"Peon" by Forever Jake

Chapter Two – Ratchet

Squibber had been sitting for gods-knew-how-many hours on the stool, and he had long been certain that all sensation in either leg or in any part of his disproportionate buttocks had vanished. The goblin's ears were drooped lethargically towards the surface of the bar, and his eyes – the fraction of them that were open – had a glazed quality which bespoke little activity behind them.

Yet, as the curtain that marked the entrance to the dusty saloon swished open and closed again, the sound made nearly foreign by the vast expanse of time that had passed since last it had been heard, his little body have a slight shudder, the tips of his ears straightened visibly, and he blinked his eyes in comprehension, turning a few degrees to angle them towards the figure who had just entered the all-but-deserted inn.

The orc was clad in a set of thin-worn leather vestments, his crest and shoulders bare. He was broad of shoulder, wide of frame and, from the tired, trusting look on his oversized face, he was appropriately thick of skull. In short, he was Squibber's favorite kind of customer.

The stranger approached the bar and addressed its keeper in short, stunted orcish. The goblin licked his teeth, pushing through layers of mild intoxication to recall what he knew of the language.

"Where is the Captain?" he growled. The barkeep, a wiry troll, lazily raised his arm to indicated the rear of the inn. The orc nodded briefly and turned back towards the entrance.

"Watch my drink," Squibber whispered, pushing his tankard back on the bar. The keeper smiled and winked at him.

The orc, if he noticed the keen-eyed little goblin trailing behind him, made no acknowledgement, but continued out through the curtained doorway and around the curved outer wall of the structure. The smaller humanoid fell back slightly as a tall wagon came into view, attended by a taller, hairless orc in traditional military attire.

This was a grunt in the classic sense; the larger-than-life, much-heralded foot-soldier of the great Horde, deliciously slow of mind and tongue (even for an orc, Squibber chuckled to himself) but viciously quick and adept with an axe. The goblin was sure to stand far clear of the glinting weapon, which hung within ready reach from the warrior's belt.

The newcomer, however, was either unafraid of the guard or unaware of the threat he posed to anyone perceived as an enemy, and approached the wagon casually.

"What's your business, peon," the grunt demanded.

"I'm here to get my payment," came the reply.

Payment. The goblin licked his teeth again.

The grunt wiped a smattering of sweat from his brow and eyed the peon indifferently.

"Got your documents?"

The newcomer fished in his vests for a piece of crumpled parchment, and upon finding it offered the article to the warrior, who merely glanced at it before handing it back.

Now it was the grunt's turn to search his pockets, at last procuring a battered brass key. Turning, he fitted this into a slot on the side of the wagon and pulled. A panel of wood came loose, and Squibber caught an eyeful of the compartment within.

It was filled with gold, silver and copper coins… dizzying quantities of them. He licked his teeth a third time.

"Alright, here you go… five years' wages come to about seventy silver." The grunt measured the amount loosely in three large handfuls of coin. Each of these he passed on to the peon, who seemed to have little idea what to do with the stuff and dumped it all into a small leather pack.

The goblin wondered if he was dreaming.

"Now get a move on!" barked the grunt, apparently eager to get back to his standing in place.

"Oh, just one more thing," the peon said, cringing as he witnessed the warrior's ire. "Er… which way is Orgrimmar?"

The grunt sighed and pointed to his right. "Follow the coast back towards Durotar till you hit the river, and then follow that. Orgrimmar's a half a day's walk."

The peon thanked him, and began immediately to march with purpose in the direction the grunt had singled out. Squibber hobbled quickly after him.

"Hey, you there!" he called. The orc stopped, turned, and looked around in all directions. The diminutive goblin waved his arms, and the peon stepped backward in surprise – perhaps he'd never seen something so short speak before.

Undaunted, the goblin continued. "Did I hear you say you was going to Orgrimmar?" The orc nodded. "I thought so. I've got a cousin in Orgrimmar, you know. He works on the tower where the zeppelins take people to and from the Undercity. If it's not too much trouble, I'd appreciate it if you went to visit the old troublemaker and told him I said hello… 's there a problem, chief?" The peon was looking at him with confusion.

"What is zeppelin?" the larger humanoid asked in broken Common. And then, after the briefest of pauses: "What is Undercity?"

"Uh…" Was he seriously that sheltered? The goblin stopped and looked at the tall creature for a moment, gauging his still-vacant expression, threadbare clothing and grizzled features. They all answered his unspoken question with a resounding yes.

"Look, chief, don't worry about any of that. Are you, uh… taking all that with you?" As he said the word that, he gestured towards the peon's makeshift coinpurse.

"This?" The orc looked down at the parcel. "Why should not to?" The peon obviously had as much trouble with common as did the goblin with Orcish, of not moreso… nevertheless, Squibber stuck to his guns.

"Just not terribly safe, is all. I mean, I wouldn't bring more than a few coppers with me into a big city like Orgrimmar. Likely to get it stolen, or beaten out of ya. Orgrimmar's nice, but it's got more than it's share of thugs and cutpurses."

"What is… cutpurses?" Squibber's mind did flips trying to understand the orc's speech.

"Uh… rustlers." He looked for a glimmer of comprehension in the peon's face; there was none. "Punks?" Nothing.

"Thieves?" At last, a word he recognized! The orc's reaction was instantaneous, and decidedly negative. He clutched his satchel tightly, and broke into a long string of complex Orcish that Squibber could not hope to follow; something about humans and missing pigs.

"You, uh… sure you want to bring all that with you, around all those…" He swallowed before repeating the word. "…thieves?"

There was a momentary pause; the orc looked back and forth between the goblin and the bag of coins several times, as though considering. Finally he spoke: "What instead I do?"

Though he did his best to conceal it, the goblin breathed a sigh of relief – the poor fool was buying it.

"Well, uh, what I usually, do, chief, when I go into the city is I take my stash…" He reached up to grab the bulging pack, which the orc gave up with only momentary hesitation. "…And I take out a few coppers, whatever I think I might need." Slowly, he pulled open the flap on the top of the satchel, once more nearly fainting at the sight of all those coins. He reached in and scooped out a small handful of copper, depositing it in the confused orc's hand.

"Then, I put the rest of it all together…" He carefully refolded the flaps of the pack, making sure none of the silver and copper still inside toppled out.

"…And I bury it." This last bit he whispered, as though thieves, those most dreaded of demons, might appear at any moment to snatch up the money. Taking the orc by the hand, Squibber guided him a few feet from where they had been standing, to a narrow patch of ground hidden from common view behind a smattering of stunted cactus.

From a pocket on his thigh, the goblin suddenly produced a tiny, silver spade, and plunged it into the soft dirt. Within moments, he had created a whole of sufficient dimension to house the parcel, and he placed the leather bag gingerly within it.

"You cover it up, like this…" He demonstrated, pushing and smoothing the pile of accumulated dirt with his bare foot so that it perfectly covered and concealed the cache of coins. "… and then it'll be here when you get back from the city. That way, you don't have to worry about getting your pocket picked, and your fortune remains safe."

As if to drive home his point, he winked at the still-bewildered-looking orc. Then he once more licked his teeth.

Slowly, painfully slowly, the peon seemed to grasp the concept he'd suggested. He smiled (for the first time since he'd walked into the saloon, the goblin thought), and extended his off-hand – the one that wasn't carrying a minimal amount of copper – in approval. Squibber grabbed the hand and shook politely; it was probably going to take weeks to scrub off all the dirt.

"I am much thankfully," the peon managed.

"Oh, no need to thank me," the goblin said, removing his hand and bowing. "Just tell my cousin in the zeppelin tower that old Squibber says hello."

"You… Squibber?" Squibber nodded. "Me Deglash," the orc said, pointing to himself. "Pleased me am to make your friendship."

Aw! thought the goblin. He thinks I'm his friend… a lesser schemer would have cried, then, or at least dug up the dough on the spot and returned it, begging forgiveness. But Squibber had been at this long enough to leave such temptations long behind, and he managed what he supposed was a flattered grin.

"Believe me, friend," he said, "the pleasure's been all mine."

He watched happily as Deglash turned and walked away down towards the coastline, still clutching those few copper coins he'd been left in his sweaty palm. When his figure had vanished from view, Squibber once more procured his trusty shovel from its place on his thigh, and set to work uncovering the afternoon's earnings.