Twenty-Four:

"Excuse me," said the witch. "Are you the new king or are you the boy?"

"They said you asked them to send me first," said Brian. "Can't you see for yourself?"

"No," said the witch. "I can't see very well at all." The pupils of the witch's eyes were pink.

"What's the cage for?" said Brian.

"Give me your hand," said the witch. "Your finger's too puny. Six weeks in the cage will fatten you up."

"You can't eat me," said Brian. "That's cannibalism."

"Eating you doesn't make me a cannibal," said the witch. "I'm a witch. Eating you makes me a carnivore."

"Release the boy, Eliza," said Mimbleshaw. "He's a guest of the King."

"What?" she said. "We're letting the filthy little beast run loose in my kitchen and we aren't even going eat him?"

"I share your outrage," said Mimbleshaw. "I am writing an opera."

"Your Majesty," said the witch as Spot arrived. "I strongly recommend you reconsider eating the boy. This island has no human population. Children have to be shipped in if we are to dine on them."

"Sacre bleu," said Spot. "The children must be shipped in? How can this be? Fire up the grill."

"—hey," said Brian.

"Oh ho ho," said Spot. "You mean Monsieur le Brian? Put down the skillet. Do not boil the oil. We shall not eat Monsieur le Brian. So I may continue to splash the water on him as he gives the bath. We have the relationship, you see."

Gentle Reader, should you find yourself only in the company of riff-raff, such as witches, insolent chimps, and the dogs they serve, pray. Pray God in Heaven protects His Children from what they know.