Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 66904 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66904 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
I think some of them think I am an ambulatory trash bag. Most of them don’t look at me twice. I’m not part of what they expect to see, and so they do not see me. Saurians in Grave City seem busy. They rush from place to place with intense expressions, thinking of what, I do not know. I get the impression that anything outside their immediate sphere of influence is immediately ignored as being not their problem.
I do not know what they are so busy with, but it seems to be all consuming. There’s not a lot of recreation going on. There are serious saurians doing serious things. Maybe that’s just how this species is. Maybe they take themselves impossibly seriously.
I don’t have time to delve into the depths of saurian society right now. I know what I need to know, and that is that they don’t care about strange little humans scuttling along their paths.
I make a beeline for the alpha’s house, following the mental map I have studied over and over again. I know there’s a certain amount of security. I also know about the servant’s entrance. Alpha Thorn is not often the subject of attack, at least not directly. I don’t think even Wrath has the nerve to walk in and face him directly.
I stick to the shadows. I hide in the crevices. I move only when it seems nobody has noticed or seen me — and I make it all the way to the servant’s entrance. It’s almost too easy. I half expect to be nabbed on the way in, but I find myself in a kitchen that is largely empty aside from a couple of saurians in dresses who are tending large steaming pots of what I’d guess is meat.
They don’t expect to see me, and so they don’t. I make my way to the nearest staircase and I stealth up it. This is a big building, and I know there’s a decent chance that I’m going to be caught before I find Sullivan. The halls are wide and decorative, with polished stone and the sorts of accoutrements you get in houses of power. It is bright and it feels nice. Much nicer than the underground Shan, Wrath, and the others live inside. It feels like a home for the good guys — though come to think of it, I’ve never been in a building for the good guys that had any good guys in it at all.
I pass trinkets and statuettes and other trappings of wealth that make my fingers itch with the desire to snatch them up. Piracy has become something of a habit, if I’m to be honest. The things on display here would all sell instantly at any one of a number of fences. I just don’t have anything to hold it in. Should have bought a bag with me. Oh well. Next time, maybe.
“Sullivan?” I try whispering her name, not really expecting her to reply. It’s more like a sort of magical-thinking homing beam, a hope that I’ll find her if my intention to find her is strong enough.
And then I smell something.
Someone.
Until this very point, I had no idea I knew what Captain Sullivan smelled like, but in a house of aliens, the smell of a human is a tangible thing. I become a bloodhound, following that scent. I go upstairs, tucking myself into a little alcove as one of the servants passes.
He glances over toward me, but he doesn’t stop.
“Filthy human scent all over the house,” he grunts.
I scoot out from my hiding spot and keep going up. It makes sense they’d put Sullivan at the top of the house. Traditionally, princesses are kept in a tower. Sullivan is a natural-born princess as far as I am concerned. She’s gorgeous and charismatic, and she has been taken by the saurian equivalent of a king. This place is like a palace, now I think about it.
It’s not a good idea to let your mind drift when you’re in enemy territory, but it is good to get a sense of your surroundings and the narrative around them. In this world, humans are fast becoming a kind of status symbol. We could become a currency if we’re not careful.
I hear something. Soft tones. A sort of humming. It has to be her.
I open the door to the room where the sound is coming from, and see a figure silhouetted in a window. A wave of relief washes over me as I catch sight of Sullivan’s shock of curling blonde hair and the profile of her intelligent, I’d even say wicked, face. She is wearing a very pretty dress and looking out the window of the room with an expression on her face that would best be described as winsome.
In this moment, every memory I ever gathered under her command comes rushing back…