CHAPTER NINE
Once Abe was inside the chute, all hell broke loose.
He landed on his hands and toes on the conveyor belt, which automatically moved him along the interior of the tube toward the first guillotine-like cutting blade, moving rhythmically up and down. Abe remained crouching, steeling his nerves as he approached the first blade. As a rule, Mudokons weren’t known for their nerves, but he wasn’t an ordinary Mudokon. He was a warrior.
He had a destiny. And that destiny was not going to be “chopped up in some stupid Glukkon’s grinding machine.”
As the blade went up again, leaving him with just a split second of an opening, Abe rolled forward in typical Mudokon fashion. The blade slammed down instants behind him. He let the belt move him toward the next blade.
I hate meat choppers, Abe decided, not for the first time in his life.
The belt was moving too fast. The next blade was already coming down as Abe neared. He had to backpedal away, the chopper so close he could feel the wind on his face, then as soon as it retracted upward, he was diving through the opening.
Two blades down. Only eight to go.
* * *
Lord Fragg motioned to one of the Sligs inside the airship. “Contact King Glok. We need to have a talk.”
“Right away, boss!”
The Glukkon folded his arms across his chest—something that most Glukkons couldn’t do—and waited impatiently. King Glok, grandson of the infamous Lady Margaret, had learned from his grandmother’s lesson and had never smoked a cigarette in his life, since the old queen had died from lung cancer some years ago. As a result, the tobacco companies shunned Glok as some sort of weirdo, and some counties in Glukksonia were even threatening to secede. Fragg had no liking for cigars himself, but he smoked one every once in a while, just to show he wasn’t a weirdo.
Still, even though he might have been strange in his habits, Glok was the king, and the king had all the authority.
“We’ve patched through, sir!” the Slig reported. “I’ve put the king on the phone for you!”
Fragg reached out and took the phone, pressing the device to his ear.
“This is King Glok. Is that you, Fragg?”
The business owner grated his teeth together. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m coming your way. I need to make an emergency landing in Mantin City—MeechCo’s been infiltrated and is in danger of blowing up.”
He could hear the laughter in Glok’s voice. “Let me guess: it’s Abe.”
“Precisely,” Fragg growled. “I need an army.”
“What makes you think I would simply hand an army of valuable Sligs over to you, Fragg? I had no idea you were with my Don’t-Smoke campaign.”
Fragg snarled. “So we’re getting into politics, are we? We need to kill Abe, now, before he can do any more damage!”
There was a long pause on the phone line before Glok replied. “I’ll think about it, Fragg. Landing Pad 324 is being prepped for your arrival.”
Fragg heard a click from the other end of the line, and one Slig turned toward him. “Sir, he’s cut the connection.”
Lord Fragg said nothing. This was his chance to gain fame, by leading the army that killed the infamous Abe…and Glok was getting into politics. Fragg hated politics, except when it involved his rise to power.
“Increase the speed,” Fragg ordered suddenly. He folded his hands behind his back. “We need to get to Mantin City right away.”
* * *
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