“Well?” asked Bog. “Are you blind?”
Yip rolled up the scroll and set it back on the desk. “Sorry, Ned.”
Ned opened the scroll. “They’ve given me a command.”
“That’s not so bad,” said Bog with feigned enthusiasm.
“It’s Ogre Company.”
Quiet descended, a silence so consuming that even the drafty corridors ceased whistling. Bog wasn’t certain where to look, so he solved the problem by plucking out his eyes and sticking them in a drawer.
“Tough luck, Ned.” Yip strolled from the office with a frown, stopping in the door on his way to the belly of a monster. “Glad I’m not you.”
Two
GABEL THE ORC slammed his mug against the table. “I tell you, it’s racism. That’s what it is.”
Regina slammed her own mug twice as hard because Amazons made it a policy to do everything twice as well as any male. “The Legion has nothing against orcs. Hell, it’s built on them.”
Gabel remained adamant. “Sure it is. Angry, hot-blooded, grumbling orc idiots. But exhibit a little intelligence, bathe regularly, avoid dangling participles, and suddenly you’re not orc enough.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Frank the ogre slammed his mug as well because it seemed the thing to do.
“Is it?” Gabel leaned forward and whispered so none of his fellow ores in the pub would overhear. “All my life I’ve had to deal with this. Do you have any idea how many promotions have passed by me? Meanwhile, every mumbling, malformed, drooling moron gets to climb the ladder.”
“Maybe it’s because you’re short,” said Regina.