Chapter 29
“You want me to be loyal to a cloud of salt?” Parson asked.
“What part of that do you not understand?” Monte Cristo asked.
The hotdog walked across the outcrop to the edge of the rock. He could smell the distant fragrance of water-kissed spinach. The clouds thickened over them, blotting out the sun and throwing mountainous shadows. The hot warmth he had grown so used to on Ginger Rock diminished a bit.
“Well? How does the throne sound, parsnip?”
“It sounds good to me,” Parson said. He closed his cape as the wind blew. “I’ll know what to do with the throne, unlike the i***t there now.”
“I understand you and the king are related.”
“By affinity. The queen—bless her heart—was my cousin.”
“Ah,” Monte Cristo said. “Unfortunate death.”
Parson puffed. “Exactly how do you intend
