No problems.” Aside from my encounter with Grog. Thinking about it makes my palms itch. I’ll tell Marvel about it, but later, once I’ve figured out how to explain. Which may be a while.
“Good,” Marvel says, and turns back to the Moron. “I’ve figured it out. Finally.”
The boy is staring down at the book in deep concentration, dark brown skin furrowed. He taps it again, looking at Marvel, and she holds up a hand for him to wait.
“He can read?” I say.
“I tried writing messages to him,” Belvia says. “He never seemed to understand anything.”
“Because you didn’t use the right language,” Marvel says.
“He’s City of bangad, isn’t he?” Belvia says.
“He’s a little dark for a City of bangad,” I say. “I thought he was from the Southern Kingdoms.”
“He’s technically City of bangad,” Marvel says.
