Chapter Twenty-two
~
Sittin’ in the airport’s waitin’-lot for our bodyguard, I was thinkin’ about the incident as much from the perspective of an old timer as I could. Why certain acts are still forbidden.
The doctrine made more sense in the times of yore, as they say in the old texts, than it does now, but ogrekind works hard to maintain the facade. The romance, a good way to describe it. Ogres way back hadn’t been such a cohesive race. Yeah, maybe my papa’s people had been a bit—volatile. Long ago.
The organization into clans at least minimized the violence within. Thus the leviticus against a bull lyin’ to another bull, honor others, and not covet the riches and treasures of thy neighbor.
The first leviticus, shall not lie, seems a bit dated—not that lyin' isn't a bad thing. But I guess lack of honesty is the basis of all the evils that sneak into our lives—push all the evil little things into motion. Back then, breakin’ the first leviticus drew a death sentence.
Glad Mama’s baby doesn’t have to face that. Not that Hale can escape all responsibility, in social standin’. Sigh. It will directly reflect upon me, and our heritage. Crud. Have a lot of apologies for the grands.
My cell tinged. She was approaching the arrivals terminal. So I started the car, startlin’ Hale. Maybe he’d been visitin’ his responsibility in today’s—act. I’d collected glimpses, images that could have been his view of it all.
Five minutes later we bopped up the tunnel, lookin’ for a troll holdin’ a gold badge in the air. Subtle, Uncle Jam. As it was, she didn’t have to be so obvious. There weren’t a bunch of folks arrivin’ this late to begin with, and the grand majority were ogre bulls and hens in casual attire.
Cordiz, I think pronounced kordeeze in Standish, stood out in her dark blazer, matchin’ polyester slacks, and white button-up blouse. From seventy feet I could see she wore, had to be, dark hikers. Trolls hate footwear more than ogres. Go figger.
I pulled up, and as Hale lowered his window, the troll hen’s face blossomed into a broad, eloquent smile, not common on a troll face. The fact she’s law enforcement had already prepared me that she wasn’t gonna be the typical, soft-natured troll hen. As she leaned forward, her outrageous, gold-red hair swung from her shoulders, a tinge or two redder than mine, set more in soft braids than dreads, ensured I was gonna love this hen. Not like Hale might. But we’d all get along.
She and I shared casual greetin’s like we were long friends. Funny. Hale kept his mouth shut, even though he sat between us, but I sensed his approval. Funny.
“Bubba,” she said, clearly lookin’ at Hale. “I have to take shotgun.”
She called Hale Bubba! Funnier than heck.
Hale only hesitated a moment, just a bit of irritation flowin’ off of him, as he exited the car. Maybe my eyes bulged a bit. As she leaned up from grabbin’ her duffle, I noted she wore the biggest hand cannon I’d ever seen, maybe hangin’ from a low-slung shoulder holster. Before, her considerable breasts had concealed it, maybe. Constables in the Range have quick access to a weapon in their vehicle, so don’t carry ’em on their person often, but trolls don’t need much more to talk a fool into compliance than their physical presence. And I’ve never in my life met an ogre or troll act in the least bit contrary manner. Isn’t in our nature. Any more. Mostly.
As we settled in, and Hale stated his name for the record, I asked her about her badge. Constables don’t wear a five-pointed star.
“I’m a Continental Ranger,” she said, her smile still resplendent. “Late to get here tonight because I’d been on a project on the East Coast. Old friends of Commander Jam. Took ya on as a favor to him. Bought a couple weeks of vacation time.” She shot me a brighter smile. “That, and I have a visa allows me to travel with ya up North.”
My chest performed a kerplunk, kerplunk. What?
“Ya call me Bubba up there and we’re gonna have words,” Hale said.
Somehow the shock of him speakin’ up like that managed to be overwhelmed by the humor of his statement. While I was still laughin’, Cordiz shot back at him.
“Why’s that, Bubba?”
An un-ogre-troll snort came out of my face.
“My name’s Hale.”
“And a pretty name it is,” she said. Oh she loves to antagonize.
“Nothin’ pretty about it.” The irritation soared. I loved it.
“Simmer down, Bubba. Ya’re gonna pull somethin’. Can we go get some crickets. I haven’t eaten in about twelve hours.”
“Hale.”
“Sure,” I said, somehow between the cramp that was my lips. “Not like an ogre can’t share a snack at almost midnight o’clock.”
“Oh, ya two like crickets?” Cordiz asked.
“No.” Hale hadn’t simmered down.
“Why not?” Cordiz countered. “Ya’re half troll, right? Late night’s a perfect time for some brazed centipedes and scorpions too.”
“I’m not gonna like ya much, huh?” Hale answered from the back seat.
I almost drove into the guard rail as we approached the turnpike.
“No loss there, huh, Bubba? I hear ya’re sweet on an orc hen, from a Northwest holler.
~
Hale
~
Do not like this troll hen. Don’t know what Bele sees in her. They chatted non-stop. They coulda been sorority sisters. Cordiz asked her a lot of questions about med school, about Papa and Uncle Ike. Like it’s any of her business. Bele sat enthralled as the troll wench told her Ranger stories. Gag me.
When she enticed me to try a glazed centipede for the third time I was ready to punch her in the temple. I still had plenty of pulled pork and peppers to snack on, anyway.
She noted the peppers were an orc influence. It was less a question than a statement. I wasn’t gonna answer her. What difference did it make if I like orc-influenced food. I get it honestly from Papa.
“Hale.” It was nearly a shout.
I stopped chewin’. At least she found my real name rattlin’ around in her empty belfry.
“Ya don’t like to be teased, because of yar condition. Right?”
“Don’t know what condition ya’re referrin’ to,” I hissed.
I couldn’t help noticin’ that my witch-sibling tilted her head hard to the side. Whatever that meant.
“But ya struggle to—absorb a tease,” she said.
I glared at her. Not sure I’d ever been teased. Folk had been mean to me. A lot. Is there a difference?”
“There’s a bit of difference,” Bele said softly.
I wasn’t gonna ask.
“A tease comes from someone who probably likes ya more than they oughta.”
Cordiz’ face turned crimson. I’ve been told that means either anger or embarrassment. Which was this?
“The embarrassment,” Bele said, again almost too softly to hear.
“Ya think she likes me?” Okay. I’d ask.
Cordiz exhaled hard. “I’ve been a fan of yar work since I saw yar first piece.”
“What piece?” Don’t know why I asked.
“The razzle of gargoyles in the lobby of the North Face constable’s office.”
Hm. One of my favorite. I was about twelve. “Made from a single piece of granite. Represents the inconsistency of seeing, speaking no evil.”
“I know. And I didn’t have to read the plaque,” she said.
“Ya didn’t?”
“Wasn’t very subtle,” she said.
What? No one else understood it until I explained it.
“She’s not lyin’,” Bele whispered.
“Why would I lie?” she asked Bele.
“’Cause,” I said. “I don’t recognize insincere flattery any more than I understand teasin’.”
For some reason tears suddenly gushed from Bele’s eyes. A moment later, I noted Cordiz wiped her eyes.
~
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