighting here?”

As he got closer to the center of the trading post, a rhythmic thumping reached the crab’s hairs. Because crustaceans don’t have ears. They pick up vibrations through sensory hairs all over their bodies. And the vibrations Balthazar was feeling were groovy.

Turning the corner, the merchant found a scene that left him with his mouth open and his antennae standing up.

A crowd had gathered around the fire pit, where tall flames roared up from a dozen heavy logs stacked within it.

Druma sat on the stone ledge, a large drum wedged between his legs, playing with such vigor that his wizard hat bounced even more precariously than usual on his head. Beside him, arms raised nearly to the ceiling, Bouldy swayed left and right with an open grin, like an overenthusiastic cheerleader carved from stone.

Even Blue, a few paces away from them, bobbed her head and tapped her tail against the floorboards in time with the goblin’s solo.

A banquet table the merchant did not even remember owning stood before the fire, draped in a red cloth and laden with delicacies that looked as good as they smelled. Pastries of every kind filled it in staggering abundance, arranged in a display the crab could scarcely have imagined.

Behind the table stood the unmistakable architect of it all—Madeleine. Gone was her usual kitchen attire of simple whites. Tonight, she wore a green dress that, though modest and discreet, seemed to make her shine all the brighter. Her familiar braid lay over one shoulder, woven into a more intricate pattern and bound with two red ribbons.

From everything he had learned, Balthazar was certain that if Rye walked through the door at that very moment, his jaw would drop and his eyes would bulge like a fish’s. An excessive reaction, in his opinion, but who was the crab to question human behavior?

Still stunned by the sudden air of celebration, the merchant’s gaze wandered across his bazaar. Adventurers filled the room, many familiar enough for him to recognize their faces, and a few even by name, like Thunk and Hannabeth.

Everyone seemed caught in merriment, laughing, singing, dancing, eating. And Balthazar could not understand any of it.

What is this all about?! Thought the bewildered crustacean.

“Balthazar!” exclaimed Madeleine upon seeing her friend enter the main hall of the bazaar, arms open and a smile like a child’s on her face. “It’s Festus night!”

“That’s today?!” said the crab.

The baker threw her arms down and tilted her head in pretend annoyance.

“How could you not remember? I’ve been telling you about it for weeks!”

The merchant averted his eyes and scratched the side of his face with the tip of his pincer.

“Ehhh, I’ve been losing track of the days lately.”

Madeleine crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at the crab before her smile cracked through again and she walked around the table.

“Come, join the celebrations! If there’s one thing that can get anyone’s spirits up, it’s Festus!”

She placed a hand on the back of the crab’s carapace and gently coaxed him forward, closer to the table.

While Balthazar wasn’t yet feeling too into the festive mood, one thing he was always in the mood for were baked goods.

Arriving in front of the table, the crab’s eyes glistened in awe at the colorful and varied display of baked delicacies before him.

Braided sweetbread sat at the center of the table, its golden strands lacquered with honey and still warm enough to breathe steam into the air. Around it lay spiced loaves and fruit-studded hearth bread, their crusts dark and rustic, split open to reveal bursts of dried berries and nuts. Saffron buns, small and bright as captured sunlight, were piled high on wooden platters, their rich scent mingling with the smoke of the fire.

Honey cakes and ginger cakes filled the spaces between larger dishes, stacked in generous towers beside neat rows of berry tarts glistening with syrup. Apple turnovers rested in woven baskets, their flaky seams dusted with sugar, while delicate fig pastries sat arranged with almost ceremonial care, their sweetness perfuming the room. The entire spread looked less like a meal and more like an offering to celebration itself, abundant enough to make the merchant wonder how such a feast had appeared under his own roof.

How did Balthazar know the names of all those beautiful treasures? Simple, he really enjoyed reading through Madeleine’s many recipe books, and had nearly committed every page to memory by now.

“Which one do you want to have first?” the beaming baker asked.

“All of them,” whispered the wide-eyed crustacean.

With a laugh, Madeleine grabbed a plate and started serving the hungry crab as the music and merriment continued on in the bazaar.

Some time later, and after several meals-worth of food, Balthazar reclined against a cushion by the table, feeling full and delighted. To his right sat Druma, also sitting against a pillow and with a protruding belly full of meat pastries. To his left was Blue, napping and also full of meat, minus the pastries part. Bouldy remained by the fire pit, animating the crowd that now sang and danced to the tunes played by a bard’s lute.

“Madeleine, you remain a true wizard.”

Seeing his assistant’s ears perking up, Balthazar quickly added, “Of the kitchen.”

The baker smiled as she set aside her knife and fork next to her half-eaten slice of cake on the plate. The crab would never understand her need to be so prim and proper. Cake was perfectly fine to be eaten with your hands—or pincers.

“You’re too kind, Balthazar,” she said. “And you should know, Festus isn’t just about eating.”

“It isn’t?” the merchant said, eyestalks rising in mild surprise.

“No, it’s about kindness and gratitude too!” the radiant girl responded.

“Alright, but I think I still prefer the eating part,” the crustacean said with a shrug.

“And,” Madeleine continued, “we show that kindness and gratitude through gifts!”

“Never mind, you pulled me back in now,” Balthazar quickly added, leaning forward. “Wait. Unless… Who’s giving the gifts to whom?”

“We exchange gifts, silly,” the baker said.

“That sounds a lot like trading,” said the pondering crab. “Hmm, how equal in value do these exchanged gifts have to be?”

Madeleine sighed despite still smiling at her friend.

“It’s not about the monetary value of the gifts, Balthazar. It’s about the gesture, the sentiment behind it. We give gifts to those around us that we appreciate and love.”

“Maybe not to you, but that sounds very expensive to me!”

Druma approached the crab with a timid smile on his face and a small wrapped package in his hands.

“Boss?” the goblin said, eyes like a puppy’s who’d seen treats. “Druma has present for boss. From Druma, Bouldy, and Blue.”

Balthazar’s eyestalks stood up in genuine surprise. “For me?”

“Yes, yes! Druma make it. Bouldy give material. Blue heat metal to engrave!”

The crab took the gift into his claws carefully. It was heavy for its size, and was crudely wrapped in wrinkled brown paper held together with string.

Using the tip of his pincer, the merchant gently released the twine and let the rough wrapping paper unfurl to the sides.

Inside was what at first appeared to be a rough stone, until he turned it over and realized it was a chunk of Primordium. It had a metal pin embedded into one side, and a smooth surface on the other, where some writing had been carved—#1 Merchant.

“It’s a pin for boss to wear!” said the proud assistant. “Tristan help Druma write right words for boss!”

Balthazar looked at the chunk of mineral in his pincer that his friends had crafted for him, and a feeling not too dissimilar from the one he’d get when filled with pie swelled within him.

“It’s… perfect.”

The goblin’s eyes widened until they were like two fishbowls. “Really, boss?”

“Really, Druma. It’s the best gift I’ve ever received. Thank you.”

The assistant smiled. “Boss think it would sell for a lot like treasures boss sell?”

“Oh, not at all.”

The apprentice wizard’s smile faded slightly, until he saw Balthazar take the present up to the front of his winter hat and, with all the care his massive claws permitted, pinned it to the blue wool.

“I would not sell this for all the gold in the world, buddy.”

***

After some more mingling, eating, along with more music and chatter, the crab decided to take a break from all the partying in the bazaar to pay the guys inside the mountain a visit. According to Madeleine, she had managed to convince even them to have a little celebration of their own there, since they didn’t feel too comfortable hanging out outside with all the adventurers and other living humans.

“Balthazar!” Tom greeted, a mug full of whipped cream in one hand as he waved at the merchant with the other.

The central hall was busier than the crab expected. Not only were the formerly savage skeletons from the Halls of Semla there, still wearing their odd party outfits that, for once, felt somewhat fitting for the occasion, but also a good number of the skeletons from Tudor’s Hall. Along with all the bony dungeon dwellers was Sir Edmund’s ghost, hovering in place next to his zombified corpse, who was chewing on a rather large femur that Balthazar felt he was better off not asking the origins of. To his surprise, Khargol and his two warrior-brothers were there too, and even more surprisingly, all three of them were holding tankards full of whipped cream.

“Tom, how are those old bones?” the merchant said with a grin as he joined the other merchant.

“Great, as is always the case when I’m having one of these!” He raised his mug forward. “It almost makes me not want to go back to Tudor’s Hall.”

“Heh, I didn’t even think you could drink that stuff, given your lack of… well, you know… everything.”

“Haha! I have it mostly for the taste,” the skeleton said before taking a small sip that left his teeth covered in cream.

“You can… taste?” the surprised crustacean asked, cocking an eyestalk.

Tom chuckled. “Don’t think too hard about it, pal.”

After some minutes of chit-chatting, the merchant skeleton placed his empty mug on the table and smacked his lips.

How a skeleton managed to produce such a sound, Balthazar could not explain, but he decided to not think too hard about it either.

“So you guys are leaving, eh?” asked the eight-legged merchant.

“That was always the plan,” Tom replied. “We’d help you set this place up, and then we’d go back to our own dungeon. And now with Sir Edmund over here, it seems you got yourself a more than capable caretaker for these halls.”

Balthazar nodded. As much as he welcomed Tom, Jim, Liz, and all the other guests from Tudor’s Hall, he knew they had their own place to run, and it wouldn’t be fair to keep them there to help forever.

Skittering past a group of skeletons making a toast, the crab decided to join Khargol, who had just left a conversation with Sir Edmund and was now observing the festivities with a scowl that was slightly more relaxed than usual. He almost looked happy—almost.

“Didn’t expect you to be a fan of that,” Balthazar said, nodding toward the foamy tankard the orc was holding.

“Me neither,” the chieftain responded. “But Tom convinced me to try it, saying it was good at making bones stronger, and I won’t lie, its taste is… nice.”

“Wow, that’s high praise coming from you,” the crab said with a chuckle. “How did it go with the elders, by the way? Have they accepted you?”

Khargol nodded as he gulped down some more whipped cream.

“The ceremony to officially make me an elder will be in a few weeks. And I must thank you. It was with your aid that I passed my trial.”

Balthazar shrugged as he sipped from his own cup of white foam. “No need to thank me. We were all in it together down there.”

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

“Nonsense,” the orc said firmly, vestiges of white still in the corners of his mouth. “Honor must be recognized, and to me, you are more than an acquaintance now. You are a proper ally. Someone I will gladly come to aid if the need ever arises. And perhaps even… a friend.”

The crab stared at the tall orc, eyestalks stretched up and a white mustache over his mouth.

“Oh… wow. That means a lot, coming from you. Thank you.” He paused, and then frowned. “Wait, we weren’t friends already?!”

A familiar sound of small tapping feet made Balthazar turn to see Kole join them, also holding a tankard of thick whipped cream that, in his hands, looked more like he was carrying a bucket.

“You came up to join the party too!” said the crab.

“Yes,” said the kobold. “Convince me to try this beverage, Sir Edmund did.”

“You like it?”

The orange creature nodded after taking another swig.

“Yes. Go really well with our mined chocolate, this will.”

“Ah, right,” Balthazar said. “You guys are back to mining down there? Even after all the population losses you suffered?”

“Actually,” interjected Khargol, “Kole and I have already discussed an agreement. My tribe will help with the extraction of minerals in their mines, and hopefully begin a productive industry using the rare Primordium they have down there, while in exchange, we will also help keep a steady production of their chocolate.”

“Oh,” said the surprised merchant. “You guys did all that… without me?”

The orc chieftain cocked an eyebrow at the crab.

“Ah, you know what, never mind!” Balthazar said, waving a pincer at them. “This is a day of celebration, I’m not going to get crabby over a business deal done without me right under my nose. I don’t even have a nose! I’ll just choose to feel glad that The Pie Council is prospering!”

“This council, what is it?” Kole asked.

Balthazar rubbed his chin. “Hmm, right. I guess I’ll have to explain it to you, since you’re technically becoming a part of it now!”

“Brother,” said Burznarfuogol, one of Khargol’s warrior-brothers, approaching the group from the entrance hall.

The orc leaned closer to his chieftain’s ear and covered his mouth while whispering a few brief words.

Khargol frowned slightly and then nodded. “Bring him in.”

“What is it?” Balthazar asked.

“They found someone wandering outside, around your pond, claiming to be a friend of yours, and that he was looking for you. He didn’t seem aggressive, but my brothers detained him just in case.”

“Huh? A friend of mine?” the intrigued crustacean said. “Who could it be?”

“I do not know, but Burznarfuogol says he is a cyclops calling himself a blacksmith.”

“Wait, a cyclops?!”

“Crab friend!” a brutish but friendly voice exclaimed from the hall’s entrance.

A one-eyed creature with rough gray skin entered the room with Burznarfuogol and Yaturwurtguthvarbu behind him, the two orc warriors somehow looking small next to the hulking figure of the cyclops.

The merchant and the chieftain left the center of the hall to go meet the visitor by the entrance.

“Hey, I remember you!” Balthazar said, pointing a pincer at the large humanoid wearing working clothes under a thick black apron. “Your name was… Uhm…”

“Brontus!” the cyclops exclaimed, his unibrow twisting into a frown of disappointment. “How you forget me name?!”

“Hey, I forget most people’s names all the time!” replied the crab. “Besides, cut me some slack, we met, like… once, in what feels like a hundred chapters ago!”

Brontus scratched his temple with the tip of his meaty finger.

“Don’t you mean a hundred years ago?”

“Isn’t that what I said?” Balthazar said with a shrug.

“So I take it you two really know each other?” Khargol asked, putting the now empty tankard down and crossing his arms in his usual fashion.

“Ah, yes, I met Brontus over here during my travels. He tried to steal a gold ingot from me. But then he gave it back once he realized it wasn’t steel. He’s colorblind, you see? Anyway, I then told him he should chase his dreams of becoming a smith and never saw him again.” The crab turned to the cyclops. “How’s your career going? And what are you doing here looking for me anyway?”

A misaligned grin appeared on the brutish face of the cyclops.

“Good! Me go back to village and ask master to teach smithing again!”

Balthazar nodded. “Ah, and I take it he did?”

“No,” the smiling brute said.

“Oh, sorry to hear.”

“No need. Master was dumb anyway! Me start practicing on me own, to learn how to become better than master.”

“Yikes, that must not have been easy.”

Brontus nodded vigorously. “Yes it was!”

The crab stared at the cyclops for a moment, cocking an eyestalk. “It was?”

“Yes! Me just start hammering things all over until they were good!”

“Uhh…” muttered the merchant, unsure of what to make of the supposed blacksmith’s story.

“I have a suggestion,” said Khargol, taking a step closer to the two of them. “If you are such a good smith, why don’t you just show us?”

Reaching behind his back with one hand, the chieftain pulled his huge battleaxe and handed it to Brontus.

“This is my weapon. What do you make of it?”

The giant humanoid took the handle effortlessly into his hand and brought the blade close to his face.

“Hmm,” he said, giving the weapon a couple of sniffs. “Orcish metal. And very good forging!”

Khargol nodded approvingly.

“The blade was chipped during our last battle down in this dungeon. I planned to take it back home to our master smiths for repairs, but since you’re here, and claim to be such a good smith, what’s your take on the damage?”

The cyclops analyzed the edge of the blade with his single eye, focusing primarily on the bit of cracked metal at the center where the weapon had connected with the lich’s phylactery days before.

“Mhmm. Nasty bit of damage. But me think me can fix it.”

The chieftain let out a quick chuckle that caught Balthazar by surprise, which must have been exactly what Khargol had just experienced too, as the crab could not recall ever seeing the orc chuckle.

“Is that so? Well, we can go to a forge, and you can tell me more about how you—”

“Me can do it here,” Brontus said with a casual tone and a shrug.

“You can?” the orcish warrior said, frowning.

“Yes! Me can do it with me smithing tool!”

Reaching inside his apron with one hand, the cyclops revealed what appeared to be a very crudely-made hammer consisting of just a simple wooden handle with a piece of bronze metal fused to its tip in a rough ball shape with two flat sides.

Before the orc or the crab could question him any further, the one-eyed smith took his tool to the blade of the axe in his other hand, and gave it the gentlest of taps with one of the mallet’s flat sides. A tiny metal plink came from the contact between the two metals, and in the blink of an eye, the chipped portion of the blade was gone, restored to be whole again, not a trace or hint of the damage left on it.

“What?! How?” exclaimed Khargol, uncrossing his arms as he took his battleaxe back and examined it closer.

“Sundry!” the proud smith said, holding his hammer forward. “Me smithing tool. Crab give it to me when we met!”

The chieftain glared at the merchant with a frown, who frowned back at him.

“Don’t look at me like that! I didn’t give him a hammer. I only—”

The crab’s words trailed off as he started to remember his encounter with the cyclops.

He looked at the mallet’s handle. He had definitely given him that piece of useless wood, but the metal fused to the tip? That reminded him of something else he had given the brute—the drained Golemancer’s Mark.

“Hey, wait a minute,” Balthazar said to Brontus. “Isn’t that the Primordium I gave to you?!”

“Yes!” the cyclops replied with a grin. “Me take chunk of rock and melt it in a forge. Mix other metals with it, to make alloy. Then me use it to make hammer. Very good tool! Can repair anything me use it on! Sometimes… Others it breaks them apart. But that’s alright! It just means me get more material to forge new stuff!”

Dumbfounded, the crustacean took his Monocle of Exposition and looked at the chunk of messy metal and slag that made the mallet the cyclops was holding.

[Sundry]

[Tool]

[A legendary smithing tool capable of restoring to perfect condition any item it strikes with its repair side. Striking an item with its deconstruction side will break the item apart into its primary components. It’s a bit hard to tell which side is which.]

“How in the world…” muttered the crab.

“Me is the master smith now!” Brontus declared proudly, holding his mallet up in the air as his mouth stretched into an ugly grin.

Balthazar grimaced awkwardly. “You… you do realize it’s the hammer, not you, that—”

Khargol placed his big hand in front of the crab’s face in a halting gesture.

“My friend, as a merchant, you should learn to take your opportunities when you encounter them.” He turned to the cyclops and walked to his side. “Come, Brontus. I would like to show you our mines. I think we may have a job position to offer you.”

Balthazar watched on as the orc and the cyclops walked toward the stairwell, feeling speechless.

He wasn’t sure if the chieftain had just taught him a lesson on taking advantage of opportunities, or if it was the merchant who had started rubbing off on the stoic orc.

Whichever was the case, the crab nodded quietly in approval.

“Hey, partner,” Tristan’s voice called, making Balthazar turn to find the human standing by one of the pillars at the entrance. “I came looking for you.”

“What’s wrong?” said Balthazar. “Something happened out there?”

“Oh, no, no. Nothing bad, I promise,” said the smiling merchant guildmaster. “We were just finishing up the last touches on something we made for you. One last gift for you tonight. Come on out, we’ll show you.”

***

“What… did you… do?” the flabbergasted crustacean said, his mouth open as he stood in front of the shore of his pond.

Before him was the small bay on the edge of the pond, behind the bazaar and Madeleine’s kitchen, and where the volcanic pressure from Semla Mountain had created a superheated column of bubbling water weeks earlier.

Balthazar had not been there for a while, and he almost didn’t recognize it. A miniature waterfall had been built on one side, like a fountain made with marble the merchant recognized as being from the dungeon halls. The water falling from it dropped into the circular bay, which now had ledges of stone lining it, forming a convenient entrance into the pool and a place to sit.

Four wooden poles surrounded the pool, with lanterns hanging from them that cast a cozy light over the small corner of the pond. A few paces before the shore, on the sand, was a small fire pit, with a cracking flames burning within.

“We made you a hot spring!” said Tristan, smiling proudly.

“We hope you like it,” said Henrietta, who was sitting on the guildmaster’s shoulder.

Balthazar continued staring at the little corner of heaven before him, feeling at a loss for words.

“It wasn’t easy working on it without you noticing,” Tristan explained. “Druma and Bouldy worked really late hours doing the excavations, and Tom and the other skeletons had to haul the stones late in the night while you slept, but it was worth it to surprise you. We just couldn’t let such a nice geyser go to waste!”

“A submarine volcanic eruption,” said Madeleine, standing a few steps behind the other two with a smile on her rosy face.

The crab looked back at her and smiled too. The baker winked at him in return.

“It’s… great,” Balthazar said to his friends. “I’m not sure what to even say.”

“Well, don’t say anything,” said Henrietta. “Just go in and give it a try!”

After taking off his winter hat, the crab let himself slip into the steaming waters of the pool. The feeling was pure, relaxing bliss on his chitin and soft insides. As he let his body sink further into the embracing warm water, that familiar taste of chocolate and foamy whipped cream from the submerged geyser reached his tongue, and Balthazar involuntarily released a small stream of happy bubbles from his mouth.

“How did you make a miniature waterfall here?” the merchant asked, eyestalks lazily sticking out of the water and turning to Tristan.

“Ah,” the crab’s business partner said. “I used an idea I had been toying with for a while. Remember those Near-Infinite Water Sponges you purchased in Marquessa? Well, I finally found a use for them inside that marble tower you see there.”

“Ooooh,” said the impressed crustacean.

After a few minutes or an hour—it was hard to tell when sitting inside such a comfortable hot spring—Balthazar let his eyestalk roll out of the water to scan his surroundings.

Some of his friends and even a few adventurers had come to try the warm waters too.

A few paces to his right, the crab spotted Thunk sitting on the ledge, her boots next to her while she idly bobbed her feet back and forth in the water like a child.

To her left was Hannabeth, sitting cross-legged with her full suit of armor still on, save for the helmet, while sipping on a mug of hot chocolate. She had no part of her body touching the water, likely a wise decision, given all the metal covering her.

“Phew, it sure is hot in here,” said Joshua in an enthusiastic tone, causing Balthazar to turn his eyes back to look at him.

For whatever reason, the farmer boy was still carrying the barbarian’s oversized backpack full of looted junk, even there.

“Oh, hey there,” the lazy crustacean said. “I see you’re still accompanying Thunk. How come you haven’t had her escort you back to your farm? It’s less than an hour’s walk from here, from what I know.”

“Oh, no, no, no. Can’t do that!” the grinning boy said. “There are still so many quests to turn in first. Besides, Hannabeth has decided to team up with us in our quest to turn in all our quests, so I can’t just leave now, I gotta come along too!”

“Heh, sure, kid. Whatever floats your goat,” Balthazar said as he let himself sink back into the water.

Just as he was about to fully disappear into a stream of bubbles, the crab heard Madeleine’s voice calling him.

“Balthazar? Can you come out of the water for a moment? I want to introduce you to someone.”

Slowly and reluctantly, the merchant stepped out of the pool and wrapped a white towel around the width of his shell.

As he joined the baker near the fire, Balthazar saw about a dozen young children, sitting on the sand around the pit.

From the little the crab knew about human younglings, he estimated the boys and girls there were all around the ages of 5 or 6, with maybe a couple being a year or two older than that.

“Uhhh… Hi?” the crustacean said, waving a claw awkwardly.

“These are the kids from Ardville’s orphanage,” Madeleine said, standing with her hands behind her back and a proud smile on her face. “And this, kids, is the merchant crab I told you all so much about. Say hello to Balthazar.”

The children gave a few timid waves and quiet “hellos” to the crab, who leaned closer to the baker and placed a claw in front of his mouth before whispering to her.

“Why did you bring me a bunch of orphans, Madeleine? I’m not interested in buying them. I don’t deal in human trafficking. Druma was just a one-time deal!”

“Don’t be crabby, Balthazar,” the young woman said. “I invited them to come see your bazaar, and meet you! These kids don’t have families, so this time of the year is always rough for them. Nobody to celebrate with, no one to give them any presents. We had such a blessed year together, I figured the least we could do is try to give something back to those who need it most—like these children.”

Balthazar looked at the little humans before him. Orphans. He had only come to learn the meaning of that word a few months ago, but in reality, wasn’t he one too for all of his life? He had never known any parents, any family, not even friends. Just him by his lonesome with his rocks on his pond.

It had always suited him well, but now that he had come to know what it was like to have a family, could he really ever go back to living in solitude?

No, he was certain he could not, and neither would he wish it on anyone. Especially not on sample-sized humans who hadn’t even lived long enough to become proper customers.

“Alright, Madeleine,” the merchant whispered to the baker. “They can stay, but if they break anything in the bazaar, I’m sending the bill to the orphanage. And what do you expect me to do with them? I’m good at talking with adult clients, not little kids with not a coin to their name!”

“Ah, I was thinking about that,” the smiling baker said, before raising her voice and addressing the children too. “I thought it would be fun if Balthazar over here told us all a story. Who agrees?”

The kids perked up, some lifting their chins from their hands, others sitting upright and widening their eyes.

“Yes, a story!”

“Tell us a story, Mr. Crab!”

“What?!” Balthazar blurted out, turning to the young woman with eyestalks standing up. “What story am I supposed to tell to a bunch of kids?!”

Madeleine smiled at the crab, and he could swear he spotted the tiniest hint of mischief on it.

“Why don’t you tell them about Festus? I told you so much about the origin of the celebration in the past weeks, you must know it by memory at this point. Right?”

“Uhhh… sure… I can do that,” the crab said with a forced smile.

He turned to the kids, who were staring at him with anticipation.

“Sooo…” Balthazar started. “Festus is… a yearly celebration.”

He glanced at the baker, who was still smiling at him, waiting to hear more.

“Which means it happens… once a year. On the last day of, uh… winter. Yes, that’s it. When the snow starts to melt to make way for spring. That’s the time Festus is celebrated!”

“Very good!” said the baker, clapping her hands together. “And what’s the spirit of the celebration?”

The crab looked up at the ceiling, thinking hard.

“It’s about… hmm… gratitude?” he said hesitantly, glancing at her as if looking for approval. “And… showing appreciation for others. Through… trading of goods?”

Madeleine winced slightly. “Ehh… close enough.”

“Yes, that’s it!” the increasingly confident crustacean said. “It’s a big party where we eat lots of treats and trade goods at discounted prices!”

The girl squinted at the crab. “Well, that’s not exac—”

“What about the presents!” exclaimed one of the boys at the front.

“Presents?” said Balthazar. “Oh, right. The presents. Yes, those are… brought by Festus himself!”

“Festus is a person?” said a puzzled little girl in the back.

“Sort of. He’s… a crab, of course! A giant crab!”

“Like you?” a wide-eyed kid asked.

“No, no. Festus is a giant giant crab. Bigger than my stone golem, even! Completely different from me! His shell is all… red! Not gray. He only shows up once a year, during Festus!”

“Balthazar,” Madeleine whispered. “I’m not sure that’s—”

“Is he here today?!” exclaimed an enthusiastic little girl with freckles on her face.

“How come we’ve never seen him?” asked a boy with straw-colored hair.

The merchant stared emptily at the children for a moment, mouth half open.

“Uhhh… That’s because he only comes at night! When you’re all asleep! Yep! That’s it. He comes out with his big backpa—I mean, with his giant sack strapped to his shell, full of presents. And then leaves a present to the kids who were good clients to the nice merchants during the year!”

“Ooooh…” the kids said in unison.

For the next hour, Balthazar went on making up tales about Festus, the gigantic red crab who brought presents to children one night a year, arriving on a flying carriage pulled by eight mighty drakes, aided by his team of dutiful worker goblins, and protected by a golem made entirely of gingerbread. Eventually, even Madeleine’s scowl of disapproval at the merchant’s antics turned back into a smile as she saw the genuine wonder in the children’s eyes while listening to the talking crab.

“And then,” the crab said, sitting on his cushion near the warm fire, “when Festus encountered the evil tax grinch, he—”

As his eyes glanced forward, Balthazar realized that the children were all fast asleep. As was Madeleine.

He smiled. He had lost track of time. But for a good reason.

Adjusting himself down on the pillow, the crab realized he had gone all evening without even thinking about the core gate again.

Maybe the baker had been right, and Festus was just the thing he had needed to clear his mind.

Realizing how tired he was too, the merchant yawned and let himself rest on the cushion, and soon enough he was falling asleep as well, his mind drifting away into dreams.

Dreams of pastries and whipped cream with chocolate, of presents and warm baths, of giant crabs flying in the sky, and eventually, even a dream about one last present from a Stranger.