Then the King, jingling his bells to signal a change of course, climbs up the mast in a flash, as if he too were a Monkey.
“What’s gotten into you King Krackskull?” the Captain asks.
“King Umbilicoberto,” the King yells.
“Dark waters,” Labaguette says, “I shall not dip a single feather in it.”
“What’s gotten into you stupid bird?” the Captain asks.
“The King is no longer a king and he’s gotten himself a new name.”
“He already has one.”
“The latter is honest, he can handle it.”
“He’s still a King.”
“STILL AMM!” the King adds.
“Not for long.”
“Beg your pardon?” the King asks.
“What would you know about it?” the Captain continues.
“You’re still searching, are you not?” Labaguette asks the Captain.
“I’ll stand by my name, there’s no need for alterations.”
“Sure. So, who are you?”
“I shall lead this conversation,” the King insists.
“I am who I am!”
“He changed his looks and changed his name, he’s—”
“You’re nothing more than a chameleon, fuck off!” the Captain says to Labaguette.
But the Captain has clicked his fingers faster than Labaguette’s last word and one box has come out of its orderly lot to rescue Captain Traumatic and entrap the parrot before flying off and settling besides Birdseye.
The remaining group of boxes keep hovering above the surface, observing it, taunting and tempting it, spitting sweat, trembling, fidgeting, uncertain of their ways until the more adventurous ones take the lead: they land on the surface, bob up and down and then disappear reshaped into black oily bubbles that bubble up some more before being gobbled up without further ado.
To be continued…