CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“These plans…” Glok, unable to wave a hand at them, nodded his head at the papers. “…they’re magnificent!”
Humphrey stood nervously on one side, twisting all four of his hands. “I, ah, had hoped you’d think so, your majesty.”
Glok paced quickly around the Snoozer design, unable to walk slowly due to the matter of walking on his hands, which required him to move quickly if he moved anywhere. He stared intently down at the complicated blueprints laid on the floor, admiring the way the finished product would look.
He turned to Humphrey. “I take it you could take a team of Sligs and put one of these together?”
The Vykker – having no lips – licked the edges of his mouth. “If I had the proper materials.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Glok snorted airily. “I’m the Glukkon king; I can get all the metal and wires and guns in Glukksonia if I asked for them.”
“I, ah…was only concerned about your trust in me,” Humphrey said.
Glok stopped pacing, and seated himself on his throne. He raised his brow. “And are you worth trusting, Humphrey? Or are you just another one of the people who want to leech off me for as long as they can, and then try to make me look like an idiot because I don’t smoke cigars?”
Humphrey laughed shrilly. “Oh, it’s not a problem, sir. You see, smoking has an extremely negative effect on our lungs…smoking is terrible for our health, so Vykkers don’t smoke.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Glok said under his breath, and then, louder, “I’ll see to it you have a proper work team and the materials. I’ll survey the finished Snoozer by tomorrow night, and I’ll see if it’s worth the price.”
The Vykker bowed. “Yes, your majesty.”
Glok turned to the same BigBro Slig who had done the honors a little while ago. “Guard? Escort him to the laboratory.”
As the guard moved off to do his bidding, Glok turned to one of his Intern attendants. “And you, get the materials I need. I’m going to smoke a cigar.”
The Intern blinked three times, but did not say anything on account of his lips being securely stitched up. The attendant nodded, produced a pad from his pocket, and began scribbling on it. Glok had picked that Intern for the job since his handwriting closely resembled Glok’s own, so now he did not have to even sign his name on legal documents. The Intern was paid by getting every new MP3 song that came out, free of charge, and if the Intern ever tried to do anything that Glok didn’t like, he could simply tap a button on his wrist and the Intern would die.
Glok turned and skittered down the steps of his throne, moving toward a big statue of his great-uncle-once-removed, Molluck the Great. He really had no intentions of smoking a cigar – disgusting lung-busters! – but it was his way of telling the Intern he didn’t want any attendants to come with him to his private chamber.
He banged his head on the stone Molluck’s face, and the statue slid aside for a brief moment, just enough time for him to duck inside the opening, and get inside his secret chamber. He smiled in the darkness within, and began to plot.
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