As Jack concentrated on catching a fish, 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. 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. Practice makes perfect, right?”

  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.”

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  “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. Chester leaned toward Willard as the lesson began and whispered, “If Kleo’s real, she might be the most patient woman alive.”

  Willard chuckled, but Jack engrossed in his first attempt at gigging, heard nothing.

  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. They said nothing, but their twitching mouths betrayed their amusement.

  “I caught a fish,” Jack said proudly, holding his stick with the still-flopping prize.

  “And 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.