Chapter One hundred and two

Getting Raagstrom Raagh involved was a heat-of-the-moment decision, and I had about two whole seconds to weigh the pros and cons of taking him out of Jack’s Room. On one hand, it was quite possibly a good way to deal with the kids without killing them; the big ork, traumatised by his time in hell, would probably do his best to shepherd the young ones as far away from us as he could, and wouldn’t think of coming back for trouble. At least for a while. Problem solved. On the other hand, if this went sideways, then I’d have a furious elven terminator screaming at me — or maybe even attempting to murder me — for ruining a perfectly good operation to get his people back from captivity. Not to mention the consequences for the above-mentioned people in captivity.

Well, the two seconds were up, Raagstrom Raagh — or Reggie for short — was screaming something about letting him out, the ork kids were lathering liberal amounts of paint on the wall without suspecting a thing, Krissy was asking questions I had no answers for, and I felt something coming from Fenirig Arte — something like an angry, mental glance at me with an undertone of “what’s it gonna be, cunt?”

I tried to take a deep breath — which of course didn’t work — and I stretched a tentacle to reach behind the artistic little goblins, and that’s where I dumped the ork captain’s body. The teenager squad — including the sole human slave — froze as the body thumped and splashed on the muddy ground behind them, the fluid motions of their paintbrushes coming to an abrupt halt, their weird, yellow eyes widening with what I assumed to be fright or fear. That gave me the couple of seconds I needed to knead the large ork’s soul back into his body, which I did pretty well and pretty fast this time. By the time the first of the green brats mustered the courage to move and start turning around to find out what that noise had been, Captain Reggie sucked some air in, then cried into the wet darkness of this dreadful night.

‘I’m out ya ganks, I’m out! Fuggen hell I’m out!’

And he was shedding happy tears. Huh! So orks could cry. That was good to know. Probably.

The kids all turned around and jumped back in one motion, pressing themselves against the still wet graffiti they had applied to the wall, and they stared with their mouths open as Raagstrom Reggie clambered to his feet like a dragon after a hundred-year nap.

‘Well, you’re out of Hell, so do me a favour and take these kids somewhere far away from here. Very, very far, actually. And don’t come back!’ I instructed the ork. A deal was a deal, and he kept his end.

‘Oi, ya wee ganks, yer comin’ with me, or imma be breakin’ yer legs,’ the large ork grunted at them even before fully standing.

Why I had thought things would go smoothly and my way, I had no idea. The kids looked at each other, then erupted into a barrage of grunts and shrieks aimed at the still wobbly Raagstrom Raagh, and to add the appropriate emphasis, one of them threw his bucket at him. The paint was yellow, that much I could tell, sort of a mustard-y colour. The bucket bounced off him, but the goo clung to him like glue, dripping down from his wide chest to the rest of his torso and legs, mixing with all the mud on him. I was … a little bit amused. Reggie wasn’t. The captain of the ill-fated galley growled like a wolf as he pounced, smashing his fist into the face of the poor sod that had threw the bucket. The kid crashed through the wooden wall into the building, rolling on the ground until he hit the opposite wall. The other three youths screamed, and even the human was flailing his arms, trying to stop the madness. Luckily, the ork youngster turned out to be quite sturdy — no surprise there — and he jumped to his feet, a bloody nose the only sign of the recent violence against him. For a moment it made me wonder what ork parenting looked like — and if I’d had the time to ponder the question I would have — but this noisy fiasco had to be resolved one way or another, before my favourite elven death-machine would decide to intervene and slaughter everyone.

So, about five seconds after reviving Reggie, I stuck tentacles into the souls of each and every ork kid present, and of course into the human, connecting them to the comm-node I had used for the marine network previously. I seriously hoped a sudden voice in their heads would grab their attention, and that I could win a wordless shouting match. How wrong I was. The thought-voices of four kids, one captain and a human slave overwhelmed me instantly.

‘… ya think ya some bigshot seafugger …’ one of the kids screeched.

‘… back to yer fuggen boat ya gankshit …’ the one who had thrown the bucket roared.

‘… and shove it up yer ass ya stoopid fuggin’ …’ the third of them tried to outyell the others.

‘… shitmunchin’ slavergank fuggface gank …’ the sole girl of the group echoed the prevailing sentiments loudly and angrily.

Ah, kids these days; no respect for their elders. This was quite familiar, and I thought maybe orkish society wasn’t so weird after all.

‘… ya fuggen kids ain’t got no idea what’s comin’. Get the fugg outta ‘ere or yer be goin’ to Hell and Hell ain’t nice,’ Raagstrom Raagh presented his case, thundering at the agitated youths like a storm.

‘… now, now, children, maybe it’s time to call it a night and retire home …’ the human slave half-spoke-half-grunted his opinion, while making sure he wasn’t in arm’s reach of anyone. His speech was very orkish-influenced, but his thought-voice was articulate.

One way or another, this had to stop.

‘Ooooi, you oversized teenage mutant ninja turtles! Shut your traps and listen up, Master Splinter’s talking now!’ I shouted into the ork-chat putting as much force into my thought-voice as possible.

‘Hehe, Master Splinter. I’m going to call you that from now on, bro,’ Hank put his tuppence in.

Aside from my self-proclaimed brother’s remarks, the effect was what I had envision. Silence fell on the group like a plane from the sky; they all straightened as if snapping to attention, looking around, trying to identify where the voice had come from.

‘Oh shit, it’s the spirit gank,’ Raagstrom Raagh groaned. ‘I ain’t goin’ back to Hell!’

‘S… sp… spirit gank?’ the girl stuttered, staring at Reggie in disbelief. ‘Ya ganged up with ‘em shitpile-shamans? Ain’t got no shame, ya gank? Goin’ round stealin’ people for slaves ain’t enough for ya? Ya had to go gangin’ up with ‘em fuggen mystics?’

‘Oi, business is business ya gank! And I ain’t got nothin’ to do with ‘em spirit-fuggers,’ the captain bellowed angrily at the girl, and that resulted in another round of loud and colourful exchange of insults between the youths and the captain, all of them completely forgetting the “spirit gank” in their midst.

I shook my head mentally, and I focused on the human slave, the only one quiet now, just observing the ongoings with visible trepidation.

‘Hey, you, human,’ I called out to him.

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‘Oh. A spirit indeed,’ the man said quietly, a puzzled expression settling on his face.

‘Yeah, spirit indeed. So, care to explain what the hell is going on here?’ I told him.

‘Oh, just what you’d expect from young ones. They don’t have much in terms of opportunities to voice their opinions.’

That was interesting, and it made me think that sneaking out at night to do graffiti might have been more to these kids than just a little bit of fun.

‘What’s with the graffiti?’ I asked.

‘Graffiti?’

‘The paintings on the wall.’

‘Oh, that. An expression of their dissatisfaction with the ruling class and their practices,’

the man nodded, awfully calm now, considering he was speaking with a spirit. Based on my previous experiences, he should have been a lot more freaked out.

‘What practices?’

‘Well, let’s see … the use of spirit familiars to claim positions of unchallenged power, the suppression of thought and opinion, the ongoing militarisation of the clan, slavekeeping and its recent expansion into all areas of society, and the list goes on.’

I was once again surprised how eloquent and precise the man’s thoughts were coming across despite his audible speech suggesting the opposite. I was sure he had a story to tell, but I had to put that aside, because what he’d said was painting a very different picture of the situation than I had believed just moments ago. These kids were expressing political opinions, for the lack of a better word, and as I looked at them again, arguing with Reggie, they seemed genuinely concerned and angry about how things were going in their clan. They might have been the most progressively thinking orks I’d seen to date. And heavily suppressed it seemed. If there had ever been a people who needed Twitter in their lives, it was them. I wondered if Elon had bought it since my unceremonious departure from Earth. Regardless, I had to think fast and hard to figure out how to resolve or even use this situation to my — our — advantage.

My train of thought was disrupted by a second flying teenager. It seemed Reggie had lost his patience again, or one of the boys had said something he didn’t like, and in traditional ork manner, he had put a fist to his face. The kid bounced off the wall without going through it — unlike Yellow Paint Boy a minute earlier — and he looked fine as he sprung up from the muddy ground, yelling assorted obscenities at the captain.

And with a sudden surge of inspiration, I figured out how to stop the ongoings and get them to run and disappear.

***

‘Uh … Master Fenirig Arte? Are you there?’ I asked cautiously while keeping a few tentacles around the arguing orks.

Where the fuck else would I be? The reply came.

‘Okay, noted. So, I need you to …’

Oh, please tell me you’re not about to give me an order! He growled into the voice chat with a vicious anticipation in his thought-voice.

‘Oh, no, I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m … asking for a favour? Yes. A favour. If you’d be so kind.’

Let’s hear it, and let’s hear it quick. You’re holding us up and I’m of a mind to kill all the green fuckers and move on.

‘Yeah, so, please don’t do that!’

The fuck do you want then?

Could you … uh … capture the four kids on your end and bring them over to our location? Alive?

You have a plan?

‘I have a plan.’

Fine. At least I’ll have someone to blame when this all goes to shit. He murmured, then gave some orders to his team-leaders.

I couldn’t see or hear them, but I was sure a whole bunch of rangers were already moving at the other end of this clearing-slash-settlement, sneaking up on the poor kids. I pulled myself back towards Krissy and Kiwa a little bit, and I fished out their trusty masks from Jack’s Room.

Oh, come on! Masks again? Krissy complained as soon as the crying theatre mask stuck to her face.

‘Sorry, policy is policy,’ I said to her. ‘Listen, come over to the third building on your right. Everyone’s here, Master Fenar’s heading this way as well. Bring Toven and his team. The more the merrier.’

You have a plan? She inquired.

‘I have a plan,’

‘He has a plan. What is it? Who knows? Will it work? Who knows?’ Hank decided to cut in once again.

‘Whose side are you on?’ I demanded angrily.

‘That … depends on what your plan is. I’m not a mind-reader, you know.’

‘Yeah. You’re a bloody mind-eater,’ I scoffed, then I turned my attention back to the still arguing orks.

I was a hundred percent sure that without outside intervention, they’d spend the whole night throwing insults and fists at each other, because apparently a good argument — with the hope it would devolve into a full-on brawl — was more important to them than Hell and spirits or anything else. They’d feel right at home in some parliamentary debates in certain third-world countries, and honestly, even in some developed countries as well. That aside, the plan based mostly on gut feelings, was coming together. Krissy arrived with Kiwa and Toven’s team in tow, about the same time Fenirig Arte and his rangers dragged another four ork teenagers along to join up with us.

Raagstrom Raagh and Teenager Squad Number One suddenly fell silent, noticing the newcomers way too late to be able to flee or do anything about it, realistically, and I used this precious time of silence to address the crowd and bring my plan to fruition.

‘Now, listen up, kids! You will follow Raagstrom Raagh and flee! Got it? You’re outnumbered and these guys are ready to kill you all,’ I told them as unambiguously as I could. ‘Just don’t go to the Harbour. It’s basically gone, and there’s more of us there and they’ll kill you. Oh, and don’t go to the city either, because there might be some more killing there too.’

The gang of teens first looked up at the sky as if my voice was coming from there, then glanced around, eying the ghillie-suit wearing rangers and their drawn blades. They finally started to look worried, if I was interpreting their facial expressions correctly. That was good: in a few seconds they would come to their senses, realise they had no choice but to flee or die, and we could all go on our merry way to …

‘No!’ one of them grunted sternly.

It was Yellow Paint Boy.

‘No? What do you mean no? You want to die or something? You will all go with the big one and that’s it, end of story.’

‘What a tyrant you are, bro! Proper dictator,’ Hank mused. ‘We might as well just eat them.’

‘Shut it, Hank!’

‘No!’ Yellow Paint Boy reiterated, and even stepped forward in a random direction, looking around. ‘Ya ganks are ‘ere for the new slaves, aintcha? The one ‘em seafuggers brought?’

‘Well, yeah,’ I said.

I wasn’t sure where he was going with this. He should have been running for his life already. Was he looking for a fight?

‘And yer gonna be killin’ us down in the Harbour and up in Vraathblood,’ he stated rather than asked.

‘I see no reason to disappoint the kid. Let’s kill them and move onto the city. I, for one, am excited about all the people there,’ Hank suggested.

I saw many of the rangers — who could also hear him over the voice chat — tentatively nodding in agreement. This wasn’t lost on Yellow Paint Boy and his gang, neither on Raagstrom Raagh; they all shuddered, and I was sure Fenirig Arte was losing his patience as well.

‘Just run for it already you stupid cunt!’ I yelled at the boy.

Instead of doing that, he turned around to face Raagstrom Raagh.

‘Ya see this ya fuggen gank? Stoopid shitbag Skraath Ironbite and his fuggen greed for slaves and iron is killin us all is what he’s doin’. Mah old man told ‘em long ago this shit’s gon happen if we keep goin’ over to steal people, and what Skraath Ironbite went doin’? What Zootagh Gutspiller went doing? They went killin’ ‘im and feedin’ im to their shitspirits or somethin,’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, man, just get the hell out of here or you’ll die like the rest!’ I tried my luck once again.

‘No. We ain’t runnin’ no more! Time to throw shit in Ironbite’s stoopid face before he goes killin’ the whole clan. We’re Vraathkill, and we’re throwin’ shit better than anyone!’

Oh, the almost articulate, politically motivated little piece of shit! Would it have been too hard not to suddenly find the courage and not stand up for his beliefs? All I needed him was to run away, and now he was spewing nonsense about going toe-to-toe with some orks named Ironbite and Gutspiller — who I assumed were the famed shamans of Sivera. Shit, shit and more shit, I needed to turn this around at the speed of light. Unfortunately, Raagstrom Raagh looked impressed by Yellow Paint Boy’s bravado.

‘Oi, yer a Vraathkill awright,’ he grunted at the boy. ‘But ya think you can go takin’ ‘em shamans? Think again!’

‘We’re ready ya giant fuggface gank!’ the boy grunted back at the captain, the other kids all nodding. Then he slowly spun around in a full circle to look at every single ranger, Krissy and Kiwa included. ‘Ya skinnies ain’t here for peace, that’s fuggen sure. Mah old man said this be happenin’ someday. It’s happenin’ now.’ He stepped away from Raagstrom Raagh, then picked none other than Krissy to approach. I supposed it made sense for him to pick one of the two people here who didn’t look like antropomorphic bushes. ‘Oi, funnyface! Ya want yer people back. We want ‘em fuggers takin’ ‘em gone. Ya seein' a deal here?’

Just my “fuggen” luck to run into members of some local resistance movement. Which meant it was time to start formulating a plan B, and I had a feeling that this time Master Fenirig Arte would have a few things to say. Fucking ork kids!