Kings of the Road

Chapter 3

The man nodded, grimly, solemnly.

“Very well. We must know the truth.” He refocused on Ank. “Bow before me, then, intelligent creature. Or I will have you shot.”

There was a silence.

“Just do it,” I growled.

And he did it: bending his front knees so that his whole body tipped; touching his nose to the Asroturfed floor of the arena—at which I knelt as well.

“I see,” said the king—rattled, taken aback. “Well: it certainly seems to understand basic commands—doesn’t it?” He scrunched up his face. “Meanwhile, you acted as though you were—well, as though it were speaking with you. Actually communicating.” He shrugged, perplexed. “I heard nothing.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” I said. “Nor did I, at first. It takes time.”

“But—”

“Call it telepathy; thought transference, ESP—whatever.”

The king seemed almost to wince, trying to understand. “But—language itself—how ...”

“Because he was a man once; just like us. That is, until they, whatever they are, the lights in the sky, had their way with him. Until they took the essence of who he was and poured it into this, this behemoth, this ankylosaurus—as an experiment, perhaps, like the were-raptors. Beyond that, you know as much as we do.”

“The—the ‘were-raptors ...?’”

“Look, it’s not important.” I stood and clicked my tongue, indicating Ank should rise as well. “What’s important is that you release us—now. What’s important is that we never meant to trespass and took only such action as was needed to defend ourselves and our right of way; and must therefore be allowed to—”

“Ah, but don’t you see?” His sleeves slipped down as he raised his hands, revealing frail, liver-spotted forearms. “This is my quandary! How can I simply release you when you have killed so many of my infinite best; and more, when you have destroyed the very vehicles I need to—” He trailed off suddenly, looking at Ank. “He carries quite a load, this man-beast—doesn’t he, now?”

I looked at all the packs and bags strapped to Ank’s back: the fresh fruit and pemican and milk-jugs full of water; the bedrolls and camping gear and battered, black guitar case. “I don’t see what—”

“Ah, ah! But you will!” He slapped the arms of his ‘throne.’ “Yes, you will! My God, how did I not think of it?” He paused as if to reel himself in. “Ah, but, how can we discuss business, discuss our transaction, if I don’t even know your name?”

I looked at Ank and he looked back.

“Williams,” I said, noncommittally—at which the king raised a beetled brow.

“Williams. As in, that’s your surname, surely? And what of your—”

“Just Williams.”

The king moved to speak but dithered. “I, ah, I see. Very well. ‘Williams.’ I do believe I have a proposal.”

I glanced at Ank again—found him already regarding me from beneath a bony brow. “A proposal,” I looked Carrington in the eyes. “All right. Okay. We’re listening.”

“Yes, well.” Carrington hesitated. “It concerns my daughter, see, Princess Gisela—and the, ah, matter of matrimony. Which is to say that, now that she is of age, she will be expected to satisfy certain, ah, familial obligations.” He sat back in the La-Z-Boy, which creaked and moaned. “Certain duties. And for that, well, let’s just say I am ill-equipped to instruct a debutant—especially when there’s no proper society in which to introduce her; this being a—er, frontier outpost, primarily, and thus not a place where a suitable courtship might occur. Therefore,”

He squared his shoulders and breathed in and out, quickly. “I am ordering that she be transported to Edmonton Mall—the, er, realm of my former wife, one Amelia Issandra Chapman—to be versed in all things glitterati; to be trained in the ways of the crème de la crème—the, ah, haut monde, as they say. And I am happy to say that I have chosen you, Mr. Ank and Mr. Williams, to escort her to that end—knowing, as I do, that you will protect her diligently and faithfully, and above all courageously, even if it means losing your own lives in the process.”

And he looked at us, first at me and then at Ank. And we looked back.

said Ank.

But I wasn’t listening, having been distracted by a figure above us, in the press box, a figure which hadn’t been there before: a beautiful young woman wearing a Vietnamese long dress—the sight of which stopped my heart, if only for an instant.

Ank must have followed my gaze.

“Your Highness,” I said, looking up at the girl, or more properly the dress, “We accept this mission and will see to it your daughter reaches her destination safely.” I shifted my focus to the king. “In God—and us—you can trust; that’s a promise.”