Gar
April 12, 1885
In my room at the Bridesdale Inn, Midmorning
“Sir,
Seeing that several others have recently written your paper after suffering at the hands of half-orcish street robbers, I think it right to make my case also known. About three weeks ago, in passing through the Portman's Square, within a mere two minutes' walk of my own house, I was suddenly seized round the throat by one of these villains. Before I could cry out or struggle I immediately received three blows in the face from another, which so cut and injured my nose that it bled considerably for some time. I have suffered much from the great pressure on my throat, and bear the marks on my face of the violence to this day.
I regret to say the scoundrels got clear away with my gold watch and chain. The incident prompts me in asking once more the Eternal Question: why are these abominations permitted to live, much less to walk the streets of a civilized city? It has been proven time and time again that the orcish tribes cannot be tamed, nor can their offspring be taught to co-exist with more elevated races. When will the authorities do what must be done? When will they finally round up this vile legion of unclean, vicious, miscegenous trash that litters our streets, and rid Tarant of them permanently?
Trusting your insertion of this letter will be the means of drawing the attention of the police authorities to this dangerous system of robbery, and of warning other gentle folk to look to their safety from orcs, even in respectable parts of the city.
I remain, sir, yours very respectfully,
CHARLES BARRETT."
--A letter to the editor from the Daily Tarant
There has been something like this in the paper almost every morning since I came to Tarant. If it is not some gentleman calling for the expulsion of all those of orcish blood, then it is an account of orcish thievery, violence, or worse. Are we truly a misbegotten unsalvageable race? I do not believe it. It is true that many of us are foul-tempered. Perhaps even most. But we are certainly not alone in that. There are plenty of foul tempered humans in this world as well. What would happen, I wonder, if all of the foul-tempered human beings were forced to live in the slums and to be treated the way humans treat us? It wouldn’t be pretty, I’m sure.
I am so tired of being a half-orc. I am so tired of everyone being constantly rude to me everywhere I go. The lady behind the desk at the Bridesdale Inn has to say something nasty to me every chance she gets. Even the doorman here calls me a half-breed. I can’t enter a shop without the shopkeeper watching me like a hawk waiting for me to steal something. I can’t walk down the street without my hat and scarf, unless I want to be subject to constant stares and abuse. I am so bloody tired of it all.
It was late when I came home last night. Virgil had been waiting for me anxiously, and he was angry with me when I finally returned. I said things to him I later regretted. I told him it was my business when I came and went, that I had never asked him to follow me around everywhere, and if he had taken it upon himself to do so, it was not my fault. It was terribly unfair. I would probably be dead now if Virgil hadn’t found me after the crash of the Zephyr. He is almost the only human I know who treats me decently. He has offered me his companionship and his protection ever since the crash, and asked nothing in return. He is literally my only friend in this world.
I tried to apologize in the morning, but then he started asking me if something was wrong. He asked me how my search was going, I told him it was going fine and I did not wish to discuss it. He kept asking if I was sure everything was alright, and I kept insisting things were fine. Eventually I went into my room to write in peace. I do not know why, but I cannot stand to have someone feeling sorry for me.
I have the names and addresses of the doctors I wrote down last night. I really should have left by now, but I keep finding some excuse to delay my departure. The truth is that for the first time, I literally feel frightened to go out. What chance do I have? I’m just some half-orc stranger from off the streets without even a reference; I’ll be lucky if they don’t call the guard. Nonetheless, this is my only option now. There are many doctors in Tarant. I only need to find one.
April 11, 1885
The Great Library of Tarant, Late at Night
I don’t even want to write what happened this morning. Suffice it to say things went badly. One doctor went so far as to practically push me out of office while using language unbefitting a gentleman who is addressing a lady. The other two were not much better. I’m afraid my earlier assessment was correct; it is pointless trying to do this without some kind of reference. But where shall I find one?
It was late afternoon by the time I’d finished talking with the third doctor. I didn’t feel like going to the University or the hall of records at that point; I certainly didn’t feel like going back to the inn. I wasn’t sure what else to do, so I started walking. I walked all the way to the poorer side of town where the orcs and half orcs live. It’s funny; in the upper class parts of Tarant I attract attention on account of my race. Here in the slums, I attracted attention on account of my elegant clothing. I was walking down the street when I heard footsteps coming up from behind me. I turned to see a half orc flanked by two orcs walking towards me. The half-orc could never have passed for human. His spine was twisted, his body was matted with tangled hair, and a pair of short tusks protruded from his lower lip. Seeing me turn, the three of them increased their pace. I smiled at them, making sure they could see my teeth. The leader did a double take, then smiled back. “My apologies, sister. I didn’t realize you were one of us; you look downright human in that getup. Just shakin down the locals, you understand... Well, pleasant evenin’ to ya” I turned and went on my way, unmolested. After that, I no longer wore my hat and scarf.
From there I went to the industrial side of town. I entered one of the factories where the orcs labored. I spoke with them for a while before the foreman discovered me and threw me out. The orcs were glad to see me. They didn’t hate me for my human blood. They didn’t care about my odd clothes. They didn’t care that I talked strangely, more like a human than a proper half-orc. They called me sister, and they showed me such respect as they were capable of. Indeed, those orcs showed me more courtesy than the most learned professors at the University of Tarant.
After that, I made my way back towards the more civilized part of the city. I came across a building with a sign, “H.T. Parnell’s Emporium of Wonders” It was evidently some sort of carnival of the bizarre; I remembered Mr. Ristezze from Shrouded Hills mentioning the place. Ordinarily I would never waste my time with such foolishness, but I was bored, so I went in.
At first I was disappointed. The room was full of shabby exhibits meant to amaze the credulous. There was a stuffed two-headed cow with a plaque reading “The bizarre two headed bovine of Vendigroth” Some taxonomist had obviously stitched pieces from two cows together. Perhaps the fake would have looked convincing to someone who had no medical training, and who was exceedingly gullible. There was a large display case containing an assemblage of moth eaten bear skins stitched together labeled, “Stillwater Giant Pelt” A crudely carved statue of a small dragon was labeled, “Petrified Dragon”
I was about to leave in disgust when I spotted something remarkable. An orc was seated behind a sign that read, “The Amazing Gar! The World’s Most Intelligent Orc!” Imagine that. I decided to seek out Mr. Parnell and find out what I could about Gar. I saw him standing by the stone dragon and approached him. “Excuse me, sir, could I ask you a question?” I said.
Mr. Parnell looked at me with disgust. “I would rather not. I do not like those of your type frequenting my establishment, even if you do have coin to spend”
The room was noisy, so I pretended I hadn’t heard him. In a girlish voice, I said, “Excuse me? Oh this place is fantastic! I can’t believe all the extraordinary things here!”
Mr. Parnell’s expression softened. “Well, I see you do have some discernment a half breed,” he muttered.
“May I ask who I have the great honor to be addressing?” I said.
The strange little man puffed out his chest and stretched his arms out wide: “I am H.T. Parnell, world famous showman and collector of all that is strange and fabulous! This is my Emporium of Wonders, home to several of the world’s most intriguing exhibits!”
“Oh my! Sir, could you tell me about that extraordinary creature over there? It looks like a cow with two heads. What kind of a monster is that?”
“Ahhhh! That enigmatic cud chewer was shot on safari in the wastes of Vendigroth! Who can say what sorcery or forbidden scientifics were called upon to create such a beast! You might not think of it to look at it, but it was a man eater, it was”
“Oh my! You must have been ever so brave to have caught such a beast! Sir, what is that extraordinary pelt in the display case? It looks like it came from a giant!”
“That is one of the most famous exhibits. It creates a sense of awe just to behold a ferocious creature of that magnitude, a holdout from Arcanum’s distant past! What must it have been like to see herds of those creatures hunting their prey?”
“My goodness! How on earth did you ever win such a prize?”
“Franklin Payne, world renowned adventurer (under contract to me, of course) had tracked the elusive creature to its lair, only to have the shifting winds betray his presence! Before he could even raise his weapon, the awful beast attacked!”
“Oh my goodness, no! What happened then?”
“Armed only with a small dagger, Payne leapt upon the creature! Much blood was shed by man and beast, but Payne emerged victorious after impaling the creature on one of its own claws!”
I must confess I was beginning to enjoy Mr. Parnell’s little carnival despite myself. “That’s, amazing, sir! Oh my goodness! Is that a pure-blood orc sitting there?”
“Ah, yes, Gar the Orc! I rescued him from some orc slavers on one of my many expeditions searching of oddities in exotic lands. They had recently captured him and were about to execute him when I intervened! They mistook his intelligence for supernatural possession, you see”
“That’s amazing. May I speak with him?”
“Of course”
I left Mr. Parnell and walked up to Gar. He looked at me through heavy eyelids as I approached, wearing a big stupid grin on his face. He certainly looked like an orc, albeit an exceptionally well groomed one.
“How do you do? I’m Clarisse Vorak,” I said.
“Ugh! I Gar, world smartest orc. You have got question?”
I looked at Gar fascinated. He was obviously a fraud. This was no intelligent orc; this was a human’s idea of what an intelligent orc ought to be: stupid, friendly, servile, harmless. Yet Gar was obviously genuine as well. The deformed spine, the green skin, the tusks, the distorted features all attested this was a pureblood orc. I was baffled. “What is your area of expertise?” I asked him.
“I know much things. Gar tell all. Politics. Mathematics. Tea”
“Mathematics?” I said, trying to remember my childhood education. “Alright, what’s 253 times 478?”
The creature snorted. “Gar not genius. Gar smarter than other orcs. Not smarter than professor of mathematics. I know 25 x 40 equals 1000. No other orc tell you that”
“I could have done that with pencil and paper,” I replied. “I have orcish blood too, after all”
“But you so superior to Gar. You have human blood. You smart. Gar only smart compared to other pure orc, not half orc”
“What about politics. What can you tell me about Tarant?”
“Tarant foremost representative democracy in Arcanum. Chairman Willoughsby try align Tarant with Caladon. Cause much trouble. Councilman Braithe call for him step down, us invade Caladon. He no like Caladon because it monarchy. Main question be can democracy join with monarchy and not destabilize”
Gar went on in this way for a while. I asked him a few questions, and he gave me limited replies. He spoke as though he were reciting scripted answers that he had been taught. And yet.... There were brief moments when I thought I saw a trace of boredom, a far away look in his eyes. It was as though he was someone intelligent pretending to be someone stupid pretending to be someone intelligent. It was all very confusing, and I was only half listening to him by the time his lecture on Tarant politics had come to an end. “You mentioned tea?” I asked.
Gar perked up. “Yes. Gar like tea. Gar civilized. Gar say Earl Grey best. Made from blend of black teas and oil from the Bergamot plant. Excellent Gar say”
An orc who was a tea snob? That was hilarious. Did Mr. Parnell sell Earl Gray on the side and coach Gar to advertise it for him? Impishly I said, “Earl Gray? Hmph. I prefer the green teas myself. Nearly all cultured citizens find them to be superior to the black”
The effect on Gar the orc could not have been more dramatic. His eyes snapped open and he gaped at me in horror. “Madam, that is rubbish!” he said sounding terribly wounded, “Green tea is for the foreign constitution, not for consumption by those with discerning, uh.... Ahem. I mean, Uhg! Gar no like green tea”
I was astonished. “Why are you pretending to be an idiot?” I said.
“Gar not idiot! Gar smart,” he said loudly. Then he looked around to be sure no one could hear us before continuing, “Listen here, madam, have you ever conversed with a pure bred orc? You’ll not be in for a scintillating conversation, of that I can assure you.”
I was laughing now. “But isn’t the whole point of this that you are an intelligent orc?”
“Of course! But people will not accept a cultured orc. The very idea is preposterous. They would begin saying I was an half orc, or even deduce my true... I mean, uhm, what I meant to say was, it is more effective showmanship for me to appear every bit the orc and to say brilliant things”
“You’re not really an orc, then?”
“Garfield Thelonius Remington the third, of pure human stock, at your service. I am not orc at all. Well, one can assume that somewhere in my lineage there exists orc blood simply from looking at me. But my direct antecedents, my parents and grandparents, were fully human. Imagine their shock when I was born”
“Why do you do this? It seems rather demeaning”
“I am certain you are familiar with the scorn heaped upon those such as yourself, being of partial orcish blood. Imagine what it must be like for me in this life, being treated as a full-blooded orc. Though this may seem demeaning, it is better than being spit on in the streets, or being no more than a slave in a factory”
“Are you owned by this museum, or are you free to leave?”
“I am a bit of an indentured servant for Mr. Parnell’s. He paid my parents a good sum of coin to have me come work for him”
“I’m so sorry. That’s terrible that your parents would sell you like that”
“Nonsense. I sold myself to Mr. Parnell over their objections. They were treated with scorn and derision because of me. My father lost his employment, his reputation and his social standing. But even then, they would do nothing but love me as their son. The coin I received from Mr. Parnell has given them a comfortable life and rescued them from the poverty I caused”
“How long are you meant to be on display here?”
“I will most likely stay here for the remainder of my existence. I have nothing else to do with my life. It’s not so bad, actually. The only dreadful aspect of this existence is the sheer boredom. You can not imagine the idiocy of the common folk I must contend with on a daily basis”
“I could talk to Mr. Parnell, threaten to tell the papers about you. I’m sure the authorities would not look kindly on indentured servitude”
“Thank you, madam, but I would prefer that you did not. Mr. Parnell has dealt honestly with me, and I would rather not see him blackmailed”
“As you wish,” I said. “Although I don’t think this is right”
Thelonius thought about this before replying, “Besides, madam, where would I go?”
