Heretical Fishing: A Cozy Guide to Annoying the Cults, Outsmarting the Fish, and Alienating Oneself

George, the lord of Tropica village, was on only his fifth sugar-crusted pastry of the day when some cretin had the audacity to knock on his front door, interrupting the succulent and delicious-tasting treat.

This assignment alone was already enough of a slight to his family’s good name, but having to interact directly with the rabble was a daily insult.

“They dare disturb me, when I’ve not even finished my second-breakfast?” he said aloud.

His wife, Geraldine, rolled her eyes and made a noise of contempt around her mouthful of pastry.

The things I do for these peasants…

He grunted in frustration as he wrestled with his silk dressing gown, the damn thing seeming to have shrunken again.

I’ll have to talk to that miserly seamstress about her materials.

He trudged down the stairs while sucking remnants of granular sugar from his fingers. Unleashing his fury on the door, he flung it open with wild abandon, casting his displeasure over the two people on his doorstep.

One was a female field worker, who would have been a beautiful sight, if not for her sun-tainted skin, and starved-looking form. The other was a man in his thirties he hadn’t seen before. He didn’t have the tanned skin of the other peasants, but he had the similarly malnourished body that all the working class did.

“Yes? What have you disturbed my morning for?” George asked, using his shrillest and therefore most-authoritarian voice.

“U-uh, this is Fischer,” the plain woman said. “He’s just arrived, and he wants to buy some land.”

She turned to the other peasant.

“Fischer, this is George, the lord of Tropica. I have to get to work. I’ll leave you to it.”

She fled, walking with haste back to the peasant side of town.

Fischer turned to him.

“A pleasure to meet you, lord.”

At least he has the good sense to show the proper respect, George thought, deciding to bestow upon him the gift of not rolling his eyes at the insolence of interrupting his third-favorite meal of the day.

“Oh, is that so… Fischer, was it? And what sort of land do you desire?”

“Coastal. As close to, if not directly on the beach.”

George was unable to stop himself from narrowing his eyes in confusion.

“What would anyone want with a coastal strip of land?”

Fischer smiled plainly.

“For fishing, mate. I want a plot of land to call my own, and I want to be as close to the water as possible.”

George rubbed his eyes and let out a sigh.

Great. A madman has found his way to our shores.

Employing his vast intellect, George devised a way to chase this madman away, and hopefully send him scurrying whence he came.

“Unfortunately, my dear man, it isn’t possible to break up the coastal land—crown laws, you understand?”

Fischer nodded, accepting the words of his betters as fact.

“Of course. How big a property are we talking?”

“The stretch from the last field on the south-side of Tropica, all the way up to and including the southern mountain-range, is available. It is worth quite a sum, however…”

George shook his head in feigned sadness.

“Fifteen gold pieces, I regret to say. It may be out of your reach…”

George knew that if someone were to buy the sandy, useless stretch of land, that it’d be worth three, maybe four gold coins at most. What good would land that could hardly grow any of the staple commodities of the kingdom be, after all?

A smile lingered on Fischer’s face, but his eyes narrowed slightly, the expression disconcerting and unreadable to George.

“Fifteen? That seems a little steep, George. It’s sandy land, after all, which isn’t great for growing any of the crops I’ve seen. How far inland does the land stretch?”

George snorted, letting some of his disdain for the madman show.

"All the way back to the village’s boundary line—just over a kilometer."

What does he know of land prices? He couldn’t afford a coffee, let alone the useless sand he wants.

George's frustration with the intrusion growing, he looked Fischer up and down, his eyes lingering on the basic clothes.

“Do you even have any gold, sir?”

Fischer kept his unsettling gaze on George as he reached into his bag with slow ease, grabbing something. He held it out.

George stuck his hand out petulantly, half expecting this Fischer to drop a shell or other, similarly useless trinket into his hand.

When he saw what Fischer dropped on his open palm, his eyes almost flew from their sockets.

It wasn’t just a gold coin.

It was a coin of the ancients, a relic that, back in the city he’d grown up in, would fetch anywhere from fifty to sixty regular gold pieces—each enough to buy half this godforsaken village.

George looked back up at Fischer—the man had a vicious gleam in his eye.

Before, George had seen Fischer’s happiness as that of a peasant pleased to be interacting with his betters—now, all George could see was the predatory gleam of a hawk who’d cornered a mouse.

He put the coinless fist behind his back to hide the tremble he felt coming on; his other hand started to sweat beneath the treasure he’d just been handed so casually.

“Er—uh—no. I-I think I may have been hasty in my previous assessment.” George let out a laugh that sounded forced to his own ears. “For a man such as yourself, a single coin should suffice. The land is as good as yours.” He tried to smile, but he felt his eyes displaying his panic.

Fischer’s eyes flinched almost imperceptibly, and George felt the gaze bore right through him

“A single coin?”

“Y-yes, Fischer! This will more than cover it! I-I’m sorry for the mixup, it was an honest mistake…”

Fischer stared at him, the lack of emotion and predatory gleam pinning George down. Each moment Fischer remained silent made the pressure increase tenfold.

“Alright, then.” He shot George a wink. “Don’t go spending that coin all at once.”

George nodded and swallowed, his throat scratchy and uncomfortable.

Fischer spoke again, freeing George from the building silence.

“Is there a form I need to fill out?”

“I’ll—uh—I’ll handle the formalities and paperwork, and I’ll come find you with them later. Good day, er—sir!” He bowed, slowly but firmly closed the door behind him.

The moment it was closed, he collapsed against it, sliding down the wooden surface as sweat poured from his rotund body.

Who sent this man? Has the capital grown wise of the coins I’ve been skimming from the taxes sent their way?

The coin was clearly a message. Who else, if not a representative of the capital themselves, could hold their composure while handling such a vast sum of wealth? That leather pouch of his may have held even more of the artifacts. Worse, George had lied to the man, telling a crown agent that the land couldn’t be broken up.

He told me not to spend the coin—a direct warning.

Horror dawned as he realized he'd kept it.

Why didn't I hand it back? In my panic, I let a capital representative overpay... did he embroil me on purpose? What devious plan have I stepped head-first into?

George’s thoughts were troubled, his body numb, as he walked upstairs.

“George?” Geraldine asked as he walked back into their dining room. “What’s wrong? You’re white as a ghost…”

Unable to respond, he sat heavily in his chair and shoved a sugary pastry into his mouth.

It tasted bland and dry.

***

A calm contentment blanketed my thoughts as I walked toward what had to be the south of the village—it was the undeveloped stretch of land, after all. It also made sense with Roger, the addled man from earlier, claiming this village to be on the eastern coast.

I couldn’t believe what had just transpired.

Just like that, I’d been granted so much land. I’d happily have given everything—up to and including the clothes on my back—if it meant I could have even an acre of beach-front property.

Instead, I’d been given hectares—hundreds of hectares—of land.

Land that was entirely mine—all for a single coin.

I was a little annoyed that I’d slipped so easily back into my CEO training, and I might have been better off just paying the demanded price. Negotiating was a hard habit to break; I’d have to do my best not to let it overtake my time here, lest I get dragged back into a life I found empty and wanting.

It felt wrong leaving without a contract, too, maybe I should go back and—

I shook my head, realizing I was already slipping back into old habits.

Let it go, Fischer.

My therapist’s voice once more sprung forth, unbidden.

“Show others trust, and they’ll trust you in return…”

I forced my focus toward the information I'd managed to extract. There was an overarching governing body—a monarchy, if George’s use of the term “crown laws” meant anything.

I wanted to get more information out of the village’s lord, but that door was, quite literally, closed on me. I didn’t want to force the issue and draw attention to myself.

Another time…

As I continued my path southward, I smiled at the people I passed, not letting their odd looks and stares bother me. Even if I were the type of person to be caught off-guard by such things, I was entirely too ecstatic to care.

I’d been shocked to see the state of the lord that opened the door. After seeing the rest of the village people, I had just assumed everyone would be lean from hard work—tanned from days spent in the sun.

The lord of the town proved to be the exception.

The man was, well, large. Really large. His skin was pasty, too, telling me he rarely—if ever—saw time in the sun.

I suppose that explains Maria calling the people to the north of the village fat cats.

George was the picture of noble entitlement from the stories, and he’d led with the expected, holier-than-thou attitude, but that quickly disappeared when I paid up.

George likely gave me an extortive quote, explaining the nervousness, but why did a single coin addle him…? Was even the single coin an overpayment?

This thought made a twinge of frustration bubble up inside me, but I quickly stamped it out. Who cares if he tried to fleece me and I overpaid? I still held twenty-four of the coins, and more importantly, I owned my own beach, river, and mountains!

Before I even realized, I was stepping out from between the houses of the town and between two fields of sugarcane. I stopped mid-step and turned to take in my surroundings.

The air was fresh and carried the smell of salt. The sun was climbing ever higher, and now that there were no awnings protecting my skin from its rays, its touch was warm and pleasant.

A tear of happiness swelled in my eye, and the emotion of the moment overwhelmed me.

I’d finally started to figure out life on Earth when I was robbed of that newfound path by truck-kun. Then, through a bizarre series of events triggered by divine intervention, pure happenstance, or some other, equally confusing interdimensional-fuckery, I was reborn into this world, and now possessed everything I could need.

Well, everything other than a house and a fishing rod… but I have all the tools and money I need to make that happen.

With that thought, I continued walking between the sugarcane and towards my property.

Before long, the fields of cane opened up into a flat stretch. Some weeds grew in the sandy soil, but it was mostly bare, which was the only reason the land hadn’t been developed, I guessed.

What would be the bane of others was a boon for me. If it had been anything other than sandy soil this side of the village, it would have been developed into farmland and crops. The fact that it wasn’t worth farming meant that I was able to buy it.

I bent down and spread my arms wide, hugging the ground.

“I love you, sand.”

“Er, you okay?”

I jumped at the voice, scrambling to my feet.

There was a man in one of the fields I’d just passed. He looked to be about the same age as me, wore a large straw hat, a set of basic clothes, and carried a hoe slung over his shoulder.

“Uh, yeah, don’t mind me.” I laughed awkwardly. “I’m Fischer. I just bought this land.”

“Oh, you did?” The man strode forward, hand extended. “I’m Barry. Most of the fields this side of Tropica are mine, so I guess we’ll be neighbors. Nice to meet you, Fischer!”

“The pleasure’s all mine, mate.”

We clasped hands. He had strength that belied his size, the wiry muscles in his arm evidently hardened by years of slinging hoes.

“There’s a lot of fields this side of the village,” I said. “It’s impressive that one man owns them all.”

It was Barry's turn to laugh awkwardly, and he rubbed the back of his head with his free hand.

“It’s not as impressive as it might seem. My family and I run it, and the land was much cheaper on account of how sandy it is.” Barry shrugged. “But we’ve worked out how to grow in the sandier stuff, it just takes a little more work. Let me know if you need help working it out—I’d be happy to give you some knowledge in exchange for a little work in our fields.”

“Thanks, Barry. I’ll keep that in mind, but I don’t actually plan on doing any farming.”

“No problem, you—wait, what?” Barry raised an eyebrow. “You don’t plan on farming? What do you plan on doing, then?”

I smiled in delight.

“Fishing!”

Barry cocked his head, then he laughed. He really laughed. He doubled over, leaning on his hoe for support, all the while I just smiled at him.

“Thank you, Fischer,” Barry said as he wiped tears from his eyes. “I needed that. Seriously, though, what are you planning on doing with the land? Livestock?”

“Oh, I’m as serious as a Queensland summer. I’ll just be fishing, if I can help it.”

Barry’s face went through a series of emotions as he realized I was telling the truth. It settled somewhere between confused and troubled.

“Well, the offer is there if you change your mind and want to learn about farming in sandy soil, alright? You take care, Fischer.”

“Thanks, Barry. You too.”

I spun and strode further into my land, not at all disparaged by the odd interaction.

I’d have to work out why everyone was so averse to fishing. It seemed to be something to do with “the gods leaving” and “the ancients,” whatever the hell that meant.

It was all a problem for another day, because I had some land to explore—my land.