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“You don’t want to do construction? You just want to do crime?” I am curious. This version of Torin is so different from the one I encountered earlier.
“I don’t want to be a criminal. That was all for my father and uncle’s benefit. I want to be an artist. But I knew they expected me to do something to make them proud on my birthday. So I stole a couple things, then dressed the part, and got Avel’s beating. That whole thing should have earned me a free pass for years. But then Avel had to sentence me to hard labor. So I went into hiding. I heard the idiots who took you trying to decide how to end you, and the rest is history.”
“That was nice of you. Thank you.”
He gives a languid shrug. “I didn’t do it entirely for you. I figured you might be useful.”
I’ll give him that. At this point, I don’t really care why he helped me. I’m just glad he did.
“Where are we right now?”
“Tunnels,” he says. “Old tunnels. They existed even before the primal that made Grave City what it is came here to pass on. My clan use them for getaways and storage and things like that. Saurians don’t like to be underground, generally, so this is a good place to be when the alpha and his minions are on a roll.”
“They must know about the tunnels too? The alphas?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Are you hungry? I have cake.” He gestures to a cake sitting on a little round table near his bed. “Help yourself.”
I get to my feet, which is not a painless experience, but it can be done. I am not sure that eating is the best idea. I have sustained damage to my face and jaw and ribs, and god knows what else, but those juicy numbing effects are still in, well, effect.
When I reach the plate containing the confection, I discover that he doesn’t just have cake. He has gooey berry chocolate cake. Chocolate is one of the universe’s most prolific exports, and a plant of human origin. I serve myself a generous slice onto a small plate which sits nearby. Torin’s little den has plenty of creature comforts to hand. Feeding a handful of the stuff into my face, I chew gingerly as my mouth is absolutely suffused with some of the most delicious texture and flavor I have ever had the joy of experiencing.
“Holy… this is so good!”
Torin smiles at me. “I make it myself. The secret is the salt. You need enough salt to balance the sweetness of the berries and complement the bitterness of the chocolate.”
“You’re very talented,” I say, once I have swallowed.
“Thank you,” he smiles, very pleased with himself. “I don’t often get the chance to share anything I make. I’m not supposed to be creative. I’m supposed to be a crime lord in waiting.”
I can understand his predicament. Parental expectations can be hell. I suppose I was spared them in the most tragic and twisted of ways, but that tyranny was replaced with that of my captors, and then that of my captain. This is the first time in my life I have been free-ish and in control of my own destiny. And I find myself sharing cake underground with a strapping young criminal who is dabbing blue hues into a painted sky.
“Who is the one in charge? Wrath? I met him.”
“Wrath’s my uncle. He doesn’t have any offspring. None of the females he has mated with ever laid. The next closest thing to a son is me. But Wrath doesn’t want to give up his stranglehold on the Grave City underworld yet, so I figured I was safe. I was, up until I got arrested.” Torin sighs. “I hate thinking about the whole situation.”
“Sorry,” I say, finishing as much cake as it feels like my gut can take. “Building the bar might not be as bad as it sounds, though.”
“It’s worse than you can imagine. That’s a tank job. My uncle Wrath’s a tank. I’m not. I’m a hunter.”
He is explaining these differences very patiently, trying to help me to understand.
“I see. And hunters can’t construct?”
“I could, but I’d hate it. Anyway. I was hoping something would happen that would distract Avel from the whole matter, and that’s when the boys dragged you in. Very fortunate for me. Avel’s going to be so pleased when he learns I’ve saved you. I intend to send a message to him very soon, but I do need to be careful about it. I don’t want to be blamed for your kidnapping. He might think I had you snatched off the street only to return you and play hero.”
“Did you?”
Torin smirks at me. “I wish I had. It’s a brilliant plan. Have some more cake.”
Torin reminds me of some of my crew members. He’s young, he’s reckless, and he doesn’t know exactly how to be who he is in a world that is trying very hard to tell him who it wants him to be. He’s also willing to talk, which I appreciate.
“You said nobody your uncle had mated with had laid. What does that mean?”
I should have asked more questions about saurian reproduction before now, probably, but I never did. I always assumed that when Avel and I mated there was no chance of anything happening.
“Saurian females can decide whether or not to allow a male’s sperm to fertilize their eggs. Most of the time they don’t. But once in a while, when they really like a male, or when they’re ready to lay in a way that leads somewhere, they can access their internal semen stores and ensure that their eggs are fertilized. Then they lay an egg that can be hatched. It’s all very complicated. Most females take their eggs to a nursery to be tended by professionals. Then there’s the communal egg bank, where unwanted fertilized eggs can be left to be hatched and raised by those who want a whelpling.”
So saurian females can leave their eggs around for anybody who might be interested. It seems to me that’s somewhat sad, but also very practical. Human women have to tolerate a creature inside them for months on end. Saurians just have to lay their usual eggs and put them somewhere relatively safe. That sounds like a much better deal.
