~

Chapter Twenty-two

~

I looked around. There were a few folk here and there, maybe headin’ for a bus stop, or a coffee. A few vehicles passed. Serious rush hour was over, and everyone looked pretty much self absorbed, as folks generally are. Certainly didn’t care about or see the two little humans laid flat out in front of me.

Pretty certain the one was dead. They’re way too fragile. The other probably could use an ambulance. Sigh. I thought about it a few moments, before pullin’ my phone out of my vest and dialin’ 9-1-1.

The lady mumbled somethin’ about how to forward my call. Didn’t dialin’ this number indicate this is an emergency? Then she repeated part of her spiel. Fire, police, ambulance.

“Uh, maybe all of ’em,” I said. “I came across two humans on the sidewalk.” The hen went wah wah wah. I gave her the address. “They look like they fell out of a plane.” I hung up. Wouldn’t be tough to look up my number to figger out who I was, but I wasn’t stickin’ around.

I turned and made it to the sidewalk leadin’ up my steps when I spotted two more humans dressed similar sprintin’ toward me from fifty feet up the block. Sigh. All I wanted was a shower and breakfast, without all the drama.

These guys maybe weren’t cut from the JV. Both of the fellows held their guns out already. All this thinkin’ about bullets and pain maybe had me a little shook up. Or maybe it was the loud crack that came from that one guy’s neck.

I turned and sprinted for the lobby door. Oh, don’t shoot me, don’t shoot me. They were shoutin’ a lot, but thankfully discrete enough not to fire any stinkin’ guns, yet. Very happy to get inside without hearin’ any loud pops.

Crossed the lobby’s shiny marble floor faster than I ever ran in high school PE. No time for the elevator. Was pullin’ the stairway door toward me as I heard the two city folk enter the lobby behind me. I attacked the steps three at a time, surprised I wasn’t out of breath. I guess my lungs benefited from growin’ up in the mountains near the gods.

I was at my door before they reached the seventh floor. Would my thumbprint work on the sensor? My hand was a bit sweaty. The green light flicked and I was inside, pulled the steel door shut, locked it. I pressed my back to it and took a deep breath. Now what?

We ogres have a great sense of smell—get a load of our snouts—but moderate vision, and our hearin’s not inspirin’ly sharp. Maybe evolutionarily we didn’t have to worry much about predators sneakin’ up on us. But I could hear the two fellows in the hall debatin’ their next move. Not like they were gonna pound down my door. Or get a warrant. Maybe I should call the local constabulary and raise a noise complaint.

That thought made me smile.

Should I call Ike? He might be irritated I came home. Jam? I joked he would have answered my call over Nuel’s, but they probably had him in a hoosegow somewhere. That’s the current theory.

Hmm.

How would humans capture a troll, a creature that only knows one kind stronger than ’em—without considerin’ dragons which have been out of the picture for a couple hundred years?

Oh. It would make me very sad, more than a bit angry, if they hurt him. Jam has quite the sense of humor. He puts up with me. Rarely calls me names. I love his pink ties and verdant—I think that’s green—vests.

I shouldn’t try to complicate thin’s in my mind. Simple words work best.

He loves vests a color green that hurt my eyes. Kind of puke, nuclear green. He thinks they go swell with his purple suits.

Meh.

I’m takin’ a hot shower.

I jerked a tetch. One of those fools was poundin’ on my door.

~

Nuel

~

I could take Darshee’s anger, but Wizper’s disappointment hit me harder than I expected. I would not feel guilty though. If I could help it. Kriz proved he isn’t as big a loser as I originally thought, but he’s still a jerk, and I refuse to feel bad for him.

Well, unless somethin’ really bad happens to him. But it would still be his own fault.

I headed for the bathroom to take a shower, only to realize I’d have to borrow clothes from one of the hens. My borrowed clothes from the Hamlet are disgustin’. Jeez. And both Wizper and Darshee are so hacked off at me. As I hesitated, puttin’ together the right diplomatic words to ask for a favor, a light knock at the door made me turn.

Ah. Jam. Maybe he met up with that idjit.

I was openin’ the door as Darshee ran into the suite’s livin’ area and hissed at me not to open the door. She may have called me an unflatterin’ word—totally uncalled for. I generated a smile to plant on Jam when the door pushed in hard.

A pair of tiny, plain human faces shouted at me. Each held a gun with the stock thin’s pressed into their shoulders, long barrels inches away from me. I’m not very versed in weapons. My pa isn’t a hunter. Why would a chemist hunt, after all? But I recalled a friend of his talked about his compound bow. He was very proud of it.

Odd my mind went there and not at the angry, pale faces, the shouts to back up, to put my hands in the air. Maybe exhaustion kept my synapses from workin’ right, because my fist snapped out under one of those long guns, grabbed it hard, and twisted upward. About that time the muzzle of the other one flashed, my ears said ow, and I felt a really, really bad sting in my chest.