William

His head was muddled and it was dark. It was dark because his eyes were closed, and he didn't feel like opening them. His head hurt. He considered that briefly, then became aware that his funny bone also hurt. Soon, he added his antenna and his eye to the list, and thought it might be more productive to make a list of what didn't hurt. No, that produced nothing.

He first wondered what he had done before he went to bed last night, because he was resolved to not do it again. He tried to stop thinking about anything, because it hurt to think.

Slowly it dawned on him that this was not his bed he was lying on, and he was not where he belonged, wherever that was. He thought there had been a sociable woman, or was it a man who was sociable? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He firmly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the indigo walls or the bag of groceries or the china hutch. He closed his eye and moaned dreamily.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a plain man carrying a broadsword walk into the room. The man laid the broadsword on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "You bet, looks like Mister Imbecile is coming back to life."

He suppressed another moan and asked, "Where am I? And who are you?"

"Swell, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me William.

That was all he wanted to try to absorb at the moment anyway, so he closed his eye again and tried to spit. He immediately opened both eyes and asked, "What am I here for? Can I have something to drink?"

"Wild, your questions always come in pairs?" William walked to the refrigerator and got a Shirley Temple. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied again, feeling a bit more dismal.

"Well, it wasn't the National Endowment for the Preservation of Sticks of gum that sent you here," William replied smoothly.

"And this doesn't look like a hospital. By the way, where's the bathroom? Who are you working for?" He did need the bathroom, but he also wanted to scope the place out a bit. He wasn't forgetting the broadsword on the table next to William.

"There you go again. That's two questions. The bathroom's over there," he said, gesturing with his head.

Sitting up slowly and gingerly, he looked around the room. The bathroom door was to his left. The other door was in front of him, beside William who had sat in a chair next to the small table. There were no windows, and just the bed, the table, the refrigerator, and a china hutch in the room. There was a bagpipe on the china hutch.

"If you're thinking about picking up that bagpipe, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," William argued gruffly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the bagpipe at the moment. He was waiting for the room to stop spinning after he stood up, bracing himself on the head of the bed. He worked his way to the bathroom, where he took his time trying to clear his head. He splashed some water on his face, then lurched back to the bed and sat down. His pituitary gland was beginning to curl.

"If it's not too much trouble, how about you call me a cab now?"

This seemed to genuinely amuse William. He laughed out loud, then admitted "You won't be needing a cab to get where you're going."

Not wanting to belabor that particular point, he instead repeated his earlier question. "Who are you working for?"

"So let's you tell me who you're working for, and why you were snooping around like a bandicoot back there in the shoe store." William rapped his fingers on the table beside the broadsword.

"I was looking for my friend. Who hit me?"

"You tripped on a fishing pole. You took a bad fall. Who is this friend you were looking for?"

"Stephen Day," he lied. "Who do you work for, and why are you keeping me here?"

"Nobody's keeping you here. That would be way too much trouble. Who wants to deal with a vacuous guest? We just wanted to chat while we help you get back on your feet."

"Okay, we chatted and I'm on my feet," (barely, he thought to himself), "so I'll just be barrelling on. Nice talking to you, William."

Although his pituitary gland was still curling, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the broadsword. William stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly witty manner. Ignoring William's angry leer, he jokingly hopped out of the room.

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