Chapter Eight

A reporter stood outside Buckingham Palace, watching as Bob’s limo pulled up the long driveway. “One of England’s most famous myths has become a reality, as a new king has been crowned,” he said, talking into the camera. “Bob, who appears to be a bald, jaundiced child, has pulled the famed sword right from its stone, which, legend dictates, makes him the new king.”

At the lair, Scarlet was watching the broadcast. “Tiny yellow traitors!” she shouted, kicking over her TV. She angrily got into her Scarlet-Jet. She would teach those Minions to cross her.

Back at the palace, a line of guards stood by the palace entrance. Bob stepped out of his car, and the men all dropped to one knee. Per his request, they were all wearing neon-yellow outfits and blue overalls. They even had their own sets of black goggles.

“Awwwww, buddies!” Bob yelled, hugging each of the guards as he went past. “Buuuuddies!!!” They looked like all his friends from back in the cave. Even though he’d only been at the palace for a few minutes, it already felt like home.

Bob walked through the palace halls, Stuart and Kevin trailing behind him. They made their way up to one of the balconies that looked over the crowds below. The French doors were wide open. Bob could see the overcast sky. He could hear the cheers of the English people outside. They were waiting for him—their king, their master.

Bob approached the podium and took a deep breath, preparing to speak to his followers for the first time. He stared at the old couples with their canes and walkers, the families huddled together in heavy coats, and the young ones holding up signs for him. These were his followers now… his Minions. He met their gaze and said the deepest, most profound words that came into his head. “King Bob!!!”

“King Bob!!!” the crowd shouted back.

He went on to give a rousing speech. It was a shame no one understood a word of it. When he was finally done, the crowd stared back at him blankly. “King Bob!” Bob yelled again. The people cheered, applauding again.

The Minions enjoyed their freedom in the palace. They’d never had luxuries like this, no matter who their masters were. They had an unlimited supply of all the best foods—roasted duck and plump caviar. They could go anywhere and do anything—Bob slid down the polished wood railings. He raced Kevin and Stuart through the halls. (They liked to see how many expensive statues they could knock over. The one of Queen Victoria was their favorite.)

When they needed to go outside, they hopped on the palace corgis and went onto the lawn to play polo with the nobles. When they needed to be entertained, the palace guards put on a variety show, singing and dancing through the great hall. And when they just needed to relax, they hung out in the palace steam room.

That was always a little awkward.

Stuart liked to strut around in his neon thong.

Kevin and Stuart watched as Bob had his portrait painted. They played in the hall, tossing the polo ball back and forth between the palace advisor’s legs. Kevin hit the ball across the room. Just then, the door swung open, and a familiar face appeared. The polo ball smacked Scarlet Overkill right in the nose.