Ogreness, Black Lake-book5

Chapter 17

~

We sat chewin’ the fat on Maybelle’s porch until midmorning. Watchin’ Nuel get evermore anxious kept me from becomin’ the same, she amused me so much.

The old codgers went out of their way to ignore her. Oh, they welcomed her proper, but avoided conversation. They aren’t set in their ways. They’re just used to their hens makin’ all of the decisions and leadin’ all the conversation at home, so like to turn the worm when they gather with their bull friends. Meanin’, like to play a game that their hens hadn’t already set them straight. Given them their agenda.

It’s an ogre thing.

I’d never met the troll that was joinin’ us today. Younger than me some, which in council terms, meant he was a baby, in the second half of his thirties maybe. He dressed a little more formally than the average Range troll. Prolly traveled North often, and had set his armoire full of Northern clothes to fit in there. Of course he still didn’t don footwear. Never seen a troll go that far to fit in with humans. Even the cops go without. The world would prolly end, seein’ a troll pull on a pair of boots.

Like me, he sat and listened without joinin’ in the sloggin’ conversations. We spoke only once, on our way back from the outhouse. He’s an electrical engineer, but doesn’t work for Ogre Industries. That shocked me. He took my shock as a little insultin’.

Oh well.

At ten-thirty the council secretary finally imposed upon Doke to move us along. There was no drivin’ the half mile to the council pavilion. We strode, the talkin’ and manure flingin’ the entire way out of the Hamlet.

Can’t call it the council building because it isn’t. Not even a cabin. Solid slate roof for the frequent rain and snow flurries that flutter through the valley throughout the year, but open all the way around, with benches and rough-hewed tables. Expanded over the generations to accommodate the staff that accumulated. Who truly run things in the Range. Truth told.

I guess our ancestors believed gettin’ too comfortable meant decisions would be overly hawed over. And bulls too comfortable, would hang around overly long and drink too much beer when the decision makin’ was done.

Historically the story goes, hens didn’t approve of drink. There was a time when an ogre’s only opportunity to imbibe was durin’ the privacy of council. Maybe the promise of a keg now and then is what got bulls willin’ to serve in the first place. Because it’s otherwise a thankless job.

Bringin’ spirits to the valley was a human curse, my mama said on occasion. Though it’s been hinted my male forebears weren’t above keepin’ a still in the woods, secret like. We ogres have taken the enjoyment as one of our best causes, I must say. And hallelujah for that.

Half of our members met us at the pavilion, since they lived west of the Hamlet. That generated a new round of catchin’ up. Doke brought us to order after an hour, when my stomach was already growlin’.

We managed to agree to an agenda, and headed back to the Inn for lunch.

Nuel stole steely glances my way. I could appreciate her frustration. Doke had never been the most efficient council leader. He’d never needed to be efficient before. In modern times, the position has become more ornamental, in truth.

Now there are bureaucracies that handle what the various clan leaders once provided. Direction in the education of the younglings, health care, keepin’ the peace, nudgin’ the wayward into the fold. The Range hosts one of the best agricultural, medical, and minin’ universities, best hospital, staff to run all of the aforementioned.

A shoulder impactin’ mine drew me out of my thoughts. Or maybe it was stumblin’ into Nuel and reactin’ to her growl.

“Brother, how have ya been?” the bull asked softly, head tilted toward me. I searched my itty bitty brain for his name.

I hefted a dandy at him. He nodded knowingly, flicked a look at Nuel, worried-like, as though he didn’t really want her listenin’ in. I asked him what I could do for him.

He hawed a bit. I strode on with my hands in the ample pockets of my cargo shorts. I’m pretty good at lettin’ a bull get around to what he’s about on his own schedule.

“We need a stronger character leadin’ the council,” the bull whispered.

Hmm. Didn’t see that comin’. I believe I shot him an eye that maybe communicated that. I asked if Doke considered retirement.

“No. And that’s a problem.”

I didn’t like the direction this was flowin’ already. I shook my head. I have enough problems and responsibility in my life to get into a political catfight.

“Council never has replaced a leader, has it?” I asked.

The bull shook his head. “But the process is covered in the charter.”

The bull had read the charter? The ancient Ogrish is a rough read. I gave it a minute or two when I was in college. Maybe fifteen, on the outside. I was young and socially spirited. All younglings are left of center, right.

“Ya have someone in mind?” What can I say, my curiosity got away from me.

“A nomination from ya would be meaningful.” I accepted that as a hedge.

Clearin’ the deeper woods, we neared the edge of the Hamlet. Gulls coursin’ over the Lake laughed. Soft voices of fisherman on the still water murmured under our brothers’ conversation. Mowed grass replaced the pine needle-strewn path.

“I hoped ya might have a thought on the subject,” he pressed.

“I must say ya’ve taken me a bit aback.” My papa’s face flashed at me like a railroad claxon. At eighty-five, Papa’s still young for an ogre. But he often reminds the four of us he worked hard enough for two bulls, so he’s ready for twice the retirement.

“I’ll be more straightforward,” the bull whispered. “I have five votes already committed to ya.”

“Me?” I blurted, drawin’ several glances.

“Keep yar voice down, will ya? I have two others on the fence, waitin’ to hear yar thoughts on the matter.” Countin’ him, that was a majority right there, assumin’ I was open to votin’ for myself. Which I’m not.

“I haven’t even lived in the Range for two decades,” I said. I hated that Nuel’s eyes burned a hole in the other side of my face.

“Our current issues oughta demonstrate we can no longer be focused solely within the Range.”

Well, that was true, clearly. Even Nuel would appreciate that.

“Ya,” I said, “clearly have a head on yar shoulders. Have ya—”

“I don’t have the blood,” he grumbled.

I almost argued, but the bull gave me a look. Heritage, and wealth, are more important matters when it comes to the peckin’ order in the Range. Not that either automatically anoints respect. We are a clan-oriented society, and the council is the council. The blood prejudice wasn’t worth arguin’. I carry the Ike’s blood, and the immediate family has grown the most affluent among all the old families. Meanin’, we hold a lot of influence whether we want to or not.

Grandpa Klow came to mind. The gruffest, no-nonsense ogre I’ve ever met. Rubs everyone’s emotions raw in short order, but does the council need that now, for direction?

“Will ya consider the battle?” the bull whispered.

“Not this week,” worked out between my tusks.

“Why?” Nuel shrieked, very un-ogre-like.

Both I and the other bull stamped to a stop. She turned and faced us, fists on her wide hips, which is very ogre-hen-like. What’s she thinkin’? Hamlet, Range politics is more complex than an outsider could ever understand. She hates me anyway. Why’s she implyin’ I should step into the job?

Prolly, just like to see me humiliated.

Bulls strode around us, glances warmin’ my face.

“The timin’ isn’t great, I’ll give ya that,” the bull said. “But this morning—” he waved his hand east to west. “Demonstrates we need stronger leadership.

“We’ve heard,” he continued, “of yar battles on the OI board, yar perseverance, and the success ya’ve had bringin’ them into this century and beyond. That’s exactly what the council needs.

“We’re in a social crisis,” he said. “Only a fool would fail to see that.”

Then that eliminates me, because I’ve been happily flowin’ with the current.

I shook my head. “Doke is well liked, and respected. Ya need more than the technical majority to vote him out and maintain a semblance of peace. Ya’d be better off workin’ with him, pressin’ him to play the role—a little more robustly. The best followers are leaders in their own right.”

“See, ya sound like a consummate politician.”

“Insultin’ me is supposed to bring me to yar side?” I asked.

“To yar side,” he said.

No. It isn’t my time.

Farther up the path the other councilors and our staff were clearly gettin’ excited about something. There were a lot of phones pressed to the side of heads. Some new news, clearly. Stock market completely tank?

My phone had been vibratin’ in my pocket all stinkin’ morning. It was all I could do not to pull it out and check in. One of Papa’s few, stern words of advice when he talked me into takin’ on our clan leadership and thus my council position—never demonstrate the social acrobatics around ya are more important than ya’re council responsibilites. I was stupid. He had to clarify. “Leave yar phone in yar pocket durin’ the council session.”

Now I pulled mine out. I had voice mail from dozens, but Papa was one of the recent. I rang him back without listenin’ to his message.

“Glad ya called,” he said softly. “Ya all should know. A police officer killed three rioters early this morning, and is being charged with murder, though all reports imply he was defendin’ himself.”

“A troll, I take it?” They can break a human’s neck with a slice of the hand.

“I don’t see this headin’ in justice’s direction.” He wished me good luck and hung up. He didn’t need to confirm my assumption.

“What? What?” Nuel and my ogre brother asked. I explained what I knew. On the bright side, this new urgency would put aside any imminent change in the council. Would focus us like nothing else has in memory.

And my nameless friend can do his politickin’ right, when it’s appropriate.

To get my participation, it would help if he introduced himself. As though I know every clan leader in the ogre world.

~ Nuel ~

I still think he’s an idjit, but compared to the other speakers this morning, Ike’s calm demeanor wore refreshing. And I watched how attentive his peers were when he spoke.

So he hadn’t impressed me the past week. Maybe the dire times needs a cool head.

There’s also the fact that he’s deadly cute.

And clearly well liked. He could hardly get a bite into his mouth at breakfast without having his spine bounced through his ribs.

I could vote for him. If I had a vote. But that doesn’t mean after this week I ever want anything more to do with him.

Arrogant jerk.

~