CHAPTER 11 — Veikr #2
I think usually I’d be embarrassed if I found out the man I’d been with was telling tales about me.
But from the sudden and rather flattering estimation lighting the butcher’s gaze, I don’t feel unhappy with whatever Roarg said.
Rather, I feel a ridiculous curl of pleasure that he’s bragged about me.
As a bonus, whatever reputation Roarg’s bestowed has managed to fully dislodge the Dragonkind suspicion from the butcher’s mind, so that’s a big plus.
“Listen, I’ve been ordered to pick up mutton so I can make Mr. Hammerfist a happy man.
More importantly, his first wife is waiting outside just aching to cuff me if I screw this up.
Could you help me out with what Roarg normally likes to buy here? ”
“O’course!” the butcher says, shaking himself and ambling for the other end of the room.
He takes a heavy sack off of a hook on the wall, and walks it to where I’m standing.
He glances down at me, his brows still planted high on his forehead.
“Here’s the Hammerfist cuts. And just so you know, by all accounts, you, miller's daughter, are what’s making Hammerfist a happy Orc. ”
I smile, because it’s nice of him to take the time to reassure me. “Yeah? Well, I haven’t had a lot of luck with the wife,” I share. “I mean, one of his wives. The other two seem much friendlier.” I widen my eyes at him to let him know how I feel about this craziness.
He grins at me, his eyes dancing, all cheer. “You must mean Ulda. You’ll win her over if you mind what she tells you.” He nods to the meat sack. “What else can I get the Hammerfists?”
We hear the distant chime of bells and footsteps descending the stairs, signaling someone else has entered the shop.
I lean forward and conspiratorially share, “I think that’s my sisterwife now.
And like I said, her hand has a constant itch to slap me and pregnancy seems to be making her especially volatile, so I need to try not to do anything that could irritate her. She’s real fun.”
His expression is understanding, and humored. “I’m no stranger to these complaints from women—I have two wives,” he announces, his barrel chest expanding with pride.
Buddy, you don’t know how hard you’d get punched for trying to brag about that back home. But we aren’t home, this place is very different, and I’m starting to accept it. So I smile at him and joke, “Only two?”
He jerks back. And he stares at me like I’ve spit in his face.
And at my back, I feel an arctic chill.
Dread filling me, I turn and find Ulda and Opkug staring at me like I’ve just spit in the nice butcher’s face too.
I brace, but it doesn’t do much to save me: Ulda’s hand connects with the back of my head like a sledgehammer, making me curse and duck.
“I was kidding!” I yipe. “What did I even say? I swear, I didn’t mean anything offensive!”
Ulda gives the side of my head an appalled whack and pinches me by the top of my ear, hauling me close to her face, hissing furiously, “You don’t say that to an Orc man!”
I chance a look at the butcher, and his stony face makes me wince. He looks thunderous, his pride clearly stung. “I’m sorry,” I choke out, feeling pretty stung myself. It’s galling that I’m being punished when I didn’t set out to offend this man on purpose. It isn’t right.
Ulda’s voice is steel. “Go out to the buggy. Now, girl!”
Her foot leaves the floor, and I think she’d boot me in the ass if she could raise her leg high enough.
I obey her, scurrying out of the shop.
***
All the way home, I keep an expectant arm at a twitchy parade rest, ready to block Ulda should she try to cuff me again. She doesn’t, but she’s ranting under her breath so furiously, getting more and more appalled, that my still-ringing ear is extremely nervous.
Opkug gives me as sympathetic a look as a baby can, which I appreciate.
The first thing Ulda does when we arrive back at their house and enter the kitchen where we find Joktepitha and Namak?ga, is tell them all about my painful (literally) social blunder.
The gobsmacked expressions they turn on me make me feel about an inch tall.
Ulda is still railing. “I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life!”
I throw up my hands. “Look, I’m sorry. Where I’m from, what he said would be shocking. I rolled with it. I was joking.”
That’s when I notice what’s on the kitchen table. Coins. When Namak?ga sees where my gaze has fallen, she explains, “One of them is gone. We were in the middle of adding them to the coffer Roarg fashioned for your gold, when one just… disappeared.”
I gape at her. “Because I screwed up with the butcher? One of my coins was taken because I made a mistake? What does that even mean?!”
Joktepitha, with Crushosh on her hip, moves for me and takes one of my hands, face settling into sympathetic lines. “I don’t know why one of your coins vanished, but here, in Ogemaw, the Orc who can satisfy more than one wife is a virile, powerful, prosperous man.”
The import of her words settles on me. “So when I joked ‘only two’—”
Joktepitha—and Namak?ga behind her, and Ulda behind her—winces. “You implied that he’s less of a man for not having more wives. That he’s veikr.”
I give her a helpless look.
“Weak,” she explains. “Veikr is perhaps the greatest insult you can level at an Orc.”
I slump, feeling absolutely shaken. Because one of my coins going poof means that what I do here has consequences. And without a guide, I have no idea how to avoid pitfalls in the future, but I’m guessing this just set me back a step from my goal of going home.
To make me feel even better, Ulda is whispering to Namak?ga, upset. “Just wait until Roarg hears of this. And you know he will. He may have to provide an official trespass fine for this! A great one. How are we going to afford that?”
“Shhh,” Namak?ga warns, eyes going from her to me. “You’re making Stephanie look even more down in her tuskless mouth. She’s from another realm, and she didn’t know. Leave it at that.”
Joktepitha hands me a bowl of greens, a cutting board, and a knife, and tells me to chop them finely.
I tie my hair back in a messy knot and sit at the table—trying not to freak out that I lost a coin and am therefore alarmingly a step further from getting out of this reality—while Namak?ga and Joktepitha haul in our butcher shop order and begin preparing the meat for supper.
Ulda isn’t feeling well, and goes to her room to lie down, which should cut half the tension from the room, but somehow doesn’t.
Namak?ga is watching Opkug while Ulda rests, and it’s dead quiet in the kitchen, the babies staying hushed as the atmosphere strains.
And then Roarg comes home.
He’s early—way too early to be anything but worrisome. And worry is written all over Namak?ga and Joktepitha’s faces.
Dread whirling inside me, I turn in my chair, a stalk of green in my hand, my chopping knife in the other, and meet Roarg’s eye as he stands in the kitchen doorway, his gaze on me.
“Hi,” I say glumly.
“Oh, Stephanie,” he replies, his eyes a little wide. And then in two steps he’s reached me, and he hauls me up out of my seat.
He hugs me.
Roarg wraps his arms around me and hugs me.
I feel like bursting into tears. I don’t, but I do experience a concerning burn on the backs of my eyelids.
“It’s so stupid!” I share. “I didn’t mean to imply he was vicar!”
Roarg twitches, then his arms tighten around my shoulders and waist. “Veikr,” he corrects.
“That! I didn’t mean to—”
“I know.” He rocks me a little. He’s so tall, my head fits under his pectorals as he crowds over me. Something about his oversized-ness is wonderfully comforting.
“I think my game just took a hit,” I share. “Namak?ga and Joktepitha watched one of my coins disappear into thin air.”
“Hmm,” he hums, going still, but I can’t read what he’s thinking from the sound. I guess he’s just letting me know he’s hearing me.
“I apologized as soon as I learned I said something wrong,” I point out, defending myself. Not that he’s attacking, but because I feel like this game is attacking me. That I’m stuck here while someone somehow observes all my moves and punishes me for slip-ups without recourse is terrifying.
Roarg pats my back, his brick-like jaw and chin a heavy but welcome weight on my shoulder.
“And my ear hurts,” I add, because Roarg is turning out to be quite good at giving sympathy. I like this, having him hold me and listen. When I get home, I need better boyfriends. My temporary game husband has set the bar high.
Roarg draws back, holding me at arm’s length. Which, for an Orc, is quite a ways. He’s able to look me up and down and peer at my hair before his gaze lands on my ears, and he frowns. “What happened to your ears? Infection?”
“No.” I rub at my sorest one. “Ulda.”
Roarg’s eyes light with understanding. “Ah.” Then his brows crash together.
“She was humiliated in the shop,” I sigh, feeling the urge to defend her for some reason.
“Hmm.”
“And she’s not feeling good,” I add. “The buggy ride was bad for her.”
Now Roarg’s face goes weirdly blank. “Oh?”
“Yeah, and she didn’t sleep at all last night, so she’s got some reason to feel out of sorts,” I decide with a sigh, and pinch my dress’ fabric between my thumb and finger. “She sewed this for me instead of sleeping.”
Roarg swallows, his Adam’s apple huge, the muscles of his throat impressively thick. “She did a lovely job, as always.”
I nod, not because I have any history with her to know her jobs are normally good, but because this is a nice job, and it’s not hard to imagine Ulda doing her best any time she puts her hands to something. I brave up and meet Roarg’s eyes. “Did you leave work just to see me?”
He eyes me gravely. “Yes. I heard of your… misstep. Grimslaughter came to see me. I came home because I thought you might need attending to.”
My mouth curves up sadly at his choice of phrase. It sounds so dated, but I guess it fits. “Thank you. This was nice of you.”