Chapter Seventeen - Spice’s Flow

It was an elven woman that brought us our tea. A short elf, of all things, in a t-shirt and apron who immediately locked eyes on Clin and froze up before delivering our stuff and scampering off.

I glanced around. It was nearing mid-day, and the living area on the walker was filling up a bit, mechanics and nomads in heavier clothes--likely the dune buggy drivers or wyrm fliers--came in and found seats for themselves. Clin and I were left alone on the two stools at the end of the kitchen counter.

“Do you usually scare off elven girls?” I asked.

Clin shook his head. “It’s my ears,” he said.

I raised a brow and looked over to him. He had long ears, his unruly blond hair tucked behind them. “Elf ears?”

“Ah, you haven’t spent much time with elves then,” he said.

“I’ve spoken to my share,” I said. “Hit one in a brawl once. But that’s about where my knowledge ends. You fancier folk spend more time prancing in your woods than hiking out in the sun.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough. Elves have long ago discovered the art of improving their offspring. That is, making the next generation smart, stronger and wiser. It’s an expensive, time consuming art though, and one that only the greater houses participate in.”

“Alright,” I said. “And what’s that got to do with your ears?”

“They’re long, and shaped with a delicate upper curve. Bulbed near the bottom, and taped to a rounded tip,” he said. “I’m of clan Teast’wood, and it shows.”

I looked at his ear, then back at him. “And that elf girl?”

“Low-birth commoner,” he said. “Or she would be in my homeland, here she’s a nomad, I suppose.”

“Can’t imagine why someone would want to beat sand away from a place that calls them a low-birth commoner,” I said.

Clin nodded. “I wouldn’t blame anyone. Our lands are somewhat fertile, and there is work and food for everyone, but the culture... I plan on changing things, one day. But that will take some time. So many of low-birth would do better elsewhere, but the Drywall serves as a deterrent. There’s nothing but sand and death awaiting on the other side, or so we’re always told.”

“Aren’t we on the other side now?” I asked.

He hummed. “We certainly are. And I’ve seen more death in these past days than in my entire life before.”

I barked a laugh, then sat up straighter when Vox came over and set a pair of plates down before us. The food was simple stuff. Some meat, cooked on cactus pine skewers, and roasted prickle-taters. There was a sauce slathered on the whole thing, and some sort of crushed nut on top of that.

Bending forward, I took a sniff, and my nose hairs burned. I grabbed the fork the orc handed over and dug in. It took two bites for me to pause and take a sip of tea.

The nomads liked their food spicy. Damned spicey. I didn’t mind that much, but it wasn’t my preferred taste.

Still, I kept the tears in with some quick blinking, and made sure my face didn’t twist. I had to see the elf trying a bite.

He lowered his fork and chewed, and chewed. His ears twitched back, then drooped, and his cheeks turned rosy, then a whole lot more red, like a chronic drunkard after a night at the saloon.

Clin took a hissing breath and continued chewing, even as tears sprang to his eyes.

I watched him swallow. “Good, isn’t it?” I asked.

The elf grabbed his tea and downed it whole. “Ah, that was... yes, a very unique taste,” he said.

I pat him on the back. “Remember, leaving food to rot is a major insult in nomad culture, right Vox?”

“Yes ma’am,” the orc said. “Especially when I’m the one that cooked the meal. Not that you have any problems with my cooking. Right, elf?”

Clin stared at the very large orc and his very impressive muscles, then at me. “You’re both terrible,” he declared.

I laughed and dug into my meal some more. The orc snorted and placed a bottle on the table before Clin. “Drizzle some of that on. It’s a sauce made from wyrm-mother milk. It smooths things out.”

Clin took a dab from the top of the bottle, and after tasting it, poured a good amount over his meal.

“No spices around the elven lands?” I asked.

“Not too many, no,” he said. “Some like them, but the cost is exorbitant, and most elves react... well, as I have.”

I grinned through the pain. After a few bites to get used to it, it was pretty good. “So, Vox, when do you think we’ll be arriving at Mortarview?”

“We won’t be. We’re meeting up with others along the way. A big old hootenanny. Pretty sure guests wouldn’t be refused.”

“Not my kind of thing,” I said. “Last time I went to a nomad party I woke up a day later, naked, on a walker half a day’s walk away from town.”

Vox barked a laugh. “Whose walker?”

“That was Torkik,” I said. “Good lay. Flew me around on one of their wyrms. Not something I’d do again, but I don’t regret it in hindsight.”

Vox huffed. “He goes by Izz now. Got caught cheating on his wife.”

I shook my head. “He felt like that sort, yeah,” I said.

Vox looked over to all the people sitting down, then sighed. “I need to get back to work. Enjoy your meal.”

I nodded as he left. “Pleasant folk,” I said.

“So far, yes,” Clin said. “Are we going to be staying with them for long? Not that I mind, it’s enjoyable to be able to stretch one’s limbs.”

“I’ll ask Akx if we can stay aboard until we’re nearing Mortarview,” I said. “It’s a long walk otherwise. I could always ask for a few additional repairs on Rusty too, use that as an excuse to stay longer.”

Clin nodded. “This vehicle isn’t faster than yours, though.”

“Are you in a hurry?” I asked. “I don’t know what you’re planning, or anything about why you got into the trouble you did. Far as I’m concerned, it taking a bit ain’t a problem. ‘Sides, nomads don’t stop for the night. We might be faster, but I need sleep, and we’re not so fast that they wouldn’t outpace us with the way they move.”

“Ah, I see. Perhaps we can rent a pair of cabins?” Clin asked.

“This isn’t a saloon. Nomads live here. They have guests like us sometimes, but not as often as you’d think.” I looked over to the seated nomads, then spotted a table at the end where a few of the younger looking ones, humans and kobold mostly, were sitting close together and slapping cards onto their table. “But maybe I can get us a room for the night. If the Lady of Luck smiles on me.”

Clin nodded slowly. “That would be welcome.” He set his fork down next to his plate and closed his eyes for a moment. “I think I’ll be returning to the top deck, I need some fresh air.”

“Alright,” I said. I watched the elf stand and toddle off, still a little unsteady on his feet.

I grabbed my tea-cup by the brim and took a sip. Clin was a weird fellow. Not the strangest I’d worked with, but up there. At least he was polite, seemed like he wouldn’t run off without paying me, and hadn’t tried to pinch me even once. I could work with that.

Still, the elf was keeping a whole host of things secret. That was plain as day.

They weren’t none of my business, but a girl got curious about why one elf seemed to have a whole nation’s army gunning for him. I pulled Clin’s plate closer once I’d finished off my meal, and picked at his.

The gnome thing wasn’t the only one bothering me. He’d lost some elves in that fight. Three pilots had died. Maybe he didn’t know them, maybe he didn’t care. Still, if felt off to see someone be so damned callous. Or maybe that was just how elves were.

In a couple of days I’d be rid of him, and things would go right back to normal.

I tossed my utensils down and finished off the rest of my drink. Then I took a sip of that sand run rum I’d gotten from Vox. It sent a shiver down my spine even as it burned down my throat.

I stood, moved to straighten my jacket, remembered that I’d given it to Clin, then cracked my neck. There were some kids gambling out back, I was sure I could win myself a room for the night if I was clever and a little lucky.

***