his voice warming as he answers, “We make it right in the kiln. If Bash lets you have your vision back, I’ll show you some pieces during each part of the process. Essentially though, a collier like myself sets up organic material to heat at high temperatures, and the material undergoes a thermal process called pyrolysis, after which, you have chunks of charcoal.”
I absently tap the tines of my pitchfork between my feet. “Are we talking drawing or cooking charcoal?”
“We could easily make both, and have done so,” the male answers. “Especially for compressed types of artistic charcoals. There’s an art form to layering materials so that you get specific colors out of the composition. But drawing-type charcoals are a softer product requiring a gentler hand. Local artists prefer Rakhii-fired grapevine and willow charcoals. They’ll pay more for Rakhii to make small specialty batches, where we subject the material to pyrolysis from our own personal fires,” he explains with a friendly smile in his voice. “If you’d like to see a Rakhii demonstrate this for you, just ask.”
“Yes,” Bash mutters. “I’m growing eager to subject someone to some pyrolysis.” His tail slaps my leg; not painfully—more like its twitching has increased. It is snapping back and forth in a very Bash-cheery (irritated) fashion now.
“Was that veiled threat for me or for your friend?” I ask the darkness of Bash’s dry, warm hand.
Nobody answers, but I can feel speaking glances happening over my head, and this is confirmed when I hear a snort come from the other Rakhii before he says, “Come on then. You were complaining about wasting time. Now look at you.”
Bash’s hand drops. Vision clear, I see ahead of us is the kiln house with a door open, showing us an empty room made entirely of plain brick, just waiting for vine-straw fuel.
A peek off to the side of us shows me the Rakhii in the tile-making building are studiously back to work, no longer ogling me. From the kiln house’s doorway though, I’m definitely being watched by the no-name Rakhii. He swaggers to me and motions for me to hand him my pitchfork. He’s looking mighty amused.
I don’t hand my tool over. “I want to fork.”
The Rakhii blinks. “You want to… ahhh.” He graces me with a blinding smile. “My ears must be out of tune. For a click, I thought you suggested something else. Then my translator straightened me out.”
Bash growls and stomps past me to plant a hand in the other Rakhii’s chest, shoving him right inside the kiln. Then he turns his menace on me. “Move.”
He jerks his head to the wagon.
“You sure are Mr. Sunbeam.” I take up my pitchfork and move for the wagon.
“I’ll remember your pluck while I’m beating you,” my moody overseer grumbles to me.
I’m not afraid though. “You can’t hit me. I heard you have to play nice with the humans.”
“Then I’ll find a hob,” Bash immediately vows.
“What do you have against hobs?”
“Nothing,” Bash claims, lips flattening. “It’s Gryfala I distrust.”
“Oh.” I nod. “Ohhh.” I flick him a wince. “One screwed you over?”
A claw is suddenly right in front of my nose. “Chatter about something else.”
Not taking my eyes from the glinty-sharp tip an inch from shaving off my sniffer, I ask, “Like… for real? You want me to ‘chatter?’ Got any topic requests?”
“I suggest anything other than this topic.” He takes my short arm and turns me towards the very end of the wagon bed.
His tail nudges me over, and I’m not sure why he’s poking me with it until he drops the tailgate of the wagon and it narrowly misses clipping me—if I hadn’t been pressed back, I’d have gotten dinged.
That was awful nice of him to scoot me over. However, the look on his face is still not nice at all. I purse my lips. “Have you ever heard the case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?”
His tail taps my calves, then disappears. Then it touches me again. It’s swaying behind us. It feels like a slow sway; thoughtful now, not angry, if such a thing can be determined. “No. You may continue. I permit you to tell me.”
“Gee whiz, thanks for your permission.”
“You’re welcome.”
One of the Narwari makes a chuckling noise—and I wonder how much of our conversation they understand.
“I look forward to hearing this story too,” the mystery Rakhii says from behind us, sounding like he’s grinning.
I twist to glance back at him, but Bash catches the top of my head, talon tips touching