* * * * *
Lucy Smith pondered what she was going to tell Headmaster Bigelow, regarding the impounding of his illicitly borrowed car by the police, when she suddenly felt their 1996 Nissan Hardbody begin to decelerate.
She looked at her stepson, who was driving.
"Rojar? What's wrong?"
He kept glancing into the rearview mirror.
"I think we're being followed."
"Well, this _is_ the main route we're driving on. It's probably just one of the local farm families returning from the Retroplex triple-feature!"
"Maybe so/maybe no."
Martin Smith (as he was locally known) turned right, at the intersection with Farmstead Road, and then pulled over. He shut off the engine and headlights, and they waited. Sure enough; another pair of headlight was approaching the intersection.
And, sure enough, they kept right on going.
"Looks like you were right, Vara. For once!"
The twenty-six year-old grinned as his Wotani stepmother back-handed his right shoulder in half-serious reprimand. He then turned the ignition back on, and resumed the drive home to the Goodson Academy gatehouse.
But, while that stately old domicile might be the main entrance to the renowned boarding school, it was not the only one!
Wes Saxon pulled his Ram Charger over, next to a wooden stick with an orange-painted top. This stick marked one end of a foot path used for cross-country training by the girls' track-and-field team. And, by doubling-back along it, Wesley's friends would come out on the athletic field behind the school gymnasium.
Biff Morgan looked in at his roommate, after disembarking from the front passenger seat.
"I sure hope you know what you're doing, dude. I don't want you to see you get in any bigger trouble!"
"Don't worry. Like I said earlier? It'll be Smith and my ex-bitch who'll be in big trouble!"
He then did a U-turn, and headed back toward Goodson. As he passed the intersection with Farmstead Road, for the second time that night, he failed to notice the fifty-two pairs of eyes that observed his vehicle's progress from a roadside meadow to his right.
"I wonder what magic powers that strange vehicle?" asked the shaman.
"I neither know nor care," replied Malagor: "I am concerned only with carrying out our mission. Horses up!"
This order was given to the other Osiri warriors who--like he and the shaman--had coereced their stolen mounts into lying on the ground, on their sides, when the shaman first sensed the approach of the two automobiles. The danger of inadvertent discovery having passed, the Saddlebreds were allowed to regain their feet. Whereupon, the Osiri raiders sprang once more on to their backs!
"Onward!" yelled Malagor.
"OSIRRRRRRI!" chorused his subordinates.
* * * * *
Ten minutes later, the Ram Charger entered the parking lot of a local motel. It pulled into a vacant spot near the motel's 24/7 coffee shop, right next to the one occupied by a vintage Datsun 280ZX.
"Glad to see you're a man of your word, George" sneered Wes.
The corporate attorney said nothing. He merely scowled, and opened the trunk of his car.
"The air rifle has a laser targeting scope already mounted on top. The carrying case contains one vial of the formula. And, the 'fanny-pack' has six tranquilizer darts. I hope that proves satisfactory?"
"I'll let you know, tomorrow morning."
With that, they went their separate ways.
* * * * *
Meanwhile, back at the gatehouse, Toray of the Azuling had finally regained consciousness.
"Welcome back to the Land of the Living, old friend," said Willek.
The Envoy-General gave a lop-sided grin.
"I wish I was here under more pleasant circumstances. You know the old saying, however: 'Mortals may arrange. Yet, the Great Parent rearranges.' "
"Has the tide of war changed, back home?" asked Lucy.
Toray nodded: "In, perhaps, the worst way possible."
He then looked at Michael: "It grieves me to announce this, Your Highness. But, King Golar is dead. Long live the king!"
tbc
Giantess World
Author's Chapter Notes:
STATE ROUTE 202
GOODSON, CONNECTICUT
OCT. 24, 2009
(11:01 P.M./EST)
GOODSON, CONNECTICUT
OCT. 24, 2009
(11:01 P.M./EST)