The small talk passed back and forth for a while until finally Kre saw a slight opening in Cooter’s line. ‘It’s probably a trap,’ Kre thought to himself. He looked over the map again taking a moment to see what possible counter movements Cooter could make. Not seeing any for several moves, he shifted one of his tiles into the vulnerable space.
Cooter’s face was impassive, unreadable even, but the fact that he spent more than his usual half a minute to decide on his next move. He placed a finger on one of the nearby pieces and immediately withdrew it. Kre decided to press the older man a bit, to try and distract him.
“I noticed you had the back porch light on last night. Was there, perhaps a lady visiting?”
Even though it had been a blind query, an almost desperate gamble, but the fact that Cooter hand slipped, knocking a few tiles askew, was clear indication to Kre that he had hit on a nerve.
While Cooter set the pieces back in place, Kre sat back in his chair a bit, trying to hide a smirk behind his hand. “Well Cooter…” Kre chuckled.
“Mr. Cootsman, if you please,” the older man grumbled. He said it in a way that sounded sincere and stern, but Kre could see a slight twinkle in his eye that indicated a more playful response. Still, from a man who had more muscles in one hand than Kre had, well, in total, a stern look with those hard eyes was enough to make anyone rethink their current course of action.
“Sorry sir,” Kre stammered. “I meant no disrespect. I… uh… I…”
Terry sipped at his drink and smiled. “Relax pup. I’m just pulling your chain.” He tapped the piece that Kre had recently placed. “Good move that.” The praise was noteworthy, as Cooter never gave out praise. Ever. Still, even though he offered that brief bit of isolated admiration, he still gave no indication as to how Kre could capitalize on this singular advantage.
“Back to the awkward topic again,” Cooter said with a wry smile and a shrug, “have you seen anyone around this place that you don’t know personally?”
Kre was prepared to immediately spit out that he hadn’t seen anyone, male or female, and that it was all just a joke intended to throw the older man off his game. But the question made him pause for a moment. The way that Cooter asked didn’t seem like it was a throwaway question. To the best of Kre’s ability to read emotion, which admittedly wasn’t a trait he really possessed, the older man seemed… well, he seemed worried. ‘What an odd thing to worry about,’ Kre thought to himself. Still, there was something in the back of his mind that seemed to gnaw at him when he thought about the question and as he heard the timbre of worry in Cooter’s voice.
“Well earlier this week, maybe three days ago, I think. Wait. It was the second night of the minstrel’s performance at the Lodge, so it was definitely three nights ago. He’s been here four nights, right? Let’s see, the first night, he played the usual songs about the migration and the founding of the nation.
“We guessed that he was going to play boring stuff about the Native Wars the second night.” Kre sighed, “They all do. We got enough of that stuff in school, it’s so boring and sad and tragic and they all try to impart some sort of idiotic lesson at the end about tolerance and faith. It’s pathetic that they don’t think we understand those basic concepts. We’re not like the First Migrants, after all.”
“Kre,” the older man sighed, “please, continue with the part I actually care about.”