Chapter 113 - Eel Season VII

“Want spear? Make no sense.” The goblin furrowed his brow as he took the icy rod and looked it over. “Use this hard for you, too long and no fit body.”

“No it isn’t.”

Claire looked between the moth and the goblin before slithering off the sofa and undoing her transformation. Legs sprouted from the bulky torso that grew from her hips while the front half of her tail lost its scales in favour of a coat made of fine, silvery blue hairs. Along with the reversion came a sense of relief. She had more or less gotten used to the sensation of keeping it maintained, but undoing it was liberating, like taking off a corset after a ball.

Lova gasped. “Legs! I knew it!”

“These aren’t legs.” Claire wriggled the flippers that protruded from the base of her tail. “They’re fins.”

“Then what about the two in front?” asked the moth. Her eyelids drooped as she gave the other girl a fed-up, unamused glare.

The lyrkress raised her legs and opened the stabilizers attached to her ankles. “These are also fins.”

Lova opened her mouth to protest, but she was cut off by a fit of laughter. Sylvia had started rolling around and cackling in a way that only a fox could. The high pitched squeals were matched and complemented by a set of low chuckles, sourced from the baritone goblin.

“Give up, Lova. Lost to this lassie, you did.” He shook his head and laughed again as he planted the spear’s butt on the carpet. “Match your size, this still no me thinks. Need get something longer, so can swing with more weight. Fight in any other forms?”

Claire paused for a moment before shifting into a cervitaur. “If I need to.”

“Now there are even more legs!” shouted Lova.

“Fins,” said Claire.

She hadn’t wanted to reveal her hand, but she didn’t see a point in keeping the goblin in the dark. He was going to have to know at least a few things about her if he was to make a weapon that suited her inconsistent form. More importantly, she didn’t think that she would have been able to beat him in a fight, no matter how much information she withheld. No trick could make up for his ability to casually send a crack down the icy blade’s length with a light, accidental squeeze—not that it really mattered. She wasn’t planning to attack a thrice ascended goblin regardless of the amount of experience he would yield, at least not without good reason.

“The one with two legs and a long body tail thingy is the one she likes best,” said Sylvia. “She doesn’t really switch unless something gets broken. Which ummm… happens quite a bit actually.”

“Is right?” He turned to Claire, who responded with a curt nod. “Understand, me does. Want shapeshifter enchants no doubt, maybe others too. Need specific properties, or me decide?”

“You can decide.”

“Use discretion then, me will,” he said, with a smirk. “Will cost much for good enchant. Need take rest of material except meat to make up difference, but me give big surprise and make worth it.”

Claire narrowed her eyes and gave him a brief stare. The glint in his eye made his greed immediately apparent; she could see in him the same spark she had seen in every merchant that had ever stopped by the manor. It was an eager, avaricious sheen driven entirely by a thirst for riches.

They had entered a negotiation. And while she didn’t have the patience to participate, neither did she want to acquiesce. Giving into his demands would set a precedent and provide him the opportunity to take advantage of her, each and every single time they dealt.

“A spear isn’t enough. Not if you want all of it.”

“Is enough.” The goblin shook his head.

“You promised a set of armour.”

“Lent you armour for copy, me did.”

“That isn’t the same. I gave it back."

“Returned damaged, needed repair most pieces.”

There was a moment of silence as the two stared each other down. Claire couldn’t refute his claim. A momentary lapse of judgement had certainly led her to damage a fair number of his products.

Though the mishap was being used blatantly against her, she didn’t regret the mistake. The advice that followed had served to mitigate some of her injuries, when she fought the eel.

“Uhmmm…” Sylvia took the opportunity to butt in. “What did you do, Claire?”

“Nothing.”

“It can’t have been not-” The fox’s mouth was pinched shut. “Mmmrphh mmrhphh mrphh!” She flailed around for a little and kept trying to talk, quieting down only after a few seconds of struggling.

“Not during negotiations,” said Claire, as she released her. “You can talk all you want once we’re done.”

“That better be a promise! Because I’m going to talk your ears off!”

Sealing the deal with a nod, the lyrkress turned back towards the goblin and crossed her arms. Though she would never admit it to the canid in question, Sylvia’s brief stint had bought her enough time to recall an important fact, an avenue to success, assuming she hadn’t failed to read the goblin’s character.

“You repaired them in an instant.”

“Waste of mana still. Fixing no necessary if you no break, lassie. Use mana for forging and enhancing, and since me used for fix, me make less and profit less.”

“Maybe if you were less skilled.” A brief, confident smile crossed her lips. “I know master smiths regenerate more mana than they use. And your workmanship was the best I’ve seen.”

The statement was a lie. Unlike her father, she didn’t know the difference between a well-made piece of armour and one forged by an ordinary Joe. At most, she could tell if its decorations were in good taste; judging an item’s quality, as a piece of equipment, was far beyond the scope of her knowledge. All things considered, the fib was a terrible, fragile bluff. The goblin would catch it the moment he put half a second of thought into the way she had tried to experiment with his creations. But even if he caught on, he would be unable to outright refute the claim, at least not without suffering a blow to his pride.

“Recognize me good, yes? Showing that you smarter than me thought. Is true, me master smith.”

Her concerns were quickly proven moot. He was caught, hook, line, and sinker. The wide, worry-free grin on his face was a clear sign that he had failed to arrive at the dilemma proposed. She was in the green. All she needed to do was keep him from thinking.

“I won’t ask for much. I know better smiths cost more,” she said. “I want a dagger, made from the tail.”

“Take only little material to make dagger, me approve,” he extended his arm.

“Deal.”

Claire took his hand and shook it. The scales hadn’t exactly shifted in her favour, but she had managed to secure an extra weapon and proven that it wouldn’t be easy to take advantage of her. For the time being, it was the best she could do. Striking a fair deal was impossible without more knowledge—or an unbiased appraiser.

“Can I talk now?” Sylvia tugged on Claire’s ears as she spoke, her voice low and grumbly.

“No.” The lyrkress lifted the animal off her head, scratched the back of her ears, and she set her down on the table. “Wait a little longer.”

Sylvia looked at her for a moment, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. “Wait a second!” she barked. “You’re just teasing me now!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Claire with an internal click of the tongue. The pet was getting a little too good at seeing through her for comfort. “Now…” The bluescale gave the fox’s cheeks one last pinch before returning her gaze to the goblin. “Let’s talk specifics.”

“Will no talk specifics,” he said, as he shot her a glare. “Say me master smith then need trust, lassie. Need you just wait and see, me will do proper job.”

“You’ve never seen me fight.”

“Need no see fight, she see fight.” He prodded his chin in Lova’s direction. “Can hear from her and make good design.”

“She barely saw anything.”

“Say truth, she does?” asked the goblin.

“Well…” The Kryddarian lowered her head and looked towards the floor as she was suddenly made the subject of several sharp glares.

The purple-skinned plague monster creased his brows and curved his lips into a frown. The disappointed, annoyed glare he shot her was only exaggerated by the veins bulging out of his forehead. Claire’s stare, on the other hand, was a little less justified. Suppressing a teasing grin, she narrowed her eyes into a judging stare, and she wasn’t the only one. After glancing between the goblin and the not-snake, the fox stood up on her hind legs, put her hands on her hips, and frowned at the moth. Unlike the others, her annoyance seemed superficial at best.

“I-in my defence, she snuck off to challenge it while we were all asleep!” All four of her hands fiddled with her wings as she blurted out the excuse. “P-please don’t misunderstand, Fred. It wasn’t our fault!”

The goblin heaved a sigh and shook his head. “Blame you, me won’t. Return this fast means rush to end, all you be tired.”

He raised a hand to his hairless head and scratched the back of his flaky scalp. After what seemed like a moment of deliberation, he turned to Sylvia, who looked behind herself to confirm that she was really the target of his attention.

“Sing remembrance song, fox. Know that you Zelos daughter, me sure he taught.”

“Remembrance song? What’s that?” said Sylvia, with a triple blink.

“Show memories with illusion, like for theatre play,” explained the goblin.

“Oh ummm… I’m actually really bad at that.” The vixen laughed sheepishly. “But I have a different spell that’s kinda similar but it’s inside your head instead of a real illusion. Is that okay?”

“Tell name? Will know if one of Zelos’ tricks.”

“Oh, you know… it’s nothing special! Just the song of night terrors,” chirped Sylvia, with all the bubbliness of someone that didn’t just suggest completely ruining the goblin’s evening.

Groaning, Frederick gave the back of his head another annoyed scratch. “Accept, me does,” he said, after a brief delay. “Want no deal night terrors, but me will do if memories firsthand and you try make no so bad.”

“Yup, don’t worry!” Sylvia stood up on her hind legs and puffed out her chest. “I’ve personally watched all her fights for the past two weeks. Well, almost. There are a few things missing, but it’s almost all there!”

“Show,” said the goblin.

“Okay! Several straight hours of memories coming right up!”

Sylvia pressed a paw to her chest, and after taking a deep breath, unleashed a melody in a particularly uncharacteristic pitch. Her usual soprano was abandoned in favour of a deep contralto that carried through the walls. Though it was almost off-putting to know that it had come from the fox, the lower key was perfect for the song in question. It was an almost requiem-like, somber tune, filled with long, drawn-out notes sustained for longer than a breath.

The moth was unaffected, but the goblin, who the fox had trapped inside a large bubble, was put right to sleep. The process was anything but gradual. He didn’t drowse or slowly lose his wakefulness. Sylvia’s spell was so potent that he was rendered incapable of offering any resistance. One moment, he was awake, and the next, he was seven dreams deep in his slumber.

“Okay! That’s that.” Her song completed, Sylvia wagged her tail in satisfaction and dropped back down to all fours. “I think you’re probably going to have to have someone to keep an eye on him, because he’s gonna randomly start screaming every once in a while. I’ve made it so it isn’t really all that scary, but some of the freaky stuff kinda comes with the spell so that’s kinda just how it is.”

“Thank you Sylvia. I’ll get someone to look after him,” said Lova.

“No problem! Oh and it’s normal if he wakes up for a bit. The spell reapplies itself until it runs out of mana, and I’ve given it a good bit, so it should last for at least half a day. I think that should be enough time to give him a pretty good idea of what he wants.”

Lova put a hand on her breastplate and nodded. “That’s wonderful. I just hope he doesn’t decide that he wants to lecture us anyway. It really wasn’t our fault we missed it.”

“I hope not! That sounds awful,” said Sylvia. “Oh, and speaking of things going bad, I really need to go get all that eel meat before it starts to smell!” The fox turned around. “Come on, Claire! Let’s go grab it! The longer we wait, the more it loses its taste!” Only after finishing her sentence did she finally realise that the conversation partner in question was missing altogether. “Wait, where’s Claire?”

The moth shook her head. “I’m sorry. I think she left a little while ago, but I have no idea where she went. I thought she was looking to use the restroom, but she never came ba—”

Lova’s explanation was cut off by a loud crash. The sound was rather distant, but not so distant that it didn’t grab their attention. Driven by her curiosity, Sylvia pranced over to one of the windows, popped it open, and stuck out her head. There was clearly an altercation, and a quick glance at the street immediately confirmed Claire’s involvement. She was more or less the sound’s source; something had violently smashed her into the ground and looking up into the stormy night sky confirmed its identity. It was a massive owl made almost entirely of sand—the lord of the chains.

“She’s fighting another lord already? It’s hardly been a few hours since she killed the last one,” said Lova, wide-eyed.

“Yeah, she’s like that sometimes,” said Sylvia. “Are you gonna watch them fight? I can make a bubble that’ll make everything look a lot closer if you want.”

“Thank you, but I think I will have to decline,” said Lova. “I’ve been up for far too long, and I would really like to get some rest.”

“Oh, okay! In that case, I’m gonna go watch her from up close. See ya!”

“Be careful!”

Climbing out through the window and leaving Lova to close it, the fox leapt over to the battle and secured a seat atop a nearby roof. It was time to do as she always did, and play the part of an idle observer.