Chapter Nineteen
~
It was hard not to pay attention to the goblin him-hawin’ down the aisle lookin’ left and right and back, that interrupted the present speaker. The bull appeared to be very stressed out. Clearly he looked for someone in particular. Finally, a hen trotted up from one of the front tables. Considering her hips and shoulders were about as broad as she was tall, she had to be someone important in the caucus. In my experience, the bossy type, political, tended to have a grand relationship with food. Oh, I’m awful.
Evidently the hen and bull whispered a little too loudly because those sitting near the two expressed a bit of shock, eyes wide open, mouths gapin’. What was that about? Two other hens joined the gaggle. Could have been performin’ a rugby move.
By then the speaker had given up trying to keep the audience’s attention and just glared at the ongoin’ fuss. After a few moments, a hen broke away from the gaggle, eyes glancin’ across the salon, looking for someone. It wasn’t hard to tell that she stopped lookin’ when her eyes landed on me.
Every hen in the chamber was now cluckin’. I gave a little prayer to the gods that the hen rushing up to our table wasn’t comin’ to visit me. But of course she was. Somehow an entire brood of hens coalesced around me.
“Sweetie, come with us,” the hen as-tall-as-she’s-wide said. She tried to be subtle, but every ear in the salon was zeroed in on her. The clucking was growing into a crescendo.
There were few things that I could think of that would encourage so much excitement. Mama. Papa? Could something have happened to them? Or maybe one of the grands? Somethin’ happen at the Hamlet? An episode. A bad one. It’d have to been a really bad one for this excitement.
The clutter of hens whooshed me out to the lobby. Kla was hangin’ on my elbow now, arm around my shoulder. A voice was saying that it was about my brother. There had been an incident.
“At the statehouse?”
“The sergeant at arms called me,” the goblin said. “Some kind of dust up.”
“Our clan leader’s already spoken with yar papa,” the heavy hen said.
“I’ll stay with ya,” I think Kla said.
~
Hale
~
Maybe I shouldn’ta called him a liar. Ogres outside of my immediate family tend to get a bit riled havin’ their integrity questioned. But if the idjit was gonna claim somethin’ stupid as fact, just about anyone in the chamber coulda called him a fool or a liar, either one.
That it had been me, have to admit surprised me. I’m not really one to align much with any particular kind of thinkin’. Not many of the ogres in sight kept to their seats. I probably shoulda stood sooner than I did as the oaf ran at me full tilt. And tilted, he was.
It was the only way he took me to the floor, maybe. Even though the two of us prolly weigh about the same. My mass is just distributed across a longer distance.
At least the fellow didn’t catch me with a fist. Even a mealy ogre has a punch that can crush bones. Not that I’ve ever seen adults go at it before—to know if that’s a fact. Only once in grade school did I see a couple ogre younglings take that kind of offense. I think it was about a bull’s knuckles illegally passin’ cross the line before releasin’ his marble toward his opponent's.
I’ve read that folk experiencin’ a near-death episode see their life flash through their brain case, or somthin’ like that. To me, the world itself just flashed, more like the statehouse blew up, and it wasn’t what I would have defined as a near-death situation.
But there were a lot of upset bulls. That’s the truth.
So here, more than an hour later, I couldn’t really tell the constable much about what happened, at least after that moment I used the word, liar. The troll shook his head slowly, blue eyes takin’ me in, not that I’m good with expressions, as though I had a death wish.
He pushed back in his chair.
“My sergeant’s passed word that the bull is touch and go. If he dies, ya know I’ll have to charge ya.”
Charge. Me.
“DA prolly call it manslaughter,” he said, before leavin’ the little room. A closet. More like it.
What if the lyin’ bull didn’t die? And didn’t he attack me? Oh yeah. The troll explained callin’ a bull a liar isn’t legal. Can pretty fairly take offense. But prolly not a capital offense.
I closed my eyes and sat straight. To focus some. Didn’t have a sketch book, but I imagined I drew a dragon. Detail by detail. I might have been doin’ that for an hour or so when the door creaked open. I had to blink a few times to whet the ole eyeballs. A goblin all fussed up in a fashion that meant he couldn’t be nothin’ but an attorney, entered. He edged to his right, allowin’ me to see Bele standin’ behind him.
She did not look happy, if the tears meant anythin’.
She stood there, holdin’ me in place with those almost-black eyes, darin’ me to say somethin’ stupid. I waited.
But the goblin swung an attache a bit, catchin’ my attention. “Let’s go. Isn’t over by a lurch and a chug, but for now they’re not bookin’ ya.”
Weird. Huh. He attacked me.
I stood and walked around the table. Bele didn’t step aside as I neared the doorway. Instead pulled me against her, pressin’ her forehead into my chest. She didn’t move for longer than I was comfortable. Not that I find any contact comfortable. I cleared my throat a bit, hopin’ she’d catch my thoughts. But she didn’t move. She’s a witch. She should know I needed this to end.
“Shut up,” she said softly.
Hopefully she knew I didn’t say anythin’.
“Papa—”
I waited.
“Told us to come home.”
I’ll bet no one has ever been kicked out of a hoedown.
“Prolly not,” she said, finally leanin’ up straight. “Ya had to call someone a liar? Really?”
“Worst case,” the goblin, who still hadn’t introduced himself, said, “ya might get community service. But my associate at the hospital says he’s woken up and they’ve taken off his neck brace. No signs of anythin’ more serious than a big bruise on the forehead where ya plowed his face into the floor—good thin’ it’s a carpeted chamber—and a concussion. I’d be shocked if he filed a grievance. Be more than a bit embarrassin’ that a seventeen-year-old called him for his diatribe, and put him in the hospital for takin’ offense. Not like this is a hundred years ago. We don’t allow duels either.” He chuckled. Goblins have an interestin’ chuckle. A cross between a human’s laugh and a gator’s love song.
“That’s somethin’.” Bele’s eyes were tryin’ to glom onto mine. I avoided the contact.
Charges were the last thin’ worryin’ me. I’d really embarrassed the family, and the clan. If the odd folk seein’ me in public didn’t stare at me like a freak before, they really would from this day forward.
Bele clasped a wad of my polo in her hand and gave me a tug. “Let’s get out of here.”
Took a few minutes to sign some papers, get an escort through the little constable’s office. Outside, my chest tightened, for all the folk wearin’ hoedown tags still, waitin’ in the lobby. That couldn’t be good. There was a lot of emotion blarin’ on faces, but not understandin’ emotion for nutin, I braced for the worst.
~
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