Chapter Fifteen
~
The day hadn’t started as I’d expected. Who knew there’d be someone callin’ us from the lobby at six-thirty in the stinkin’ ogre pre-butt crack of dawn to drag us to our first conference? Didn’t get time to put my sultry makeup on. And I wanted to look so adult. Swollen eyes, draggin’ out of an elevator does not promise an adult look.
But the two ogres who met us didn’t give my swollen eyes a second look, thankfully. Though it was rude the bull of the pair didn’t at least give me a once over. Maybe because the hen who grabbed hold of me, with a mouth that didn’t stop for a second, immediately led me to a waitin’ car.
I hadn’t noticed until she started backin’ her car out of her parkin’ slot that Hale had been escorted to a different vehicle. Okay. So maybe I panicked a bit. I dialed Hale, and he seemed okay with goin’ off with some strange bull. He hung up the phone without wishin’ me a good day. Really!
“I thought ya knew,” Kla said.
Not so much. Good thin’ she spelled her name for me. I thought she was Clay. We ogres do like short names, even if it’s only by one letter. But seemed like she was missin’ a sometimes-vowel. She clarified all but the evenin’ festivities would be separate—hens and bulls.
“Since we hens truly make all the decisions, our side breaks out to actually write the platform.”
I asked her what the bulls did. She shrugged. “No clue. They just grumble about what we’ve decided for ’em. Guess that’s why they spend much of the evenin’s standin’ over a still complainin’.” She continued briskly, “We’ve never had a hen as young as ya join us. This should be a hoot.”
A hoot?
Five minutes later we arrived at the clan’s civic center. Lots of shiny metal and glass, gardens engulfin’ the’ sidewalks meanderin’ toward the main entrance. Inside, we queued up for registration, which clipped along briskly, better organized than any war. We stepped into a large conference room, where thankfully, my eyes narrowed upon tables along the left overflowin’ with food. Oddly, I headed for the urns first. Hale and I may not be coffee drinkers, but I needed a kick. Caffeine would do it.
Kla didn’t get more than a step away from me from the time we exited her car to the moment we sat down with platters six inches deep in beef, pork, and some kind of white meat, I assumed was chicken.
Yep. It was chicken. Could have used a glaze, or an onion and pepper rub. I’d been told my first trip South not to expect the flavor accustomed to at the Hamlet. It was the orc influence, supposedly. Made sense. Orcs are the largest minority in our part of the Range. Well, after trolls. Never thought of trolls as a minority though. Ogres and trolls have always just been—the ever-present residents of the Range.
“I was chosen to be yar sidekick,” Kla said between bites, “because I’m the youngest of the caucus. If ya’ve wondered why I’ve latched onto ya.”
My mind was on Hale. He doesn’t do well with a heavy hand. If the bull that dragged him away from me is as heavy handed as Kla—dragon pooh, he’s likely to experience an episode. I used a big hit of my coffee to get down a chunk of brisket, and dialed him. “Ya okay?
“Dandy.”
And the jerk hung up on me.
“Somethin’ wrong?” Kla asked.
I shook my head. Nothin’ a mortician couldn’t fix, when I got my hands on my siblin’. I looked around the room and recognized each of the big, round tables seemed to have an aggressive speaker directin’ the conversation. Our den mother was explainin’ the process for the next three days, as soon as empty platters began to be cleared away.
Was still noshin’ when a goblin grabbed my platter, along with Kla’s. How rude. The movement of the goblins across the room was almost dizzyin’, and a rotund hen was already warmin’ up a mic at the front of the room.
Wouldn’t we get a bathroom break?
A battalion of orcs began handin’ out a thick folder to each of us. These folks were focused on efficiency, let me tell ya. I think we must be a lot more mellow in the Hamlet. I only found serious expressions on the faces across the grand salon.
I opened my folder to find an extensive agenda on the top of the sheaf. No way we were getting’ through this in the next three days. A headache flowed across one temple to the base of my skull. I’ll flay that no good for nothin’, schemin’ uncle of mine.
Our first speaker was already startin’. I looked across at Kla, face riveted on the front of the room.
~
Hale
~
The only thin’ that made sense is breakfast was first up. Did not expect beer taps to go with the piles of eggs, bacon, and steaks. I looked around for the lighter liquid offerin’s. Couldn’t find any.
They did know I’m only seventeen, right?
Gai, pronounced jay—he spelled it for me, I guess in case I wanted to look ’im up in social media—plunked down an enormous stein in front of me. The head on the ale was as dark as any storm front, leaned a tad threatenin’ to slide down the outside of the glass. I watched it, waitin’. Smelled a tad like somethin’ my Grandmama Eacy made me drink down one day I’d come up green in the gills. Smelled like somethin’ Grandpa on Papa’s side would use to lubricate bearin’s. Made me throw up within ten minutes. That hurt, but got me feelin’ better after a bit. Troll grandparents have stern medicine, but it works.
I stared at that tall stein, and shook my head. Gai started laughin’, as did everyone else at the table. I guess everyone was in on the prank. Five seconds later a grinnin’ goblin replaced the stein with a mug of tea an orc could bathe in.
Gai nudged me in the arm. “Tea, right? Heard ya weren’t a coffee drinker.”
Where’d he hear that? Maybe from the clan leader from last night. I hadn’t touched the mug they plied me with last night.
The conversation around the enormous round table immediately began to build up in my brain case. Ogre bulls aren’t much for talkin’ durin’ a meal, is my experience. These folk were geared up for conflict and battle. In this case dinin’ and arguin’ was an evenly balanced endeavor. More than a few times I saw a tough of meat sneak around a tusk and land back in its owner’s platter.
After I fielded a call from Bele, Gai leaned near and spoke over a pound of masticated beef, he was here to support me with anythin’ I needed. That he was aware there are situations I might find uncomfortable, just to say somethin’. He’d take care of it. Then he pressed a fat-ogre fist on my shoulder, before slappin’ me a few good times. I fought the shiver that traveled back and forth across my shoulders.
I opted to set ’im straight. “Ya pat me on the shoulder again, ya’ll find yarself in traction on a hospital bed.”
He sobered a moment, before chortlin’. “Good one.”
I held my glare on ’im until his mood evened out again.
~
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