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I lifted an eyebrow. “You lose points for crashing into someone else? That doesn’t sound like much fun.”
Chase shook his head. “It’s all about the finesse. It takes a good driver and a good vehicle not to crash into the other thunders.”
Mouse wrinkled his nose. “And they had to make that rule after too many of the companies started putting metal armor on their thunders so they could purposely drive the competition off the track.’
Ben pursed his lips. “I remember that rule being put into place. One of those thunders purposely ran me off the track and nearly into the stands. The race had to be paused while the officials judged whether to disqualify them or not.”
“Did they?” I asked him.
He shook his head. “No, but he was docked so many points that the company came in last.”
I noticed an exception among the many spry race watchers in the middle of the track. This person was a young man no older than twenty who hurried from one end to the other with a very noticeable limp. He carried a clipboard with him and a paper on the board fluttered as he scurried across the uneven ground.
I nudged Ben’s arm with my elbow and nodded at the fellow. “Do you know who that is?”
Ben looked at where I indicated and nodded. “That’s Peter Munio. He’s the official recorder for the races.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Is he older than he looks?”
“He’s been watching thunder races since he was old enough to know what they were,” Mouse spoke up as he cast a pitied look at the lad. “His interest meant he got too close to a race once and a thunder crushed his foot. They had to amputate it above the ankle.”
I winced. “Oh my God. . .”
Chase leaned over the side and shook his head. “That didn’t stop him, miss. He was the youngest person to ever be made an official, and the emperor himself gave him the honor of being the official record keeper.”
“Wow,” I breathed as I watched the young Peter write something down as the thunders passed by him.
The vehicles then roared past us and back into the interior of the course. “How many laps do they go for?” I wondered.
“Fifty,” Mouse told me as he rummaged through one of the bags and produced a few sandwiches which he held out to us. “Care for some lunch?”
“Hey!” Chase shouted from his perch above us. “Don’t go giving away all our food!”
“They’re our guests, Chase,” Mouse scolded him as he practically pushed the sandwiches into our hands. “Besides, Count Benny here wanted to talk to us about our company, too, and it’s no use talking on an empty stomach.”
Ben took a bite of the sandwich and smiled. “I’d like to help you develop your silent thunder. That is, if you need any investors.”
“And do we,” Chase piped up before he returned to scouting the race with a pair of binoculars. “Nobody will believe it’s a good thunder if this fool keeps crashing it.”
“That was just one accident!” Mouse insisted.
“That was your third accident this month.”
“But not in Bashful!”
“I noticed she was out there,” I spoke up as I nodded at the track.
Mouse shook his head. “Oh no, that’s her twin sister, Boastful. We wouldn’t want to go driving Bashful in any of these races.”
Chase rolled his eyes. “Why do you always have to name everything?”
“Because it gives it a soul,” Mouse insisted.
A few muttered words left Chase. “I’ll knock the soul right out of you. . .”
Mouse returned his attention to us and rubbed his hands together. “So what were you thinking of investing with us, Your Lordship?”
“That’s ‘Your Excellency,’ you tyke,” Chase snapped.
