Gadruff drained the bottle, dropped it to the ground and kicked it away paying little attention to where it went. He wiped his moustache and short-cropped beard with the back of his gloved hand and frowned hearing increased level of noise by the entrance to the narrow ravine where he'd set his camp a few weeks gone. The flickering, orange light of torches didn't allow him to see what was going on but he didn't have to see. He knew anyway. The bleating of the goats and raspy calls of the Khazâd, as they called themselves, meant that the hunting party was back.
He spat. Their last delivery was meagre: one woman. He had five girls in the cages now and this really wasn't anything impressive. Admittedly, one was particularly delicious, with fair hair, white skin and plump soft body - he was tempted to keep her for himself at least for some time - but five was barely going to pay his costs. Not to mention that one had been badly beaten by the hunters following some nasty incident. He wouldn't have minded the bruises or the need for extra care - in fact, he liked a filly with some fizz in the blood - but her eyes scared him. He'd seen eyes like this in both peoples of speech and beasts of the wild when they were ready to die and take as many as possible with them. He looked in her eyes when they brought her in and the desire for thrill-seeking left him.
He slowly walked over to the newly arrived group, his rolling gait that of a man used to a pitching ship. Four dwarves were taking a stretcher off a cart. Someone was wheezing and struggling to breathe. It was a dwarf, his neck and chest covered in a bloodied bandage, his face red and swollen, his eyes wild with fever.
"What the hell happened to him?" he asked one tending the goats.
"The redhead bitch we brought here the day before yesterday bit him and bit him badly. His windpipe and all. The wound festers," answered the dwarf.
Gadruff raised his eyebrows because there was quite a lot of blood on those bandages. "Bit like... with her teeth?" he was glad he had decided against having fun with her.
"Yeah. She is prob'ly mad or rabid," shrugged the dwarf. " Karloff is livid because this," here the dwarf motioned towards the body on the stretcher, "is his cousin. Says he's gonna pay the bitch in kind."
As if on cue a tumult of angry voices started by the cages. Gadruff jumped as if stung by a wasp, swore like an orc, and started running in that direction, his hand on the hilt of his short cutlass. No one, not even Karloff, was going to threaten his profit.
He passed three campfires, stacks of provisions, crates of weapons, armour and other goods Kheledûl would pay for, and quickly reached a small shack where cages, each able to hold up to five women, were sheltered from the elements. Karloff was already inside, his blunt mace in hand, his face turned up towards Jorr, Gadruff's second in command, who stood in front of the cage holding a solitary prisoner. Jorr's arms were folded on his chest, his legs wide apart, his expression lazy - one might think Karloff was boring him to death. Gadruff relaxed and smiled, as Jorr conversed in an amicable manner.
"Hav' yer taken the munny, fr'end?"
"Yer can take it back, f'r all I care!" snarled the dwarf. "Shove off!"
Jorr raised his left hand as if trying to calm Karloff down.
"Yer took th' munny, means, yer made th' deal. And deal is deal, my fr'end."
Gadruff flanked the dwarf whose face was yellow by now.
"Tha' was before she killed my cousin!" screamed Karloff.
"So th' gal fought. And whut?" Jorr snorted. "Yer cousin still breathes, no?"
"He breathes now, yuss. Fer how long though? She's no gal, she's a rabid dog!" snarled Karloff.
Jorr raised his left palm again.
"With all respec', yer cousin is a snivelling wuss if he let an unarmed gal hurt him like tha', fr'end."
Karloff seethed for a moment, his eyes passing between Jorr's and Gadruff's faces, then suddenly all the anger went out of him and he deflated a little. It was clear to Gadruff that the vengeful relative was replaced by a trader, and that Karloff knew when he was outnumbered.
"He is a stinking wuss, I'll give yer tha', but if he dies, I'll hav' to pay his wife. What yer gave me f'r th' gal..."
"I'll pay again," sighed Gadruff not letting Karloff finish. He knew feisty girls would fetch quite a price but he continued in a pained, resigned manner, "I don't even know why I'm doing this. Your cousin is a bloody fool. Was she even armed at all? And what was he doing that she bit his neck? Was he trying to have a good time?"
Karloff scowled at him.
"We don't do tha' sort of thing to women. Not to ours, not to yours," Karloff's expression left no doubt about what he thought about the customs of men in this respect. " And she had a sword, a huge and broken thing, but she didn't wield it." Karloff looked past Jorr and into the cage. "She wouldn't be able t' lift it."
Darkness within... (The author of the drawing in Florian Meacci, www.florianmeacci.com)
Gadruff peered into the cage as well. There, in the middle, was a small, pathetic heap of bruised limbs and dirty rags. He felt a twinge of pity. He liked to think that women in his care were treated well. He offered them hope, however false that hope was, he posed as a saviour, even though he had no intention of saving them from their fate. Still, he liked it when they looked at him with hope, when they were eager to please him, to earn their salvation.
"Jorr," he addressed his mate quietly, "get her a blanket or something. She'll catch a bad cough and waste away before we can sell her. And watch out so that we don't have to pay your widow off as well," he joked.
Jorr grinned, "Yer'd go out of business pretty quick. I hav' quite a few wives."
Gadruff placed his hand on Karloff's shoulder in a patronising gesture, "Come, Karloff, we'll talk trade in my tent. What I owe you and what else you have for me. I have a pretty blonde waiting for me too, if you wanna discover why I do what I do."
Karloff scowled at him again, but nodded towards the exit. There was going to be some profit after all, and Gadruff smirked to himself when he was sure Karloff didn't see it.
***
Next morning Gadruff woke up tired and red eyed. Karloff bargained hard and drove the price up. He had three further girls and ten score of old rusty weapons, most of which could be salvaged. Gadruff was pleased. The self-proclaimed master of Kheledûl harbour, or Mad Mansson - as the dwarf was called in hushed voices and behind his back, would pay well.
He took a stroll down to the cages to see how his flock was faring. The three newly arrived girls were placed in one cage, close the the entrance. They looked healthy enough and were, quite understandably, very scared. They'd already been fed, their wooden bowls still full by the cage door where Jorr had placed them. They were refusing to eat for the moment, but he knew well that hunger would win in the end. He was more interested in the solitary prisoner held in the cage furthest to the back and he walked over there. Jorr joined him immediately, a bowl of thick oats in his hand. He nodded at Gadruff and gestured towards the redhead.
"She's better t'day, boss."
She looked better, Gadruff had to admit. Even in the darkness of the shed one could see that the girl was cleaned up and wearing a new shirt - a thin white night-dress, a coarse blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She'd tied her hair in a loose knot on top of her head and revealed a long, bruised neck. It was her face that looked the worst, however. Her eye, where the armoured fist must have landed, was black, the colour like a stain spreading onto her cheek, nose and lips. Both her eyes were opened and she was looking down, no reaction to Gadruff or Jorr approaching.
"C'm on," Jorr put the bowl into the cage through the bars. " Yer gotta eat, lass."
She slowly raised her gaze and gave Jorr a long stare.
"What are you going to do with me?" she spoke in a hushed, coarse voice, rusty from the silence she had kept since the day of her arrival.
"Yer gonna be sold on," said Jorr equally quietly.
She didn't flinch at the words as if she expected this answer. "To whom?"
"Yer are pretty and hot blooded," said Jorr after a moment's hesitation, "Yer go to the south."
Her expression didn't change, her voice level. "And if one isn't pretty and hot blooded, where they go?"
"Angmar," said Jorr despite Gadruff's hiss of warning. She said nothing to that but her hypnotising gaze remained on Jorr and he obliged. "Ever wondered how half-orcs and orc-men come to be?"
Gadruff huffed indignantly, "Will you shut your gob, Jorr?" and to the girl he said, "We don't make that decision, love. We would never sell anything to orcs if we could avoid it. But Jorr is right: you are pretty, you won't go to the orcs."
She ignored his words, her gaze still on Jorr. "And what will I do in the south?"
Jorr looked her up and down, his expression sad. "Ye're a wild filly, yer will be tamed," he said at last.
She nodded to indicate she understood and rose to her feet unsteadily. She shuffled closer to Jorr and extended her hand waiting for the man to place the bowl of food in it. Jorr did it gently and she returned to her spot.
At first she showed a remarkable restraint, eating slowly, with dignity, but hunger won at last. She hadn't eaten for at least four days and Gadruff watched her clear the bowl with great speed. She was panting when she finished, as if eating exhausted her. To Gadruff's surprise, Jorr asked if she wanted some cider and she nodded. Jorr disappeared and Gadruff decided to break the ice.
"What's your name, love?" he asked amicably, but there was no answer. She kept staring at the floor.
"I asked your name," this time his voice betrayed some impatience. No answer.
"You have a problem hearing me, girl?" he barked. She sat like a statue.
He felt his anger rising quickly. He was used to crying, sobbing, wailing, begging, even threats. Even, when there was some stubborn silence sometimes, it could be quickly broken when orcs were mentioned. Gadruff lacked that card now, after Jorr babbled, and that was vexing him.
"Don't make me teach you a lesson, gal," he growled, but there was no change. He wanted to pound the cage with the sheath of his cutlass but Jorr was coming back, a pewter tumbler in one, a bottle of cider in the other hand. He squatted directly in front of the cage and poured a good measure of drink into the tumbler.
"Not th' best cider, lass, not th' best, but better than stinky water. Here y'go," he passed the tumbler between the bars and waited for the redhead to pick it up from his hand. She didn't react at first and Jorr reached further in.
"Drink, lass. No point in making yerself thirsty," Jorr's voice and expression were gentle, almost tender, and Gadruff's well-trained noise smelt danger - his second in command was quickly developing a soft spot for the girl that, if Gadruff played his cards right, could bring him most money. Angry, he got to his feet and left the shack to wait for Jorr outside. The latter took his time and Gadruff managed to finish smoking his pipe before the other man emerged from the dingy interior.
"What's going on, Jorr? Are you going sweet on the girl?" he asked trying to mask his irritation.
"And whut if I am?" Jorr wasn't shy or embarrassed and Gadruff immediately realised that the ridiculing tactics he had thought up in those moments when he was waiting outside the shack would not work. He sucked the air in through his teeth.
"Jorr, do what you like with her, as long as you don't damage her. But remember, we can't afford to keep her."
Jorr considered this for a moment, his expression unreadable. "We hav' kept girls before," he said.
Gadruff cleared his throat. "Yuss, so we did, but these were different circumstances. We could afford delays and we could afford keeping the goods longer to negotiate a better price, so to speak. But now we are on tight schedule, so whatever you are planning, do it before we reach the harbour. Once we are there, the girls are going."
Jorr's gaze was cold and steady when he said, "When I go sweet on a gal, I don' like ter think that some orkish filth or some garlic-smelling fatso is gonna lay his hands on her afterwards, Gad."
Gadruff sighed. That was the problem with Jorr - he was sentimental - hence all his wives. He visited all of them long after he completely lost interest in any quality time in their company, he regularly sent money to all the ones with kids - reason he was always broke - and generally got himself into trouble. This is why it was Gadruff, not Jorr, when it came to command and trading. Jorr was far too soft even though Gadruff couldn't dream of besting him in either a fair or a dirty fight. Gadruff sighed internally. This needed diplomacy.
"You have... how many children?"
Jorr gave him a sharp look.
"A dozen or so," he answered after a brief internal calculation. "Why?"
"You send money to all of them, don't you?" pressed Gadruff.
Jorr wasn't answering, his eyes alert, his forehead wrinkled.
"We sell all the stuff we have, and ALL the girls, we make enough profit for you to send something to all your children and all your wives, and there's still gonna be enough for you to settle down with a young and plump lass in a little cottage. But," here he looked away as if imparting this knowledge was painful to him, "we don't sell stuff, or we suddenly get bad price, or... we decide to keep the girls that cost most, then there won't be enough money to send to the wives, or pay your gambling debts for that matter." Gadruff was pleased he remembered that one. "You are my friend, I'd live with such a circumstance for your sake, but the other boys might not be so... accommodating."
Jorr listened to his captain intently, then looked in the direction of the shack. Gadruff watched him surreptitiously and to strengthen Jorr's doubts, he added, "It would be unfair on the boys too. They've worked their arses off for this."
This was an overkill and Gadruff knew it immediately when his mate gave him a mocking look. "S'ppose catching young gals and trading 'em to orcs is fair, yea? Don't give me tha' crap, Gad!"
This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all. Maybe Jorr's usefulness had run its course. Gadruff was going to find a solution in due time, but to Jorr he said,"It's ok, mate. We are friends. We'll think of something. For now, lets get some food. I'm starving."
