"King Ice! Queen Snow! Hear my plea and let me go!" cried Vilmot, waving his hands in the air in a series of mystic designs.
Nothing happened, which was little surprise to the passengers of the Route 413 bus. "No, it's no good," said one of them as Vilmot gunned the engine again, making the wheels spin in the frozen roadside mud. "You're trapped in an obsolete belief system. There's no chance of us getting out of this ditch unless you abandon your mythology and adopt a valid religion."
"Now wait just one moment," objected another passenger. "You can't declare a religion invalid simply because its deities fail to respond to invocation. They may have a reason for disregarding Vilmot's plea. Perhaps they object to the bus being full of unbelievers like us."
There was a brief period of discussion among the other passengers; to the first speaker's disgust they agreed that the suggestion had merit and should be tested experimentally, whereupon they disembarked from the vehicle.
"Ahem," said Vilmot. "King Ice! Queen Snow! Hear my plea and let me go!" he cried, and floored the accelerator.
The Flxible Flyer tore loose from the roadside trap and roared off toward Mooble City, leaving the passengers behind.
"There, you see?" said a small passenger. "It was we who had a faulty belief system. Where's the know-it-all critic?"
They looked around, and then at the bus disappearing in the distance. Apparently he had stayed aboard.
The former passengers milled around a while and eventually shuffled off to the nearest bus stop.
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