Merchant Crab

“Excuse me?!” Balthazar exclaimed. “You want me to kill someone for you?”

“Well, when I say ‘kill’ I simply mean kill again,” said the ghost floating in front of the crab.

“What?!”

“Also, the someone I wish you to kill again is me. In a way.”

“I am so confused right now…”

“Allow me to explain,” the ethereal spirit said. “My name is Sir Edmund Auclair Allard, and I was once an advisor of the court. Sadly, I perished some time ago in a place not too far from here.”

His levitating form was a pale white with faint hints of a light blue hue whenever he moved. Despite being incorporeal and very much dead, the ghost was wearing what clearly used to be exquisite travel robes. As for the shoes, Balthazar could not tell, as his translucent form faded away below the knees, into a trickle of spectral mist.

“My… condolences?” said the merchant. “Is that even the right thing to say in this situation?”

“Thank you. They are appreciated nonetheless.”

“Well, I’m Balthazar,” the crab said. “And those two shy ones back there are Druma and Blue.”

The phantom bowed. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“So, what, you’re looking for revenge on whoever killed you, or something?” the puzzled merchant asked.

“No, certainly not something so mundane as petty vengeance,” Sir Edmund said. “My demise was my own careless doing. I was traveling these winding roads, parched, and upon finding a spring fountain, I walked up to it too hastily, slipped on the wet stone, and hit my head on a rock.”

“Ouch,” Balthazar said with a wince. “Should have brought some Potions of Hydration with you.”

“Pardon me?” said the ghost.

“Never mind that,” the crab said dismissively. “This is all very tragic, but if you already died, why and how would you want to be killed again?”

“Ah,” sighed the spirit, his floating form slumping down slightly, “Alas, if only that rock had been the end of me. But it was not fated to be. I found myself in this form, a ghastly vestige of the man I once was, likely unable to move on from this world due to the sudden and shocking nature of my untimely death. And probably also because I had left far too much unfinished business in my previous life.”

The crab nodded. “Oh yes, that would do it. Probably some unfulfilled promise, or a debt of honor? Perhaps revenge? Or maybe even unconfessed love?”

“No. I just had these tomes I checked out from the library’s archives that I never returned.”

Balthazar stared at the phantom, unblinking. “Seriously?”

“I dread to imagine the fines they must have incurred at this point,” Sir Edmund said, a quick shiver running down his immaterial body. “Regardless, that is not a relevant detail to my present conundrum. As if me perishing in such an embarrassing manner and then becoming an apparition haunting the side of a road was not enough misfortune already, something even worse happened.”

“Well, go on, tell me. I’m invested in your tale now,” said the merchant, planting the bottom of his shell down on the ground and resting his chin on a claw. His two companions, meanwhile, remained at a safe distance on the road, watching the crab chatting it up with a floating spirit as they exchanged glances of resigned confusion.

“For you see,” the dead nobleman continued, “not long after my perishing, along came a man wearing dark robes and carrying a staff. He was a foul necromancer, but clearly a novice one at that.”

“Oh yeah, I hate the type, they always stink to high hell,” Balthazar commented. “Heh, did he try to buy your corpse for a few gold coins? That happened to me once. Well, it wasn’t my corpse, they were… uhh, actually, never mind that. Carry on with your story.”

The ghost raised an eyebrow at the crustacean, but continued his tale.

“I hid from his sight, unsure of how the living might react to my unsettling form. Unfortunately, I could not do the same for my inanimate body. The wicked death-dweller saw in it an opportunity to practice his dark arts, and waving his magical staff, he cast some incantation upon my remains.”

“Damn,” the listening crab said. “What’s with necromancers and never asking for consent before raising the dead?”

“Indeed,” said Sir Edmund, with a weary nod. “I watched on, aghast, as my physical form was magically lifted from its resting place, and puppeteered into some unholy mockery of life.”

Balthazar nodded in agreement. “Yeah, exactly. So rude. Anyway, what then?”

“The necromancer was quite pleased with himself and his foul work,” the undead storyteller continued. “He had gotten himself a zombie follower. It was uncanny and unsettling, to watch my own self standing there, gawking, drooling, half rotted. Not a thought or memory behind his eyes. A most abysmal sight to behold. And what’s worse, my robes were ripped on the sleeves.”

“Oh yes, terrible,” the crab said with a roll of his eyes. “Death is no excuse to not look presentable.”

“Precisely!” Sir Edmund exclaimed. “I am so glad you understand.”

“So what then? The necromancer went on to cause some trouble with your body, and now you want him killed for it?”

“Oh, no, not at all,” the ghost quickly said. “The necromancer is also very much dead. He was so thrilled with his successful reanimation that he slipped on the same wet stone near the fountain and broke his neck on the fall.”

“Gee, remind me to watch my step if I ever go near that spring,” Balthazar said. “Well, where’s his ghost? I don’t see any other semi-transparent floaters around here.”

Allard shrugged. “I wondered the same, but I suppose he had his affairs in order and simply moved on to the afterlife directly.”

“Pfft, I guess he had no pending books to return,” said the scoffing crab. “But after all that, I still don’t get it: who the hell do you want killed?”

“As I’ve been trying to tell you: me!” exclaimed the ghost. “You see, when the necromancer landed on his neck, for whatever reason, my zombified remains remained reanimated. Now unshackled from his dark master, he has simply been wandering these woods aimlessly, chasing any living beings he encounters while grunting and groaning like a mannerless lout. It’s downright embarrassing!”

“Oooh, I finally got it!” said Balthazar. “You want someone to put down your zombie so you can finally move on from this world in peace.”

“Well, yes, that too, possibly,” Sir Edmund said. “But mainly just to avoid the risk of some of my former peers ever seeing me behaving in such a shameful manner during their travels. I would be the talk of the court for ages in a most humiliating way. The embarrassment alone would kill me. Again.”

The merchant chuckled while standing back up to his feet.

“Heh, everyone’s got their priorities,” he said, while dusting himself off. “Anyway, thanks for your fascinating story. I was really entertained. Good luck with your zombie problem. See ya!”

Sir Edmund watched the crab walking back to the road with his mouth ajar.

“Wait, you’re not going to help me?” the ghost exclaimed in disbelief.

Balthazar looked back at the spirit and then around himself, before pointing a pincer at his own shell. “Who? Me?”

“Yes! I just told you my whole quandary, and you’re simply going to walk away?!”

“Of course I am!” the eight-legged traveler said. “I’m a crab, mate! Do I look like one of those silly adventurers going around solving and making everyone’s problems?”

“I… but…” the haunted nobleman stuttered. “You were the only one so far who hasn’t simply tried to slay me! I thought you’d be willing to aid me!”

“Nope, sorry,” the merchant said while walking back to his friends. “That ain’t me.”

“But I am—I was—a traveler in need!”

“Sucks for you, but I got things to do, places to be, and no opposable thumbs.”

“If you do not help me, how will I ever rid myself of my foul former self?!”

“Sounds like a you problem. I’m sure some more killing-oriented traveler will come along eventually.”

Sir Edmund stared baffled at the crab for a moment, before gliding over to the road and floating next to him and his crew.

“Surely you know helping me is the right thing to do?!” he said.

“Can’t say that I do,” Balthazar said nonchalantly, while adjusting the straps on his backpack and scanning the path up the road.

“I would be ever grateful to you!”

“I’m sure you would.”

“You’d have my undying gratitude.”

“I bet,” said the merchant, while walking past the ghost.

“I… I would tell you the location of a treasure chest I found while floating through these woods!”

“So where was this zombie of yours again?” the crab hastily said, turning back to the phantom with a snap and placing his eyestalks right up to him.

Allard looked at him with a mix of surprise and relief. “So you will take my quest and help me?”

“Well, I’ll help you get rid of your problem,” said Balthazar, “but I’m not taking no quest. I’m not an adventurer.”

“But you accept to take on this task for me… in exchange for a reward, correct?”

“Sure, if it pays, I can figure something out.”

“Yes, I’m fairly certain that still counts as taking on a quest,” said the spirit.

The crab’s shell deflated in defeat. “Ah, damn it, you’re right…”

[Quest accepted: Capture the zombie of Sir Edmund Auclair Allard]

The things I do for treasure…