“Will you excuse us, my dear? I’d like to have a word with Lord Skeeve.”
Massha glanced back and forth between the General and me, then shrugged.
“Sure thing, Hugh. Gods know I’ve got enough to keep me busy for a while. Catch you later, Hot Shot.”
The General closed the door behind her, then stood regarding me for several moments. Then he came over to where I was standing and placed both of his hands on my shoulders.
“Lord Skeeve,” he said. “May I be permitted the privilege of speaking to you, of treating you for a few moments as if you were my own son … or a man under my command in the Army?”
“Certainly, General,” I said, genuinely touched.
“Fine,” he smiled. “Turn around.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said ‘Turn around.’ Face in the other direction, if you will.”
Puzzled, I turned my back on him and waited.
Suddenly, something slammed into my rear end, propelling me forward with such force that I nearly fell, saving myself only by catching my weight with my hands and one knee.
I was shocked.
Incredible as it seemed, I had every reason to believe the General had just kicked me in the rump!
“You kicked me!” I said, still not quite believing it.
“That’s right,” Badaxe said calmly. “Frankly, it’s long overdue. I had considered hitting you over the head, but it seems that lately your brains are located at the other end.”
Grudgingly, I began to believe it.
“But why?” I demanded.
“Because, Lord Skeeve, with all respect and courtesies due your station and rank, it is my studied opinion that you’ve been acting like the north end of a south-bound horse.”