by Sean Gibson
“If I weren’t restrained right now, I’d shove that headdress so far up your toilet hole that you’d have to open your mouth to change the feathers,” interjected Whiska. “What are those from, anyway? A turdkey?”
(No, dear readers, “turdkey” is not a typographical error—they’re an offshoot of the turkey family that have their plumbing in a different spot—namely, right in the middle of their back, which means that, when they void waste, they end up covered with it. They’re disgusting. But, I should note, also delicious. Not the feathers—the bird itself, I mean. And their feces are sterile. Or so I’ve been told, though that may have just been to make me feel better about eating an animal that defecates on itself up to seven times each day.)
“Bold words for a captive rodent,” replied the High Chief. He nodded to our captors. “Ring the bells, and take them to the Ripper.”
“Practical with naming conventions, these orcs,” I said to Nadi as they dragged us away, Nadi and Whiska straining to break free as I walked calmly. It’s not that I wanted to die or was any less terrified than they were; I’m just a lot classier and generally more dignified.
A few moments later, we stood on a dais in the center of the settlement next to a very unpleasant rust-colored contraption that featured a flat surface about the size of a bed, chains and manacles, a giant spring mechanism, and a lever. A horizontal line in the middle of the flat section indicated that the device operated by binding the unfortunate victim by the hands and feet and pulling the lever to separate the two sections (and, presumably, the victim as well). That’s when I realized that it wasn’t rust that gave the device its color, but, rather, a whole lot of dried blood.
There were four poles with bells on top surrounding the square, and our captors pulled vigorously and enthusiastically on the ropes that hung from the bells, creating a deafening clang and clatter. “This might be worse than getting ripped in half!” I yelled, but I don’t think anyone could hear me very well, given that the only response I got was from one of my orc captors, who said something to the effect of, “I don’t believe in betting or math—they’re both sinful!”
As the echoes from the bells died down, a crowd formed. I expected a raucous gathering of bloodthirsty onlookers (as is the custom in cultures where criminals, or, at least, alleged criminals, are ripped in half for public enjoyment), but they were generally subdued and, save for some murmuring and occasional pointing and gesturing toward us, quiet and orderly.
“This is the first time I haven’t enjoyed being in front of a crowd,” I whispered to Nadi. “Well, maybe the second, but I didn’t realize I was in front of a crowd the other time, and let’s just say it didn’t end well for my dwarven companion when I found out that I was.” I shook my head. “Who thinks to look for hidden peepholes?”
Nadi ignored me as she looked around desperately for an escape route. It didn’t look good—four strong orcs held each of us tightly, and they’d gagged Whiska just to make sure she couldn’t conjure up any more trouble (though the gag didn’t prevent her from managing to spit semi-intelligible and highly creative insults, most of which, as near as I could decipher, involved not just a suggestion, but an order that the orcs choke on a particular part of their anatomy, and she offered weirdly specific guidance on both the optimal method for that part’s removal and preparing it for consumption, which involved roasting, slicing, and adding just a hint of lemon).
High Chieftain Gnurk raised his hands to quiet the crowd and gestured toward the orcs who held Nadi. They dragged her toward the Ripper, though she didn’t make it easy, throwing one to the ground and managing to head butt another so hard his nose splayed across his left cheek. The other orcs wrestled her into position, pinning her down and shackling her to the table. Nadi strained against her bonds, but if orcs know anything, apparently, it’s how to make a solid shackle—she wasn’t going anywhere.
“Silence!” said Gnurk. “We come together today to bear witness to justice.” He swept his arm across in a grand gesture, encompassing all three of us. “These three individuals plotted, planned, connived, and conspired to do us harm. To kill us in our sleep. To murder our children in coldest blood.” I thought he was playing a little fast and loose with the facts—we had not, in fact, intended to murder any children (in cold blood or even in warm blood)—but I wasn’t exactly in a position to protest. “Furthermore, while awaiting the dispensation of justice, they committed an even worse crime.” He paused dramatically and the crowd leaned forward. Then, he roared. “They dared to unfasten the locks in their cell!”
At this, the previously well-behaved crowd of onlookers exploded, and a riot nearly broke out. They launched what I took to be old produce at us, though I later learned that, by orcish standards, it was, in fact, exceedingly fresh produce—orcs apparently prefer their fruits and vegetables overripe, as they find the combination of stench and bitterness appetizing. Soft tomatoes, brown bananas, and wilted lettuce sailed through the air and struck home, leaving a distressingly sticky and gooey combination of tomato seeds, mushy banana, and bits of green dribbling down between the heavenly contours of my décolletage.
Gnurk allowed the assault to continue for a few moments before he raised his hands for silence once again. “There are some in this world”—Gnurk glared pointedly at Nadi—“who think us savages, who assume that we are but animals incapable of feeling. Of kindness. Of mercy.”
He turned back toward the crowd. “When it comes to punishing those who would do us harm, they are right.” The High Chieftain raised his hand. “Prepare to rip her!”
I expected the onlookers to cheer and shout, but, instead, they remained silent, almost, dare I say, respectfully so. The orc holding the lever that would separate the two halves of the Ripper—and Nadi with it—tightened his grip and nodded.
The High Chieftain started to bring his hand down, presumably the signal for the execution to proceed, but before he could complete the gesture, a shout rang out.
“Which would you rather see—a boring old elf ripped in half…or a mysterious stranger make a khurlap disappear?”
As one, the orcs in the crowd turned toward the speaker, who came into view as the crowd parted to allow him to make his way to the dais.
Rummy, with Borg in tow.
He held something high above his head—a small, brownish-black pastry, or khurlap (an orc breakfast treat that tastes like dirt with a hint of cinnamon). Rummy strode up the stairs to the dais without being challenged and stood next to Nadi. Gesturing to the khurlap, he said, “Release her, and you will bear witness to feats of prestidigitation that will astonish your eyes and warm your hearts!” He glanced around slyly, focusing on an orc child. “They might even fill your belly.” With that, he held the khurlap in front of his face with his right hand, covered it with his left, wiggled his fingers, and rotated his wrists suddenly, opening up both hands to show that the khurlap had disappeared.
“Ooh!” cried the astonished onlookers in creepy unison.
The orcs standing next to Nadi scrambled to undo her shackles, and she sat up slowly, a look of confusion on her face—one that was mirrored on both Whiska’s face and my own.
“Now then,” said Rummy, hopping down off the dais and walking among the crowd, which parted like a drunk man’s zipper. “I have astonished your eyes. Can I warm your hearts?” He stopped before a young orc couple who were holding hands (orcs hold hands?) and crossed his arms, cupping his chin in his left hand. “Hmmm…I think I can.” He gestured to the male orc’s oversized ears. “May I?”
The orc nodded eagerly, and Rummy twisted his head from side to side to crack his neck and then locked his fingers together before stretching out his hands and arms. “I believe,” he said, looking at the female orc as he reached behind the male’s ear, “this is for you.” He produced a pale blue rose and handed it to the lady orc, who blushed furiously. The crowd applauded enthusiastically.
Rummy took a modest bow before strolling through the crowd once more, in co
mplete and total control. He paused before the young orc he had smiled at a moment before and knelt down so that he could look him in the eye. The crowd circled around, eager to see what he would do next. “I also said something about filling your bellies, didn’t I?” The orc child nodded solemnly. “Are you hungry, my good lad?” The orc nodded again, more vigorously. The crowd laughed. “Do you like khurlap?” asked Rummy. This time, the orc’s nod was accompanied by a shy smile. “Well, then, it seems silly to keep it tucked underneath your tunic rather than eating it.” The boy looked at Rummy, confused, as Rummy pointed to his stomach. “Isn’t that a big hunk of khurlap right there?” He prodded gently at the boy’s midsection. The boy shook his head sadly.
“It’s not? Hmmm…well, that’s too bad,” said Rummy. “A nice piece of khurlap would probably taste good right now.” The boy nodded, still looking sad. His stomach rumbled, loud enough for those nearby to hear. They laughed, though not mockingly or unkindly, and the boy blushed. I think. It was hard to tell with his green complexion.
“Do you mind if I take a quick look? Just to make sure you didn’t miss anything?”
The orc boy shrugged and spreads his hands out wide.
“See, here’s the thing,” Rummy said, patting the boy on the shoulder with his right hand. “I’m not wrong very often.” He looked up toward the dais. “Right, Nadi?”
Nadi, stunned by the sudden turn of events, could only nod.
“I bet that I’m not wrong here. Right?” He clapped the boy on the shoulder. As the boy nodded in response, Rummy brought his left hand up from where it had rested briefly on the boy’s stomach to reveal a large piece of khurlap. “Ah, see! Looks like old Rummy is right one more time.”
The boy’s face lit up as Rummy handed him the khurlap. He stuffed it quickly into his mouth, to the delight of all (myself included, I admit). One satisfied belch and some raucous laughter later, Rummy returned to the dais.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said as he stood with us once more. “‘You’ve put a delicious pastry in the belly of that boy, Master Tooltinker, but what about my belly?’” He looked out over the crowd, which must have included two hundred orcs. “And what about our High Chieftain?” Rummy turned toward Gnurk, whose expression gave no indication of what he thought of Rummy’s performance (note to self: no poker games with Gnurk). “I fear, High Chieftain, that I have violated a rule of etiquette.”
He moved to stand before Gnurk, bowing slightly as he did. “By all rights, I should have offered you the first khurlap, for which I apologize. Please note, however, that this khurlap”—Rummy seized Gnurk’s hand, turned it over, and opened it up to reveal another piece of khurlap nestled in the High Chieftain’s palm—“is for you.”
A slow smile spread across Gnurk’s face. He looked at the khurlap, crammed it into his mouth, and chewed slowly. He swallowed, wiped the back of his hand across his lips, and nodded. Then, he began to clap—slowly at first, but then faster and more enthusiastically. The crowd followed their High Chieftain’s lead, resulting in a deafening ovation.
Rummy bowed again, with a flourish this time, and then pointed toward Borg, who held up a large basket. “My friend will make sure that you all can enjoy khurlap.”
The orcs swarmed around Borg, hopping up and down as they waited for a piece of pastry. After everyone had gotten theirs, the High Chieftain raised his hands for silence. “Master Tooltinker,” he intoned formally, “you have earned a boon by virtue of your fine performance. What will you ask of the Orcs of the Gloom Forest?”
“High Chieftain,” replied Rummy, mirroring Gnurk’s formal tone, “I ask that you release my friends: the elven warrior Nadinta Ghettinwood, the wizard Whiska Tailiesin, and the famed bard Heloise.”
Gnurk turned to regard me. “Just Heloise? No surname?”
“How many ‘Heloise the Bards’ do you know?”
He nodded sagely. “Touché.” He looked at Rummy and tapped his finger against the side of his cheek, considering the request. “Very well. I will grant the release of your companions, with two conditions.”
“What might those conditions be, High Chieftain?” Rummy could pull off polite without being obsequious, which made it actually seem genuine. I was going to have to learn that trick from him.
“First: Nadinta Ghettinwood, Whiska Tailiesin, and Heloise the Bard are hereby banned from the Gloom Forest and may never reenter upon pain of death.”
Rummy nodded. “That seems reasonable, given their lamentable actions. And second?”
“You will give us another performance after we have feasted.”
Rummy grinned. “That seems even more reasonable. Especially the feasting part.”
The High Chieftain clapped his hands and the orcs exploded into action, moving with a precision and unity I wouldn’t have thought possible. Within minutes, an impromptu feasting area had been erected in the square, plates and silverware were being laid out, and smells wafted through the air (the scents weren’t entirely unpleasant, though they smelled less like food than they did something with which you might clean a chamber pot.)
Nadi moved to stand next to me and shook her head as she watched the orcs scurry about. “What just happened?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea, but we haven’t been ripped in half and we’re apparently going to be fed. I’m going to call it a win.”
Whiska sidled in between us. “If I can find a few minutes alone, I can regain enough spell power to immolate at least a score of these green fecal remnants in one go, which should buy us time to escape.”
“Uh, Whiska?” I replied in my politest voice (which, I should note, isn’t really all that polite). “You do realize that they’re letting us go, right? After they had us dead to rights?”
“So?”
“So…turning them into orc flambé is probably a suboptimal tactical decision.” I looked at Nadi. “What do you think, boss?”
Nadi let out a long, slow breath. “Heloise is right. Stand down, Whiska—no attacking our…our hosts,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Seriously?” Whiska looked incredulous.
“First of all, even if we have the element of surprise, there’s no way we make it out of here alive, given the odds against us. Second, maybe we were, well…maybe we were wrong. About the orcs. I don’t know.”
“And maybe Heloise will go an entire day without talking about how hot she thinks her backside is…but I doubt it,” replied Whiska. “They’re orcs.”
“I’m not quite sure what to make of all of this,” I said, “but, come on—did you ever think orcs could be filled with child-like wonder?” I nodded to where Rummy was dancing a coin across his knuckles, much to the delight of not only the young orcs gathered around him, but more than one grown-up orc as well. “I don’t know about you, Whiska, but my primary goal is to get out of this situation alive—though, to be fair, that’s pretty much my motivation in any situation, though I don’t object if there is also chocolate, wine, and dwarven behinds involved as well.” I shrugged. “If making nice with Gnurk and his wide-eyed pack of prestidigitation enthusiasts is going to get me—and, yes, my indescribably hot backside—out of here in one piece, then that’s exactly what I’m going to do. If you want to go on a suicide run, leave me out of it.”
Whiska responded with something that sounded like “harrumph,” but I wasn’t entirely sure.
“What did you say?” I asked.
“Oh, I said ‘harrumph’,” she replied.
“That’s what I thought,” I said.
The next couple of hours were among the most surreal of my life, and I’ve visited the barridium dens of Kangadoon. The orcs sang and clapped and danced, and at least some of the dishes they served were edible, even verging on tasty (I recommend the roast roggrat, but would suggest staying far away from the pureed plurant).
I found myself seated next to Gnurk, who presided over the proceedings with complete authority and a no-nonsense surliness that made him feel like ever
yone’s curmudgeonly uncle, albeit one who’s secretly a big softie.
At one point late in the meal, Gnurk turned to me, gestured to the happy orcs around us, and said, pointedly, “Exactly how you imagined it, no?”
I shook my head. “Look, I’m part elf, which means I inherited certain…viewpoints. But, I’m also a traveler and someone who approaches new situations with an open mind—well, generally speaking; that philosophy does not extend to Killorian orgies.”
“That is an understandable position,” replied Gnurk with an understanding nod.
“That notwithstanding, this…well, I don’t even know what to say about this. Are all orcs like this, or are the Orcs of the Gloom Forest unique?”
Gnurk looked around at his people, laughing and joking with Rummy and Borg, before responding. “Yes.”
“Yes, they’re all like this, or yes, the Orcs of the Gloom Forest are unique?”
“No.”
“You’re really infuriating, you know that?”
The High Chieftain smiled, a genuine, something-gross-I-won’t-mention-eating grin. “To be fair, you did try to invade my land and murder my people.”
As a general rule, I don’t do sheepish, so I aimed for contrite. “Look, about that…well, we got some bad information.”
“Informed by your own prejudices?”
“From other…from people who…okay, fine, yes, we assumed, because you were orcs, that you were sitting around eating human babies, despoiling the forest, and leaving toilet seats up, and we thought that a strike on your encampment—”
