Joel N. Ross

“Did you just call me ‘sweetie’?” I asked. She shoved my shoulder. “No.”

“It was going to be our job to annoy someone?” “I know—it’s a dream come true!”

“We’re alive!” Swedish told her. “I did not see that coming.”

“Well, the bad news,” Swedish said from the wheel, “is that Chess still thinks he’s funny.” “What’s the good news?” Loretta asked, leaning on our little copper-tubed harpoon. “That Kodoc dropped a bomb on the city?”

“Now you’re listening to Swedish ?” I asked her. “He thinks I’m the Compass because every time I see ticktocks, I happen to be there!”

“...Loretta threatened to beat him to death with a wooden spoon...”

“Loretta started belting out a song: “Row, row, row your boat, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G !”

“Uh, she said maybe your eyes matched the Fog like a synchronous magnetic field?” “I don’t even know what language that is.”

“After an hour the score was: Quancita—34 Radiz—51 Sally—froglegs Perla—9 a”

“If Chess is the switch,” Loretta said, “how does he turn the Fog off?” Bea bit her lower lip. “I don’t know—ask Chess.” “How would I know?” I said. “You try being a switch.”

“What are you doing?” I asked Loretta. “Stabbing a cushion,” she told me.”

“You know what to do?” “Wander around,” I said. “Until I spot a self-assembled whangdoodle from the Foggy depths.”

“Are you . . . lost?” “Not really,” she told him. “We just don’t know where we’re going.”

“Keep moving!” “Bea’s arguing with the floor.”

“Did Cap’n Vidious leave that? He is such a cuddlebunny.” “Yeah,” I said, “that’s exactly how I’d describe him.”

“Are you okay?” “Yeah.” “Good,” she said, “because if you fall off a skyscraper, I’ll be so mad at you.”