Page 43 of Plucked By the Orc

Duncan lowered his voice. “Some humans are damn fools.”

“Only some? Your opinion of them has risen, then?”

“You know my true opinion on the matter.” Duncan gestured around him at the gentlemen sipping soup and trying to scoop up flaked fish on tiny forks. The pungent smell of tobacco from the newfangled cigars filled the air. Duncan preferred not to indulge in that habit, finding his favorite meerschaum pipe far more soothing, though Albion had taken to it.

For all their grace in posture and manners and refined accents, those same men would find themselves at gambling tables and indulging in even more lurid vices later that night. Three-quarters of them would do so, by Duncan’s estimate. It was one of the figures he’d included in his book on the behavior of theton. A figure he’d gleaned from exchanging coins for information from valets and footmen.

Though he seldom resorted to such in public, Duncan temporarily switched to Orcan.

“Elements of this society will always baffle us. That is the justification for my book. So that others might be better prepared than we were.”

“Father did his best,” Albion said, slipping into Orcan.

“Yes, but Father was the first of our kind here.”

“He did a fine job of properly setting us up in human society.”

“And now we are responsible for doing the same for those who come after us.”

Albion switched back to English. “But if you were to receive interest from a human publisher, surely you would take them up on it.”

Duncan’s brow wrinkled. Like the Englishmen around them, Albion had adapted to talking in riddles. “State whatever you have to tell me plainly, brother.”

“Oh, I’m sure it wouldn’t be of interest,” Albion said, louder now, taking another swallow of human wine from his crystal glass. The alcohol was made from white grapes from the Chardonnay region of France. Nothing to compare to Orcan ale, but not completely regrettable. “You’ve made it clear the book is for orcs.”

Duncan hesitated. How irritating that Albion should use his own words against him when his brother clearly had something contrary in mind.

“Would you think me a hypocrite if I ask anyway?”

Albion slammed his glass back down on the table with a fervor Duncan rarely saw from his brother.

“A London publisher. A gent I play cards with every so often. I spoke to him of your talents in the field of literature.”

“You should not have done.” Still, Duncan felt pleased with Albion’s turn of phrase in acknowledging his talent. Albion was not quick to give praise in any but the most lighthearted of matters, so Duncan knew he was sincere.

“It is something to consider, Dunc. That’s all. I’m sure plenty of Englishmen would take an interest in your work.”

For a moment, Duncan indulged a vision of his book in the window of a shop, his name emblazoned on the front for all those who passed by to see.

But that wouldn’t do. He had told Iris the book was for an Orcan audience only, and Duncan was a man of his word.

“I can’t consider it,” he said. “It wouldn’t be fair to Miss Gabbert.”

“You don’t use her name in the work, surely.”

“Of course not. But she was most particular in her concern and I would not betray her trust.”

“Perhaps you might speak to her about it.”

“Perhaps.” Duncan worked his thumbs together on the tabletop, not twiddling them like some men did, an absurd human habit, but pushing them together harder than he should have. He would have liked to discuss it with Iris but did not want to give her any reason to turn against him just as they were becoming more intimate.

“Miss Gabbert shall have the final say,” Duncan added. “I trust her discernment,”

Albion let out a low whistle. “I never thought I’d hear you give such a high compliment to a human. Have you changed your mind about them? Grown softer?”

“Hardly.”

“Softer toward some, at least? I take it on that score you make an exception of Miss Gabbert.”

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