Claire was still exploring the sea food market in Briarshore. This time, she didn’t go to Rowan’s shop. Instead, she drove her boat to a sea food terminal her grandfather had talked about. The dockside smelled of salt, fish, diesel and hope. Many boats were pulling in with their catch of the day--or morning, for those who planned to take their boats out again.
Buyers in rubber boots with clipboards in their hands swarmed like seagulls, shouting over one another, waving hands, and scribbling notes. Paddy, who was familiar with the terminal, barked at some familiar dogs. He also barked at a forklift carrying a mountain of ice.
A man in a neon vest blew a whistle. "Next auction starting! Crabs."
Claire straightened her hat, adjusted her orange bib overalls, and tried to look like she belonged. She didn’t, but the crabs stacked on her deck did. Men and women in neon vests went around, checking the crabs to be auctioned off by willing fishermen. They gave Claire a few glances after inspecting her goods.
Their gasps and whispers fell into her ears. The man with the whistle gave a long thoughtful look before whispering to the auctioneer.
The auctioneer, a round fellow with a voice like a foghorn, pointed to Claire. "Lot number six! One hundred seventy large crabs, premium grade, straight off the boat!"
Six men in neon vests helped Claire offload her buckets and coolers.
"Starting bid, four hundred dollars each!" the auctioneer barked.
Claire’s hands clenched for a moment. She wondered if she was about to make a loss.
Hands shot up. "Four-ten!"
"Four sixty!"
"Five twenty!"
"Six hundred!"
Claire blinked. She had expected them to under price her crabs when the auctioneer started off at four hundred. Instead, the price was rising beyond her expectations. It was a feeding frenzy. Buyers shouted like they were at a horse race.
One woman in a chef’s coat screamed, "I’ll take twenty at six-fifty."
Another man countered, "Everything at seven hundred!"
The auctioneer’s gavel slammed. "Sold."
Claire did the math in her head. 123,000 dollars in one swing. Her knees wobbled. It wasn’t her first time making such money but it was the shortest and easiest.
Next came the smaller crabs, ten in each bucket. The auctioneer tapped his clipboard. "Next, same lot. Smaller grade but still premium, Starting bid; two hundred each."
A grocer shouted, "Two-ten."
"Two-fifty." Another voice countered.
The bidding was less frenzied but still fierce. Claire watched as each bucket went for between 2000 and 2500 dollars. By the end, she had pocketed another 33,000 dollars.
Paddy tried to climb into one of the empty buckets, perhaps to be auctioned off himself. Claire yanked him back. "You’re priceless, buddy. You are my magic mount. No one can afford you."
Then came the shrimp. Claire didn’t know how much they would be priced as she had never sold them before, but she had made some research and had expectations.
"Grade A tiger shrimp, best quality. Sold by the pound." The auctioneer explained.
Buyers perked up. "How many pounds?"
The auctioneer grinned. "Three hundred pounds in total. Starting bid, twenty dollars per pound."
Chaos erupted. Prices were thrown out, making Claire’s blood pump with thrill.
A high end restaurant owner shouted, "Forty per pound, all three hundred."
The crowd booed.
Another bidder countered, "Forty-five, same as him."
The gavel slammed at 50 dollars per pound. Claire nearly fainted. That was 15,000 in shrimp alone!
The auctioneer cleared his throat. "Lot eight. One Koi fish, black and white stripes, rare catch!"
The biding was instant. Claire had ten of them and they sold for 4000 dollars each, netting her another 40,000 dollars.
By the time the auctioneer wiped his brow and declared Claire’s catch sold, she had earned 211, 000 dollars. This made Claire’s wobbly knees even more wobbly. She staggered under the weight of her new fortune. Claire imagined bringing in such a revenue daily. Wouldn’t she be the world’s richest person in the future?
An older woman who handled accounts walked to Claire, handing her receipts. Her money was immediately transferred to her account. At the terminal, cash was only paid for transactions below fifty thousand dollars.
As Claire turned to leave, a chef chased her down. "Hey, do you have more crabs? I will pay you double!"
Indeed, Claire had more crabs and shrimp on the boat. But they were meant for her family. She had traded her lunch for that share.
Instead of going straight home, Claire went to a ship building yard her grandfather had told her to visit when she wanted to upgrade from a start-up boat. The yard smelled of sawdust and saltwater. Sparks flew from welders, and the skeleton of a half-finished trawler loomed like a steel cathedral. Paddy trotted beside her, sniffing and checking everything as if auditioning for foreman.
A burly manager in a grease-stained cap looked up from his clipboard. "You are Wilder’s granddaughter. I heard you made a killing at the auctions. Are you here to share your earnings with me?"
Claire was shocked. News truly traveled fast in this town. She grinned and said, "What I am in need of costs a lot more than the little money I have made. I want a ship. Not a boat--a ship. With a big warehouse that can fit tons of fish. It also needs to have oxygenated compartments for live catch. Six bunks in case I have a crew and we need to take a long journey. Oh--and a proper kitchen."
The manager whistled. "You are talking serious money. A vessel like that costs anywhere from 1.2 to 2 million dollars, depending on extras. Stainless steel fittings, refrigeration units, navigation tech---it adds up."
Claire crossed her arms. "I just made two hundred grand in one morning. Humor me."
He chuckled. "Alright. Hull length about sixty feet, reinforced for rough seas. Ice warehouse capacity--fifty tons. Oxygenated tanks will be state of the art keeping your crabs lively enough to pinch your fingers. Six bunks and a kitchen are easy."
Claire leaned closer. "Can you paint it to look intimidating?"
The manager laughed so hard he dropped his clipboard. "Lady, for an extra fifty grand, we will paint it to look like the entrance to hell if you want."
She extended her hand. "Deal. And no entrance to hell. Maybe something sacred...or magical." Claire raised her brows. "Small dragons breathing fire. Or shark teeth about to bite the waves. A pearl, a trident... I don’t know. Just finish it quickly."
The manager frowned deeply, wondering what would impress her. Why did she want a ship that appeared intimidating anyway? What was she guarding against?