II

Morrick

Morrick stared glumly out of the scratched glass windows of the small single story house he shared with his younger brother, Sheglock. The house was on a small hill, and from it he could see far across the flat Plateau of Gorgoroth. All across Mordor the day's activities were beginning – orcs everywhere began to work. Some in the distance were involved in a mining operation, using large steel cranes to extract iron ore from the rocks. Others were building something far in the distance – Morrick could only see individuals as tiny dots. What they were building he could not tell.

A motion in his peripheral vision caught his eye, and Morrick turned to look down the road. Sheglock, looking annoyed, was lumbering toward the house. Morrick walked over to the door and opened it.

"You're home, at last! What took so long?"

"I was—" he hesitated.

"Delayed?" Morrick suggested. "Come in. We've still got some time before work, and you can rest and tell me what took so long."

"It was nothing," Sheglock said quickly. Morrick could tell he was trying to hide it.

"Why'd you stay at the market?" he began. With Sheglock it was best to use an indirect approach. He wanted to find out what had happened, and he'd just have to trick Sheglock into telling.

"I know you hate the markets," Morrick continued.

He didn't get any farther before Sheglock interrupted. "I wasn't having much fun there, you know!" he yelled, somewhat frustrated.

"Well, I figured. I thought you avoided it, usually."

"Usually." Sheglock repeated.

"Then why go today? You were with Ulûrk, I take it?"

"Yeah. You know Ulûrk – he's real 'gung-ho' about it all. He loves trading."

"Haggling, mainly," laughed Morrick.

"I call it a threat," Sheglock said.

"I know. And it is. But isn't all economics simply based on the supply and demand? Ulûrk's armour is in short supply. There's a demand on his part – Ul­ûrk's, that is – for food, I'll admit, but there's more supply. I can give you a story to demonstrate."

"Go ahead," Sheglock said unenthusiastically.

"In town say there are twenty merchants all selling meat." Morrick began, unsure whether his brother was even paying attention.

"Is it different?" Sheglock, who was, in fact, listening, inquired. "I know that I'd take Man-flesh over cow anytime."

"For simplicity let's say it's all the same. And nothing desirable either – cow if you want. Anyway, into their midst walks a smith – like Ulûrk. He speaks with the first merchant."

" 'I have here this nice shiny new helmet, and will be willing to barter it for half of your supply of cow-meat.' "

"No," Sheglock interrupted, "The common folk don't speak so well. It likely would be more like 'I've gotta nice 'elmet fer ya if ya gimme 'alf yer cow.' They don't know words like 'barter'."

"Point taken," Morrick replied, laughing. "But you've exaggerated it a lot. They don't speak that poorly. Anyway, I'll finish my story, if you'll allow me.

"Then the merchant considers the offer. 'No,' he says (or 'Nah' if you prefer, I doubt peasants know the word 'no'). 'I ain't gonna give ya this here piece o' meat fer less'n yer new shield, an' that's a bargain.'"

"I think the helmet would be worth more than a shield," Sheglock said.

"It's a very nice shield, if you insist. But I can see what you're doing. By your trifling you ignore the main points of the story altogether. Do you not want to talk?"

"Not particularly. But finish your story."

"Well, it's fiction, you know. And I'm only telling it to provoke a discussion. If you're unwilling to discuss, what of it?"

"Let's hear it, then I'll decide."

"Fair enough," Morrick said, then resumed his impromptu example. He was, of course, inventing the thing as he told it, though he knew where he was head­ed. It was more of a way to get Sheglock started in a discussion. Then, maybe, he would talk about the event that had detained him.

"Well, the smith looks around and sees all the others, and he leaves. He goes up to the second merchant. But the first stops him.

" 'Wait! Aren't ya gonna buy my meat?' he cries. So the smith turns around and he says:

" 'No, lower yer price or I'll give ya nuthin!' So then, of course, the mer­chant prefers the helmet to 'nuthin', and agrees."

"That's not Ulûrk," Sheglock said. "Ulûrk will then add 'Also, gimme yer 'hole cow, not 'alf of it.' "

"Which is perfectly reasonable," said Morrick.

"How!"

"There are still twenty merchants out there. Say the first refused. Finally one would give in and trade the whole cow for the helmet. You need all nineteen others to refuse."

"And if they do?"

"Then the smith could lower his price a little, three quarters of the cow, maybe."

"If they still refuse?"

"They wouldn't all refuse."

"Say they do."

"He could threaten to leave."

"So you admit it's a threat."

"I never said it wasn't. All bargaining is simply a series of threats. Lower your demand or I won't trade you. No, I won't lower it – take it at my price or don't get it. That's what trading is."

Sheglock shrugged. "Perhaps it is – that would explain why I don't trade."

"Then why were you at the town so long?"

"There was an… episode."

"May I inquire of the nature of this, as you say, episode?"

"May you inquire? Why such formal language between siblings?" He laughed a little.

"You're avoiding the question again," Morrick pointed out, catching on in­stantly. His brother was extremely good at not addressing a topic he didn't want to. Unfortunately for Sheglock, however, Morrick knew him too well.

Sheglock shrugged his shoulders in resignation. "Okay. I'll tell you."

"Good." Morrick was somewhat surprised, but still pleased. He sat back and listened to Sheglock's story, which he told in a very fast voice, seeming to want to finish quickly.

"Well, there was a thief who stole a piece of meat. The shopkeeper caught him and knocked him to the ground. He pulls out his sword and says 'Arms up!' Then he threatens to kill him and all that. It was just a grimy piece of meat! Fin­ally he laughs and then chops the thief's arms off!"

"Better than killing him, isn't it?" Morrick asked. When he had heard only the first half of Sheglock's story, he had instantly assumed the thief would be killed. That was the sort of thing that really annoyed Sheglock.

"Still…"

"What should the merchant do differently? Let the thief go and he'll just be back tomorrow. You can try and teach him, but it takes time and hardly does any good. A redeemed thief is also likely to fall to stealing again, especially if his economic situation doesn't improve. Not only must you educate a thief, but also, once he has reformed, you must supply him a good job so he can earn his own food. Tell me, is it the merchant's duty to do so?"

"Yes!" Sheglock said righteously. "It is the duty of every one of us to help our fellow orcs."

Morrick laughed. "Rarely have I heard such a preposterous statement. Re­member how the merchant became involved? The thief stole his meat. This is the only reason he met the thief. Had he never been robbed, he would have never seen the thief. Tell me, is the merchant responsible for every thief he does not see?"

"I guess not." muttered Sheglock, sensing that he was losing.

"Then you say that, because he was wronged by the thief, it is the merchant's obligation to help the thief who tried to take from him?"

"I never said that!" yelled Sheglock indignantly.

"But you did, or at least implied it," Morrick told him.

"Well, I… er…"

"—didn't think it out fully." Morrick finished for him. "That is often the prob­lem with your high ideals – they are impractical. Ethics and real life can not co­exist, and if you had any sense you'd choose practicality over morality."

"You make no sense," Sheglock said. "Of course ethics can exist in life!"

"Yet one must make sure they don't interfere with the working of society."

"But I can have a moral code, even if you don't!"

"I never said I didn't have a moral code. If I was strict to my philosophy I'd have to kill every beggar who comes up to me asking for food. They do no good for society. But I ignore them mostly, sometimes even toss them a scrap or bone. What good is that?"

"It helps them to live and maybe someday become profitable members of your society." Sheglock answered confidently, and Morrick smiled. His brother knew how to counter his arguments logically. He was beginning to catch on. Morrick thought a while on what to say next.

"No," he countered after a short pause. "It teaches them to beg. If you can get food by doing no work, why work? They learn better by getting nothing. They may starve, but before that they will likely take up a job, even an unpopular one, if only to get food. Then they are profitable in society."

Sheglock sighed. "You're hopeless," he said glumly.

Morrick smiled. "I just know what I think. You've got to go now – look at the time. We can discuss this later, if you'd like."

"I'd rather not. But don't you have to go to work too? Aren't you 'profitable'?"

"Remember, I'm going to be taking Ulûrk's place – he's quitting to join the army. I guess for now I'm unemployed. But I will be doing good for our society soon, count on that. I just need to finish my training."

"Whatever, you hypocrite," joked Sheglock. "Don't you keep me any longer, or I'll be late to the stables. Good-bye."

He marched over to the door, flung it open, and ran out toward their barn. Morrick rolled his eyes as he went over and closed the door. His brother was very amusing sometimes, Morrick had to admit, though his humour was hardly ever in­tentional.

As Sheglock galloped down the road on the family's warg, Merân, Morrick stared out after him, watching. He'll grow up eventually, he thought. Then he'll see my point of view. I can wait.