by Janice Ayre
Chapter Eight
Encounter
On hearing the familiar voice, Brock wondered if he could pretend that he did not recognise its owner. He averted his face so that he would not be perceived to have looked in the direction of the sound, but from the corner of his eye he could see the familiar and intimidating form of the young red-haired man. As he turned to head towards the safety of the inn, he saw, coming towards him two young men. Looking back at the owner of the voice, he could see that Orville had quickened his pace. Brock's mind was in a turmoil. He doubted if he could outrun Orville and knew that he certainly could not outrun the three of them. The two men coming towards him were almost as big and as mean looking as Orville. They were not the same two companions that had been at the farm with him. Even as he had the thought that maybe they were not connected in any way with his enemy, Brock knew from the purposeful way they approached that they knew each other.
" Brock, where are you going?" Orville was quite close now.
In desperation Brock looked around to see if there were others around whom he might apply for help, but at this time of day most people had returned to their homes and the street was empty save Brock and the three men. Brock clearly saw that he would have to stay and take a beating.
"Don't tell me you are not going to talk to an old friend?" Orville now stood beside Brock.
As Brock searched for words to utter, the two young men drew alongside him and continued on without so much as a glance at either Brock or Orville.
"I didn't expect to see you here," Brock finally said.
"Nor I to see you," responded Orville. He placed a friendly hand on Brock's shoulder and then continued. " I hope you didn't take that thing back at the farm seriously. We were only playing with you."
"Clinton didn't seem to be playing. He didn't like me."
"That Pumpkin Head! I hardly know him, I just came along with the others because Clint said he wanted to show us something. So what is it to be, friends?"
"I guess so," said Brock hesitantly.
"What are you doing so far away from the farm?"
"We are travelling, and visiting friends."
"Well that's great, we can spend some time together. Where is your father?"
"Zeb... my father is with our friends."
"Didn't get to meet your father. Maybe later we'll catch up."
"Yes that's right." While Brock said this he was remembering back to the night in his hut when Zebulon had hurled Orville across the room. But now Orville was acting as though none of that happened. Maybe he was mistaken and it was someone else. It had been dark. Brock still did not feel relaxed in Orville's company.
"Instead of standing out here, let's go to the inn and we can share all that has happened since we last met."
It seemed unreal to Brock that he was befriended by someone who, but for a few minutes ago, had filled him with dread. He hoped very much that Orville would not want to go to the Four Star. He thought it better at this point that he did not introduce him to Uri and Elvira.
Orville led the way to another part of the village where there was a neat inn. It was not as big as the Four Star but it was comfortable and welcoming just the same.
"It's getting late, let me buy you a meal," said Orville as he ordered some ale for himself. Brock had declined the offer of a drink.
"My friends will be expecting me home for the evening meal," said Brock.
"I'm sure they will understand. I'm leaving here soon so it seems a pity not to visit together while we can."
Orville did not wait for any more objections from Brock but went ahead and ordered for them both. While they sat and waited, Orville sipped his ale and regarded Brock with an almost hungry look. This made Brock feel very uncomfortable. He would like to have known what the young man was thinking. He worried about Elvira preparing a meal for him and reasoned that if he did not eat too much here that he could manage a second meal and no one would be offended.
When the meal was placed before them, Orville set to it with gusto, asking questions between mouthfuls.
"You didn't say why you and your father left Brookfield Farm so quickly?"
"We had to, personal reasons."
Orville nodded his head as if giving Brock's answer serious consideration. "That was most unfortunate, old man Ambrose was very upset. Not only did he suddenly lose two workers but there was some other matter he was angry about."
"Do you know what that was?" Brock asked nervously.
"I am not free to tell you that."
"But I need to know!"
"Why is that? Do you think your father was doing something he shouldn't?"
"Of course not!"
"Then stop looking so worried and guilty and eat up. Here, have some more so that you can be big and strong like me." Orville ladled some of his food onto Brock's plate. "You know you can trust me. I'm your friend. If there is anything troubling you, just tell me and I'll put it right for you."
"Thank you." Brock didn't know what else to say. This was all too strange. He made feeble attempts to swallow food that was having a hard time making its way around the tightness in his throat.
"Don't be so serious. We should have some fun. What do you do for fun here?"
"I...don't know. We haven't been here very long."
"That’s no good. When you are young, you need to have plenty of fun. What is the good of life if you don't live it?" This was said in a tone and manner suggestive that the young man was many years older as well as wiser than Brock. Orville continued to stare at him with his pale blue eyes.
Suddenly he startled Brock by saying. "Zeb is not your father, is he?"
"Nooo,,, but he's like a father to me."
"So you like him?"
"Yes."
"We should go get him to join us then."
"We can't," said poor Brock. He was thinking hard how he could leave this uncomfortable situation.
"Why is that?" Orville would not be put off with any answers Brock had given him.
"He's away," said Brock.
"Oh, where would that be?"
"He had to go and see a friend."
"Another friend? It's certainly good he has so many friends. Are you sure you know what he is really doing? I mean, how well do you really know him? From what I hear, Ambrose is organising the soldiers to come after him, so he must think he has done something really bad."
Brock turned pale.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. I'm a little concerned about you, that's all. Come on eat up and then we will have some fun. I don't want you to worry. It's probably just some misunderstanding, nothing more."
Brock felt no comfort from Orville's words. He just wanted to run away from this place. But where to? He felt confused.
Orville leant forward so that his head was not far away from Brock's and at the same time placed his large rough hand on Brock's. He studied Brock’s hand lying sweaty under his own before he said. "Looks like you have been doing some rough work for such a young one. Does Zeb treat you right?"
"Of course he does. Zebulon is a good man." Brock was dismayed at his own isolation. He needed a friend to talk to, one he could trust. But his friends and family were far away. There was no one. Of all the lonely months Brock had faced, this moment was the loneliest. It seemed that Orville had brought to the surface all at once, all the doubts and fears he had ever had.
In a softer voice Orville said, "When you have finished your meal, we can talk. I know you need a friend to confide in." He signalled to the girl serving the tables. "Bring us two tankards of ale."
Most of the tables in the inn were full of people enjoying the evening meal or sharing some ale with friends. The inn buzzed with conversation. The young elf found no comfort in their proximity. He may as well be sitting out in the desert with Orville his only companion.
When the girl brought the ale, Orville once more indicated for him to eat up and drink up. Deciding that the only way he was going to get away without offence was to eat and d
rink, Brock ate as much of his meal as he could and drank the ale. The drink was terrible, he couldn't understand how anyone would enjoy drinking it.
Brock rose from the table as soon as he swallowed the last mouthful and Orville rose with him.
"You're in a hurry to go. Maybe I should see you home." He threw some coins on the table to pay for his meal and then throwing a heavy arm over Brock's shoulders, escorted him to the door of the inn.
"I need you to tell me what you know about what Zebulon is supposed to have done," said Brock.
"I am always opening my big mouth. I should never have said anything to you. Now you are upset and you look sick."
"I've got to know," persisted Brock.
" I'll tell you what. You go home and have a good night's sleep and then we will meet here in the morning and I'll tell you all I know. Go on now, I'm sure there is nothing to worry about."
Orville's breath smelt of stale liquor, indicating that he had had a good deal more ale than the amount he had drunk at the meal time. As much as he wanted to extract information from him, Brock couldn't stand being near him any longer.
"Would you like me to see you home?" asked Orville.
"No, thank you."
"We'll meet here tomorrow. And don't forget, I'm your friend. You can confide in me. I can take some of your troubles off your shoulders." With that he gave the elf's shoulders an affectionate squeeze. He gave Brock a smile which was partly lost in the dim light and released his hold.
Brock mumbled another thank you and headed off towards the Four Star Inn while Orville swaggered back into the inn.
Brock arrived at the inn just as Uri was closing the doors in preparation for locking up for the night. He looked at Brock with displeasure. "Where were you? Elvira cooked up a special dish for you but you didn't come. We have been worried, we thought something bad had happened to you. " He was aware of the faint smell of ale on Brock's breath.
"I'm really sorry, I didn't expect to be so late. I ran into a friend. Please tell Elvira I'm really sorry. I'll make it up to her." Brock's words of apology rushed out so quickly he wasn't sure he was making sense.
"Ok, be off with you," Uri said in a resigned voice. He shook his head from side to side in an indulgent way, as Brock headed for his room, wrongly thinking the thought that 'boys will be boys'.
Brock had a troubled sleep and woke the next morning with one thought on his mind. He had to get to the other inn and see Orville. He tried not to seem in too much haste to finish his meal and used the excuse that he must make an early start so as to join Zebulon before the day was through.
He bade his friends goodbye as graciously as he could and then, once out of sight of the inn, ran all the way to the other inn. Orville was not there. Even though it was still early morning he feared he may have missed him. He asked at the inn if he had been in. No one had seen him. All morning and part of the afternoon he waited, but Orville did not come. Brock began to have dark thoughts that Zebulon had somehow found out about Orville being here and detained him, or done something worse. To reach home before nightfall he was forced to leave without the answers he craved.
Even riding hard, he only managed to reach the cottage as the sun was disappearing behind the horizon.
"I was wondering what had happened. I expected you much sooner, " said Zebulon as Brock dismounted.
"I slept in and then Uri and Elvira wouldn't let me go until they had fed me all the special foods she had made," he lied. Brock often didn't tell Zebulon everything, but this was the first lie he had told him. It made him very uncomfortable.
"That must have been a terrible ordeal for you," was Zebulon's crisp reply.
There was little said between them for the rest of the evening. It was not the normal quiet they often shared but a strained uncomfortable silence. Brock excused himself on the grounds of being tired and went to bed early. Lying on his bed he lost himself to dark unhappy thoughts.
Zebulon too, had his own thoughts and concerns. He knew something was wrong with Brock and he hoped with the new day he would have the wish to confide in him. The journey had been hard on a young one he concluded. He needed to speed up the process. His own longing for Saniyah was becoming unendurable. He ached for her.