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Chapter Nineteen

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She asked me, “Ya gonna want me to drive any?” Did she want to? I almost asked her. But the less I open my mouth around her the better. Peace through avoidance. I shook my head in answer.

She nodded. As our server neared, Nuel hurried to order a bottle of the house red.

“Human or magnum?” our orc server asked. She didn’t wear her hair in traditional dreads. It was a bit natty, but mostly contoured into an elaborate braid that reached past her shoulders. Rings and bangles lit her ears, dozens of entangled necklaces swooshed across her chest.

“Magnum.”

I hope Nuel’s thirsty, because there’s no way I’m gonna imbibe and drive, especially after sunset.

The sweet orc bounced away happily. Yep, the tip alone on a giant-sized bottle of wine would amount to a table’s average. To avoid Nuel, my eyes followed the orc hen as she strode away. Wore an outlandishly colorful, pleated skirt which dipped just below her knees.

Orcs and trolls love color.

On her feet she wore slippers, like dance flats. No heavy-soled boots for orcs like their near-cousins the goblins.

I didn’t need to study the menu, but it would give me somethin’ to do. I really needed my laptop. That’s always my go-to best option for avoidin’ social situations. I knew I’d order The Carnivore from the ogre menu. Meat that would feed six humans, without the veggies and potatoes, bread and whatever else humans stick into their colon.

That made me think of my home economics teacher junior year for some reason. He was a really nice fellow. Changed how I thought about food, a little. I mean, food to an ogre means beef, pork, lamb or anythin’ else that used to run around on four hooves. But I learned from him that a loaded potato, as long as it oozed butter, mostly hidden under a cover of bacon bits, is a tasty side.

Shame he was human. So ugly I struggled to look at him long when he spoke at the front of the class. Go figger they find us homely, which is really weird.

Ignorin’ the obvious, their tiny mouths and noses, absence of tusks, they have a face with nothin’ but skin coverin’ bones. Not a meaningful muscle crosses their brow, cheek, or jaw. And from there down they’re nothin’ but more skin and bone.

Ya’d think I’d be adjusted to the human form. Not like I wasn’t raised around ’em. Quite a gaggle of ’em in the Hamlet. All well respected. All heritage folk, ancestors of the very first humans who settled at Black Lake.

My eyes strayed, and I closed the menu. Every establishment accommodates the races differently. Some separate us into different rooms for convenience. This restaurant pressed us together, short tables, tall tables, ogre tables, throughout the joint with no hint of coordination.

The broad room was equally populated by each race. No goblins tonight, oddly. The East was traditionally orc and goblin territory. No surprise I didn’t see a single dwarf. They’d probably be happier walkin’ out twenty feet behind the restaurant and gnawin’ on a pine cone.

Ha. That was funny. I can have humorous thoughts.

Our sweet orc server showed up strugglin’ with the ten-pound bottle of wine. I helped her get it onto the table. It was a reach for her. She managed a glass out of her apron for Nuel. I waved off one. Told her I’d stick with coffee.

“Care for me to pour, ma’am?”

I almost snorted. She could barely carry the magnum into the room. I told her I’d manage. While Nuel gave her food order, I poured her wine. At mid level, where I was taught to serve to, Nuel waved me to keep pourin’. Only pulled her hand back when the red stuff threatened the glass’ edge.

My order taken, our server disappeared, and I wondered what to do with my hands now. I found a place in my lap.

Nuel hit her wine more like an ogre attacks their beer. I found one of my eyes scrunchin’ in confusion. The glass was half empty when she lowered it below her chin, convenient for another go. It was an ogre-sized glass, not human. She took a hard breath, then finished the glass. And sighed.

Should I say somethin’? Ask her what’s on her mind? While I considered that, I refilled her glass. Not quite as full. She didn’t call me an idjit for goin’ light. She grabbed for the glass again.

Should I warn her to slow down? We hadn’t eaten since Grand fed us before puttin’ us on the train early this mornin’.

I waited. My curiosity had me wantin’ to study her. But eye contact creeps me out, so I kept my glances as subtle as I could.

After she lowered her glass, she said, “What?”

What had I done to imply I had a question? I told myself to keep my trap shut.

“Go ahead. Say what’s on yar mind.” Not sure if that was a challenge or condemnation.

Nope. Nope. I’m not stupid.

“Ya want to rub it in, I know ya do,” she said.

I allowed my brows to rise. Rub it in? Rub what in?

“I’m sorry. Maybe yar not that mean and shallow,” she said, and took another hard sip. Okay, gulp. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

I wasn’t sure where her mind was. I’m pretty much enthralled by the atmosphere of this gorgeous community built on top of this drop-dead-beautiful sierra. Who knew orcs and goblins could create such—thin’s?

“I’m pretty sure I’m goin’ home,” she said.

“Uh, isn’t that where we’re headed?” Considerin’ her mind, that was probably the wrong thin’ to say.

“Not yar home. My home. Up North.”

I said, “I got—the impression—from Ike, OW execs wouldn’t be safe up North.” I switched to Trollish mid sentence. Would she notice—the thin’?

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly be employed by OW anymore, would I, if I moved home?”

My face scrunched up on its own. I had almost always worked from the Hamlet. Don’t especially like the Plain. But it ain’t so bad. Mostly miss my cabin which I bought for cash for seven figures when I was sixteen. “Ya not feelin’ challenged in yar position?” I asked.

She chortled harshly, and finished that glass of wine. “Ya’ll be glad to see me go, I’m sure.”

She looked funny. Oh. I was usin’ only one eye. I worked to relax my expression. No, she still looked odder than normal. Choosin’ the high road I said, “I don’t know why ya’re sayin’ that.” Maybe it’s the lying road.

She pointed at her glass. “I know ya hate me.” Funny, she’d switched to Trollish with me.

I refilled the glass for her. “Ya’re a bit aggravating, if no one’s ever told ya that.”

“Says the fryin’ pan.”

I shrugged. No arguin’ that. “Even Wizper struggles to put up with ya, and Wizper is the sweetest hen in the world. She loves rats and centipedes. Everyone in the world loves her.”

“So I’m worse than rats and centipedes?” she asked.

If the shoe fits.

Tears flushed down her cheeks in a tsunami. Whoa. Didn’t expect that. My hands danced, needin’ to do somethin’. Hit the escape key. Anythin’. I looked around for help, but was pretty sure none was comin’. She finally covered her face with her linen napkin, head bouncin’ a bit in silent sobs.

How could one preoccupied, distracted interaction with Ike have caused this? Had to be more to it. Maybe she sat on a bent fork or somethin’. How am I supposed to understand what was goin’ on in her little brain? I’m the worst person in the world for her to seek—affirmation—or somethin’ from. For multiple reasons.

Thankfully our tiny orc server turned up with a glass of water which she held in front of Nuel, and rested her other hand on the hen’s shoulder. She gave me a look, like what did ya do to her—I’ll kill ya. Her tiny little hand rubbed across Nuel’s shoulder, down her back.

“Let it out,” the orc cooed.

~

Nuel

~

I was probably still a little tipsy not to feel completely humiliated for my behavior at dinner. I wished there was somethin’ to look at out my window, but the forest blended black as the long highway flowed like a fancy ribbon.

The hiccups were the most frustratin’. If I put my head back and tried to sleep, they’d rock me about, give me a concussion. And closin’ my eyes made the SUV swerve and wobble. I had never finished a magnum of wine on my own before.

But at least it went down well with the quarter of beef I ordered. Kriz never peeped a single meaningful note the entire time, as though he’s afraid of me. He faced armed humans just the other day, so it must take one ugly ogre hen to scare him.

The black was interrupted now by blips of light, which after a bit I realized were very far away, not homes hidin’ in the trees. Despite the wine, I figgered the ocean was in view now way below, and the tiny flicks were ships movin’ up and down the coast.

The silence was gettin’ old. What would the idjit do if I turned on music?

The miles sliced by.

The ticks of light were no longer far below, but nearly straight away from us, along with the glow of hamlets north and south. We neared an enormous archin’ junction and Kriz merged left, for the Oceanside Highway. Shame we were drivin’ through the night. Been told the views here are to die for.

Of course with Kriz drivin’, I might die for it.