Writing

An Ogre's Bookshop - 
Prologue

The coffee shop was bustling with almost no room to move about in the crowded and heated space. Despite that, Bob found himself seated alone at a table in the corner, as he often did, sequestered with his latte and croissant in the large seat that the owner of the café had ordered in specifically for those like Bob. That is, ogres.
 

Beside his half eaten second croissant was a collection of papers and books almost as large as his gigantic dark moss green hand. He glanced up through his half-moon spectacles that rested halfway down the length of his nose to see the drizzle of rain that had followed him on his morning walk had turned into an absolute downpour. He smiled despite himself. Bob knew the friend he was waiting for would sit and wait an eternity for the rain to pass rather than get wet. Jamal hated getting wet. Bob didn’t mind the easy excuse to sit here and enjoy the warm atmosphere, the roaring fire nearby, and another coffee and croissant.
 

He waved a hand to signal the barista for another round of coffee and baked goods for himself, and the busy young professional nodded acknowledgement. It was easy to catch her attention given Bob’s size, dwarfing most of the humans in the shop by at least twice their size. Some nearby had winced at the motion of him waving his hand, and Bob let out a silent sigh, and returned to trying to read the dense academic text in front of himself, in a vague hope that the bookishness would make him appear less threatening.
 

While many in his regular haunts new him well by this stage, given the sheer size of Lyden, the capitol of the Kelania Empire and its bureaucratic heart, there were always people that had never seen Bob before. In fact, they had likely never seen an ogre in the flesh before and only had the childhood fairy tales to base any first impressions on. Of monstrous beasts of war, breakers of bones, throwers of boulders, living breathing siege engines capable of single handedly tearing down walls. Or curmudgeonly and greedy, but ultimately stupid, bridge keepers and passage tollkeepers.
 

So, Bob always got odd glances and heard sudden sharp intakes of breath. If he was really unlucky the occasional scream would suddenly shock him.

Bob heard some raised voices, and looked up to see the barista bringing him his second breakfast and coffee had been intercepted by a stout middle-aged man with an astoundingly short supply of hair trying to hide a large quantity of scalp. The man was pointing at Bob and raising his voice at the barista. The barista’s face, while initially placating, turned cold before nudging their head toward the door. The flustered man turned an exquisite shade of purple and pushed towards the exit and left without an umbrella.
 

The barista was shortly beside Bob placing down the new coffee in one of the largest mugs the café had, and there were two new croissants on a plate, with an extra little drizzle of chocolate over them. As she collected up the old plates Bob leaned down and in his deep slow voice, that sounded like a warm crackling fire burning low, asked, “Would it be best if I just left?”
 

The barista reached up with her spare hand and gently patted Bob’s upper arm. “No, Bob, you never need to leave on account of other people being awful. I just wish they’d get used to you.” She smiled up at him, “You look intimidating, but you really are just the sweetest teddy bear.” She laughed, and collected the last of the old dishes, and pushed back into the busy shopfloor.
 

Bob nodded as she left. He knew he should stop asking that question each time this kind of thing happened, but he couldn’t help worrying that the next time they might rather he be the one to leave, no matter how many times they reassured him.

He reached over to the plate and tore one of the fresh croissants in half, the steam rising to mingle with the toasty atmosphere and giving off its wonderful buttery scent. He couldn’t help but push those worries out of his head as he dunked the croissant into the coffee and popped it into his mouth, savouring the sweet buttery flakiness melding with the bitter creamy liquid. He eased back into the seat and closed his eyes to settle in for a wait as he enjoyed his coffee.

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A clatter at the other end of the table shook Bob from his reverie. Across from him was a dark-skinned man with what was ordinarily long dark waves of well-maintained hair, that framed a firm chinsed face with salt and pepper stubble beneath piercing green eyes and a warm smile. Ordinarily.
 

Jamal, Bob’s friend amongst many other things, was currently dripping like a cat left outside in the rain with no shelter. His hair was plastered to his scowling face that was staring directly at Bob daring him to laugh. And laugh Bob did, a booming, conversation stopping, laugh that temporarily turned the café still and quiet. An amused fire lit inside Jamal’s green eyes as the scowl set deeper, and a smirk forced itself to the edges of his mouth despite himself. The patrons returned to their conversation convinced that Bob was not about to tear the place to pieces, and Bob’s laughter died down to the odd guffaw or bark of laughter that he tried his best to keep in.
 

In all his years of knowing Jamal he’d only seen him soaked on two occasions, and each had been for very serious reasons… As that thought scuttled through his mind, Bob’s laughter died much faster, and a worried eyebrow shot up. With the comfortable understanding that comes from years of knowing someone Jamal shook his head as turned and waved at the barista for a coffee, who in turn promptly chucked Jamal a tea towel to dry himself with. Wiping his face gratefully he turned back to Bob. “Not deadly serious, but I couldn’t wait for the rain to give. I’ll need to be leaving soon.”  

Bob’s other eyebrow shot up, “So soon, didn’t you just return from the last circuit you and your troop did?”

Jamal nodded and smiled gratefully as the barista set down the decadently thick hot cocoa with a questionably large number of marshmallows. People had often looked strangely at the well-built commander of men with his tower of marshmallows, Bob had always simply failed to understand how anyone could stomach such sweetness. The grimace Jamal was giving towards Bob’s coffee suggested his last attempts at trying the exotic beverage were not fond memories. Bob couldn’t help smiling at the recollection of Jamal’s puckered face and desperate pleas for chocolate after sipping an espresso.
 

Jamal plucked one of the marshmallows from the pile and popped it into his mouth along with an overtly loud sip of hot chocolate.
He signed as he fished around in his jacket, “yes, and I was meant to have some time here to relax along with my soldiers, but I’ve had a letter come through from my Auntie…” he took the letter from his inner coat pocket and put it on the table rubbing his temples. “She’s telling me that unless we re-open the bookshop the town council is requesting to reclaim the space.”

“You’re mother’s shop?! That seems drastic for the council to be demanding…”

Jamal shook his head, “No, they’re good people there, the shop’s been empty for a long time, Auntie was never going to run it, and it certainly wasn’t my thing.” He smiled ruefully, “and they just want to see the space used, and are being open in acknowledging that we’re not going to use it. But I can’t just let it go…. So, I’m going to run down there in my month off and see what I can sort out.”

“A month is not a lot of time to set a shop back up, and get staff to run it for you,” Bob pointed out, feeling very unhelpful.

“No, its not” Jamal spoke into his hot chocolate, “but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t try.” He slurped before continuing, “So I’m sorry, I was really interested in hearing about that mystery project the library archive set you that you kept hinting at the last time we were here!” He glared at Bob, his vulnerability for a mystery painfully on display, “but it will have to wait. I’m off this afternoon to head on down to Whiterock. It’ll take me the better part of a week to travel there. Then I’ve got two weeks to sort out everything I can before I need to rush back up here and head out with the troops on our next patrol.”

“Two weeks is even less time.” Bob said, feeling even less helpful.

Jamal smiled while he rolled his eyes. “I am aware,” he shrugged his shoulders, before they slumped by his side, “but I’ve got to try.” In all his years of knowing him Bob felt this was the most defeated he’d seen his friend, despite the brave face he was putting on.
“But I’ve got a little time to spare before the merchant’s carriage makes its run down the coast, so tell me, what have you been up too?”


Bob looked at his friend, it was so like Jamal to push his own problems to the side and care about others first. Here he was facing the likely possibility of losing his family’s old shop and home, and a month of stress and anxiety that might not get him anywhere, but still he was asking after Bob and setting aside time for him. Bob placed a hand on top of the papers he’d brought. He’d been excited to tell him about the book he’d been tracking down – it was memoir written by a dragon that had died centuries ago, and the last copy of the unreasonably large tome was likely located in the liar of the rival dragon who had defeated him. Bob had imagined in the near future he might be trying to negotiate with that dragon for a copy of that memoir.
 

But he couldn’t talk about any of that. He couldn’t find the voice to speak. Bob thought of everything that he owed the man sitting in front of him sipping his ludicrously sugary drink. The scars that ran up the length of Bob’s arms stung with ice cold at the memory of the chains that made them.
 

“What if I went?” Bob asked, his voice finding its own words.

“What?!” Jamal shouted taken aback, snorting some of his hot cocoa out of his nostrils.

“What if I went instead.” Bob repeated, “You write a letter for me to give to the town council, and to your Auntie, that I’ve come to act as your representative and get the bookshop functioning again.” Bob was already pulling out his ‘to-do book’ that he always kept in his breast pocket of his coat and began to note down things he’d need to do.
“I could establish the shop; use the contacts I’ve built in the capitol over the years working at the library archives to get the necessary stock. And I could find staff to run it. Once it was all going smoothly, I could then leave it in their hands and return home and back to my old job.”

“But your work…” Jamal pointed to all of the papers that Bob had dragged along with him today.

Bob waved a dismissive hand through the air, “they will get along without me, I don’t expect this will take more than six months all together.” Bob hoped.

“I can’t ask this of you Bob, no. It’s a small place my hometown, well at least relative to Lyden…Like this,” he gestured wildly around the shop, “there’s none of this! No coffee!”

Bob nodded, “good to know,” he murmured as he added a note to his to do list ‘get coffee beans.’
 

“Jamal.” Bob waited till his friend ceased his wild gesturing and befuddlement. When his friend at least returned his gaze Bob went on, “compared to where I’ve come from a small town sounds idyllic. Will I miss my work. Yes, I like my job… well the interesting bits… all the paperwork can piss right off. And that’s a lot of it these days. And the coffee and comforts of a city. Yes, I will miss then.” Bob said already feeling wistful for the city he had made his home for the last decade, the city he had yet to leave. “But you saved my life. And I’ve never been able to repay you. Saving your family’s bookstore sounds like the smallest thing I could do in return.” A silence grew between the two of them, and Bob felt the weight of his debt sit heavy around his chest. “So, please, let me do this for you.”
 

Bob waited as the bustle of the little coffee shop took over the silence between them. His comfort spot to read on the weekend with his coffee and croissant, his pop-in on the way to work for a coffee in his take away cup, and a ham and cheese sandwich. He watched as Jamal wrestled with his internal conflict. A man who never asked for help confronted with an offer from a friend to help. It was like watching a tadpole squirming against an inevitable tide. Eventually he settled, after much thoughtful sipping of hot cocoa, and chewing on half melted marshmallows.

“Are you sure?” Jamal asked, the large man’s voice quiet in the din of the shop.

Bob simply nodded, firmer and more certain than he felt. Jamal let out a long slow breath, deliberating one last time.

 

“Alright,” he said, “I’ll start drafting up the letters, how soon can you leave?”

“I can leave tomorrow, as long as there is another merchant’s run.” Bob said, his smile cracking larger than life, as he leaned back in his seat, savouring the coffee in front of him.

“There is yes – I checked this morning.” Jamal replied.

Bob began flipping through his to-do book and started to write down the things he’d need to take care of.

“Alright – let me take you through the little I know about the store and the much more I know about the village. To try and prepare you as best I can.” Jamal said waving at the barista for another round of everything at the table.

Bob looked up at his friend and smiled, “Jamal, relax. How hard can it be to run a bookstore?”