I couldn’t help but laugh. Lonli-Lokli shot out of the room like a bullet.
“Was he really that repelled by my laughter?” I asked Juffin in confusion.
Melifaro brandished the beheaded torso, and grinned at the same time. He was probably imagining how this scene must look to an outsider.
“Oh, no, Max, not at all. I simply sent him to go after the others.”
“There’re more?”
“No less than a dozen running about. And Mister Juba made a run for it, too. But I wouldn’t worry about him. Our friend Melamori doesn’t take kindly to men who don’t lavish attention on her,” Melifaro assured me. “She’ll smoke him out wherever he is.”
“Just what are these little freaks? Can you tell me, O slayer of trolls?”
“Why do you call them freaks? They’re sweet, really; take a look!” Melifaro held out a little head that had been separated from its body. I winced. Then I saw that the head was made out of wood. And the face was truly lovely. Sinning Magicians!”
“Is that a doll? The same one you gave Melamori?”
“The same one, or a different one. It doesn’t matter. There were several dozen of the little monsters and they just went mad. When we first arrived they were having a meeting, discussing whether they should kill Juba or swear loyalty to him. He was a sorry sight.”
“Let’s go, fellows,” Juffin said, cutting short our intriguing conversation. “We’re no match for Sir Shurf, but we should each try to make ourselves useful, insofar as our humble abilities will allow us. Where, by the way, is good Sir Shixola? Could he possibly have deserted?”
“Just about! No, just joking. He called for a backup, too, and now he’s heading up the races on the rooftops, in the company of the city police. I hope they’ve managed to catch one or two. Patch me up, will you, Juffin? Jokes aside, I don’t think I’m in very good shape.”
I watched, enchanted, as Sir Juffin Hully stroked Melifaro’s arms, which were covered in tooth marks, with the tips of his fingers. Melifaro winced.
“That’s nothing; my stomach is in a much worse state.”
“Ah-hah!” Sir Juffin’s palms darted to the spot where Melifaro’s bright yellow tunic was darkening with a maroon stain. “Goodness, my boy! It looks like these beasts are crazy about human bellies! Are you still on your feet? Good show! There you go. You’re lucky that these critters can jump so high. A little lower, and even I wouldn’t be able to redeem your personal life.”
“Werewolves take you, Juffin! That’s no occasion for joking!”
“No worse than your jokes. Alright then, let’s go.”
Outside, the apocalypse raged on. A child ran right past me with a shriek. Horrified, I noticed that a tiny figure was prancing right at its heels, emitting a barely audible hissing noise. In the twilight it looked so much like a rat that I had to summon all my courage to perform a deed worthy of renown. Bending over, I grabbed the beast by its fragile leg and, shuddering with fright, smashed the horrid creature on the cobblestones. The doll shattered to bits.
“Is that how you punish disobedient children in the Barren Lands?” asked Melifaro with acerbic admiration. “Let’s go look for some more to finish off. Maybe we’ll get lucky!”
But lucky we were not. No sooner had we started our excursion around the block when we came upon Sir Lonli-Lokli, who looked tired, but absolutely calm. His snow-white looxi was still flawlessly draped.
“That’s that,” he announced. “I told the police to start restoring the peace. There are no dolls left.”
“Are you sure there are no more of them?” I almost asked, but restrained myself in the nick of time. If Sir Shurf Lonli-Lokli says something, then it must be true. I should have learned that by now.
“Thank you for your expediency, Sir Shurf. I have been dying for some kamra for an hour and a half now,” Juffin said, and yawned.
“That is just why I made haste, sir.”
If I didn’t know Lonli-Lokli better, I would have sworn that he was teasing. We went back to the amobiler, but on the way a familiar operatic growl caught our attention.
“Crap like that should stay in a pig’s toilet where it belongs! Bull’s tits! You’re going in there, and you’ll eat your own turds until they stop coming out of your skinny little butt!”
“Boboota’s leading the operation?” I asked.
“But of course!” said Juffin. “It’s great publicity, restoring the peace and whatnot. Do you really think he’d miss a good opportunity to go wild? Boboota jumps at the chance to wave his sword around. It’s his only talent, after all. Praise to the Magicians, have my dreams come true? Looks like one of the little monsters managed to bite him!”
“No, sir,” said Lonli-Lokli. “Captain Foofloss arrived along with General Box. Sir Foofloss, as you know, is a very disciplined soldier. If ordered to open fire with a Baboom slingshot, he does it.”
Juffin and Melifaro exchanged glances and guffawed.
“Captain Foofloss is the worst marksman under the sun!” Juffin explained through his laughter. “If he aims for the ground right under him, he shoots into the sky.”
Then he turned to Lonli-Lokli, “So, what happened?”
“Captain Foofloss’ shot ricocheted off the wall and hit General Box. The injury isn’t serious, but it’s liable to cause him a good deal of discomfort. I mean it will be difficult for him to sit down for a while.”
I joined in the mirth with my colleagues.
Finding myself in the driver’s seat of the amobiler, I decided that I, too, needed a bit of kamra. So we drove back even faster than we had on our way here. I’d swear the darned jalopy was about to take off flying. If anyone besides me got pleasure out of the ride, it was Melifaro. In any event, I had to promise that I would reveal the secret of speed to him. As if it was a secret!
All of a sudden I thought, I’m one to laugh at Captain Foofloss! I don’t even know how to shoot a Baboom! In fact, I don’t even know what it is.
Juffin intercepted my inner monologue, and rushed to comfort me.
It was indeed comforting.
An unusually heartwarming sight awaited us when we returned to the House by the Bridge. We found Melamori lounging upon the table in the Hall of Common Labor. She looked disheveled, but very happy. Her narrow feet, covered in scratches, were clamped around the muscular neck of a sturdy blond young man whose face had gone burgundy for lack of oxygen. He had had no choice but to settle into a position so uncomfortable that if I had been the Venerable Head of the Office of Quick Retribution (the Supreme Court, in other words), I would have thought such a punishment to be more than enough.
“He’s all yours, Sir Melifaro,” the sweet lady twittered. “I’ve been sitting with him here for an hour already.”
“It’s your own fault. You could have settled for a less ravishing pose. We would have appreciated you anyway,” Juffin grumbled. “Get that fright into Melifaro’s office. I can’t bear the sight of him. What hands, what talent! And to waste it all churning out those odious monsters. What’s up, genius? Were you too broke for a jug of kamra?”
Juba Chebobargo was not in the mood for conversation. He didn’t seem to understand what was going on. Lady Melamori hopped off the table gracefully. The poor fool didn’t even react to his sudden liberation from her embrace. She grabbed him roughly by the wheat-colored locks that sprouted from the top of his head, and dragged the mountain of meat into Melifaro’s office with no visible effort. Melifaro followed after them, shaking his head in amazement.
As soon as I sat down at the table, I began to whine. With the exhausted manner of a hero of all world wars in succession, I demanded that we put in our order at the
