Heretical Fishing

Chapter 42: Pulse

Iremoved the hanger from the forge when it glowed red, just as Fergus had suggested. He passed his pliers, and I started shaping it. I started with a smaller hanger, not wanting to waste any of the smith’s metal if it went poorly. The metal bent easily, and I turned the round curve into a shape approximating an Aberdeen hook. I made the bend slightly squared, then straightened the shank out and used the needle-nose pliers to create the small eye I’d attach my line to. Finally, I turned my attention to the tip of the hook. I raised it right before my eyes, carefully pinching and molding the tip into as sharp a point as possible.

“Quench?” I asked.

“Aye, when you’re happy with the shape.”

I inspected the tip one more time then checked the eye. I bent the metal as close to the other end of the hook, intent on leaving no space between where the end of the eye met the shank. Happy with the shape, I plunged it into the oil.

I removed it, testing the heat with my finger; he was correct. “Should we make a casing with this one, or make the rest of the hooks . . . ?”

Fergus nodded at the forge. “Do the rest of the hooks, I think. We can make all the molds later.”

I set the hook down on the anvil and grabbed the next hanger.

Fergus watched Fischer intently, professional curiosity overcoming his aversion to anything heretical. He’d watched Fischer create four types of hooks already; the first one with a long shaft, and three rounded hooks of varying sizes that Fischer had called ‘circle hooks,’ only one of which had an eye at the end.

The one Fischer was now placing in the forge was the weirdest yet. The fisherman had created three of the medium-sized circle hooks and tied them together with thin wire at the blunt ends. The tips splayed out in even intervals, the three needle-like points facing outward.

Fergus’s intrigue grew as he watched the thin wire melt, fusing the three hooks together. When the amalgamation was glowing red, Fischer removed it, immediately getting to work with the pliers. He pinched the shafts together, fusing the metal into a single form.

While Fergus rarely worked with such small objects in the forge directly—usually only doing so to create casings—he couldn’t help but feel a kinship with Fischer’s attentiveness and care in creating the hook, heretical as it may be.

Fischer pinched the joining bits of metal meticulously, taking particular care around the eye to remove any imperfections or sharp edges. When he was content with the shape, he drove it down into the quenching pit, swirling it around. He withdrew the hook, inspected it with a discerning gaze, and nodded. Then, something unexpected occurred.

A small pulse hit Fergus, resonating between his stomach and lungs. He reeled, taking a few steps back in confusion.

“W-what was that?” Fischer’s eyes went wide, but quickly returned to normal.

Did I imagine that . . . ?

“You right, Fergus?”

“Yeah . . . I just . . . I thought I felt something.”

“Is my smithing that impressive?”

Fischer smiled and waggled his eyebrows.

“Blown away by my skill and expertise in heretical matters?”

“That must be it . . . what do you call that hook?” Fergus asked, trying to change the subject.

“It’s called a treble hook, mate. I don’t think I’ll use it anytime soon, because they’re usually attached to lures, but thought I’d try making one and see if it was possible.”

“. . . lures?”

Fischer laughed, his face broadcasting delight. “It’s something made to look like a fish out of wood, plastic, or metal—basically, you pull it through the water to imitate a baitfish swimming, and when a bigger fish tries to eat it, the treble snags them no matter what direction they come from.”

“Metal? Do you want to try creating one?”

“I’ll gladly come back to do so another day, but after making the casings, I wanna get back and help Barry and the gang on the fields we’re making on my land.”

Fergus nodded, leaning into the conversation to distance himself from thoughts of the pulse.

“I heard about your fields—good business, that.”

Fischer shrugged. “Just the right thing to do, mate. I’m not charging them or anything, and I’m not using the land, so I’m happy for them to have a crack at farming it.”

“Aye, but you don’t need to help them.”

“You’re right; I don’t. Again, though, it seems like the right thing to do.”

Fergus smiled, his thoughts momentarily swept away by feelings of gratitude for Fischer’s arrival.

“Well, if you want to get back to the fields and help them, let’s get started on the molds.”

An almost predatory grin spread across Fischer’s face, and he nodded.

“Let’s.”

The early afternoon sun and an accompanying breeze felt cool on my skin as I walked back toward the fields.

Man, what a productive day!

I’d managed to create hooks and moldings, catch dinner, and even prepare fertilizer for mine and Barry’s nighttime activity.

I laughed at myself.

Might want to rethink the phrasing on that one . . .

Fergus had given me a leather wallet for the hooks, and I removed it from a back pocket, peering inside at my new creations. I only had the ones I’d made for the moldings, as I wanted to get back and help before the day was through.

“With any luck, I’ll only need one of each for a while.”

The memory of the pulse that had radiated through me returned, the sensation so strong I could still feel the echoes of it.

Fergus nailed it on the head—what was that?

It had felt like the pulls from the System I’d previously felt but was accompanied by a physical sensation in my core. The power seemed to rush from within, blooming, then disappearing as fast as it came.

Is that this world’s version of a breakthrough . . . ? Like the ones in the stories I read on Earth?

Following an impulse, I willed my notifications back on and was met with an absolute barrage of regret.

[Error: Insufficient power. Superfluous systems offline.]

[Error: Insufficient power. Superfluous systems offline.]

[Error: Insufficient power. Superfluous systems offline.]

It stretched on, madly scrolling down.

Welp. Nevermind.

I willed the notifications back off. Just as I did so, I walked out from between the last of Barry’s fields to find my neighbors taking a break in the shade. They sat around a tray of sandwiches, Maria and Roger looking absolutely wrecked, Barry looking like he was just sitting down to make them feel better.

“I leave you guys alone for one minute, and you all start slacking off?”

Maria and Barry smiled, and Roger scowled.

“Mind if I join you?” I asked, pointing at the sandwiches.

“I don’t know . . .” Barry tried to hide a smile, but failed. “The wife might get upset if we share the food she made for hard workers with a freeloader . . .”

I nodded seriously, not bothering to hide the grin forming.

“That’s a good point! I’d feel just terrible if I had to share the fish I caught today with one of my friendly neighbors.”

Barry’s eyes sparkled, and he slid the tray forward.

“Let me get this straight,” Roger said. “You had business to attend to today, and you couldn’t help in the fields, because you were . . . fishing?”

“Oh, not just fishing, Roger!” I sat down, picking up a sandwich. “I also saw Fergus and crafted some new hooks—to improve my fishing, you understand?”

Maria nodded along with a smile, ignoring her father’s unimpressed expression.

“A truly productive day, then! May your heretical activities be ever fruitful!”

I raised my sandwich in a toast. “And may your fields be ever bountiful!”

I took a bite of the sandwich, enjoying the taste, but again wishing it had a little seafood added. I chewed it slowly, and as I swallowed, turned to Barry.

“This is delicious, mate—make sure you thank Helen for me . . . especially for showing hospitality to a freeloader such as myself.”

Barry’s eyes still sparkled after my mention of fish, and he smiled.

“I will. I’m always complimenting her food, but I’m sure she’ll be delighted to hear it from you.”

“So,” I said, “where are you guys up to with the fields? If there’s more churning and mixing to be done, I’m ready to roll.”

“We’re all done with the mixing,” Maria said.

She leaned back on her hands, letting out a weary yet content sigh. “We’re up to the planting.”

“Why don’t you guys take the rest of the day off and let Barry and I handle it?”

“We’re not children, Fischer—we don’t need coddling,” Roger growled.

I help my hands up placatingly. “I only suggested it because Barry and I have some other stuff to do.” I turned to the man in question. “You’re still up for helping construct my fence, right?”

Quick-witted as ever, Barry nodded. “Aye, Fischer—I never forget a promise.”

“So?” Roger demanded. “You think we’re incapable of planting stalks?”

“No, but you can do stuff in your fields, right? You’re really trying to tell me you have nothing to work on? Last I heard, you had a field with improper levels that desperately wants a stabilizing crop planted in it . . .”

Roger’s lips moved as his pride warred with his financial pressures.

“Dad.” Maria shook her head lightly, a stray strand of hair falling from behind her ear.

“There’s no shame in accepting kindness—you’d do the same if they needed it, wouldn’t you?”

“ . . . I would,” he reluctantly admitted.

“So let them help. Now that we have other fields to plant crops in, we can fix the nitrogen in our own. The sooner we plant them, the sooner we can resume growing sugarcane or wheat.”

Roger averted his eyes and nodded a single time.

“And what do we say when people help us, Dad?”

He glared at her. Standing, he muttered as he turned to walk away.

“I didn’t hear you, Dad!” she yelled after him.

“I said thank you, dammit!” he called over his shoulder, still marching.

Maria let out a deep sigh as she turned back toward Barry and me. “I swear, that man . . .”

I shook my head with a small laugh. “Old codgers are the same everywhere. If you ever met my dad, you’d think Roger a saint.”

She raised an eyebrow. “. . . codgers?”

“Yeah, you know—codgers, fellas, old blokes. Same thing.”

She gave me a bemused smile.

“You have the oddest way of speaking, Fischer.”

I beamed a grin. “Thank you!”

She playfully rolled her eyes at me. “Still, I find it hard to believe that your father could be worse than mine . . .”

“You’ll have to take my word for it. He’s passed now, but he was an abrasive bloke at the best of times.”

“Oh, I’m sorry . . .”

“It’s all good. He did everything he wanted in life, and his only regret was probably yours truly.”

Barry and Maria both blinked at me, concern flooding their expressions.

“Err . . . that came out worse than I meant it to. I’m okay—really.”

Maria gave a kind smile as she stood, brushing her overalls off. “Well, sorry to leave it on a sad note, but I’d better get back to Dad before he takes his anger out on our sacks of seed.”

I stood too. “Not at all—sorry if I brought the mood down.”

She smiled again, and clearly unsure of what to say, waved, and set off.

“Damn,” I said to Barry. “Think I might have killed the vibe there.”

Barry grimaced. “It may have reminded her of her mother’s, well, mortality.”

I facepalmed, groaning at my stupidity. “I’m an idiot. I didn’t even think about that . . .”

“It’s fine. I have a feeling that Sharon will get better soon.”

“I didn’t even know her name was Sharon. I’m a terrible neighbor . . .”

“If you were a terrible neighbor, Fischer, you wouldn’t be helping them create a farm on your property for free.”

Barry stood, collecting the almost empty tray of sandwiches. “Let’s focus on what we can do. You caught a fish?”

Barry was right, of course.

There’s no use in dwelling—I can make a difference in their situation, so that’s what I’ll do.

I grinned. “You ask me, the heretical Fischer, if I caught a fish?” I shook my head in mock dismay. “My good man, who do you take me for?”