By Nicholas Driscoll.
Excellent art by Sam Messerly.
Click here to read from the beginning.
“Well, regardless of your sudden desire for employment, I have a job already which I am late for,” I said. “Your highness can get his own job, if he is so inclined.”
Warbell was looking indignant again. I was starting to be able to read his expressions by this point, and the emotions inscribing themselves oh his mug could definitely be termed the old lizard’s “indignant face”—haughty chin, flared and quivering nostrils, shiny clenched teeth. I braced for another tirade, but Warbell surprised me with a whisper.
“This is very important, Walter,” he said. “I need a job. I want to meet people, talk to people. I want to learn about this world.”
“You meet people all the time, what are you talking about?” I sputtered, and I could still taste bacon-coffee on my breath. I bit back an unpleasant belch. “Everyone wants to talk to you.”
“They just want pictures and autographs,” Warbell said. “They don’t really want to talk with me. Usually the conversation never goes beyond them asking me something like, ‘What is it like to eat a triceratops?’”
I thought about that for a moment.
“That’s a good question—what does a triceratops taste like?” I asked.
“They taste pretty similar to austroposeidons, really. A little less fatty.”
“An austro-what?” I said. “Never mind, forget it. I need to call a taxi or something. I’ve got to change my clothes and go work on the wiring at the library. And you have a schedule to keep. Raul “Punchface” Panfester, the famous boxer, is scheduled to meet you this afternoon at city hall, you have autographs and a photo session, and some scientists want to stab you with some needles again or something…”
“I’ll take you to your home,” said the dinosaur. “We need to talk.”
“Oh, no,” I said. “Your claws caught on my pajama top and ripped it. I’m bruised and sore. I lost one of my shoes.”
“Come.”
And Warbell picked me up again and started towards the street, moving easily and smoothly this time instead of running. But even still, my shoulders were killing me, and riding in those t-rex claws are very far from safe and comfortable travel. They also don’t come with seatbelts, let alone airbags. I protested vociferously.
“Put me down, you big idiot!” I shouted. “You’re going to dislocate my shoulder. Holey donuts, my arm!”
The dinosaur slowed down and lowered me to the sidewalk in front of the hospital. As soon as I was on the ground, I had my cell phone out and was calling a taxi.
“As much as I would love to talk about the job market with you, Warb,” I said while the phone was dialing. “I can say that there is going to be an opening for an excellent electrician here pretty quick if I don’t get going. Besides how are you going to get a job when you can’t even physically enter most of the buildings around here? You can’t sell hamburgers if you can’t get behind the cash register.”
I got through and gave directions to the taxi, then I hung up and turned back to Warb. The big lizard was flexing his fingers back and forth, nasty claws looking about ready to sink into my flesh.
“I got your schedule right here,” I said, handing over a piece of paper. “Get over to city hall first. You’ve been there often enough. You don’t need a job. You don’t need money. I’ll come by at lunch to check on you later.”
We waited in silence for a few minutes, but thankfully the taxi came quickly. I quickstepped over to the vehicle, then turned to Warb again and kind of gave a wave to get his attention.
“Warbell,” I said. “Good job today. You might have saved that boy’s life.”
And then the taxi driver was shuttling me away.
