Sorting briefly through its contents, he removed a white cotton handkerchief and delicately blotted at the perspiration along his high forehead and his thin, civil servant's neck. He waited patiently for the madman's cackling to lose its inertia.
Finally, the Sultan paused to suck in a long breath. His bejeweled turban canted slightly.
"My dear Din, may I call you that?" Foberly began.
From where he was standing, he could actually see the lunatic's nostrils twitching.
"It's been an interesting ride, dear boy, but it's time to, how should I say, get off the horse."
The Sultan let out a choked gurgle.
"You've demonstrated your talent," Foberly continued, "even shown a certain flair for transference, but the game's up, old bean."
The Sultan sat poised on his throne, legs quaking.
Foberly was merciless, "But the sad fact is that you are not unique in your abilities and the whole enterprise has grown rather expensive. You have exceeded your protein allowances for the past three cycles. Those fancy chairs of yours are quite expensive. It's time that we see some return on our considerable investement."
The Sultan mumbled through clenched teeth. "I could… I am going to… You…"
"Dear boy, it would save us all quite a bit of fuss if you would just let go. The Empire of Unjabi is a fiction."
A deep growl welled up from the Sultan. "You lie!" he shrieked. The turban now teetered perilously.
"Well now. I've touched a nerve, haven't I? Of course, if it all were fabrication and I were merely an insolent foreign devil, you would have long since sicced your eunuch goons on me. My pale, bald pate would be adorning the gates of your palace and my stones would be served up as a local delicacy to the next emissary who came inquiring as to my whereabouts or some such nonsense."
The madman raised an eyebrow. "Capital idea. Guards! Crush this cockroach!"
For the first time, Foberly got a good look at the hulking eunuchs who flanked the Sultan's writhing throne. Their flowing pyjama pants gaped open at the crotch, displaying their unscarred lack of manhood.
As the two guards rushed forward and raised their gleaming axes, Foberly raised his umbrella. Brilliant green bolts of energy shot from the tip.
The eunuchs collapsed like hamstrung rhinos. Wisps of smoke trailed from their gaping mouths.
"Now, let's just hope I get this right." Foberly trained his umbrella on the Sultan, who swallowed noisily.
A pale finger of blue flung out from the tip and struck the lunatic square on the forehead. The turban finally pitched forward and the Sultan's limp body followed after it.
Silence settled on the throne room, broken only by the flapping wings of the macaws overhead.
Without turning around, Foberly announced "Hello, Tina. You know I hate it when you do that.'
"And you know that is exactly why I keep doing it."
A girl stepped out from behind him. Her slight, adolescent form shifted under a black patent leather frock dress. It squeaked a bit as she moved. A tight French braid gathered her auburn hair into a thick rope that fell down her back. Her taught braid and high cheekbones gave an overall impression of something streamlined.
"Tina, dear girl, you are a gem. Did you get to the vizier?"
"Yep. Not our man. Not a shred of talent."
"I'd gathered that. Be a dear and package him for me would you?" Foberly held the bag out to the girl, nodding towards the Sultan's crumpled body.
Tina rolled her eyes dramatically. "Gawd. You always leave the messy stuff for me."
"Seniority, my dear, seniority. Some day, when you've been in the service as long as I have, the Foreign Office will assign to you an impertinent, ungrateful, and unreliable apprentice. You will then experience the singular pleasure of crushing that young person's spirit with an endless series of cortex extractions."
"Oh happy day." Tina strode over to the Sultan and plopped the bag down on the marble. "Did he give you much trouble?"
"Oh, there was a moment there when I was sure I'd have to report a nil or, even worse, a feral talent. Which reminds me, while you're at it there, please terminate that wretched throne, will you?"
"Sure thing, boss."
"I think it's time we made our report." Foberly turned and walked towards the exit, his shoes clopping hollowly against the stone.
When he reached the servant's entrance, Foberly pushed open the wooden door and stepped out into the glare of the local sun. Glancing at his pocket watch, he then stared directly at the burning star. His brows crumpled in concentration. After a short time, he let out a satisfied huff and shook out his umbrella. It popped open smartly. He lifted it up and pointed the handle to the sky.
Tina's leather squeaked at his elbow. He flinched slightly.
"Child, you will be the death of me."
"Well, I can't be an apprentice forever, can I?"
"Ach. Help me align this thing."
"Aren't you supposed to be teaching me this stuff?"
"I shouldn't have to teach you not to wear that ridiculous get-up in 45-degree heat."
"Hey, this 'get-up', as you call it, is practical."
"Practical. Feh."
"The blood rinses right off."
"Ah. Well then, I stand corrected. Now, help me with thing before I melt."
With a minimal amount of fiddling, the umbrella sounded a promising tone. Foberly swiped a finger along the tip and…
Pakeha