27
“May I speak, Master?” I asked.
“Yes,” said the pit master.
I was following him in the corridors, on his morning rounds, the day following the events recently recounted.
“The strangers sought an entrance to the tunnels,” I said.
“It would seem so,” he said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Who knows?” he said.
“Master knows,” I speculated.
“Are you insolent?” he asked, not looking back, continuing to move before me, with those short, irregular steps.
“No, Master,” I said. ‘Forgive me, Master! I beg not to be beaten!”
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