The Quarry Master - Amanda Milo Page 0,41

quite literally down, defeated by the sound of a female’s laughter.

At this realization, I spit fire—

(Off to the side of me, not at Isla. I singe a hob by mistake, making him hiss.)

—and abandon her area. I’m not too proud to admit to myself that I’m fleeing. Creator save me from the indignity, but I run from a teveking human.

CHAPTER 8

BASH

I cross to the opposite side of the rock collection area, forcing myself to be patient today with the humans who mill about my legs as if they don’t know that crowding me makes me want to stampede through them. When I lose patience, I sweep my tail out and curl it around a group of five or so bodies, hauling them to the side. Once they’re wide-eyed and huddled where I want them, I snap my tail free of the feel of them and curl it in the other direction, capturing the humans who are finally getting the sense that they should scuttle out of the way, but are still too teveking slow. I forcefully assist them in the endeavor, and then I stride along my cleared path. At this rate, I’ll need to start carrying anti-bonding spray in a holster. I spit on my tail and drag it along my trousers to scour it free of human touch. It’s a long walk in which I have to ignore many, many humans as they hesitantly greet me and call my name. Some of the new ones are unhappy with their assigned task for the day. They want to appeal to me, have me change this or that. Like true princesses, each and every one of them thinks that they should have full say in what they do and where they go.

Finally, I reach the blissfully quiet and lightly trafficked area where my throne sits. Made of stone slabs jutting up from a carved stone dais, its back nearly abuts the smooth quarry wall. Along the top of the throne, stone-breaking and blacksmithing implements are strapped standing straight up. Viewing it, one receives the impression of a sharp, dangerous, and vaguely king-like seat. The throne was assembled as a jest by a handful of hobs and Rakhii who’ve worked for me for solars. Oh, did we have a good laugh together over it; we laughed and laughed and then they stopped laughing when I claimed it.

I’m near to depositing my lunch satchel in the seat of it when my gait breaks, my toes making a rasping noise against the ground as I come to an abrupt halt. Because behind my chair are odd symbols scratched onto the basin wall of the canyon.

I approach the area swiftly, brushing a finger over one of the marks. The dust comes up somewhat, but the mark was made with a shard of stone; it’s cut into the wall itself. Not deeply, but etched deep enough that it will take a few rains before it washes away.

I spin slowly, my toes stretching as I take measured, stalking steps up to the closest human. When I close my fingers around her elbow, she yelps as if I’ve dropped a mouthful of fire on her. It sends a fleet of hobs into the air, all bent on intervening—so I drag her with me and keep up a quick clip. She’s babbling too fast for my translator to catch all her words, but they seem to be about what one would expect from a human. “Please don’t kill me,” and “I’m sorrrry!” and appeals to the great Creator for salvation. When we reach the scratched rockface, I physically point the terrified female so that she’s facing the wall instead of simply trying to shrink into nothing while she cowers from my hands. I’m all patience when I inquire, “What does this say?”

Startled dark eyes meet mine in confusion before she follows to where I’m pointing. She begins to shake her head wildly, with even more fear filling her expression. Words begin pouring from her too fast to make any sense of them. I wiggle her by the arm. (Not roughly. Her teeth don’t even clack together.) The hobs who are speeding our way begin hollering for me to let her go.

“Speak slowly, please,” I instruct her.

She’s trembling all over. “I don’t read English!”

I frown. “Tevek.” Thanks to the translator translating their words, I never have to discern the different origin-regions between the humans. One could discern the difference; you’d only have to listen to them closely. Pay attention

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