It wasn’t long before Chester spotted Chief Harold. He waved the chieftain over, putting a finger to his lips to signal silence.
Chester whispered as Harold crouched beside them, “You’ve got to see this to believe it.”
He pointed toward the river.
Chief Harold squinted at the man standing knee-deep in the shallows, arms outstretched, singing a bizarre rhyme with utter sincerity. It took a moment to process what he was seeing.
“Is he… singing to the fish?” the chieftain asked, his tone laced with disbelief. His lips twitched, and soon, both he and Chester were stifling chuckles. It wasn’t long before tears streamed down their faces.
Willard, more composed, gestured to Jack and deadpanned,
“Chester better hope he doesn’t catch any. If he does, Chester’s promised to serenade Rhonda and ask her to marry him.”
Chief Harold’s laughter stopped, replaced by a sharp grimace.
“Bold move, son,” he said, shooting Chester a sidelong glance before turning to Willard and rolling his eyes.
Chester, undeterred, wiped his face and pointed again.
“Wait for it. As soon as a fish comes close, he gets so excited. He starts hopping around and waving his hands like a madman. Says, ‘It worked! It worked!’ every time.” Chester dissolved into fresh laughter.
True to form, Jack suddenly stopped singing, fist-pumping the air.
"Yes! I’ve got you now!” he cried, holding both hands like he was about to cradle an invisible prize. Then he resumed singing, his tune shifting to coax the unimpressed fish into his grasp.
Chester doubled over, struggling to breathe. The Chief and Willard exchanged concerned glances, hoping the man would fail. Rhonda’s potential reign of terror loomed heavily in their minds. Much to their relief, the fish darted away, leaving Jack splashing water in frustration.
“Dammit! So close, I almost had that one!” he exclaimed.
Chester clutched his sides, his laughter threatening to shake loose a rib.
The Chief’s attention shifted as something further up the bank caught his eye. He raised a gnarled green finger toward a cluster of bushes. “There,” he said, “in the bushes. He’s not alone.”
Chester and Willard followed the Chief’s gaze. It took a moment to notice a pair of legs sticking out from behind the foliage, trembling and stamping in the dirt.
The Chief’s grin widened. “Ah. It seems his companion finds this even more amusing than we do. If I’m not mistaken, she’s responsible for this spectacle.”
Chester tilted his head. “So, what you’re saying is… he’s the fish, and she’s the fisherman? And this whole thing is like some allegory?”
The Chief considered this, a twinkle in his eye as he appreciated the layered humor.
“Metaphor,” Willard interjected, scratching his chin thoughtfully.
The Chief and Chester turned to him, their expressions unified in mild annoyance.
Willard shrugged, undeterred. “While it has allegorical elements and symbolism, I think it’s better classified as a metaphor.”
Chester and the Chief exchanged a look of exasperation before turning back toward Jack. In perfect unison, they muttered, “Shut up, Willard.”
As Kleo crouched behind the bush, her entire body shook with suppressed laughter. She bit her lip and pressed a hand to her mouth, trying desperately to muffle the sound, but the effort only made it worse.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her body convulsed so hard at one particularly enthusiastic verse that she felt a warm, mortifying trickle. Her laughter stopped short as she stared at the wet spot in horror. Then the laughter returned with renewed intensity, the situation''s absurdity too much to contain.
Gods, what is wrong with me? she thought, hiccuping with laughter as she clamped down every muscle to prevent further humiliation.
Still, she knew it was time to pull herself together. The joke had gone far enough. Jack had thrown himself into this ridiculous task because he trusted her. And while the prank had done wonders for lifting her spirits, she knew she couldn''t let it undermine his trust. Something they needed to strengthen, and the prank might put that at risk.
Just a little fun, she reassured herself, something to take the edge off before things get serious.
Finally calming, Kleo wiped the tears from her face and crawled backward through the brush, careful not to make a sound. She needed to catch some real fish before Jack started wondering why she hadn''t returned with anything. She didn''t want him to suspect the truth, not yet. The look on his face, the moment of realization, would be too much for her to handle right now.
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Kleo crouched by the water, focused on the task at hand. Jack''s voice drifted faintly through the trees, singing the rhyme. A fond smile tugged at her lips. You''re a good man, Jack. A little gullible... but a good man.
She cast her line, the ripples spreading across the surface as she settled into the rhythm of fishing. Sensing they were about to have guests, she chanted an incantation that she knew would draw the fish to bait without fail.
Some extra wouldn’t hurt. By the looks of it, Jack was making new friends.
Jack concentrated on catching a fish, but his frustration grew with every failed attempt. Disheartened but refusing to give up, he saw movement from the corner of his eye.
Three Woogs were approaching the camp.
Woogs were a familiar enough sight in Cabal. Most humans consider them goblins, only not as ugly, better tempered, and far less odorous. But when you got right down to it, they were goblins, and if grossness and hostility were a spectrum, they leaned to the left.
Woogs often traded with humans and other races in the city''s bustling streets, so Jack felt no concern. His gaze, however, lingered on the long poles they carried. Each ended with sharp, trident-like points. They didn’t look like weapons, but Jack would stay cautious until he was sure.
“Greetings!” one of them called out, cheerful but curious.
“Yeah, greetings,” another chimed in, his grin betraying the effort it took to suppress a laugh. “That’s…uh…an interesting technique you’ve got there. Having any luck?”
Jack straightened, wiping sweat from his brow, trying to look nonchalant. “Oh, thanks. I haven’t mastered it yet, but I’m pretty sure I’m close.”
The second Woog snorted, and the third gave him a sharp elbow to the ribs. The first Woog, the leader, stepped forward. “I’m Chief Harold,” he said. Then, gesturing to the others, “And my friends are Chester and Willard. They’re brothers.”
Chester gave a polite nod while Willard offered a quick wave. Their expressions caught somewhere between amusement and curiosity.
“I’m Jack,” he replied, nodding to each in turn, but his gaze drifted back to the strange poles they carried.
Noticing his interest, Chester spoke up. “Oh, these? They’re called gigs. We use them to catch fish. It''s similar to your technique, except there’s no singing involved. We jab the poor blighters, pin ‘em to the bottom, then toss ‘em in the basket.”
He slapped the basket strapped to Willard’s back for emphasis. “Simple enough once you get the hang of it.”
“Right,” Jack said, nodding. “Makes sense. I should probably make one of those—though I’ve got it on good authority that my method works. I need to iron out the kinks.”
The Woogs nodded sagely, though Chester’s grin widened.
Chief Harold cleared his throat, his expression measured. “Perhaps you’d like to try gigging with us? It’s not as easy as it sounds, but I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it.”
Jack hesitated, then shrugged. “Sure, why not? It’s a day for trying new things. Only…I don’t have a gig.”
“Not a problem,” the Chief said. “You can use mine. I’ll follow along and guide you on the finer points.”
“Sounds good to me,” Jack said, then gestured upriver.
“I need to watch for my wife, Kleo. She’s a master fish singer. She’s working a little further up. We can’t fish the same area, you know—both of us singing at the same time would confuse the fish.”
Chester and Willard froze, their mouths twitching, then turned away, shaking with suppressed laughter.
Chief Harold, ever the diplomat, gave Jack a solemn nod. “Of course, that makes total sense. We’ll stay in this area, and I’m sure she’ll spot us when she returns.”
Jack gave an appreciative nod. “Great. Let’s do it.”
The four waded into the water, the Chief stepping beside Jack to demonstrate. Chester and Willard hung back, exchanging glances as Jack mimicked the Chief’s movements.
Kleo returned about an hour after she had set off to fish. The fading light cast long shadows over the camp. She dragged her haul—a considerable pile of fish wrapped in a tarp—her muscles straining with the effort.
As she entered the clearing, Jack waved frantically, pointing to a fish still flopping on the end of a large stick.
She smiled and waved back, giving him a thumbs-up.
Jack grinned, puffing out his chest as if his single catch were an accomplishment to rival hers.
The four giggers approached where she had started a fire. Their eyes widened at the tarp’s contents.
Willard was the first to speak. “Wow,” he said, his tone filled with genuine awe.
Chester nodded, impressed. “That’s… that’s a lot of fish.”
Chief Harold rubbed his chin, turning to the others. “I don’t think I’ve seen that many in one catch before. Incredible.”
“Holy mackerel!” Jack said with a self-satisfied grin, proud of his clever wordplay.
Kleo laughed, dropping the tarp beside the fire. “The fishing was good,” she said. “I thought having some extra might be handy—guess I was right.”
She gestured to the Woogs. “Jack, want to introduce me?”
“Oh! Right,” Jack said, realizing his lapse in manners.
“Kleo, this is Chief Harold. He’s the leader of a nearby Woog village. And this is Chester and his brother Willard.”
“Hello, everyone,” Kleo said.
The chieftain stepped forward, giving a slight bow. “The pleasure is ours. Jack’s told us so many nice things about you. I’ve been eager to meet the woman who sings fish right out of the river.”
He gestured to the tarp. “Judging by this haul, your voice must be truly extraordinary.”
Kleo caught the chieftain’s sly undertone and decided to play along.
“Thank you, Chief,” she said with a wink. “It’s all in the timbre. The right note can work wonders.”
Chester and Willard exchanged glances, saying nothing, but their twitching mouths betrayed their amusement.
“I caught a fish,” Jack said proudly, holding his stick with the still-flopping prize.
“And what a fine one it is,” Kleo replied with mock seriousness. “How did the singing go?”
“Really well. I came so close a few times. Maybe you can help me with the second part tomorrow. I can get them to come to me but can’t get them into my hands.”
Kleo nodded, her expression betraying no hint of the joke.
“That part’s always the trickiest,” she said. “But let’s focus on these for now. Everyone must be hungry.”
The Woogs nodded their agreement, eager to start preparing the feast.
Chester spoke up, gesturing to the mountain of fish. “Miss Kleo, pardon me, but this seems way more than enough for us. If we add the ones we caught, we could feed the whole village.”
Kleo tapped her chin as though mulling it over. “Chester,” she said finally, “That’s an excellent idea. Don’t you agree, Chief?”
Chief Harold’s face lit up. “Brilliant! Chester, Willard—stay and help Kleo and Jack with the preparations. I’ll head back to the village to gather everyone. We can bring pies, spices, and a few instruments to liven things up.”
The brothers eagerly agreed, rolling up their sleeves to tackle the daunting task of preparing the fish.
Still basking in his imagined success, Jack threw himself into the work. He was utterly oblivious to the playful conspiracy around him.
Kleo caught Chief Harold’s eye and smiled. Tonight was shaping up to be something special.