Mongrels and Music
Copyright© 2024 by Cly Anders
Chapter 8
Glancing at each other again, the first one flicked her tail for their version of a nod. “For you, we will do anything. You saved our village when our crops would have rotted in the fields during the great sickness. My grandmother was but a hatchling. She would have died. She said the Night-Eyes held her and fed her when the others did not have the strength.”
Sucking in his breath again, he looked down at his hand. He could recall the gritty sensation of their food as he rubbed his fingers together, and the prick of sharp little teeth. “I remember. Many hatchlings died because the adults made them sick. Then they died from hunger. It hurt me to watch it.”
The female stepped closer and made a sweeping “come here” type of motion with her whole arm, a sign he knew was meant for him to make his request, her head tilted with curious interest.
He looked over his shoulder at Zigz as she struggled to stay awake. Turning back, he held out his hands, palms up, in a formal plea. “Can you hide my companion so that she can rest?”
Again glancing amongst one another, the one male among them bobbed his head for Kupper to follow. Without hesitating, Kupper gathered Zigz in his arms despite her questions and strode after the little natives who had to trot ahead to another building. They pulled away an old rug and opened a small door in the floor to reveal a hole that vanished into darkness.
“I-I don’t want to go down there,” Zigz protested, shaking her head.
Leaning over the hole that would require some undignified maneuvering from him to get through, Kupper cocked his head. “Where does it go?”
“Down into the pump station,” the female with the purple paint replied, the words as alien in her mouth as his name. “They are pumping the water from our ground, and it dries up our ponds and our wells. When we tell them that our crops are dry, they tell us to buy back the water they steal, so we must work to pay them.” A deep rumble rolled through Kupper’s chest. His lip peeled up in an angry sneer while the native continued. “There are many of these tunnels the humans do not travel unless they must. They do not trust us to fix the pumps, but we still use the tunnels when it is too hot.”
They descended into the cool, moist darkness, lit only by the oil lanterns the natives brought. Kupper had to hunch well over to follow them to a larger chamber just before a sharp bend in the tunnel. The natives pressed a few crates together for Zigz to lay on.
Before he left, he froze at the feather touch of her fingertips on his hand. Turning only his head to look at her, he met her eyes, shimmering in the dancing light of the lanterns.
“Promise me, Kupper,” she pleaded. “Promise me you won’t do anything crazy.”
Taking her hand, he turned to her and caressed her salty cheek. “I promise you I’m ending this. But, for now, I’m only exploring. You should rest. I’m going to need your help.”