Chapter 4
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“If you don’t want to believe I’m a knight, fine. You can be wrong, I ain’t stoppin’ ya.”
You had suffered just about enough of this. “You sound incredibly American, for one thing. For another, I have the highest doubt any living or dead member of British royalty would’ve actually agreed to your title being ‘Sir Keks-a-lot.’”
“I’ll have you know,” Sir Keksalot snapped back, “That the queen was very drunk that night.”
You rubbed your fingers against the top of your circular head in the general location of a theoretical forehead before your attempts to alleviate your headache were washed away in a sea of stinging irritation by Cordax’s voice. “Oh yeah? Which queen? Mary? Elizabeth? Victoria? Elizabeth again?”
Your glowing head flushed into a swirling mass of red and orange, burning brightly as you swivel to face Cordax. “I brought you for the comedic relief. But if you utter another word in my presence from here to the factory I will knee you in the face with enough force to implode your cranial cavity which you refuse to lease out as a gas tank.”
“Would you shut up?” Sir Keksalot swung around and hissed at your particularly featureless face. “I’ll be stringing you up by your calf tendons on the rear bumper of this bus if you so much as spit on those cushions. I may not get the best routes but my reputation for ‘cleanest interior of an operating public transportation unit’ isn’t about to be ruined by some tempermental snowglobe in winter fashion.”
You sigh, relapsing back into the chair as your swirling consciousness returns to its normal blue. Cordax has retracted all the way to the cab wall and would have remained paralyzed for the rest of the cab drive, had you not grabbed him by the collar and stood him up thirty minutes later.
“See that?” You pointed out the windshield towards what appeared to be some overly science fiction nuclear power plant surrounded by smaller buildings, silos, and agricultural equipment. “That’s it, Cordax. Much, much larger up close. That’s why we’re going by train.”
Cordax didn’t respond, simply quivering in your grip, only looking out the windshield briefly because he was commanded to. You sighed deeply and set him down, him immediately dropping to the floor and continuing to stare up at you in terror. The bus pulled into a station which was clearly abandoned some long time ago, where a bizarre contraption vaguely resembling a train was waiting, impatiently vibrating on the rails.
You gently pushed Cordax along, which caused him to tumble into a sprint out of the doors. You collected the silent Winger whose glare you could feel underneath his franchise pandering helmet boring through your puffy coat, but an orange metal arm stopped you with a snap of its fingers.
“I don’t mind the exaggerated threats and the hogtying of whoever that is.” Sir Keksalot mumbled. “Even if you did the tying wrong and all. But I’ve seen too many slick injustices done by stupid know-it-alls like yourself. Now that Cordax is a nice kid. You treat him that way or I ain’t pickin’ you back up when this is done. You can hitchhike for all I care.”
“I could kill you now, and-”
You weren’t allowed to finish that sentence, as Sir Keksalot nearly inverted your lower arm and threw you over your own head out of the bus. Your deft driver brushed his hands off and looked down from the bottom of his eyes.
“Get on better standings or I’ll keep my promise to the letter.”
He turned away and the doors closed.
Then they opened again.
“For the record, I was referring to the hamstringing bit.”
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