CHAPTER TEN
“IT ITH FORBIDDEN!”
In another realm of existence entirely, one which cannot even be precisely described or delineated, the ifrit called Bezarduardakus was complaining quite vociferously to the King of the Ifrits, one Razafandrianavalonamerina, about its present assignment.
“It ith forbidden!” it emphasized.
“And how dost thou find thyself in thy present predicament?” the king inquired.
“Not my fault!” it replied. “The witch thtole heart of Bezarduardakuth.”
“Thou art a fool,” the king spat. “Thou knowest the trickery of these humans, and yet thou allowest one to entrap thee. Still, thou art right about the law. Who is this mortal?”
“Möthza offthpring of Karlomán,” it squealed.
“The name signifieth nothing,” the king noted. “What is its cognomen?”
“Not know,” Bezarduardakus admitted.
“Ssst,” the king hissed.
The little ifrit shrank back from its monarch, utterly terrified, but it wasn’t quick enough, for the king grabbed it around the waist and began to squeeze, turning it upside down over its own great mouth.
A drop of green fluid oozed from the creature’s little head, and dribbled down onto the king’s black, forkèd tongue. The monarch’s huge mandible moved back and forth in obvious relish.
“We know that flavor,” Razafandrianavalonamerina hissed. “We shall honor thy request. Thou art released from that one’s service. In recompense whereof, thou art deprived of thy separate existence for ten thousand years.”
Then the monarch popped the little toad into its gullet, and crunched down on the tasty ort. It burped. It was good to be a king.