Chapter 5: Horace

                Horace was having a rather bad day.  His boss wasn’t going to be happy. It had all started when Horace was elected by his fellow henchmen to safeguard the Berker’s plans of evilness while it was to rendezvous at the fortress under Bob itself. These plans were top secret and ultimately more valuable than any of the henchmen combined—it would be better to stub one’s toe on a hillocrate than to lose these plans. Somehow Horace had managed to do both. Now the plans we being digested by a rather small hippo.

                Horace was a rather largish man who wasn’t the brightest among many at all. While not so generous in the brains department, Horace’s intentions were generally good. He was amenable, meaning easily manipulated, which was how he had come to be employed by the Berker. His lot in life was to serve the Berker with all his strength in return for three servings of porridge a day and a warmish place to sleep. He didn’t understand most of the plots that Berker conceived, but he would do everything he could to make sure that his boss was happy, for he liked to make people happy, especially the Berker. He aspired to become a borker someday, but he had been told that he wasn’t amusing enough for such a position.

                One morning, while Horace was washing the Berker’s rubber ducks, he heard approaching from behind him muddled footsteps and heavy breathing. He turned about, wiping his hands on the apron strung across his formidably sized waist, and saw Neviel sprinting awkwardly towards him. Neviel confused Horace—Neviel was a tall, skinny boy, who couldn’t have been much older than seventeen.  He was a slender, wired-haired boy that hadn’t quite figured out how to effectively use his limbs, resulting in many accidents involving arms wildly springing into action without being summoned or legs deciding to move in opposite directions of each other. Neviel was definitely on the Berker’s “List,” as nothing was safe in his presence. The only reason Neviel had not already been thrown out of a high-storied building was actually two reasons. The first reason: he was a practical closet-genius who had invented many great gizmos and what-cha-ma-call-its for the Berker. Reason number two: he served as a half-decent messenger for the Berker himself, who reacted to every whim and thought that crossed his mind and hence kept at least three messengers busy at any given time.

                Neviel skid to a prolonged stop when he reached Horace. Attempting to speak and catch his breath all at once, Neviel blurted, “His Awesomeness—gasp—may he live for years, has summoned you to be present as he assigns tasks to his subjects—gasp, pant, pant—You must come quickly!” “Oh dear, I forgot,” mumbled Horace and he trudged quickly, hoping that the Berker wouldn’t be angry if he was only ten minutes early. Horace entered the assembly hall and was greeted by a great silence, which had befallen because the Berker was impending. He stood in rank in the front, and waited.

                He yawned as the minutes passed, and his thought process began to become more sleepy than usual. He was standing in formation with all the men of Berker’s (or Count Berker as the Berker liked to refer to himself as), waiting for the large purple curtains before them to part and for the Count to stride out of his bedroom for the morning briefings. The Count was obsessed with objects of that portrayed his supposed royal-ness, and so his possessions reflected rich though oft-musty taste. As Horace began to let his mind wonder, the curtains began to spread, and out from behind them, strode Count Berker. 

To Be Continued...

Credit:Tom K