~

Chapter Three

~

Ezra, my favorite cousin, messaged me, “Ya there?”

Like I’m ever not in front of my cell and some kind of computer. My favorite cuz isn’t a big computer or cell user. Interesting, in an odd fashion, that she’s textin’ me. I replied with a thumbs up emoticon.

“Ike’s asked me for help, and I have no idea why.” Her text nearly whimpered. “How can a loner spinster who runs an inn’s kitchen help the smartest, most powerful bull I know?”

I considered coppin’ an attitude, for suggestin’ I’m not the smartest bull she knows. Decided to let it slide. “Depends,” I replied. “What’s he want help with?”

“Come up with contacts, influential trolls, to reach out to troll folk in the North.”

Uh. Ezra employed trolls at the inn. I asked her what the problem was.

“Trolls, Southern trolls, don’t get out of their lane.”

No clue what get out of their lane meant. Oh. Not much into bein’ squeaky wheels. A troll low in the clan hierarchy isn’t gonna seek out an uppity up. Isn’t done. Don’t be seen. Don’t be heard. Stay in their lane. That’s a great expression. Even if I don’t drive.

I can drive, I just don’t.

“So why’re ya reachin’ out to me?” I asked her. “I don’t even know an influential ogre. Well, except cousin Ike, or Uncle Bliar. Ya know what I mean.” I sometimes don’t express myself very well, even when I’m textin’.

“Uncle Bliar already told me he wasn’t gettin’ involved in troll matters.”

That’s almost funny. Ike couldn’t even go to his pa for troll help. All of Ike’s troll buddies are Northerners. Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten involved in Northern politics. He can’t ever piddle around in Southern troll politics. He’s not their favorite ogre, what with the Black Lake Council strangle hold on the Range and all. Trolls stay mad at the Ogre Council.

“I can’t let him down,” she continued. “He’s never asked me for anythin’ before, and he’s been—”

I waited. She gonna finish that last thought? He’s been. He’s been. What?

“Help me,” she messaged.

How? I’m a lot like her. A loner, but worse. Look the word up in the dictionary, find a picture of this handsome green-eyed ogre. But I couldn’t let Ezra down any more than she could let Ike down.

In our history, how did ogre kind ever interact with trolls? There was a day trolls were common along the north shore of Black Lake. Not so much any longer. A few quiet families, keep to ’emselves. A few stride in from their mines to work odd jobs. Sell their gems at the tourist shops. Meet the ore brokers.

Oh jeez, Louise. No. No.

The old story came to me, sittin’ on papa’s lap on the grand porch. My Ike’s namesake, traipsin’ to the mines to address the Troll Council. Who’d we have with those kinds of tusks and gumption, to stroll a mile underground to talk to our taller cousins? Not me. That’s for sure.

Climbin’ into the troll mines is a bit like—like—takin’ a spacecraft to another dimension, one ya might never come back from. Non-trolls aren’t much appreciated in their dark realm.

I waited for more from Ezra.

And waited.

My mind went to stupid places.

Oh well. Who wants to live forever?

“We’re gonna need someone to escort us to the mines,” I messaged her.

“Us!” she replied. I imagined it as a shout, though she didn’t use all caps.

“I would never let ya go alone,” I answered.

She replied back with a frightened-face emoticon.

~

Nuel

~

Jam rumbled into my office like an avalanche, the kind that don´t knock. “What did ya tell that idjit Kriz?”

I held up a finger and cut my phone call short. Who phones anyone these days anyway? The ogre could have easily messaged me.

“What’re ya talkin’ about?” I asked Jam.

“He told me to go home and pack a bag. He’s headin’ for Black Lake.”

The high passes would already be under three feet of snow. Ike once told me ya haven’t seen beauty until ya’ve visited the Range when the heights are covered in snow. But drivin’ in was less than ideal by now. Plus, it’s a good eight-hour drive from here in the Central Plain when the weather is good.

“Ya evil hen,” Jam growled. “Ike don’t want Kriz out and about. Too many folk like to see him sliced and diced for fishin’ bait.”

I fought my ogre tendency to rise to honest ire. What was I bein’ accused of? “Last I spoke to yar idjit, ya reminded me I shouldn’t kill him, so I didn’t.”

“Not my idjit. Ya haven’t spoken to him in the last couple hours?”

My dreads shook a bit with my answer. “I avoid that weasel like tooth decay.” So. Ike called the idjit when I turned him down. Figgered. Had to go to a bench warmer.

Jam said he wished he had the option to avoid him, not exactly in those words. Evidently, at least Ike likes to eat. Found places to buy half a cow twice a day, three times on Sunday, places that also serve a good troll banquet.

But the idjit is a finicky eater. And made Jam find his own meals in the cafeteria. Evidently their crickets aren’t fresh. I was busy tryin’ not to bark with laughter like some human twit. I asked him if he asked the idjit what was up.

He closed his eyes and rocked his head back a smidgen. Evidently I asked a stupid question. The idjit isn’t much for speakin’.

“Ya try textin’ him?”

“Ah. Should’ve thought of that. If I have to sit in a helicopter with him, ya’re goin’ with me or he might not land with the helicopter.”

“Helicopter?” I stuttered. Only been months since I sat in the Council helo escapin’ Northern state troopers. Unaware, Ike sat next to me almost bleedin’ out. One thin’ about Ike, he’s not much a complainer. Or much for sharin’ anythin’ on his mind. Much better givin’ cryptic orders and expectin’ ya to read his mind.

“I have no reason to—”

“Nih!” Jam hissed, foot-long finger loomin’ skyward, like a bull correctin’ an errant ogreling to leave the cookie jar be. “I’ll drop ya off at yar townhouse, pick ya up fifteen minutes later. Pack yar warm stuff. Only October, but it’s chilly up there already, I’m told.”

“I’m not—”

“Oh yeah ya are.” He glared, warrior-like.

Where did this retired cop get off givin’ me orders? And why are we speakin’ with a Southern accent? We’re both from the North. Maybe I’d gotten used to it without even noticin’.

“Ya held Ike back from doin’ more stupid than he did,” Jam said. “Now ya gotta keep this idjit out of trouble too.”

I think that was his actual job. Not mine.