After thanking the man, I turned and walked back to where Myth was waiting.
Myth stepped out of the shadow as I approached her. “So, what’s going on?”
I shook my head.
“Trouble?” asked Myth.
I looked at Myth—an elf and a foreign elf at that. That made her a foreigner twice over. I glanced back at the crowd of angry, pitchfork-carrying humans who blamed “them foreigners” for all that was wrong in their lives.
“We need to get away from here right now,” I said.
Just then, Ronnie Bridge finished his speech. The mob began to break up. Pitchfork-carrying humans, drunk on Ronnie Bridge’s diatribe, set off homewards. More than a few headed in our direction.
“Blast it!” I cried.
Hurriedly taking off my cloak, I thrust it into Myth’s arms. “Quick! Put this on. And keep the hood up.”
“It’s a bit snug,” said Myth, struggling to fit into a cloak made for someone a foot shorter than she was.
“It’ll have to do,” I said. “Just hurry.”
With no time to spare, Myth crammed her head beneath the hood. It was far too small for her. Two bumps shaped like pointy ears showed in the fabric of the hood—tale-tell signs that a foreigner was about. Nothing could be done about it, however. With luck, the darkness would prevent anyone from noticing the pointy nature of her ears.
The crowd began to pass us by. We stood off to the side, attempting to look inconspicuous. Skeeter and Di Betty waddled along with the crowd. Di Betty was uttering an endless stream of praise for Ronnie Bridge.
“Gods bless Ronnie Bridge!” she gushed. “He’s gonna git us what’s ours ag’in.”
She noticed me glancing at her and waddled towards us, eager to meet other Ronnie Bridge enthusiast. Like an obedient dog, Skeeter followed her.
“Hi there,” said Di Betty. “I’m Di Betty, an’ this ’ere is Skeeter.”
“Hello,” I replied. “I’m Izzy, and my friend is My-Missy.”
I had caught myself just in time. Folk like Di Betty and Skeeter would have thought that both Myth and Mythilda sounded too foreign.
“Ain’t Ronnie Bridge the best,” said Di Betty.
“Um, yeah,” said Myth. “He sounds really great.”
“Oh, he is,” said Di Betty.
“Actually,” I said, ready to tell Di Betty and Skeeter exactly what I thought of Mister Ronnie Bridge. None of it would have been nice.
Fortunately, Myth coughed just then, allowing me to rethink my plan.
“Actually,” I said again. “Missy and I are just passing through Narrows. We don’t know much about Ronnie Bridge. What we’ve heard is… interesting. We’d love to hear more about him.”
“He’s gonna git us our jobs back,” declared Skeeter.
“Um, how?” asked Myth.
“Huh?” replied Skeeter, looking bewildered.
“How is he going to get you your job back?” said Myth. “Does he have a plan?”
I was stunned that Myth was talking so openly with humans. She usually acted so reserved around them. Well, except when we were alone together. But I had earned a place in her life, so that was different. I think concealing her ears beneath that hood allowed her to open up. With her ears hidden, she was not merely an elf to humans—she was a person.
"Oh,” said Skeeter. “He’s gonna drive off them foreigners who’s comin’ in ’ere, stealin’ our jobs an’ rapin’ our cattle.”
“Women,” said Di Betty.
“What?” replied Skeeter.
“Foreigners rape our women, Angel Pie, not our cattle,” said Di Betty.
“Oh, right,” said Skeeter. “I got confused an’ sech.”
Clearly, Di Betty was the brains of the couple.
“Have these foreigners raped many women?” asked Myth.
“Um,” answered both Di Betty and Skeeter.
The couple thought for a moment.
At last, Skeeter said, “Not as sech, no.”
“Have they raped anyone?” asked Myth.
“Um, no.” answered Skeeter.
“But they will,” added Di Betty.
Myth and I glanced at one another. Myth told me later that she had been thinking, How did these boneheads conquer over half of Nisse Cul Tairna?
Looking at Skeeter, she said, “You said that foreigners stole your job. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yep,” moaned Skeeter. “The fertilizer factory closed down six months back.”
“Wait! It closed down,” said Myth. “You mean it went out of business?”
“Yep,” said Skeeter.
“I’m confused,” said Myth.
“So am I,” I added.
“What about, Sugars?” asked Di Betty.
“If the fertilizer factory closed down, then how did foreigners steal your job?” asked Myth.
“Well,” said Skeeter, “Mr. Bridge, he said he had to close the factory ’cause cheap foreign fertilizer was drivin’ down the price. He warn’t makin’ no money. An’ he couldn’t afford to keep the factory open.”
“Oh,” said Myth. “Ronnie Bridge owned the factory.”
“Yep. He gaves us our jobs, then them foreigners took ’em,” sobbed Skeeter.
“Did closing the factory bankrupt Ronnie Bridge?” asked Myth.
“Well, no. He’s got a big house ’ere in the City Proper. Hires all sorts of elves and other foreigners to be ’is servants. He says that shows ’em that we’re better than them.”
“And he pays them a pittance, I’m sure,” muttered Myth.
“What was that?” asked Skeeter.
“Oh, nothing,” said Myth, “just thinking out loud.”
“Thinkin’,” said Skeeter as if that activity sounded too foreign for his liking.
“But surely,” said Myth, “one factory closing down would not cripple the Holding’s economy. Why haven’t you found another job?”
“Well,” said Skeeter, “afore the fertilizer factory closed, the dairy farms went bust.”
“An’ afore that the lumber mills failed,” added Di Betty.
“An’ the fish hatcheries,” added Skeeter.
“An’ the apple orchards,” added Di Betty.
“Narrows ’as ’ad the worst luck for ten years now,” said Skeeter. “Mr. Bridge, he keeps tryin’, but them foreigners always git in ’is way.”
“Wait!” said Myth. “Ronnie Bridge owned all of those companies?”
“Yep.”
“And each one failed?”
“Yep.”
“Out of curiosity, how many of his businesses have failed over the last ten years?”
Skeeter used his fingers to count. After he reached seven, he had to use Di Betty’s fingers to continue counting. I longed to ask him how he had lost three fingers, but I did not. Every possible answer I dreamed up was rather unpleasant.
At last, he said, “Sixteen.”
“Sixteen!” cried Myth.
“Yep.”
“Hold on,” said Myth. “Sixteen businesses have gone bankrupt, but Ronnie Bridge is still rich. That doesn’t seem possible—Huh! I wonder…” Myth trailed off, lost in her thoughts.
“What do you wonder?” I asked her.
Myth did not answer me. Instead, she asked Skeeter, “Was Ronnie Bridge rich before he started his first business?”
“No,” said Skeeter. “He ’ad to git a loan an’ sech to git started up.”
“But he is rich now?”
“Yep.”
“So each time one of his businesses failed, Ronnie Bridge became richer.”
“Yep. An’ he used that money to start up a new business and git us some jobs. But them foreigners keep stealin’ those jobs. Probably ’cause they knows we’re better than them. Mr. Bridge, he ain’t gonna quit, though. He’s started up a pitchfork business. But I ain’t gotten a job there yet. Probably ’cause of them foreigners.”
“He’s a great man, Ronnie Bridge is,” said Di Betty. “He’s gonna make Narrows great ag’in.”
“Just like he planned on doing sixteen times previously,” said Myth. “And each time, the Holding became poorer, but he became richer.”
“Yep,” said Skeeter.