The Hermit Crab waited patiently. For what? Excuses? Apologies? In the uncomfortable conversational pause they could hear the unending streams of dikle and shlug still pouring into the Laitemata and the squabbling of a few crows haggling over some rubbish outside the kitchen.
It was Chegory who first dared speak.
‘I’m afraid we’ve been, um, well, rather busy,’ he said. ‘There’s a. um, a demon, actually. It’s got a name. Binchinminfin, that’s its, uh, name. It’s — well, it’s in Varazchavardan. I mean, it’s taken him over. And — well, we’ve been, we’ve been, uh, I guess you could say we’ve been pretty occupied. Busy, I mean.’
He paused.
The Hermit Crab’s ominous immobility suggested this excuse failed to meet with its approval.
Chegory stood there.
Sweating.
Awaiting his death.
Then a third figure joined the two confronting the monster. It was the wizard of Xluzu, the formidable Pelagius Zozimus.
‘Aha!’ said Zozimus briskly, rubbing his hands together. ‘So this is the famous Crab! Good day to you, my lord! Pelagius Zozimus at your service! A master chef, if you please, and believe me most are pleased indeed. I’ve a thousand satisfied clients spread all the way from Tang to Chi’ash-lan. I’ve never cooked for a Crab before, but there’s always a first time. I’d be delighted to give it a bash. What would you like to eat?’
‘It eats fish guts,’ said Chegory. ‘Offal, that’s all.’
‘Dear friend,’ said the wizard, addressing the Hermit Crab directly and ignoring Chegory entirely, ‘I have lately served the Empress Justina and it would be my pleasure now to serve you in turn. Tell me — how you would like your provender styled. What would you find most gustful?’
The Hermit Crab was silent, as if deep in thought. Then one massive claw opened. Then closed with a decisive click.
‘I would like,’ said the Hermit Crab, ‘some fresh flying fish lightly fried and adorned with a milk-based sauce flavoured, if possible, with mint, and if not then with some equivalent herb chosen at your discretion.’
‘Oh, excellent, excellent,’ said Zozimus. ‘And then?’
‘And then,’ said the Hermit Crab, ‘I would like…’
It specified, in all, a total of fifty different dishes. When it was done, Zozimus complimented on its taste and discretion, then strode away to the kitchen with Chegory in tow. Zozimus loved a challenge. Especially one very close to impossible.
Once in the kitchen, Pelagius Zozimus issued rapid-fire orders to the kitchen staff. Then he turned to Chegory.
‘Chegory! I need some milk!’
‘Well, there’s, um, coconuts, I suppose,’ said Chegory.
‘Not coconut milk!’ said the master chef. ‘Real milk! Get me a goat!’
‘There’s no goat on all of Jod,’ said Chegory.
‘Then we’ll try another source,’ said Pelagius Zozimus.
‘There is a bawling baby on Jod, therefore there is milk. Fetch!’
So saying, he thrust a bowl into Chegory’s hands.
The Ebrell Islander stood there gawping, making a deliberate effort not to understand.
‘Milk!’ said Pelagius Zozimus imperiously.
Whereupon young Chegory Guy staggered away, tottering as if he had taken a severe blow on the head.
What took place then, we cannot say. For Chegory Guy would never speak of it thereafter, and there are no independent witnesses prepared to comment. Even Shabble was never able to discover the details, though Shabble is an inveterate gossip and the most adroit spy imaginable.
Suffice to say that in due course young Chegory returned with some milk in the bowl. Pelagius Zozimus dipped his little finger into this offering, tasted it then smacked his lips.
‘Ah!’ he said. ‘This takes me back!’
Takes you back?’ said Chegory. ‘How far?’
‘Oh, a thousand years or so,’ said Zozimus airily. ‘Give or take the odd century here or there.’
Then he abandoned all idle conversation in favour of work.
When the first course was almost ready to be served, Chegory went and fetched the Hermit Crab’s bucket. '“What on earth have you got that for?’ said Zozimus. ‘For the food, of course,’ said Chegory.
‘You can’t serve people food in buckets!’
‘I don’t. It gets dumped into the trough, okay, there’s a special crab trough, just dump it all in, it all gets eaten. That’s how we do things round here.’
'That’s just not good enough,’ said Zozimus severely. ‘Presentation is every bit as important as content.’
’“Not to the Hermit Crab,’ said Chegory. ‘He says we just have to put up with things.’
Pelagius Zozimus took hold of a mango. He held it up, demanding:
‘Does this take your fancy?’
Chegory, thinking himself sure to be the victim of some wizardly trick, answered cautiously:
‘It’s a nice enough piece of fniit.’
Whereupon the wizard threw the mango to the ground. Naturally it splattered in impact.
‘Does it still take your fancy?’ said Zozimus.
Chegory did not answer.
‘It doesn’t, does it?’ said Zozimus. ‘And why not? The nutritional content remains unchanged. It still tastes the same. Eat it! Surely it’s good for you. Go on, try it! Come — why so sullen?’
‘I’m tired,’ said Chegory. ‘I’m tired of being baited.’
‘Baited?’ said Zozimus in amazement. ‘I was educating you.’
‘Oh, is that what it is, is it?’ said Chegory. ‘Education! That’s what people are doing when they act rude and make fun of you? Hey?’
The confrontation with the Grab and the ordeal of obtaining fresh milk for the Crab’s special flying fish sauce (what was wrong with the ordinary kind, hey?) had not improved the bad temper with which he had started the day.
Fortunately, Zozimus did not choose to discipline the recalcitrant Ebby. Instead, the master chef shrugged off Chegory’s outburst and got on with his work. Shortly the first course was served to the Hermit Crab on the best china to be found in the Analytical Institute.
Chegory watched with fascination as the Hermit Crab fed upon the food, removing one titbit after another from the fragile porcelain with the utmost delicacy. The young Ebrell Islander had never imagined the Crab’s huge claws to be capable of such subtle control. Or that the Crab possessed such an advanced palate.
‘Good,’ said the Crab, when the fiftieth dish was finished.
Whereupon Pelagius Zozimus ventured to say:
‘My dear lord, I’m so glad you enjoyed your breakfast. One just as good could certainly be arranged for tomorrow, if that’s your wish. Meanwhile, might I bring your attention to a trifling problem on the fringes of your domain?’ ‘Speak/ said the Hermit Crab.
‘There is, my lord, a little trouble in the city. A matter of a demon, as it happens. A demon by name of Binchin-minfin. It’s unleashed the most dreadful disasters on the mainland. Why, it’s stopped the bells ringing, for starters.’ ‘Has it now!’ said the Hermit Crab, speaking with a passion which Chegory would have thought totally alien to its nature. ‘Those infernal bells! The bane of my life. So a demon’s stopped them, has it? Good! I hope they stay stopped!’
‘My lord,’ said Zozimus smoothly, ‘they’ll stay stopped forever, if that’s your wish. Meanwhile, this demon… it might, my lord, prove a problem. They’re very powerful, these demons.’
‘Tell,’ said the Crab.
So Zozimus elaborated on the power and potential of demons. When the wizard was done, the Crab said:
‘Could this demon turn me into a human being?’
‘Turn you?’ said Zozimus, taken aback. ‘Into a human?’ ‘Yes!’ said the Crab.
