Chapter thirty-six

When the boat parked itself, the Solomon Learned unit was still blasting out a Beatles’ tune. He appeared to be in a state of Quipzux, but of course this was not the case. I continued to singing a melody, but somehow Dion wasn’t singing along, not anymore anyhow. His mouth was open and he appeared to be conscious, but he was hardly moving at all. I shook him a little, but he just stood there with a dead look in his eye, somewhat dexterously maintaining his balance. I ran over to Neddy, shaking him by the shoulders now to snap him out of Faux Quipzux.

“Neddy,” I said. “What’s wrong with Dion?”

“Nothing at all!” A brand-new voice imparted from the starboard side of the ship. I turned around to see the man-in-robes, from Neddy’s story. He was not at all the way the Mystery Thesis described him. In fact it was a bit difficult to describe him at all; he looked like an airbrushed picture, fully photoshopped. This person of magic wasn’t all that skinny, and he looked very handsome, like an Adonis. No, he was prettier than that: Adonis was mere fiction; this man was as beautiful as Alcibiades himself. Behind him, the one-eyed man climbed onto the deck using the rope ladder; I noticed right away how his good eye remained focused on my armorous bathtub. “He’s fine. Dion’s just waiting for us to finish up our business.”

“I’ve heard about you guys,” I said, “from your servant, Neddy.”

“Then you know I am Zyrrk and that’s Sky,” the man-in-robes presented himself with a flourish. “Now which one are you?” I gathered that he didn’t know yet if I was the guy from the first story, or the guy from the second one.

“Lester,” I said.

“Alrighty, Lester,” Zyrrk said. “We’re here to pick up a few things. Neddy!” The robot had sidled up next to him so discretely, that this new flamboyant fellow hadn’t even noticed.

“Yes, Master!” Ned said. Zyrrk cupped his hand over the robot’s childlike ear, and whispered something into it. His soft words executed some dormant protocol within the Solomon model, and Ned zoomed willy-nilly both on deck and below it to complete the tasks at hand.

“What do you need?” I asked. “I mean, maybe I can help you all get on your way.”

“You all! Ha ha!” Sky threw his head back, his mouth giving birth to twins, a pair of chuckles. “I don’t think he knows, Z.”

“Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. We can’t have that. We can’t have you doing any work at all, Lester. No, Ned will take care of all the things we need. And you’ll see, my boy – it won’t just be the two of us.” I watched as Sky waltzed over to the shield and held it up – it transformed before our eyes – morphing and twisting itself to suit the size of Sky’s powerful frame.

“Got what I came for, Z,” Sky announced.

“Well, then, I guess you can be on your way.”

“Listen up,” Sky said, suddenly preparing a sworn blood oath. “The next time I see either of you – I’ll kill ya.”

“Not if you’re already dead,” Zyrrk dovetailed his remark perfectly. “On your way, now. May the Queen’s love embrace you upon your journey.”

“Fuck the Queen,” Sky said as he watched us from the edge of the ship. Then he flipped up his middle finger at us: I was surprised to see that this familiar pantomime persisted in this dimension too. Jumping off the edge, he dictated the meaning behind his crass gesture with his version of a geronimo: “And fuck you guys, too!”

“Neddy!” Zyrrk shouted, ignoring the one-eyed muscleman’s exit.

“Anon, your magnanimousness?” It came from the port side of the ship. Looking over the side, we could see where Neddy had released a sleek-looking, streamlined speedboat from the hold. Apparently, the hull of this great ship was large enough to carry other boats and, like a butterfly piercing its chrysalis, Ned had penetrated the Monmouth’s fuselage with a flawless vessel.

“Is the Dragon ready?”

“The Green Dragon is ready for embarkation, Master,” Ned said.

“You mean you’re not going to steal the cruiseliner?” I asked, in reference to the Monmouth.

“Ah!” Zyrrk said to me. “I see, I see! You never read the book at all!”

He was absolutely right, I never read the book. Although Zyrrk (through his proxy Neddy) insisted that I look into its pages, and I had given Dion the impression that I knew what was going to happen – I never, ever had a clue. Dion was right after all, and ultimately I heeded his warning – the title was a command – as he had stated, “Lester and Dion Don’t Read this book.” Of course, as I formulated plan Z, I had to take this command to heart, if only to quash my lingering curiosity of what those final chapters housed. I concluded that I should not read the ending at all whatsoever, and thus I would be free to create my own ending.

“Nope, I never read it.” I wondered if I had made the right decision. I feared for Dion, who was still frozen, and I just had to hope that this person of magic had enough of a heart not to kill him.

“Somehow I knew you would do the right thing, Lester,” Zyrrk said. “I am proud of you, young novice. As a reward, I will meet your request to pardon this fellow – this Dion.” Zyrrk was a mind reader too, I remembered in that moment, and he had gleaned that Dion and I cared about each other. “However, you must promise to join me, as my new apprentice. That isn’t asking too much, is it Lester?”

“Oh, Master Lester,” Neddy beamed. “Please come with us! I think it shall be great fun if we should all be together!”

“What about him?” I asked, pointing to Dion.

“Never you mind, he will be well taken care of: Those who summoned him shall find him here shortly.”

“Well then, lead the way, Z-man,” I said, caring little for my own safety. “As long as you let the black dude go when we blow this joint, I don’t give a shit what happens next.” Ned had transplanted the rope ladder from one side of the ship to the other, I now noticed, and the three of us were walking toward the port side to let ourselves down.

“Perhaps you should ‘give a shit.’ It is easy to say that you will join us now,” Zyrrk proffered, stopping me at the side of the boat. “I have, however, been commissioned to show you the things to come. I am not allowed to accept you as my apprentice until you have seen the future.” Then Zyrrk smiled sharply, and he looked me in the eyes. Deep in his eyes I could see his true age: though he looked to be thirty-something in my first impression, now I could see into those orbs set in his head – he was more than a century old. He cocked his head a little and, lifting his left eyebrow superciliously, he placed his left hand at the very top of my forehead. “Don’t worry, this won’t hurt a bit.”