‘You’re the king, you eat first and then give the rest of that lovely stew to your Prince Kirk.’
Boris scratched his chin with his claw. ‘Interesting proposition…No! No! No!…Oh, why not!’ Boris slithered down from his throne and scuttled over to me. With his cratered face only centimeters from mine where I could smell his acrid breath, he said, ‘Take her to the slaughter-house.’
The guards spun me around to face the door.
Boris gasped. ‘No!’
‘What, my master?’ the Chief Ex asked. He pulled me around again.
The other guard dropped my arm. He groaned. Then he staggered to the middle of the room. He stiffened, keeled over, slamming his face on the floor. Blood oozed out under the mask. My, that melon stuff was powerful!
‘What’s happening?’ Boris moaned. Beads of sweat dripped down his cheeks. He lurched towards me. I recoiled. Boris’ four arms grabbed his abdomen. His legs buckled under him as he staggered backwards. He reached out with one arm to steady himself against the throne. ‘Chief Ex, take her to Kirk.’ Boris slurred. ‘I think I’m a bit—see what she did to me?’
Boris gurgled. A steaming stew of blue eyes mixed with brown lumps shot from his lips, where it cascaded down the front of his chest. The room filled with the stench of rotten eggs. The creature clicked as his shell splayed and contracted. He convulsed and then, with his tender underside quivering, he collapsed to the floor. The other guard twitched and jerked in his own pool of blood, while Boris’ bevy of female attendants coughed and gagged; too frozen in fright to move.
‘I think we’ll leave now.’ Holding my upper arm, Chief Ex guided me, and then said, ‘We go to Kirk’s chamber.’
All the way there I protested. ‘Hey what do you think you are doing? You creep! I won’t change my mind. I’ll do the same to Kirk, you’ll see.’
As we reached the intended room, the executioner drew me close to him and whispered, ‘I hope so…good work, Holly.’ He then untied the rope binding my hands. ‘Go in there and do likewise to Herr Sleaze.’
He dragged me into the room. ‘Here you are, Roach junior.’ Then pushed me onto the bed of cushions. ‘A present from your father. All yours.’
He marched out the room. The door locked behind him.
I scrambled to the door and pounded on the metal. ‘Let me out of here! Hey what do you think you’re doing? You monster! How dare you leave me in here with the son of Boris.’
I screwed up my nose. Nothing. I tapped my nose. No sneeze.
I had every reason to be afraid; I had run out of melon virus.
Behind me someone clapped. ‘Ooh, how exciting! I like a girl with a bit of spunk.
© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2019
Feature Photo: Invasion of the giant slug in Europe © A.N. Kling 2014
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