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." The witch grabbed an iron cage. "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..."
"It's not cannibalism," said the witch. "I'm a witch. That only makes me a carnivore."
"Release the boy, Eliza." Mimbleshaw emerged from the bag. "He's a guest of the King."
"What?" she said. "We're letting the filthy little beast run loose in my kitchen and we ain't even gonna eat him?"
"I share your outrage," said Mimbleshaw. "I'm writing an opera."
"Your Majesty," said the witch as the little dog emerged from the bag. "I strongly recommend you reconsider eating the boy. This island has no human population. Children have to be shipped in if we want to eat them."
"Sacre bleu," said Spot. "Zee children must be shipped in? How can this be? Fire up zee grill."
"—hey," said Brian.
"Oh ho ho — you mean Monsieur le Brian?" said Spot. "Put down zee skillet. Put down zee boiling oil. We shall not eat Monsieur le Brian, so I may continue to splash zee water on him as he gives zee bath. We have zee 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.