Negotiations
Bjorke straightened up the small room in the Guild Hall. With Norgoth gone so much, deep in his own reaction to the events of that fateful night, Bjorke spent less and less time at their hut.
She headed down to the main room, her bag packed and wearing the thin leather pants, white shirt and now red-stained boots. Not even Truitt could get the red dust color off. He was there, sweeping, but seemed to be raising dirt, rather than corralling it.
He saw her, and scrambled for the report on the table. “Here’s your –”
“I need these supplies gathered.” She cut him off, handing him a parchment.
“Yes, Boss, I’ll get to it as soon as I can.”
“Today, Truitt. Oh, and send messages to these people. Their services will be needed.”
His face fell as he looked over the long list of supplies, and then the long list of people to contact.
“Yes, Boss,” he said flatly. A sigh escaped before he could stop it, catching her attention.
“Something the matter, Truitt?”
“No, Boss.” He really was a poor liar.
“What is it, Truitt? Am I … working you too hard?” She bit back the comment on her tongue, in an effort to get that stricken look off his face.
“NO!” A look of panic swept over him. “It’s just, well… um… I … um … had plans for today.” His words tumbled out quickly, as he boldly dared to assert himself.
She studied him, a hint of a smirk playing across her lips. “Plans, eh?” Crossing her arms, she tapped her chin thoughtfully. “What’s on my calendar for tomorrow?”
He scrambled to fetch her agenda book from her desk. “That meeting with Lady Talon… “
“Oh, yes. Her. Forgot about that. Very well, that changes things. Take your time, by all means, enjoy yourself. That work can wait until tomorrow.” Her face showed she felt this gesture to be quite magnanimous.
She put on her broad-brimmed hat, and gave him a wink. “Have a good time, Truitt.”
The weather was calm, and the sunrise peeked over the horizon as she waited on the docks. “You’d think by now this crew would know the time they were supposed to be here,” she fumed silently. “I pay enough for this ship.”
The small vessel pulled up to the dock – its trim form and large sails showing it was built for speed, and not for war or cargo. Of course, appearances could be deceiving. The voyage was quicker than usual, thanks to the good weather, and she was in Rachet before Kaz this morning. He staggered in the inn, reeking of ale.
Bjorke grinned at him, and greeted him in Orc. Her accent was improving, and she knew a wider variety of words. He grinned back, his eyes bloodshot, and lumbered over to her, embracing her in one of his hugs, picking her up. He seemed to delight in this daily ritual, perhaps because he knew how much it annoyed her.
“Put me down!” she said in Common. It was one of the first phrases he had learned. He complied, but not before nuzzling her neck. Ever hopeful, that one was. He gave Hero a pat, and the dog licked his hand.
“Where today?” Bjorke asked. It was his job to line up the contacts, hers to provide the goods. He pulled out the map, and pointed. Bjorke frowned at him. “Trolls? Blast.” He’d learned that word, too. Bjorke rubbed the back of her neck. “Fine. But you do the talking, alright? You know I can’t stand those things.” He stared blankly at her. “You. Talk. Troll. Me. Wait.” Kaz’ran nodded, and pushed his large frame up from the table.
“Go now.”
