8:17

The beaver took another sip of the ice water and contemplated the bowl of fruit. “It’s good to be king,” he quoted. “I really could get used to having minions.”

Unfortunately for his newfound ambition, it looked like they were going to arrive on time, and that meant he’d better not get used to the luxury. It really was odd how well Albert seem suited to play the servant role considering his upbringing. Or maybe not. I guess he’d have had lots of opportunity to see how the other half does things, the beaver mused.

Be that as it may, in another four hours the beaver would be off, Albert would be out of his hair and luxury naught but a pleasant memory.

The beaver sighed, an expression of his mood: half contentment and half regret. It was nice to have some time and someone to talk to. The beaver had realized pretty quickly that, once he wasn’t around, any of Albert’s stories would be dismissed by any adults he tried to tell. That had made the boy a pretty convenient sounding board, and perhaps he had talked a bit too freely. Still, without an actual beaver to be found, no one was going to give any credence to ridiculous tales of a fur-bearing stowaway.

And having someone one to talk to had helped. Plans that had remained stubbornly nebulous had solidified as he had tried to explain them to kid. Nothing like having to dumb it down to make it clearer, the beaver thought. I’ll have to do that more often.

And now, hours away from his destination, a pretty precise set of plans and contingencies in hand, the beaver actually had a moment or two to clear his head and relax.

“It’s good to be king.” He smiled. “Now all I need is a piss boy…”