Heretical Fishing (Heretical Fishing, #1)

by Haylock Jobson

with excitement.

There were many things I desired in this second life of mine, but I could reduce them to two key deliverables: genuine interactions with others and as much fishing as humanly possible.

I thought I was in a fantasy world—where were the names like Zorian, Wei Shi Lindon, and Carl? Okay, maybe not that last one . . .

“Well, churches are blasphemous for a simple reason—there are no gods left to worship. They all ascended and won’t be returning. A cult is normal, because they’re worshipping the eventual rise of another human or creature to godhood.

“That’s at least a hundred kilograms of metal he’s carrying, right?” “Closer to two hundred, I’d wager.” “Well, definitely not human, but he’s a nice demon, at least.” Fergus bellowed a laugh. “Aye, that he is.”

If you’re gonna wear a straw hat anyway, you may as well look like the future king of the pirates while doing it.

Down at the ocean shore, I took a moment to thank the fish for its meat as I removed the scales. It was a majestic creature, and its body would go on to nourish me and my beloved Snips. It was simply the way of the world that the strong fed on the weak—that was the food chain, after all, but that didn’t mean I should disregard my respect entirely. I had an immense gratitude for the fish before me, both for the war it had waged and the sustenance it would provide.

Something about despicable behavior demands retribution, passive aggressive or not.

I focused on Sergeant Snips again. She stared at me, her claw still held to my hand, concern in her eye. “Thank you, Snips.” I felt a tear welling up, and I blinked it away, casting my eyes out to sea. I pulled her into me, and she snuggled up against my leg, deftly avoiding my soft skin with her hardened spike. I banished the unhappy thoughts, choosing to focus on gratitude instead. I lay on my own private beach, lazing in the sun with a friend by my side—nary a care in the world. “I’m so glad you came into my life, you beautiful pirate crab.” Snips bubbled her agreement, burying further into my side.

Before beginning, I laid my hand on the top of its head, thanking the magnificent creature for the nutrition it would provide us. I didn’t take joy in ending its life, and even though I was a willing participant in the food chain, I still thought it an important step to show my gratitude.

“So, what brings you here?” Fergus asked, interrupting my thoughts. “Other than my beautiful face, of course.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me, causing a laugh to escape my throat. “Purely selfish reasons for my visit, I’m afraid—I wanted to see that beautiful mug of yours. Oh, and craft some things.” He roared a laugh as he took off his gloves. “You’re only human, after all! What did you want to make?” I pulled out my bent hook, holding it toward him. “I’ve been sharpening wall hangers to use for my heretical activities, but as you can see, they stand no chance against my foes.” Fergus raised both eyebrows after accepting the bent hook, and his eyes narrowed as he tried and failed to bend it with his hands. “What in Hephaestus’s hammer bent this . . . ?” “Big bloody fish, mate.”

Roger took a deep breath, letting it out in a rush as he turned back toward me. “You swear to not let her eat any fish?” He extended a hand, and I winced. “I can’t shake your hand on that, Roger.” His blank stare transformed into a mask of indignation. “And why is that?” he asked, his words clipped and halting. “Because it’d be treating Maria as property to be bargained upon. I give you my word that I won’t force her to do, well, anything. I won’t force her to not do anything either, though. She’s her own person, and she has complete autonomy over her choices—even if her choice is to catch and eat fish.” Roger’s eye twitched, but before he could blurt anything out, Sharon spoke. “Well said, Fischer.” She gave me a beatific smile. “The only thing we ask is that you keep her safe. Isn’t that right, Roger?”