The Reeve Amidst The Green (21) The Coming Of Autumn

Time passed. The phases of the moon shifted as the autumn progressed.

Wanna wore her beautiful gold earrings, and washed dishes in the pump basin in the magical kitchen in the Reeve’s Lodge. And wondered.

When a goblin man gives one earrings, the choice is easy: one wears them, or one does not. Wanna, unsure what Arnuvel had meant, wore the earrings. She didn’t want to offend him, or make him feel his gift was unappreciated. However, if you wore a goblin man’s gift, you were essentially inviting him to pay more attention to you… you were showing him that his gift – and by extension, he – was acceptable. And Wanna wasn’t sure what Arnuvel had meant, dammit, and these humans were so damn complicated in their manners! Did Arnuvel want a woman? Did he have one? Was he seeing one? Was he even interested in goblins, that way? Or… was he waiting to see what Wanna would do?

Arnuvel came home each day for lunch. They talked about civic matters, and goblin matters, and news, and gossip. And a few days after giving her the earrings, Arnuvel had smiled at her and said “I’ve never realized how pretty you are,” on the way back out the door after lunch.

Wanna’s stomach had felt like it had been thrown off a cliff. What did this mean? Was this… just a compliment? Or was there some further meaning in it? And what was Wanna supposed to do about it?

************************

Teej and Jon never actually announced their engagement so much as they just mentioned it in passing to a few people, and the word spread. Bekk and Ollie were responsible for a great deal of the spreading of the word, but they were far from the only ones.

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Arnuvel spent much of the month of October concerned about the bureaucracy, and what had been done with his report. I used to be one of these people, he thought. I used to read the reports, copy down the salient points, check the math, and file the results in the archives. And I was, I think, among the few people who even bothered to check the math.

The money, now, that was another matter. Count the coins, count them again, verify the proper forms, and send the money to the treasury. And that was largely the job of the Exchequery. Gold and silver, now, THAT was exciting. Reports? That was for the bureaucracy. Arnuvel had spent two years there, in Reports, after his last tour on the Randish border, and had found it dull beyond dull. And he knew he wasn’t the only one.

Will they note the presence of a Magician in the report? Will someone get interested in the mention of goblins? Or will they just copy down the numbers for the Exchequery, and pass the whole thing to the archives, in the absence of a chest of coin? And there was no way of knowing. Arnuvel checked the post at the Dry Goods each day, anticipating a response, a query, SOME damn thing. And in the month of October, he heard nothing from the Capitol. And Arnuvel regarded this as a good thing. Arnuvel was also aware that midwinter might well come and go before anyone actually noticed his report, coming as it did outside the tax season. Just because it remained unread meant nothing. Not until it was in the archives, the place beyond time itself, where old knowledge went to die. And he waited.

Three ways this will go. Either, nothing will happen. Or a letter will come, asking me what the hell is going on here. Or a party of armed men will ride into town to ask me personally what the hell is going on here, possibly to take orders from me… or to issue me MY new orders… or to accompany my replacement. And I’m not going to know which until it happens. All I can do is be ready for any or all of them.

********************

The second week of October, Wanna found herself developing a habit: about twice, sometimes three times a week, after Arnuvel left after lunch, Wanna would retire to her bedroom, strip naked, stretch out on the bed, and masturbate furiously. Wanna hadn’t touched herself in quite some time. She’d found that thinking of Isho with her hand between her thighs seemed to summon the Grief Devil, and thinking of anyone else… felt like she was dishonoring Isho’s memory.

But she had no idea what Arnuvel looked like without his clothes on. And he was pretty enough, certainly. She had heard that humans liked to kiss, and wondered what kisses from Arnuvel’s mustached face would feel like… or what that mustache might feel like on other parts of her body. Ticklesome, she supposed. But imagination counted for a lot. And imagination about Arnuvel kept thoughts of Isho out of her head, and the Grief Devil didn’t seem to care if she thought about Arnuvel.

And as October rolled on, she thought of Arnuvel a great deal.

*************************

Each day after lunch, Arnuvel made a habit of stopping at the Refuge Inn, and drinking a single beer. Slowly. It was important to be seen by people, to give the impression of accessibility, to seem like a Man Of The People. Arnuvel was aware of his status as an outsider, and he knew that sitting in his office, or in his lodge, he was no less the outsider. But… perhaps over time… being seen tipping a mug at the local watering hole… having conversations with people… he would, in time, become less of one.

He knew it wouldn’t be a quick process. It was a small town on the frontier. To people born here, he would always be the new man. But over time, perhaps he could soften the line between “outsider” and “native.” And a beer went down well after lunch. And already, he found he was learning much about the difference between himself and his predecessor; Dorucan had frequented this very bar often, from late morning often well into the night; he found that not carousing after dark seemed to earn him a measure of respect. Not to mention not annoying the female patrons.

He made a point of attending the midmonth meeting in Goblin Town with the Magicians and Morr and Adii, the headfolk of the goblin tribe. The meeting seemed to be the comparison of notes between the factions, followed by a shared meal provided by the goblins. Arnuvel found it charming.

“Sorry to bore you,” Jeeka had said.

“Far from it,” said Arnuvel with a smile, sitting before a plate of roast sausage. “I like your methodology. Informative, useful, and handy for solving problems before they start. If the Royal Bureaucracy had worked this way, we might have gotten much more done in far less time!”

“Goblins don’t have a lot of use for pomp and circumstance,” Jeeka had replied with a grin. “And goblins do NOT waste time on pointless complications.”

“Then perhaps goblins are on to something,” Arnuvel had replied.

“I understand that you live with your goblin housekeeper?” Tolla had said. It had earned her a bit of stink eye from both Morr and Ben.

“I do,” said Arnuvel. “She keeps quarters in the Reeve’s Lodge. She’s really quite good at what she does. She went to much trouble to learn how to cook for humans. She makes me feel rather spoiled.”

Tolla had raised an eyebrow. Jeeka had merely smiled.

After the meeting, Tolla asked Jeeka, “You think?”

“No,” said Jeeka. “Clueless.”

************************

Around the dinner table one night at the farm, Oddri’s face took an odd cast as she ate. “What’s this we are eating?” said Oddri around a mouthful of beans.

“Toe beans,” said Shuffa, a bit surprised. “You’ve had toe beans before.”

“Not like this,” said Oddri. “Different. Did you do something different?” she asked, looking at Charli.

“I didn’t cook tonight,” said Charli. “They do taste different, though…”

“You don’t like them?” asked Shuffa, crestfallen.

“I do like them,” said Oddri. “I taste the beans… but… more. Different. There is more flavor. You did something different?”

“A bit more salt,” said Shuffa, “and I used some of the vinegar and the zeke to cook them in. Charli, are they all right?”

“More than all right,” said Charli, with a grin. “Now I recognize the flavor. Zeke is dillweed, right?”

“The pickle spice, yes,”

“These are good,” said Oddri, shoveling them down. “Goes with ham, good. This is goblin cooking?”

Shuffa smiled wryly. “The cooking I expected to be doing for my mate someday.”

“You cook like this, I will mate with you,” said Oddri cheerfully.

Shuffa blinked. Charli grinned hugely, and batted his eyes at her. Shuffa chuckled.

“Mustard plants are comin’ up good,” said Charli. “You gonna be plantin’ zeke along with mustard?”

“Not this year,” said Shuffa. “Too late in the year. Next year… I don’t know yet. It will depend on the price of mustard. And whether there are more grapes.”

“Well, if you’re going to be using those grapes,” said Charli, “I reckon we ought to take better care of them.”

“I feel strange, though,” said Shuffa, “using your grapes to make my mustard to sell…”

Charli grinned. “Well, what am I bid for the grapes?”

Shuffa narrowed her eyes and rested her elbows on the table, and smiled. “What would you take for them?”

Oddri giggled. “This winter just keeps getting better and better…”

************************

Arnuvel developed the habit of walking to work in the morning.

He’d checked the last census. Refuge Town had a population, four years earlier, of precisely 312 human persons. By way of some discreet inquries, Arnuvel had added a sub-note to that; the environs within ten miles of the town proper also included 119 goblins, give or take a few. He’d learned that goblins did not count infants among their numbers until their naming day, midway through the second summer after their birth. The point being that little more than a few town blocks and a bower of trees separated his home from his office at the Town Hall, and he hated to leave Ilsa tied up at the hitching post out front all day without water or attention; therefore, riding was a thing to be done on weekends, for the most part. And Arnuvel enjoyed the exercise, the routine, and the regular greetings on his way to and from work.

Goblins or not, Arnuvel had begun to feel that Refuge was a place a man could put down some roots.

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One night, Oddri, Charli, and Shuffa sat outside the house in the front yard and watched the stars.

Oddri rested crosslegged on the ground, her back leaning against one of the posts supporting the front porch, wrapped in one of the big comforters off the bed. Her chin rested on top of Charli’s head. Her arms were around Charli, who sat in her lap, his legs splayed out in front of him. Charli’s arms were around Shuffa, who sat in his lap, her head pillowed against his collarbone, her arms around his right arm. And together, the three of them sat and watched the stars.

“What’s wrong?” said Charli.

Shuffa looked up at him, and smiled. “Nothing is wrong.”

“Gettin’ cold?”

“Not that cold,” said Shuffa. “Cold is when you are alone in a wickiup in winter with not enough skins or blankets. That is not a problem now for me.”

“Then what is a problem?” asked Oddri.

“There is no problem. That is the problem,” said Shuffa.

“Just lost me,” said Charli.

Shuffa looked back up at Charli. He seemed as willing to help as ever. Shuffa sighed. “You know what I wanted when I came out here,” she said. “To make my own way. To have money, and to not depend on anyone. To … make my own decisions, a new way, without… getting… tangled in old ways, old thoughts, you know?”

“That is not what you have done?” said Oddri.

“That’s what I started out to do,” said Shuffa. “And… I failed. The only reason I am managing now is because I had help. I didn’t expect help. I still remember that ugly moment of dark in broad daylight when I realized that I could not make a farm by myself.”

“Yeah, I know that feeling,” said Charli.

“But then the two of you came,” said Shuffa. “And … it became possible. With you.”

“You havin’ second thoughts about us?” said Charli. “Bein’ all together, I mean?”

“I came out here to be alone,” said Shuffa. “To leave everyone else behind. Like you. To take control of my world, by myself. Like you. And you were starting to hate it, weren’t you?”

“I dunno that I hated it,” said Charli. “I was startin’ to feel kinda trapped by it, though. Till Oddri showed up.” Charli felt Oddri’s arms snuggle a little tighter, and he chuckled. Shuffa looked back at the two of them, and smiled.

“I was trapped,” said Shuffa. “And then you showed up, both of you. The dark moments … haven’t been here since then. It’s been good. Your crops are mostly harvested, and the fall crops planted. My crops are growing. I can harvest, soon. Things are good.”

“I don’t see the problem,” said Oddri. Charli nodded.

“I came out here to be alone,” said Shuffa. “And except for that first day… I have not been alone. And I begin to realize I don’t want to be alone.”

“Why did you want to be alone?” asked Oddri.

“Because I made my old life a mess,” said Shuffa. “I did things I should not have. I treated people badly. I … did things I don’t want to talk about. Things I want to forget. That’s why I left. To make a new life, away from my mistakes.”

“This new life,” said Charli. “Does it have to be alone?”

“I thought so,” said Shuffa. “I didn’t know anyone I wanted in my new life. But I didn’t know you two, then.”

“Do you want us in your new life?” asked Oddri.

“Yes,” said Shuffa. “I trusted the wrong people. I made mistakes. I listened to people I shouldn’t have. And something tells me I shouldn’t trust anyone, ever again. But … I begin to trust you.”

“Is trustin’ us a mistake?” said Charli.

“Please don’t let it be a mistake,” said Shuffa.

Oddri stretched out her arms and gathered Charli and Shuffa close, and together, they watched the stars.

************************

Jon and Teej were married in late October, in a ceremony held in the back garden behind the Singer home, attended by a scattering of friends of the bride and groom, as well as the Clan of Magicians, on the grounds of “better safe than sorry,” as there still remained those in both human and goblin camps who would regard such a union as unallowable.

They needn’t have worried. It seemed that those who might have objected, or caused trouble, or generated mischief of some description… were unaware of the ceremony, or the party afterwards, as if they hadn’t heard. Arnuvel had officiated and found the strange mixture of human and goblin marriage customs both alien and strangely touching. They do indeed have their own odd little culture, out here on the frontier…

Arnuvel had invited Wanna to come along as his plus-one, and she had accepted. Wanna had enjoyed the ceremony and the party afterwards, and furiously wondered if Arnuvel’s invitation to a wedding had had any significance, and if so, what?

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The time inevitably came when Arnuvel was halfway back to work, and realized he’d left his coin purse on the kitchen table. He stopped a moment, and pondered whether he needed it. He could run a tab at the Inn; his credit was good there. But Arnuvel expected he was going to buy a few drinks today; he’d heard word that Jon’s cousin from Ponce might be going to visit Goblin Town in the near future to help him around the house while his goblin wife Teej was away, and Arnuvel had found this curious. The way people talked about it had seemed odd and had aroused his curiosity. So he turned and headed back to get his money.

Entering the front door, Arnuvel headed for the kitchen. Wanna was nowhere to be seen, but surely she was around somewhere; the front door had been open. Arnuvel picked up his coin purse off the kitchen table, and was on his way out when he’d heard the sounds, the gasping breaths, and had moved across the carpet to glance through the door on the far side of the living room.

He couldn’t see all of Wanna; from where he was standing, he could only see from about the waist down. She was quite naked, and one hand was visible, moving with purpose between her green thighs, spread wide. Arnuvel watched as if bewitched, watching Wanna’s fingers slide up and down, her clitoris between them, slightly pinched, slightly protruding. Her vaginal lips glistened, as did her fingers.

This is not proper, thought Arnuvel, a gentleman would avert his eyes and pretend this wasn’t happening, even a servant has an expectation of privacy, I’m better than this…

But Arnuvel didn’t look away. At least not right away. He’d never seen Wanna naked; he’d never seen any goblin naked before. Four toes to a foot, like she only had four fingers to her hands. Her legs seemed shorter in proportion than a human’s would be, and her pubic hair was the same soft light brown as the hair on her head. It sparkled with her juices; she was quite wet. His view was good enough that he could see the pink flesh within the green of her outer vaginal lips.

He could hear Wanna’s breathing, coming faster and ragged, as her fingers moved more quickly between her legs. The sound of Wanna’s breathing, the sound of her whispered voice, more than the sight of her, made the hairs on Arnuvel’s neck stand on end, and made his cock twitch within his breeches. Wanna was excited. Wanna was … very focused… on whatever she was thinking of. Arnuvel wondered what she was thinking of. A strong goblin warrior? A sexy young goblin man? Her lost husband?

It was that last that gave Arnuvel the strength to look away, and as quietly as he could, he moved away from Wanna’s doorway. A soft, distant whimper whipped him like a lash across the back as he left the room.

Leaving the lodge, Arnuvel decided to skip his afternoon beer and just return to his office, the matter of Jon’s cousin quite forgotten. Strolling through the bower of trees and down the street heading to downtown, Arnuvel worked at not thinking about what he had seen, mostly unsuccessfully. And for reasons he damn well knew, The Duke’s Housekeeper drifted across his mind.

The Duke’s Housekeeper, a novel by one Fistid Wackford, who had never been positively identified, had been quite the scandal at the Capitol, nearly a decade previous. It was a rather tawdry novel, albeit surprisingly well written, and it had detailed the many romantic adventures of Melia, a young chambermaid at Castle Oxton, and her promotion to Housekeeper and subsequent torrid affair with the unmarried Duke of Oxton, an affair which took up most of the book … and ending with her subsequent ennoblement and appointment as the Reigning Duchess of Oxton.

It had sold rather well, Arnuvel recalled. Among the reasons being that it wasn’t badly written, it was wickedly and wildly salacious… and the actual Duke of Oxton had not been happy about the book’s use of certain places and titles. His complaints had gone as far as the Crown, although the King himself had declined to take action against the publisher, citing the incident as “coincidental and insignificant,” considering the genuine Duke was thirty years older than the book character, had a different name, and had been married for decades.

Arnuvel had read the book, of course; everyone had, if only because there had been some worry that the Duke of Oxton would succeed in getting it yanked from the shelves, or perhaps find out the real identity of the mysterious Fistid Wackford. It was an open secret that the Duke had resorted to buying every copy in Oxton to have them burned, only to find he’d spawned a thriving black market in copies shipped in from elsewhere.

Arnuvel thought back, and found that he could still recall snippets of the story. It hadn’t been a bad story, for all that it had paused every chapter for some salacious escapade. Melia looked at the chimney sweep. Her father, the Vicar, wouldn’t be home for hours. Her loins were burning, and she threw caution to the wind, and reached out and grabbed his…

And Arnuvel found his thoughts drawn to Wanna, her body exposed, her fingers slick. She was a goblin. But she wasn’t ugly, even to human eyes. And … she wasn’t unappealing. Even for her age, really. She was well formed and very female, for all that she was unhuman. And Arnuvel realized that he wouldn’t be able to unsee what he had seen … and that the rest of his day was going to be somewhat different than he had anticipated.

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“Well, what do you think?” asked Bull Singer in the darkness of the bedroom in the Singer home.

“Think about what?” said Rieka, lying next to him.

“About our grandchildren,” said Bull.

Rieka thought a moment. “Did you see the hobgoblins?”

“At the wedding? I did,” said Bull. “Jeeka was showin’ her baby around, proud as anything. Noticed Tolla took a bit to warm up t’the crowd, but she thawed out. And I saw you holdin’ both of them at one point when them goblins started tearin’ up the cake.” Bull chuckled. “I reckon goblins don’t get wedding cake too often. They were all over that cake.”

“I did,” said Rieka thoughtfully. “Held both of ‘em. Talked to Megga Baker, and saw her little one, too. They all have five fingers, and two of’m had blue eyes. Bull, our grandchildren are going to be like that. They’ll have green skin, and long ears, and strange eyes. But… they’re still … babies. Just babies. Look like babies, sound like babies. It took me back to when Jon and Lira were still in diapers.”

Bull smiled in the dark. “And so?”

There was a pause. “Bull,” said Rieka. “I want my grandbabies. And I’m going to love them like grandbabies. Where do you stand on this?”

“I’m going to be a man who’s glad his son’s still alive,” said Bull, easily. “Man who loves the woman who saved our son’s life. Woman who’s going to be the mother of his grandchildren. Grandchildren who’re gonna bit a bit different.” Bull paused a moment, and took a deep breath. “And I reckon I’ve got to be a man who’s interested in makin’ the kind of world that strange new children can grow up in.”

“Love you, Bull,” said Rieka, reaching out under the covers to touch her husband.

“Love you, darlin,” said Bull, rolling over and reaching out as well.

And after a moment, Bull added, “I do kind of wonder whose eyes they’re gonna have, though. ‘Cause damned if Jeeka’s baby… one with the blue eyes … didn’t look more’n a little like the Magician.”

************************

Wanna looked at Arnuvel. Something has changed, she thought. He’s looking at me… differently. What has changed?

Arnuvel had come home for lunch, as was his habit. Wanna had, as usual, had something waiting and ready for him. He’d been curious about goblin recipes as of late, and Wanna had indulged him with various dishes she was well acquainted with – salads made with river greens, meats with dipping sauces, goblin flatbread, pokkameen, gargara (a particular favorite of hers, even if it was a great deal of trouble to make) and even frog legs and ramoss. And he’d tried each of them, and they’d discussed the differences between the cuisines and cultures of goblins and men. Arn was nothing if not a good conversationalist. But over the past several days, Wanna had noted a change in Arn’s demeanor.

Wanna had noticed that Arnuvel looked at her differently. It was almost as if he was seeing her for the first time. Or perhaps, more clearly. Over several days of observation, she’d caught him looking at her in ways… well, ways that might imply … interest.

More eye contact. And when there wasn’t eye contact, there was … other contact. She was sure she’d noticed him staring at her bosom, almost, and another time when she’d had her back turned when she’d have sworn (had he been a goblin man) that he’d been checking out her behind. What’s worse, upon turning around, he’d immediately found something else to look at before reestablishing eye contact.

Wanna found herself more and more frustrated and confused. WAS he interested? Then … why didn’t he DO anything or SAY anything?

And Wanna realized she was going to have to go and talk to Bekk about all this… again.

***********************

Oddri was happy, so happy.

Oddri had a place to spend the winter, the cold hungry time, a place where she would not be cold or hungry. A place to be social with her sweet friends, as goblins put it. A place with things to do, things to hear and listen to and talk about, there was ALWAYS something to do!

Ogres’ concept of “boredom” was a very different thing from goblins or humans. Ogres, as a rule, did not get bored. There was the eternal search for food, sustenance, a full belly, and even then, one had to be aware of where one’s next meal was coming from. “Boredom” was a thing that only occurred when one’s belly was full and there was still plenty left over for the next several meals, a rare thing indeed.

Oddri wasn’t bored. Oddri had social things to keep her attention, and that’s when there wasn’t farm work to be done. Farms take work to prepare for the winter, and Oddri, Charli, and Shuffa had been busy doing it – plowing under chaff and stalks, tending compost, making building repairs, and seeing to the animals, the chicken enclosure, the pigpen, the barn, and so much more. Then there had been the harvesting of Shuffa’s mustard, and figuring out how to dry the seeds for grinding, and the preparation of the grape must for blending into the mustard sauce. Oddri was aware that she wasn’t supposed to know as much as she did, but was determined that the secret would not escape! Not from her! No, Shuffa was her sweet friend and groja mate, and the mustard would be made and sold for money for Shuffa, as it should be!

The fall was filled with work and fun and social and honey and groja, and it was a golden time such as Oddri had never seen before. Oddri’s heart was full. Work and joy and freedom from care were the order of the day.

It was two weeks into November before it occurred to Oddri that she hadn’t had her bleeding-time at the end of the previous month, the way she normally did.

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Back to Chapter 20:

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Ahead to Chapter 22!

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