What had I been thinking? The urge to claim her, to throw her over my shoulder and take her home where she could be mine forever had seized hold of my mind last night. I never wanted her to leave my side. Yet in the cold light of day, with rumpled and damp sheets tangled around my legs, I knew this was only a fantasy.
Even if I brought the shrew home as my bride, we’d need to endure the disapproval of my parents and the court. Then she’d face the incredible boredom of having no real power, no influence, no challenging or interesting work. Endless days of nothing interspersed with an occasional ceremonial event where our only duty was to stand and smile for hours at a time.
As much as I wanted her, this was no life for my shrew. I couldn’t do that to her. I couldn’t do that to me. It would be better for us both if I married someone like that princess of Canton-onia. She knew what endless boredom this role entailed. Just like me, she’d been born and raised to know her position in life. Such an environment wouldn’t wither her, slowly, sapping the boldness from her soul like it would from my shrew.
I spent nearly an hour in the shower, scrubbing myself over and over with the soap to hide the scent of the shrew from the other orcs I would undoubtably see later in the afternoon. It was incredibly crude to mention the scent other orcs carried from their recent sexual activity, but the males on our hockey team weren’t particularly cultured or mannered. I didn’t want any comments about my escapades last night, and I certainly didn’t want anyone recognizing the shrew’s scent from the one time they’d met her over the weekend. A good cleaning should scrub her scent from me, no matter how I mourned losing the remembrance of last night in my nostrils with each inhalation.
There was no need for me to rush to the arena, since I wasn’t interested in playing this hockey game or anything to do with my supposed employment. All I needed to do was show up once a day and at games until I found my bride, so I dressed and left my hovel, intending on getting a meal and walking about the city. As I started down the street, I remembered that I’d told the elderly human I’d met yesterday that I might meet him and his friends at The Old Cellar drinking establishment near the port that seemed to open at a particularly indecent hour of the late morning. Concerned about what suitable choices of breakfast foods there might be at a pub, I grabbed an egg, bacon, and cheese sandwich and made my way there.
The weather was amazing. The sun shone bright and surprisingly strong for the autumn season. A cool breeze wove its way through the maze of buildings, carrying the faint hint of aquatic life that made these brackish river waters their home. Pulling my phone from my pocket I examined several maps of the waterways along this section of the state, amazed at the network of deep-water rivers that fed into the huge bay. These waters provided not just excellent ports for the shipping and receiving of goods, but also a bounty of food, recreation, and the basis for numerous waterfront communities. Orcs were not themost sea-loving beings of the fae world, but were very fond of smoked fish, and our young were often found playing in rivers, lakes, and even the sheltered waves of the ocean inlets. Still, I found myself thinking of the ports of my kingdom, and the little towns that often sprang up near rivers and the shore.
The Old Cellar was an ancient brick building sharing two external walls with a hardware store on one side and a laundromat on the other. I stood outside and read the sign on the door just to make sure that the establishment was in fact open at this hour of the morning. Walking in I took a second to let my eyes adjust to the dim lighting, and immediately heard the old man I’d met yesterday.
“Enzo!” He walked over to me and reached up to presumably slap me on the shoulder in greeting. With the difference in our height he was only able to reach my biceps. I gently returned the greeting.
“Come meet my friends,” the man turned and waved toward a crowd of equally elderly males and females, all staring at me with expressions of curiosity and interest.
Introductions were made and I was immediately assailed with questions about my kingdom, the food, and the healthcare system.
The food questions were easy to answer. I told them all about my childhood favorites—what Piotr called “comfort foods.” Then I described the lavish banquets the royal palace hosted for feast-days. Edna demanded to know if the “regular people” were provided these fancy dishes or if they were only made for the “rich muckety-mucks.” I was happy to assure her that a lottery system ensured over half of the attendees at the palace were non-wealthy citizens, and that the palace sent small versions of whatever pastry the feast-day called for to community centers and areas that served our poorest citizens. Edna sniffed, only mildly impressed by this. Before she could berate me fornot feeding the disadvantaged from my own plate, Benny demanded to know the details of our healthcare, referencing something called “Medicare” and lamenting about the need for “supplemental insurance policies.”
I felt myself begin to sweat. “We have healers in our cities and towns that can manage most illnesses and injuries. I don’t know what they charge for their services.”
They probably billed the palace, but I’d never seen any invoices or even the fees for various magical healing amulets or charms either. From the scowls of Piotr’s friends, this lack of knowledge was a significant moral failing.
And this line of questioning brought back all the memories of the plague that had decimated the orc race, specifically our female population. Rich. Poor. No family had been spared.
“Give Enzo a break,” Piotr said, noting my obvious distress. “The man can’t fix all of his country’s social problems with a snap of his fingers. He’s here to learn how we do things and bring some ideas home to his kingdom. Neither of our homes seems to be getting healthcare right, so we can hardly criticize him for that. He’s trying to make things better for his people.”
Was I? I blinked, wondering where Piotr had gotten the idea that I was here for some sort of diplomatic exchange of policy and governmental programs.
“And he’s here to find a bride.” Piotr winked and patted my biceps again. “One of our lucky Baltimore gals is gonna win big with Enzo as a husband.”
That spurred all sorts of excited descriptions of grandchildren, great nieces, and neighbors, complete with pictures on cell phones thrust under my nose. Forget Tinder. The easiest way to find a human female bride was evidently to announce your intentions at a pub full of elderly humans. In less than ten minutes I was informed of a dozen suitable females whocould be introduced to me within the next week, and was told I should have a ring ready.
Piotr brought me a beverage with alcohol in a spicy tomato base that was garnished with enough vegetables and seafood to make a meal out of. There was even a slab of thick bacon shoved into the glass with all the other food items. It was an interesting way to consume breakfast—one I found myself enjoying greatly. The elderly humans drank their own breakfast drinks and carried on a lively discussion about their various ailments sprinkled with gossip about people I didn’t know. When our glasses were empty and the food items consumed, Piotr informed me that we would all be walking to the nearby park to play games.
I couldn’t imagine what sorts of games this group of humans would play. Our games back home tended to be feats of strength or speed or ability with a weapon. We didn’t have a geriatric division, but as we slowly made our way to the park, I began to think that perhaps we should.
Sadly the games these humans intended to play were not of the physical variety. The section of the park we walked to held tables with stools and chairs bolted to them. Many of the tables were painted in a checkerboard pattern, and others were plain. Everyone began to pull boxes from handbags and backpacks, opening them up to reveal disks or carved figures, and even foldable boards.
“Hnefatafl!” I said, delighted. It had been years since I’d played the game, but I had many fond memories of my wins and losses playing other orcs down by the wharf.
“Chess, checkers, and backgammon,” Frank informed me. “Although sometimes one of us brings cards and we play hearts or pinocle.”
“What’s Hnefatafl?” Helen asked as she set a row of white carved figures along the edge of a checkerboard table.
“It’s a game from my homeland. Children learn it, and during the cold evenings of the winter, all ages play it by the fire after dinner. It’s a strategy game where one player is the defender and the other lays siege to the kingdom.” I smiled at the memories.
“Bring it by and teach us the rules,” Benny said. “We’re always looking for a new game.”
“I’m not sure they sell the game here in the human world, but I can probably make a set of pieces and a board.” My woodworking skills were pretty non-existent, but I could use a saw and at a minimum paint the playing area on a piece of cardboard. This weekend I’d find a store that sold the supplies I needed and assemble a rudimentary set in my hovel. It would keep the boredom at bay, and it would be fun to teach these elderly humans a game from my home and childhood.
“In the meantime.” Dave waved a hand toward a table set up with carved and stained figures. “Sit down and lose a game of chess.”
Dave wasn’t kidding about losing. The game was intriguing, a more complicated version of Hnefatafl where both sides were the aggressors attempting to strategize their way into capturing the king piece. I played against all six of the humans and lost each time, although it took my opponent a bit longer to pin my king into a corner in the last two games. That might have been my increasing knowledge of the game, but I got the impression that it was because Benny and Helen were not as skilled as the others. Helen admitted as much when she knocked my king over with her knight, and announced this was the first time she’d won in two weeks. “I’m more of a backgammon player,” she confessed with a smile.
I was prepared to try again, but the group told me it was time for lunch, and that they hoped to see me the next morning.
