A Day At The Races, Part IV. WOW Fan-Fiction

 

I awoke to familiar faces. Thrall’s Angels clustered around, Miglen frantically patting out the fires in my beard.

            “Didn’ we jus’ do thish?” I slurred.

            “Race Master!” Miglen said. “Come quick! There’s been an explosion!”

            I tried to stare at him through the blinking stars. “I know,” I said flatly. “I was there.”

            “No!” Miglen said. “On the racetrack. Something’s happened to the Mock 4!”

            I groaned and levered myself up. Sure enough, a trail of thick black smoke rose beyond the distant dunes. The bleachers were oddly empty.

            “Everyone’s gone to see,” Miglen said. “Come on!”

            With the help of a Thrall’s Angel—the same orc who took the last cup of coffee—I got to my feet. Where were my boots?

            My vision spun after two steps and I toppled back to my rump. The bikers tried not to laugh too hard.

            “What’s your name?” I asked the orc.

            “Stig, Race Master.”

            “You lead this chapter of Thrall’s Angels?”

            He stuck out a proud chest covered with war trophies and kill tallies, though he wore no shirt. “That’s right!”

            “How’d you like to be of service to the MRIOC?”

            “Will there be more explosions?”

            I was about to say no, but faced sad facts. “Probably.”

            He gave a savage grin, showing gold-capped tusks. “Sounds like fun!”

            “Then you and your boys are deputized. Stick close to me from now on. Your first task will be to give me a ride out to the site.”

            Stig grunted. “Zug zug. Turk has a sidecar you can use.”

            He started barking orders in Orcish while I turned to Miglen.

            “Get back to the jailhouse and check on Plucky. Note the time and get started on the paperwork for the accident report. I’ll be by with the details later. See if you can’t find my flintlocks, or my boots for that matter.”

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