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“Great, that sobering up didn’t last long,” Balthazar muttered. “Back to being a drunken fool, it seems.”

“Babaurhum!” the drunkard mumbled.

“What?” the annoyed crab said. “You’re slurring your words again.”

“No, no. Thish!” Tristan exclaimed, pointing a wobbly finger at an old dark bottle on the shelf. “It’sh a bottle of Babaurhum rum! How didsh you get thish?!”

“Oh, that,” said Balthazar. “It was some wandering woman who sold it to me. She sold me an egg too, but that’s a whole other story. She said it was some special rum from… wherever.”

“Babaurhum!” the man joyfully repeated.

“Yes, that place.”

“They shay it’sh the mosht shweet of nectarsh,” Tristan said, his eyes shining as he gazed at the dark bottle with wonder. “I had heard about it, alwaysh wanted to try it one day, but it’sh imposshible to find thish far away from the deshert.”

With a quick turn, the drunken man faced Balthazar with both hands together in a pleading manner and fell to his knees.

“Pleash! You musht let me have a tashte of it. Even jusht a drop would bring me shush joy. I beg of you!”

The golden crab looked down at the disgraced merchant with awkward discomfort. While he cared little for most humans, the sorry state of Tristan was too much of a low, even for Balthazar’s disdain. He had no intention of enabling the drunkard any further.

However, while feeding into his addiction was too unscrupulous even for the crab, benevolent subterfuge was not.

“Alright, stand up, you’re making it too awkward now,” Balthazar told him. “Besides, I don’t like you being at eye level with me. Your breath stinks.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” the overjoyed drunkard said, a goofy smile on his face. “Sho you’ll let me have it?”

“What? Just like that?” said the crab. “Of course not! I thought you used to be a merchant, too. I’m running a business here!”

“But shir,” the man said, his smile instantly changing into a crying pout and watery eyes, “I have no money. I am a ruined man. I cannot afford it.”

“Yes, yes, I heard your story. And that’s exactly it. If you want to get back at Antoine, you’ll help me, and if you do a good enough job, I’ll let you have some of that rum.”

“Help you? What do you got to do with Antoine?” the other said, his crying face now turning into a puzzled expression. The speed at which he changed emotions was baffling to Balthazar.

“I got my own chitin to pick with him. He’s trying to disrupt my success, not too unlike what he did to you in the past. I don’t intend on letting that happen. So, are you interested?”

“Hmm, I shee. The enemy of my enemy ish a crab,” Tristan said, rubbing his chin while precariously tilting back and forth on his heels. “If it meansh taking a shwing at that two-fashed traitor, all while alsho getting a tashte of delicioush Babaurhum, count me in!”

“Excellent!” exclaimed Balthazar. “Unfortunately, you’re also a drunk, so you’ll excuse me for not putting too much faith into your trustworthiness just yet.”

“Fair, fair,” the drunkard agreed, his eyes closed as he rocked himself from side to side.

“So, for now, I’m going to give you a very simple task. If you manage to do this for me, maybe we can work together. You paying attention there, Tristan?”

“Huh? Oh, yesh, I’m all earsh!” the man said, pulling his eyes away from a fluttering butterfly passing above them.

“I need you to go back up to town…”

“Wait! We’re not in town?!” Tristan asked, looking all around with a confused expression. “How in the world did I end up here?”

“Focus, Tristan!” Balthazar yelled. “Go back up there, find and convince the best carpenter in town to come down here and do some work for me. Maybe sober up a little, so they’ll take you seriously. Do this for me and you can have a sip of the rum, as well as more important tasks. Got that?”

“Yesh, shir!” the drunk said, making a mocking salute with his hand that went a little higher than his forehead. “But… what doesh a carpenter have to do with Antoine?”

“Nothing. I just need one for something else, but I can’t really go into town myself, so that’s where you come in. Do this right, and I might start believing you’re more than just a fumbling drunk.”

“Ooooh, gotcha! You won’t regret it! I’ll make the mosht out of thish opportunity, you’ll shee. I shall return to you with a barber and earn that shweet nectar!”

“Carpenter, Tristan! I asked for a Carpenter!”

“Right! That’sh what I meant,” the inebriated man said. “Don’t worry, you won’t regret thish. You and I are going to become great partnersh, I’m shure!”

Balthazar, however, was not so sure.

***

Morning had passed, and the crab was finishing his dessert before carrying on into the afternoon. The dessert for that day, as well as the appetizer and main dish, was raspberry jam tarts, and no matter how many times Balthazar kept telling himself the next one was going to be the last, he couldn’t resist eating just one more each time.

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“Hmm, jusht sho delichioush!” he said to himself, his mouth full of tart, the outside of his mouth covered in jam.

“Partner! I have returned!” a voice shouted from below.

Looking down from his lunch break boulder, Balthazar saw Tristan returning from town with an older man in tow.

“Oh, great, the addict is back,” the crab said, quickly shoving one last tart into his mouth before hopping off the rock and joining the arriving men.

“There you are! Missed me?” the strangely joyful man said.

Balthazar noticed he had at least sobered up some, as his speech was not as slurred anymore, even if he was still zigzagging wildly towards the trading post’s entrance.

“Like I miss the birds in the sky.”

“Ha-ha! I’m going to take that as a yes,” Tristan said. “As agreed, I have gone into town and found you the best woodworker you will ever know. Meet John, the carpenter!”

With an excessive flourish, the town drunk took a step to the side and bowed slightly as he pointed both arms towards the figure behind him.

He was an old man with a bushy grizzly beard and a rugged face, from what little of it could be seen between his vast facial hair, thick eyebrows, and the shade of the flat cap firmly stuck to his head. He wore simple worker clothes, and if his sturdy physique, despite his age, didn’t already declare it, his calloused and scarred hands confirmed him as a manual laborer.

Hanging from between his lips was a wooden smoking pipe from which a soft plume of white smoke rose as he eyed the crab, and in his left hand he brought a wooden toolbox.

“G’day,” John said, with a husky voice.

“Hello there,” the crab responded. “I’m Balthazar.”

“So, you’re the talking crab,” the seasoned man said as he adjusted the smoking pipe with his hand. “Not going to lie, I thought your man here was spouting nonsense when he walked into my workshop claiming there was a crab looking for a carpenter.”

“Oh, heh,” said Balthazar, realizing the downside of sending a drunk man to recruit someone in his name. “And you, uh, still came down here anyway, despite his… state?”

“Ah, what can I say,” the carpenter said with a chuckle, “Your fellow here strikes me as the trustworthy kind, even if he is in his cups.”

Balthazar nodded. It would seem Tristan was really not overselling his charisma before.

“See? Told you I would not disappoint!” the happy drunk exclaimed. “Now, about that rum?”

“Ah, yes, of course,” the crab said. “I’ll just show the place to John over here first, and then we can talk about that. Wouldn’t want to leave him waiting now, would we? That’d be rude.”

“Right, of course, you’re right,” Tristan agreed, while nodding enthusiastically. “Proper manners are a hallmark of any good merchant, absolutely. Go on, do your business. I’ll just be waiting over here.”

As he finished his sentence, the inebriated man sat on the floor, leaning against a crate, and immediately fell asleep.

“Well, alright then,” Balthazar said, turning his attention back to John and pointing his pincers to the inner side of the trading post. “Shall we get to business?”

“Lead the way,” said the grizzly man.

“Not sure how much Tristan told you when he came to you,” the merchant said, as they both started walking.

“Lots of things, but most of it was incoherent mumbling, so just assume you have to explain it to me from the start. What does a crab need a carpenter for?”

“Well, see these?” Balthazar showed his pincers to John. “Turns out they’re great for a lot of things, but not for handiwork. And I need a roof built over this place before the rains begin falling. My assistant built this platform we’re standing on, and even that footpath over there, but his amateur skills can only do so much. As I’ve learned the hard way recently, a roof is no easy thing to build.”

The carpenter nodded as he stroked his beard and looked around.

“Right you are, fella,” the man said. “Building a roof over your here platform would be a bit of work. More than an old man like me can do all on his own. I’d need a lot of muscle.”

“Ah, that I think I can help with,” the smirking crab said. “Would a lot of stone help?”

John looked at him with a bushy eyebrow raised high.

“Hey, Bouldy! Come here,” Balthazar called towards the inner islet.

A rock with two eyes and a mouth peeked from behind the tree before the golem stood up and approached the other two, crossing the water with three effortless steps.

“Friend?”

“John, this is my friend Bouldy. And he’d be more than happy to help with all the heavy lifting. Think that would do?”

The carpenter took the pipe out of his mouth and slowly tilted his head back as he stared up at the giant boulder.

“That’s a lot of rock,” he said, slowly nodding at the golem. “Aye, that’ll do, crab. That’ll do.”

“Great. And for an extra pair of smaller hands,” Balthazar continued, “you’ll have Druma to assist you. Hey, Druma, where are you? Come out here.”

A pair of green ears with a wizard hat in between popped up from behind a pile of hay before the goblin walked around it, one cheek full, his face still covered in meat pie crumbs.

“Boss call Druma?” he said between loud chewing, as he joined the group.

“Yes, I did. This is John, a real carpenter. You will be helping him with anything he needs to build our roof, and hopefully you’ll get to learn some new things about working wood, too.”

Druma hopped left and right while clapping with joy, a grin on his face, which was still covered with crumbs. “Yes, yes, boss!”

“You don’t have a problem with working alongside a goblin, I hope?” the crab asked the man.

“Can’t say I ever did work with any,” John calmly said, as he placed his smoking pipe back on his lip, “but the little fella seems amicable enough. I ain’t got a problem with no one who ain’t got a problem with me.”

“Excellent!” Balthazar said. “So, does that mean you’ll take the job?”

The old carpenter turned to face the platform, thoughtfully measuring up the place as small puffs of smoke floated away from his pipe.

“It would take a few weeks, even with your helpers,” he finally said. “And I’d be spendin’ my whole day all the way out here, but hell, it ain’t like there’s anybody home missin’ me. Besides, I’ll get to say I was hired by a crab once, and worked alongside a golem and a goblin. That’ll make for a hell of a tale. I’ll take the job.”

“Good, good!” the enthusiastic crab said. “Let’s discuss payment and…”

The veteran raised a hand in a halting gesture.

“Before we can talk about pay, I’m gonna need me some supplies from town for the job.”

“I thought you already brought your own stuff,” the merchant said, pointing to the man’s toolbox.

“These are me tools, crab. The actual supplies, like nails and many other bits and pieces, you gotta pay for yourself. It ain’t gonna be my roof once it’s done.”

“Well, we got lots of nails and other supplies around here that you could use. Druma can show—”

“Nah, crab,” the man interrupted. “You don’t get it. I need very specific materials to do my job right, and there’s only one supplier in town I trust for quality stuff. I ain’t using none of the crap you get from those airhead adventurers. I wouldn’t sleep under something built with pieces that came from some kid who don’t know the measurements of a two-by-four.”

Slightly annoyed, but unable to argue the validity of his last point, Balthazar conceded to the old man. “Fine. I guess I can send Tristan back to town to get your supplies.”

“It’s your call,” John said as he pulled a pencil and a piece of paper from his box. “I’ll make a list of what I need.”

The crab walked back to where the other man was still asleep, a dribble of drool hanging from the corner of his mouth.

“Hey, big charmer, wake up!” Balthazar yelled, while snapping his pincers in front of the drunk.

Startled, Tristan opened his eyes and looked around with confusion.

“Huh? What? Where am I? What happened? Can I have that sip of rum now?”

“Uh…” the golden merchant started. “You don’t remember? You already had a glass of it. It must have been really strong. You fell asleep right after.”

“Gods damn it!” the drunk said, slapping the floor with his palm. “The worst part of getting drunk is forgetting the good parts of getting drunk.”

“Yes, real tragedy. Now get up, I got another job for you. Do it right and there might be another taste of that rum in it for you.”

Tristan’s gaze snapped up to the crab, his eyes with a child-like glow to them.

While some might consider it dishonest, Balthazar preferred to see his actions as a good deed, in order to keep a drunk from drinking himself into an even deeper stupor. The fact that what he was doing would allow him to keep paying with the same never-ending bottle was just a nice bonus.