The staccato lights powered the already-bright paving in the middle of the day. Humpkin looked up at the sparkle up the huge towering block of black cement.
Actually, it was probably no cement, but a strong-looking rock from this world that kept different windows up to the 30th-something floor. A white circle banded to it, the hour hand ticking rather loudly. He smelled it like a bee's putrid smell along with its pencil-like sting. In other words, the world here may actually not be very different at all.
Granted, the long bridge forged to a gargantuan road, modern-esque road, the lone clock tower lacking a birthday hat erect beside it.
He was looking for answers, and to get answers you need someone to ask. But Humpkin couldn't help but feel a punch of relief when he saw the road empty, the sidewalk dark with mother bushes.
He stood waitingly. A crunch of envy for the gray clouds. When he thought about the clouds just now, he thought about his son drawing in heaven: the Father God beside him, the Holy Spirit watching him fly his hands about the paper . . . He knew somehow in the back of his mind that not only must he find a way to get back home, he must also look for a way to unseal his son from the fated broom.
But what did he know? Surely he doesn't think he's deluding himself.
"I must look for the portal out."
———
Back in the Manstra, a four- and white-wheeled stretch of vehicle, Hermswitch was about to contact the great guards of Jag Shore through the Comma Commander, a special screen device that transmits CR to a black pellet that mediates the message.
"Being too rough with the wheel."
Fanchietto slowed down and made a soft turn. "I'm sorry, master."
Hermswitch looked up from the screen on his lap. "But I didn't tell you to go slow."
He went back to his screen. Four white dots spread across the city, guarding all four cardinal directions. Hermswitch was heading north, and someone formidable was luckily posted over the area. He clicked the dot, his brows fixed.
"Boss?" someone spoke through. The voice was heavy, sounded like a mouth-breather who always bath in ice. "What's the matter?"
"An intruder has entered, Bomba. Weren't you all aware?"
Bomba clicked his tounge, but not so loud so as to not let the boss hear it. "Well, if there was any, I'm sure I would have detected it."
"Sure you would, you dumb piece of shit. It's fucking Bigscope yet again. This time with a broom."
"What?!"
Bomba stood over the edge of Marc Pharma's square-pitch rooftop glass. His foot dark against it, his arms a bird's torso, a green vein. It seems he didn't really want to hear such news. But with knowing that, he now had one job to do.
Hermswitch directed the destination to the driver, and much less than a minute they stopped near the Marabor Bridge's wide vestibule, the entry to another territory, which partly he was a bit nervous to check.
He exhaled through the open window, reminded himself he would very soon take over the other side. This was just a minor change of events, he was sure, so he should calm down a little.
"Master, why'd we stop here?" asked the driver.
"You wouldn't know. Run me back for a milk. I need some."
Mister Fanchietto squinted through the mirror, his face with the sword-stretch scar appeared lightly. "Pardon me?" he wanted to say. But he bit his tounge and looked away quickly. Because when the boss says something, he knew from experience, you do it.
He wanted to force close the door, but he did it gently, so that he doesn't slip across the flat edge of what is morally right or wrong for the boss.
His fire-strand coat brushed in the close winds, his hair flying like vermins.
Focus back, eyes on the perimeter, imagine the dark room and bury your feet louder than white. "Fwoooosh," he exhaled. The Diablo Clocktower marked past the minute, his shadow a mere painting in the air.
"Fanchietto," Hermswitch thought. "Runs fast, but drives carelessly." Going here, he had other plans, but he couldn't help but feel a pang of envy for the immense CR that young man had produced. "When I get done with Bigscope, I should put you to greater use."
He got out, and God only knows what he was planning for the Great Marabor.