Page 34 - Unlikely Stories 2

Earl King and his Puppet Thing

“Oh, Mary Lou, what shall I do?” cooed the left hand. “We have to
perform tonight, but I haven’t a thing to wear, and my hair looks a
fright!”
“Well, don’t you fret, Marie Antoinette,” piped her dextral
companion. “Our friend Earl King will find you a dress—if he digs
deep enough into that mess; and certainly somewhere in that bag that’s
so big, he’ll locate a lump of lint for your wig.”
Then silence. The hand puppets turned expectantly toward the
hidden audience, their manipulator equally concealed beneath the
drapery of his sequined curtain.
Minutes passed, the slightly-ajar peephole evidence of doubt and
decision compounding behind the steel door. Earl King held his pose;
any difficulties he experienced in so doing were not audible or visible
across the crevice. At last the large door slid slowly back and sideways.
Two men stood on the threshold, both clad in brittle black leather
studded with steel spikes; bandoliers across their chests and rifles
strapped to their backs also attested to their ferocity. Their eyes could
not be seen behind tinted aviator glasses. They were, in fact, rather
feeble and elderly men, but no weakness could be shown the Surfs.
“Puppeteer,” one of them shouted, as the other cranked the
drawbridge, “you will give one performance. The payment will be one
bag of food.”
Earl King relaxed, and busied himself rearranging his apparel into its
drabber manifestation. When the distal end of the bridge touched the
ground in front of his feet, he slung his bag of tricks over his shoulder
and proceeded across it with as much dignity as extreme caution would
allow. Not looking down also prevented his noticing the rusted bolts
connecting the sheets of highly-fatigued metal constituting his
passageway. Meanwhile, the Techie duo made a show of presenting
arms for the small audience of straggling Surfs witnessing the near-
miraculous transport of one of their number.
The moment he reached solid ground, the Techies began cranking
back the bridge and Earl King drew a deep breath. He had played other
grottoes, but few maintained as precarious a pathway into their
petropolis. All, without exception, had adapted medieval castle
technology to their security arrangements, depending on their domain’s
natural features. Rickety span withdrawn and massive gate closed and
sealed, the party of three started down the tunnel. The Techies

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