The Reeve Amidst The Green (18) First 1/2 of Chapter 18
Time passed.
And in time, Arnuvel looked over the near-finished Preliminary Report.
Tax reports, assessments, the surveying updates for the last three years, business records for the same period, and painstaking copies of Barnaby’s notes about criminal case records and border incidents in that time frame. Including the complete lack of actual information about the disappearance of the previous reeve, complete with lack of speculation, all in the usual dry, bureaucratic language.
Wanna had been of tremendous help in learning about the goblin way of doing things, goblin governance, and so forth. She tried so hard to be helpful. Arnuvel was a little ashamed to have thought that she might be in the pay of the Magician, or of the goblin headman. If she was, she was a remarkably incompetent spy, and far better a source of information than a siphon for it. Arnuvel wondered if there was any way he could show his appreciation for what she’d done? Well, perhaps when the report was finished and posted, he’d look into that.
And then there was section sixteen. Arnuvel wondered if anyone would read that far or if he wanted them to, or if they would take notice, if they did.
Section The Sixteenth
Dwelling just South of the River Komaal, three Miles East of Refuge Town Proper, can be found a Settlement of Unhumans that the folk of Refuge refer to as Goblin Town. This settlement rests upon unannexed land, and is not adjunct to Refuge Town Proper. It is inhabited by Goblins, who are in disposition Friendly to the folk of Refuge, and often engage with said folk of Refuge in trade, barter, and other endeavors; their relationship with the local human folk is peaceful.
Arnuvel had had to look up what the river was called; the locals all just called it “The River,” and Barnaby hadn’t known. Arnuvel looked over the summary. It was accurate enough, if you left out the occasional raid and skirmish, all of which seemed to be left safely in the past… and, er, other forms of intercourse, which were, as they say, ongoing. But this could safely be left out until he’d had more time to study the whole picture.
The Goblins of Goblin Town are more civilized in nature and demeanor than other goblins as described in Xygag’s Bestiary, being less interested in violent pursuits and more like unto the human pursuits of Agriculture and Commerce. Their System of Governance rests in an elected Headman, who holds power by popular suffrage, and is advised by a Council of Elders, who represent factions of the goblin tribe at large. They number somewhat fewer than the folk of Refuge, estimated as perhaps a hundred or so, including females and infants. Their Headman holds the high and low justice over the Goblin Folk, but only within the desmenes of Goblin Town itself.
Accurate enough. The goblins described in the Bestiary were strange creatures, described as somewhere between elves and apes, and as far as Arnuvel had been able to determine, had little relationship or similarity to the creatures he had so far observed. Still, it was dry, factual, informative, and accurate, without perhaps being provocative enough to draw official interest. Arnuvel had done his job, and reported what he’d found. If in his opinion, future discoveries and developments warranted further reporting… well, he’d ford that river when he got to it. And now to the twitchy part. Arnuvel picked up his quill, dipped it, tapped it, and began to write.
Living amongst the Goblins is a Human man, whose manners and speech are peculiar and unfamiliar to this Observer, though he is courteous and proper in demeanor. His name is Ben Harson, and his mention in town records is scanty. The locals refer to him as a Magician, and he is known to have performed various acts of Medicine and other beneficent Favors at the request of said locals. He is not a Hermit, and often visits town to make purchases of the local merchantry but does not live in the Town proper.
And there it was. It was, again, accurate enough, and it avoided the words wizard, sorcerer, enchanter, thaumaturgist, witcher, minion-master, dark lord, necromancer, warlock, conjurer, summoner, or any other words which might twig a reader hard enough to seize their interest. He’d have liked to leave out the word magician, but considering that’s what everyone around here called the man, it seemed derelict of duty to not mention it. Hopefully, they’d just assume he was some local herb doctor or cunning-man, and leave it at that.
Arnuvel looked over the words, approved, and sprinkled it with pounce to dry the ink. Standing, he stretched, and yawned, and flexed his muscles; he’d been sitting a long time, and worrying about section sixteen had stressed him. Sitting again, he dashed off the obligatory page-and-a-half of courtly conclusions, goodbyes, and wishes for the King’s health, and upon drying the ink with pounce again, Arnuvel slipped the document into a large envelope, sealed it with wax, and stepped out to take it to the Dry Goods for stamping and posting.
Whatever happened now, he’d done his duty to King and country.
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Oddri and Shuffa looked over Shuffa’s plot. Bare last week, it now was gently frosted with green flecks, as far as Shuffa could see. Vigilantly, she kept an eye out for anything that wasn’t mustard, and dealt with it mercilessly. Rain and care was bringing up her crop quickly, and Shuffa dared to hope that her first crop would provide full benefit, and perhaps there might, MIGHT be a second, if the gods were merciful and a frost held off long enough. A second crop would give her enough silver to pay off the Magicians for the duration of the winter!
Shuffa thought about the other seeds she had. Spikeroot, daika-root, speckle-zang, fahreean, sage, youbash, and several others. Come spring, she could diversify her crops. If this worked, perhaps she could even think about buying more land… no, no, not yet, not YET! She could barely manage this little plot all by herself. Without Oddri and Charli, she’d already be wondering how she’d pay off the Magician at Samhain for the first installment. No point getting ahead, no point letting hope rise too fast. But she took a moment to marvel at the green frosting across her land, and luxuriate in quick dreams of future silver.
“It’s growing,” said Oddri. “Mustard seed plants.”
“Growing,” said Shuffa with a smile.
“Happy?” said Oddri inquiringly.
“I begin to get there,” said Shuffa. “Thank you for your help. You and Charli. I made mistakes. You two saved me from suffering.”
“It is good to help,” said Oddri. “Charli saved me from suffering. I saved him from suffering. We made hurt go away. It feels good to do this for you.”
“I appreciate it,” said Shuffa. “I want to make a life here. I want to be happy, too, like you.”
“Would it help you be happy to make groja with Charli?” asked Oddri, as if she were asking the price of potatoes.
Shuffa blinked and flicked her ears. Had she heard that correctly? “What?”
Oddri looked down at Shuffa with big brown eyes. Over the past week, Shuffa had undergone a bit of a sea change as far as looking at Oddri. Her first impression had been ogre! And her urge had been to flee. Now she looked at Oddri, and simply saw a big woman, something like an overlarge human. Shuffa remembered when she’d regarded humans as monstrous. She’d ended by offering herself to various of her friendlier human coworkers at the lumber yard. She’d enjoyed it. It was better than going without. Attitudes changed, particularly when you lived with the people in question.
“Would it help you to be happy,” Oddri repeated patiently, “to make groja with Charli? He’s very good at it.”
Shuffa looked back at Oddri. “I don’t know,” she said. “Does Charli want me?”
Oddri giggled. “Charli is a boy human,” she said. “Boys always want groja.”
Shuffa smiled. “Charli likes big girls,” she said, pointing at Oddri, who giggled again.
“When you first came,” Oddri said, “and we washed in the river, that first time, Charli looked at you. I remember. He liked you. You’re pretty. But you were hurting and crying then. I remember when he rubbed your back when it hurt. He liked to touch you. Charli really likes to touch. But he is too polite. You didn’t want groja, then. He knew that. But you are better now. You don’t hurt. You don’t worry so much. You don’t cry. Would groja make it better for you?”
Shuffa stood and stared at Oddri. Shuffa wasn’t sure what groja meant, although from the times she’d heard Oddri use the word, in context, it seemed to mean sex. Shuffa hadn’t really thought about sex, this past week, or before that, since she’d told Feldon that she was leaving, and didn’t know when she’d be back. Feldon and the lumberyard and Teej and Bekk had been her entire social life, and she’d walked away from it all to start a farm, to make money, to step outside her world and find something bigger. Well, she was certainly talking to something bigger now…
“This doesn’t bother you?” Shuffa asked. “If Charli and I made groja?”
“No,” said Oddri guilelessly. “Charli will still want me. But I want you to be happy too. Not to worry so much. Not to say the thank you so much. To be able to be free and not hurt and not worry. I share my honey with you. I share Charli with you. Maybe. We could talk to him and see.”
Shuffa stood and wondered. It would be a way to pay Charli back for his kindness and effort. And it might be fun. It would certainly be a way to blow off some tension. But humans could be weird about sex… but how weird could THIS human be about it? He was sleeping with an ogre! “Are you sure about this, Oddri? I don’t want to hurt you or upset you. I wouldn’t want to fuck Charli and then afterwards you think it was a mistake.”
Oddri sat down on the ground and looked thoughtful for a moment. “Charli is better than honey,” she said.
Shuffa looked at Oddri, not understanding.
“If I share my honey with you,” Oddri continued, “there is not so much honey for me. But… Charli… is … big. He says big things. He makes big things. On the outside he is small like a human… but… on the inside, he is big. Big heart. Big words. Big everything. Bigger on the inside. I think Charli is bigger than me, bigger inside than I am outside.”
Shuffa cocked her head and looked at Oddri, beginning to understand.”
“And if I share Charli with you,” said Oddri, “there is still Charli for me. Lots of Charli. Because he is so big. You see?”
Shuffa smiled. “It won’t hurt you?”
“No. Will it make you happy?”
“It might. He likes big girls. You think he would want a small goblin?”
“We could see.”
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Arnuvel sat at a table at the Goblin Pie with food and beer and observed the lunch customers interacting with the fat-breasted goblin girl at the counter. She was a bit plump, even by goblin standards, but far from unattractive. Her chest was beyond anything he’d seen on a goblin or human, barely restrained by her stretch-fabric top and leather bodice she wore on the outside of that. Arnuvel could see why she was popular with goblin and human customers alike. She took the attention in stride, and dealt with all with smiles and cheer and considerable exposure of flesh. Arnuvel found himself enjoying it in spite of himself, as he ate the spicy goblin pie concoction. But, he reminded himself, he had one affair to manage during what was going to be a little bit of a working lunch.
Tearing his gaze away from the laughing voluptuarian, Arnuvel glanced around, and found himself in luck: at the next table, he recognized the goblin who worked at the livery stable, the one who had advised him on goblin etiquette. “You are Yuppik, yes?” said Arnuvel, across the gap between tables.
Yuppik looked up, saw, and recognized. “I am Yuppik,” he said. “And you are Reeve, yes?”
“Call me Arnuvel,” said Arnuvel. “I have need of goblin counsel, if I can bother you for a moment.”
“Goblin council?” said Yuppik, confused.
“Advice,” said Arnuvel. “You advised me well when I visited Goblin Town, and I need wise words on another goblin matter. Will you help me again?”
“If I can,” said Yuppik. “What kind of help?”
“There is a goblin woman,” said Arnuvel. “She has helped me a great deal. She has advised me, and helped me to understand goblins, and goblin matters. She is wise, and very helpful to me in a delicate and confusing time. She has done me much good. How would I show her my appreciation, in a polite and proper way?”
“Appreciation,” said Yuppik. “Earrings.”
“Earrings?”
“Earrings show appreciation,” said Yuppik. “Shows she has value to you. Small thing but shows appreciation.”
Arnuvel smiled. “Where would I get earrings around here?”
“There is a goldsmith in the Goblin Market. She buys gold and makes beautiful things there. She has many gold earrings and other things. She sells them there.”
“Yuppik, you have once again provided good counsel,” said Arnuvel, “and I thank you for it. Mistress Grola!” he called, waving at a waitress, who looked across the dining area at him. “Will you bring Yuppik another drink, on me? And keep the change!” Arnuvel put a stack of coppers on the table. “And I beg your pardon, good Yuppik, but now I have business in Goblin Town, before the lunch hour is too far gone.” Rising from the table, Arnuvel picked up his last slice of pie, and stuck it in his mouth on the way out the door.
Grola came to the table with a fresh mug of beer and put it before the delighted Yuppik, and picked up the stack of coins and Arnuvel’s bare plate and empty mug. “What was all that about?” she asked Yuppik in the speech of goblins.
Yuppik answered likewise. “The Reeve has his eye on a goblin girl,” he said, “and asked how he would show her that she has value to him. I told him that earrings are a fine introductory gift, not too big a thing, shows appreciation and value.”
Grola blinked in surprise, dropped the coins in her apron pocket, and glanced at the front door where Arnuvel had exited. “He’s been in town two weeks now and already chasing a goblin girl? I don’t know him all that well, but wouldn’t have thought him the type for a walk on the green side.”
“It’s obvious the Reeve has a good eye and a fine appreciation for the better things in life,” said Yuppik happily, leering cheerfully at Grola’s round behind, encased in blue stretch fabric.
Noticing this, Grola gave Yuppik a wry grin, wrinkling her nose at him. “You say the sweetest words, Yuppik!”
Yuppik grinned and brought his beer to his lips. “Funny thing,” he said, before he drank. “The Reeve said the same thing about my words.”
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Back to Chapter 17:
Ahead to the second half of Chapter 18!
Posted Jan 2, 2023, 4:58 AM UTC · edited