Ogreness, Black Lake-book5

Chapter 18

~

The emergency didn’t prove to focus us that afternoon. Perhaps because the subject wasn’t an ogre. Made me a little ill my peers could be so callous. The anger ripped our local guest member to the point the troll stormed out of the caucus.

In fairness, the trolls have their own council. They’ve never overtly followed our lead, but there has always been a subtle understandin’, that because we have the greater numbers and political power, they have been able to follow along with our good fortune.

Doke used his power as chair to drive the discussion the direction he wanted of course, with agenda items that wouldn’t raise any controversy. He’s a bull who loves to be loved, hates conflict.

So late afternoon when he was noddin’ at his favorite lackey for a motion to adjourn for the day, I managed to get recognized by the floor before a second could be raised.

I stood and looked around me, holdin’ each pair of eyes for a full beat, before makin’ my own motion, which parliamentary-wise was out of order since the chair hadn’t recognized the topic, but I got a quick second without a riot formin’, for the council to budget three million for the officer’s defense, up North. We haggled for fifteen minutes over the wordin’ of the resolution, but an attorney got assigned to follow up, travel North if need be, to assist the bull.

It was the best I could do for the day.

But Doke glared at me as we adjourned. I’m pretty sure I’d just made an enemy, which struck me harder than I would have expected. As though I care what any old codger stuck in the past thinks of me.

But that isn’t how I was raised. Elders are important. And havin’ one angry with me is meaningful.

As we straggled out of the pavilion, Doke got one more glare in. A couple of his longtime confidants tossed me visual javelins too, but I noted a number of nods, and more than a couple of smiles. And ogres aren’t fast and loose with smiles. Smirks, on occasion, but not smiles. Not that we're a grumpy folk. But we do have a countenance that avoids frivolity.

No one dared fall beside me and Nuel for the moment, though. Everyone was good with settin’ the time of their support. Oh, the games these codgers play.

“Thank ya,” Nuel said softly.

I sighed. I should have done more. To think hours ago I believed the position of council leader is unimportant. “This was just the first day.”

Nuel nodded. “I can’t believe I feel this exhausted.”

“Sittin’ on a hard bench listenin’ to smelly old ogres go on and on about minutia is exhaustin’,” I said softly.

She shivered, crossed her arms. Night at Black Lake feels like winter, even if it reaches the eighties midday. With the high peaks surroundin’ us, night comes early, too. I glanced over my shoulder. The sun hung just north of Dragon Ledge.

The most bizarre thought struck me. No. She wouldn’t want me to put my arm over her shoulder to keep her warm. I dizzied a bit. Yep. My brain was even shocked I could think up such an ignernt thought.

We didn’t speak the rest of the way to the Inn.

Darshee and Wizper sat on the veranda when we got there, black-dirty feet spread out in front of them, quilted vests open against the breeze risin’ off the Lake, faces hued with their own exhaustion. And sun.

“Hikin’ was good?” I asked.

The hint of smiles wrinkled against their tusks.

Nuel and I climbed the grand stairs to their level and turned to take in the view. It is what one does at Black Lake near twilight. The Lake is always too beautiful to rightly describe, but evolves from its daytime purple to flickerin’ gems hued teal and orange so extraordinary they can blind ya as sunset nears. The only thing that saves the soul from the majic of the billowin’ water is the tranquility of the South Shore forest breakin’ the amazin’ panorama.

“Wow,” Nuel drawled.

Finally, something we could agree upon.

“How was the politickin’?” Darshee asked.

We stepped aside to clear the walkway. Folk milled about, filled the majority of the Adirondack-style chairs linin’ the long veranda, enjoyin’ the view like us.

“That good?” Wizper asked.

We slumped down in open chairs on each side of them, keepin’ our eyes on the Lake.

“We’ve arranged a picnic basket,” Wizper said. “Since it will be a little busy inside. Ya know, it’s the height of the season.”

Better be a big basket. A moment later Nuel voiced my thought. We all smiled.

“Two baskets, prolly,” Darshee said. “And we’ve also reserved a table at Lew’s Tavern.”

“How’d ya do that?” I asked.

“A three-hundred-Continental inducement. Ya both owe us seventy-five bucks apiece. But we need to get down there as soon as the food arrives.”

Lew’s is a dive, an embarrassment to most Hamlet residents, on the eastern cove, below the cemetery. It transitions season by season from well-maintained to a dump, dependin’ upon the recent clientele. Proprietors have never been big on denyin’ drinks when the occupants of a table have far exceeded reasonable intoxication, so it’s known for gettin’ a little touch-and-go.

Which means, a whole lot of fun. But not family oriented. A topless hen has been known to dance the bar enough times it doesn’t get reported to the constables anymore. I visited often in my college years. Wiser and older cousins pulled me from a couple kerfuffles.

“I believe I’ve heard of Lew’s,” Nuel said.

“World renown.” Darshee slapped Nuel’s leg, soundly enough Nuel jerked from the discomfort. But she didn’t growl. Kudos. I sucked in a breath to hide my smirk.

“Ya two have to have a beer in yar hand,” Darshee asked, “before ya’ll share what went on today?”

“Someone,” Nuel said, “wants Ike as council leader.”

I tried to shush over the back-half of her statement, but the hens heard, if the oblong shapes of their mouths indicated anything. I shot a glare at Nuel.

“What?” she challenged me. “Ya wouldn’t have told ’em?”

“He’d tell us or we’d kill ’im when we learned.” Darshee gave me a look darin’ me to argue.

“Ya get the challenge on the agenda?” Wizper didn’t share Darshee’s humor on the topic.

“Not the time,” I said.

Nuel was shakin’ her head hard enough to rattle the rocks in her skull.

“What?” Darshee asked her.

“With what’s on the horizon, Doke is overwhelmed and unprepared.”

“So ya support Ike challengin’ him?” Wizper asked softly. Clearly she understood this wasn’t a conversation to be overheard.

Nuel’s face hued red, or maybe it was the twilight hue.

“I thought ya hate Ike?” Darshee asked. Which hurt a little, maybe.

Nuel cocked her head. A sort of, yeah, a little.

“Ya can’t like him more than we do,” Darshee gushed. “We’ll fight ya. We saw him a long time ago.”

I closed my eyes. The hens have gotten to the point they don’t shamelessly battle to become my mate. I thought it was agreed to finally that we could be friends. Last thing I want is a new rivalry.

The three chortled, at my expense.

Wizper put her arm around my shoulder and tugged me hard against her. “Ya think ya can die a bachelor?”

I hoped she didn’t expect an answer.

I was saved anyway, because one of the kitchen folk arrived on the veranda that moment with the two baskets we were waitin’ for. My stomach growled good as we stood to head for Lew’s.

~ Nuel ~

I maybe admitted I wouldn’t throw the bull off my settee for eating crackers. But I certainly would. He’s arrogant and stubborn. A misogynist. Holier than thou. He is unkind, rude, impatient.

Hmm. In other words, he’s a hunky ogre male.

And he’s cute, for being a little on the small side, for an ogre. Maybe his papa spent too much time away from the homestead in the day. His mama did act very attentive to the bull, though. Hmm. That could be out of guilt, though.

~