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Subject: 4 Bikini Brigade part 4 of 22 (NND) dec13
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
BIKINI BRIGADE
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Four
Our wrists were tied tightly behind us. The gingermen did it,
using long strands of black licorice. I struggled. I could not break
free. My bosoms threatened to pop free of my top, as I wriggled against
my bonds, but my wrists were bound irretrievably together.
I was forced to sit and endure long, curious stares from the
gingermen as the carriage bumped down the beach and out, through a pass
in the cliffs to the south west, onto a road made of pop rocks. Katie
sat beside me. She sobbed a little, but it was fruitless. We were
headed for Licorice Lad and there was nothing we could do to prevent it.
We met up with a column of gingermen. The carriage stopped
briefly. The goateed man, whose name was Freddie Fruitcake, got out of
the carriage, along with one of the gingermen guards. Freddie said
something to the column of gingermen. Then both of them got back in the
carriage. We rolled on, leaving the column behind.
“My nose itches,” Katie announced. I looked at her. She had a
small, pug nose, and she wriggled it. The gingerman sitting next to her
reached over to her face. He brushed her nose with his big, sugared
hand. Katie started to say ‘thank you’, then remembered who it was
who’d helped her. She sobbed. “Please let me go,” Katie told the
gingerman. He looked at her with vacant eyes. She bent her head down
and sobbed more loudly, but he appeared unmoved. I felt a sinking in my
belly. We were captive, like birds hunted down and clipped by their
wings to prevent us flying away. I tossed back my blonde hair. It was
almost dry now. My suit, too, except where I sat on it, had dried. I
felt like a fish lured from the ocean. The bats hadn’t gotten us, but a
genteel-looking man with a royal carriage had.
I listened to the clip-clopping of the Clydesdales. They were
such pretty horses. What a pity to have them working for such a
despicable boy as Licorice Lad, I thought. I leaned out past the big
gingerman sitting beside me. I looked past his sugared chest through
the carriage’s window. Meadows began to give way to the gradual slopes
of hills.
“How far is it to Licorice Lad?” I asked the gingerman sitting
beside me. He remained silent. I asked again. He said nothing. He
stared straight ahead, stolid, unmoving. He seemed to take pleasure in
ignoring my question.
Across from me, the other gingermen gazed at my breasts. They
watched with the fascination of children as the jogging of the carriage
made my bosoms jostle within my top. I wondered what they’d do if my
breasts popped out. Did they regard my top as some kind of needed
restraint, that would have to be readjusted if it allowed my breasts
their liberty? Or were they waiting, lasciviously, to witness the
spectacle of my nude mammaries bouncing freely during our ride?
Seeing the gingermen stare at me made my nipples stand up.
This heightend their interest, though they said nothing, only stared.
Did they fear that my nipples, in being allowed to poke into my bra,
might have too much freedom? And what would they do about it, if they
did decide my nipples must be better restrained? I would have welcomed
a coat, or a blouse. But they, I feared, staring at my nipples, might
choose a more permanent method of keeping my nipples down: scissors.
The thought made me gasp. I hoped they didn’t have any scissors in
Candyland.
Our less than gentlemanly host, Freddie Fruitcake, sat and did
paperwork. He seemed to be organizing something, shuffling sheaves of
paper and writing numbers and notes to himself. Katie tried sobbing
louder. In response, he pulled earplugs from a pocket in his parachute
pants and stuck them in his ears.
“She could be gagged,” a gingerman sitting next to Freddie
suggested.
“It is no matter,” Freddie answered. “Let them cry. They’ll
settle down in time. No need to make them unduly uncomfortable.”
The incline of the hills surrounding us gradually became
steeper. Pine trees began to appear. Interspersed with them was an
occasional candy cane. I saw a sign. It stood next to one of the candy
canes. It was made of peanut brittle. Written on it, in black
licorice, were the words, “Peppermint Forest”.
We passed out of the meadows and into a lightly wooded area.
In amongst the trees, outnumbering them, were tall candy canes. The
forest, made of both trees and canes, was not dense, like where we’d
parked our jeep. There remained plenty of open grass between them.
“Look! Big candy canes!” I said to Katie. She forgot her
sniffling and gazed wide-eyed out the window.
“I want one,” Katie said.
“There will be all manner of sweets at the Sultan’s, including
candy canes,” Freddie said dismissively.
“I want one now,” Katie said.
“So did Veruca Salt,” Freddie answered. His face, studying his
paperwork, betrayed a slight grin. He was obviously pleased with his
remark. Katie frowned.
“The girl in Willie Wonka,” I whispered to her.
“She’s a spoiled brat,” Katie said.
We travelled in silence. We gazed at the canes. They were big
and elegantly strong. I liked the gentle curving of the red and the
white stripes up their shafts. The sun glinted off the tops of them.
They made pretty shadows on the ground.
“I have to go potty,” Katie declared.
Freddie looked up. He lifted a hand and rapped on the carriage
wall behind him. The coachman sat beyond. I heard him call to the
horses to cease their forward progression.
“See to their needs,” Freddie instructed the gingermen.
Our wrists were untied. We were offloaded from the coach. The
gingermen led us into the grass. They stood around us.
“Could we have some privacy?” I asked the nearest gingerman.
He stared at me. He blinked.
“Turn around,” he told the others. “I shall watch them.”
“You too!” Katie said to him. “Go ‘way. Let us poop in
peace.”
“Sorry, but it’s not permissible,” Freddie, stepping down from
the carriage and walking over to us, said. “At least one of them must
watch you at all times, and at close range. Gingermen are not the
fastest of runners, and I do not wish to tire myself trying to catch you
if you should run. Please, squat down and take care of your needs. The
bush there has soft leaves. You will find it satisfactory for wiping
yourself.”
“This is horrible,” I told Freddie.
“It cannot be helped, my dear,” Freddie said. He turned partly
away from us and unzipped his pants. He produced his penis and urinated
into the grass. The gingermen, clad in boots and chocolate-colored
pants, turned away from us and peed. One remained staring at us,
waiting while we gathered our nerve to do our business in public.
“Oh!” I sighed, at last, disgusted with my situation. I undid
the bikini ties at my hips. I pulled my panties out of my asscrack and
plucked the fabric from between the lips of my cunt. I squatted. The
grass smelled sweet, like spring clover. Katie undid her bikini bottom
and squatted beside me. We clasped hands.
“Oh, I’m pooping a long one,” Katie said to me, her eyes
widening.
“I only have to pee,” I replied.
“I think it’s all those Doritos I ate,” Katie told me. “I
wonder if Jay Leno poops long ones?”
I smelled her poop as it began to come out. It smelled, rather
curiously, like a mix between chocolate and Doritos. Gradually the odor
became more and more one of chocolate. At the same time, I smelled
lemonade, light and tangy. That, I guessed, was me. Katie began peeing
too.
We finished. Katie plucked leaves from a small bush next to
her and passed some of its leaves to me. We wiped ourselves. We stood
up, careful not to step in our poop and our pee, and re-tied our bikini
bottoms. One of the gingermen went to the carriage and returned with a
spade. He shoveled some dirt from the meadow and plopped it over
Katie’s turds. He also buried the leaves we’d wiped with.
Suddenly, Katie pulled on my arm.
“Look!” Katie cried. I gazed up, following her finger, which
pointed skyward. A flock of eclair erections passed overhead. “Oh,
cockies!” Katie cried, merging, perhaps, the word ‘horsey’ with ‘cock’.
“Cockies! Come and save us!” Katie shouted in a childish, high-pitched
voice. But they were far overhead. We watched, tears welling in my
eyes and streaming silently down her cheeks, as the beasts flew, with
marvelous freedom, into the setting sun.
“Let’s go,” Freddie Fruitcake announced. “We’ll make a little
more distance, and then we’ll settle in for the night.”
Unceremoniously Katie and I were retied. I felt like a cow on
a cattle drive. We at least had the use of a carriage. Otherwise, we
seemed to be little more than chattles. We were loaded aboard. The
gingermen took their seats. Freddie sat across from us and rapped with
his fist on the carriage wall to signal the coachman to get underway. I
heard the long, cracking sound of a whip. The Clydesdales began
moving. Their hooves and the wheels of the carriage kicked up a scent
of dust. It smelled of pop rocks.
Freddie, despicable though he was, had the courtesy to make
camp in a part of the thickening woods where there was a pool. It was a
natural depression in the earth, fed by an underground spring. The
water was clear, glistening. It gave off a soft glow of heat into the
air. It was surrounded by bushes. They could be used as soap, I saw,
just like the berries Katie and I had bathed with that morning.
“I don’t wanna take a bath!” Katie told Freddie. I stood
holding her hand. We gazed at the bubbling water. One of the
gingermen, having untied us, laid our bonds in the grass by the pool.
“We shall make camp here for the night, and you girls will both
take a bath,” Freddie said. “Guard, fetch my crop,” he said. A
gingerman walked to the carriage and returned with a riding crop. He
handed it to Freddie. The man swung it through the air.
“This can be used on horses, or it can be used on recalcitrant
little girls,” Freddie said. I shivered. I wrapped one of my arms
about my middle. It was cooler up here in the mountains than it had
been along the bluffs, or in Boswell’s candy apple forest.
“Come on,” I said to Katie. I dipped a toe into the pool.
“Let’s just pretend they’re not here. We’ll have a fine bath.”
“Ohhhh!” Katie said disgustedly. I was glad she was no longer
crying. Now she was simply displeased; like a girl denied a very
important toy. In this case, it was her privacy. With a cross, mopey
look on her face, she reached behind herself. She undid her bra. The
gingermen’s eyes stared as her bosoms sprang free of the cups.
“It is alright,” Freddie told the Gingermen. “It is not needed
to keep her captive. It is, rather, for the purpose of bodily privacy
or, considering how skimpy her swimsuit is, for ornamentation.”
“My bikini isn’t a ornament!” Katie said crossly. “It’s the
very latest style. Just what you need to go swimming!”
“And hers?” Freddie asked. He placed the tip of his riding
crop in his mouth and sucked upon it. He looked at me.
“She’s wearing one of mine,” Katie explained. “That’s why it’s
too little for her. She’s bigger than me.”
“Yes,” Freddie said. He watched me as I undid my top. My
breasts spilled out of it and hung perkily on my chest. Twin peaks
presented themselves at the tips of my breasts.
“Do you enjoy being watched?” Freddie asked me.
“No!” I said. “It’s cold.” But I wasn’t sure. The gingermen
were large, and impressive in a dour, no-nonsense sort of way. They
were tall and silent. The only question was, were they handsome?
Perhaps, if you like big, sugary guys.
We took off our bottoms and dropped them on the grass next to
our discarded tops. Then we took each others’ hands, Katie and I, and
stepped into the pool.
“Oh! It’s nice and warm!” Katie said.
“Mmmm,” I answered.
The gingermen built a fire. Sleeping bags were unrolled.
Dinner was cooked; fruitcake and fried berries, topped with molasses
tapped from a tree. Coffee was brewed. Katie and I played in the
pool. Freddie, having urged us to get into the pool, eventually had to
threaten us with his crop to make us quit playing and get out. The
gingermen kept our portion of the food and the coffee warm until we were
dry and ready to eat.
“I don’t like coffee,” Katie told the gingerman who served as
our cook.
“It is no problem. I have fruit punch also,” the gingerman
murmured. He was big and heavy-set. He did his cooking with the same
stolid obedience he’d shown in doing his guard duties. Katie and I sat
on sleeping bags near the fire, wrapped in blankets. We ate our
dinner. We gazed up at the stars. Katie whispered to me that she
wished the ‘cockies’ would return, perhaps land and rescue us, but we
saw no sign of them.
At daybreak we got underway again. We travelled all day,
stopping only for lunch and to let Katie and me use the bathroom.
Always it was the same, one or more of the guards staring at us while we
relieved ourselves. There were no helpful bushes at some of the stops.
However, the guard who had served as our cook also made himself
available for our bathroom needs. He had picked some of the special
leaves we needed to wipe, at our earlier stops. He passed us leaves
when we needed them. When we were through, one of the guards shoveled
dirt over any poop we’d made.
Our carriage was high up in the hills by evening. For miles
around all we could see were candy canes and pine trees. Sometimes they
closed in on us thickly. At other times they covered the ground more
sparsely. It was cool, cooler than it had been on the plains by the
bluffs, or in the candy apple forest. But it wasn’t unpleasantly cool.
Candyland, despite our plight, always seemed to find a way to keep
itself agreeable. Katie and I looked for the flying cocks, but saw only
ducks and geese. Katie tried honking like the geese, hoping they might
land and rescue us. It was no use, save to provoke a round of laughter
from the guards.
We pulled up in the gathering night before a log cabin. It was
made of candy canes. Around it pines and canes stood tall, interspersed
with grass.
“I say! Visitors?” a pleasant voice called. It was melodic.
It seemed to come from the cabin. A moment later I heard a tuneful
whistle, like a flute or a piccolo. I gazed at the cabin. I saw its
door swing open. Out stepped a man wearing a red-striped lumberjack’s
suit. He wore overalls, a heavy shirt. He had a cap on his head.
Except for his boots, which were solid red, all his clothing was
imprinted with candy cane stripes. He wore a pony tail that hung out of
the back of his cap. Seeing us, he kicked up his heels. He blew on a
flute-shaped instrument in his hand and whistled a quick tune.
Our wrists were untied by the gingermen. We were offloaded
from the carriage. The man with the piccolo bowed to us.
“Welcome to my happy hilltop,” he said. “I’m Peppermint Pete!
And I can see by the nature of your transport, a very scrumptious sugar
plum coach, that you are guests of the Sultan.”
“We’re prisoners!” Katie said. Her face was disconsolate.
“Prisoners?!” Peppermint Pete said. He looked shocked. Then
he lifted his piccolo and said, “Nonetheless, I can play you a happy
tune. It’s called the ‘I Love Licorice’ tune! It’s my very favorite,
except for the ‘I Love Peppermint’ tune. But I seem to have forgotten
the notes to that one, for some reason. Here’s how it goes:
“I Love Licorice!
Licorice is for me!
Black and thick and gooey
And ever so sweet!
“Sing along, girls!” Pete declared. He began blowing on his
piccolo. I felt overwhelmed. It seemed a very happy tune. The air all
around us was deeply scented with peppermint. Katie, beside me, kicked
up her heels and began dancing.
“Oh, I love licorice!
“Licorice is for me!
“It’s black and it’s all gooey
“And I am very sweet!” Katie sang, forgetting a few of the
song’s words and making up new ones in their place.
“Oh, I love licorice too!” I cried. I danced to the tune and
then, suddenly, I grabbed Katie’s arm. “Katie!” I said. “Don’t you
see? It’s a song Licorice Lad would want us to sing! He’s trying to
win over our minds!”
“Oook!” Katie said. Like me, she suddenly remembered Boswell’s
warning.
“So? Licorice is a very fine candy and, even though I didn’t
care for him before, I like Licorice Lad now,” Peppermint Pete said. He
ceased playing. “And, girls,” he said, extending his arm, gesturing to
all the wide woods around us. “Soon, everyone in the world will eat
nothing but peppermint. And perhaps just a bit of black licorice. All
because a fine lad like Licorice Lad is now in charge of Candyland!”
“We’ll be staying the night, if you don’t mind,” Freddie
Fruitcake said to Peppermint Pete.
“Only if you have a big, peppermint dinner on me!” Peppermint
Pete said.
“Yes, yes, of course,” Freddie answered. “Please, let us enjoy
your wonderful Peppermint forest with you.”
We spent the night with Peppermint Pete. He played songs for
us on his piccolo. Freddie asked, as a personal favor, that he play
only songs about peppermint, which he tried to, but he seemed not to
remember any. So Freddie had him play ‘Old McDonald’, and ‘My Susanna’,
and other songs, so long as they weren’t about licorice.
“Licorice, I’m afraid, gives me indigestion,” Freddie
explained. “Though it is the world’s finest candy,” he added hastily,
under suspicious stares from our guards. “It and peppermint. And
fruitcake, of course. Mustn’t forget fruitcake!”
The guards did not sing, but merely watched. Peppermint Pete
danced about. Katie danced too, as did I, and Freddie, and the
unassuming man who drove the coach. Katie and I felt happy, despite our
captivity. Licorice Lad was, Freddie told us, still many miles away,
and we may as well enjoy the songs and the evening. We did. It was
hardly possible to feel sad, when listening to Peppermint Pete play so
well on his piccolo.
The last song of the night was titled “In Honor of Mr.
Harris.” It was, Pete, said, written to the memory of a Mr. Harris and
a Mr. Munigant. It made Katie and me sleepy, for it had a touch of
sadness to it. Katie fell asleep first, laying her head drowsily on my
tummy. Soon I succumbed. I fell asleep amidst the rich smell of pines
and peppermints.
Rain dripped from the tip of Ms. Matilda Brunswald’s long
nose. She glowered at the meadow lying before her. In the distance,
the sound of breakers rolling ashore could be heard. A vast sea
stretched beyond the bluffs. The sky was overcast.
“Dratted rain!” Ms. Matilda Brunswald cursed. “First our van
gets stuck in the mud, and now it’s raining!”
“It beats a talking bear,” the small, bald-headed man behind
her offered.
“Quiet, Al,” Matilda snapped. “When I want a man’s opinion,
I’ll ask for it.”
A woman standing beside the man named Al gazed at the ocean
beyond the bluffs.
“Perhaps the children are in the ocean,” the woman offered.
She was plump, like Ms. Matilda Brunswald, but with a stockier build.
“In the ocean!” a tall woman with a hooked nose said
scornfully. “And we’re in Candyland. Right!”
“The candy apples are pretty good,” Al said. He was holding
one. He bit into it.
Ms. Matilda Brunswald spun about. She knocked the apple out of
Al’s hand, into the grass.
“Now, listen up,” Matilda said angrily. “Affidavit Al, if I
see you eating again, you’re going to be *in* that ocean, do you
understand?” Al shrank under Matilda’s gaze and said nothing. He
looked with remorse at the candy apple lying on the ground. Behind him,
a whole forest brimmed with candy apples, but he knew he couldn’t go
pick more without Matilda’s permission. “And as for you, Ms. Wilma
Writ,” Matilda said to the stocky woman. “If you have any more *dumb*
suggestions, keep them to yourself! Do you understand? The ocean.
Indeed! First our van gets stuck, then we meet some *idiot* in a bear
costume, then we get rained on! Next a boat will appear, is that it?
Noah’s ark will come sailing up and we’ll go search the goddam ocean!”
“We could turn back,” the tall woman said, in a rather
disinterested way, as if the whole expedition was, to her mind, a
complete waste of time.
“Glenda Guilty!” Matilda cried. “A child is MISSING! Two of
them, in fact. It is our responsibility to find them. After all, they
could be with a Man!”
“Oh, look! A rainbow!” the woman named Wilma shouted. Matilda
turned and looked out over the bluffs, toward the sea.
“I do declare. That’s the finest rainbow I’ve ever seen!”
Matilda admitted. It was a huge, sparkling, colorful rainbow. It
hadn’t been in the sky a moment before. Yet now there it was, and it
seemed to descend to the very meadow they were standing in.
“It looks solid enough to walk on,” Al said.
“Indeed it does,” Matilda said. She stepped forward. The
grass clung wetly to her feet. She trod through it, the other three
people following her. They were all dressed in business attire. Al
carried a notebook. Glenda had a briefcase.
Matilda walked to the edge of the bluff.
“Watch out!” Al cried. Matilda put her foot out into the air
beyond the bluff.
“I’m standing on the damn thing,” Matilda said. For, in
addition to being in the air, her foot was also touching the end of the
beautiful rainbow.
“Just like you to want to walk on it,” Glenda said scornfully.
“No-- look!” Matilda said. She put her other foot out.
“My God! Get back!” Al cried.
Matilda gazed triumphantly down the sheer face of the bluff.
Below her there was a beach, partly of white sand, intermixed with
black. A blacker beach ran along the coast to the south west.
“I’m God!” Matilda announced. “I’m standing on thin air!”
“You’re standing on the rainbow,” Glenda said.
Matilda looked down at the sea, at the slow roll of the waves,
at the sky beyond.
“Yes, well, I suppose I am standing on the rainbow, but I’m
also standing on air. IN air. In thin air!” Matilda crowed. “Do any
of you have a camera?” she asked.
“Please, step back!” Al whined. He cringed, his hands trying
to cover his eyes, but afraid to stop looking, lest the rainbow
disappear, and Matilda drop to the rocks below.
“Not only am I not going to step back,” Matilda said, surveying
her position. “I’m going to go out more!” She turned. She followed
the broad, glistening rainbow farther out. “You see?” Matilda said,
turning again to her companions. She lifted her arms. “It’s perfectly
safe. I’ll bet you those two girls went this way. They’re somewhere up
ahead, on this rainbow, or at the other end of it. Come on! Al! Get
your scrawny ass out here! We’re following this rainbow and we’re going
to find those two missing girls!”
“Oh, me!” Wilma said. She extended a foot, gingerly, out into
the thin air where the rainbow touched the edge of the bluff.
“This is ridic-- I AM walking on air!” Glenda said, surprised,
as she extended her own foot.
“Can’t we just stay in the nice forest and eat candy apples?!”
Al whined.
“Shut up and come on!” Glenda snapped to Al. “We’re on
government business!” She grabbed Al by the lapel of his coat. She
yanked him out to the air, where the rainbow magically supported his
feet.
“My God I’m going to DIE!” Al cried. He dropped his notebook.
It hit the edge of the rainbow and bounced off it. With a shriek from
Al, they all watched as the notebook fell down the side of the cliff.
It slammed into the rocks below them. Its papers flew out and into the
water gushing around the rocks.
“Stay on the rainbow. That’s an order,” Matilda said. There
was a trace of fear in her voice.
“Can’t we please turn back?” Wilma, quite shaken by the sight
of the notebook, asked.
“Matilda Brunswald does not turn back!” Ms. Matilda Brunswald
said, raising her finger and pointing at the sky. “Not where a missing
child’s concerned! Especially when she might be with a man. A
stranger! A child’s in danger, and possibly with a stranger!”
“Where there’s a stranger, there is danger,” Glenda agreed,
nodding. Nonetheless she looked with a tinge of fear at the rocks lying
below them.
“Stranger danger,” Wilma said.
“Oh, I hope I remain a stranger to those rocks!” Al said. He
was shaking.
“Come along, Al,” Glenda said. She tugged on his lapel.
“Goverment business.” She strode forward, a bit tentatively, following
Matilda, who walked purposefully out into thin air, following the
rainbow.
Sitting on the throne in the Citadel of Sweets, Licorice Lad
was holding court. He wore the big turban covered with candy. He sat
with his feet dangling off the end of the large throne. Before him,
standing between two gingerbread men, was a small troll.
“Tommy Troll, why have you been brought before me?” Licorice
Lad asked in an angry voice.
“He has been bad, Master,” a gingerman standing next to the
troll announced.
“And what is the nature of his crime?” Licorice Lad asked.
“He has made this machine, O Great Sultan,” the gingerman
standing on the other side of the troll announced. He lifted up an
object in his hands. “He used it to turn one of Gumdrop Guy’s
sugar-coated mountains into a mountain covered with salt!”
“Hee! Heeee!” the troll chortled.
“Hmmm,” Licorice Lad said. He settled his chin into one of his
palms. “Clever, if I do say so myself. But a crime, nonetheless. And
as Sultan it is my duty to enforce the law.”
“Oh, please! Don’t punish me!” Tommy Troll whined.
“Tommy, you’re nothing but trouble,” Licorice Lad said. “It’s
the dungeon for you, and no two ways about it.”
“No, please!” Tommy said. He raised his hands in imprecation.
“I’ve spent five of the last seven years sitting in that dungeon!”
“That’s because you keep committing crimes!” Licorice Lad said,
looking slightly exasperated. “Did you think just because I’d taken
over as Sultan that you could do as you pleased?”
“Oh, but I could help you, great new Sultan!” Tommy said. “It
is rumored that you desire two girls. Two human visitors. Just as my
machine turned sugar to salt it could, with a few adjustments, turn them
into candy! Then they’d never be able to return home!”
Licorice Lad sat up.
“Really?” he asked.
“Oh, yes. I wouldn’t fool you, great Sultan Licorice Lad, lord
of us all!” the troll said. “First, I would have to adjust my machine.
Then I would have to turn it on. It would take a little while. The
girls wouldn’t turn to candy right away. But, gradually, they would
begin to turn into candy. Once the process was complete it would be
impossible for them to go through the Peppermint Portal. For, as you
know, only humans can go through the Peppermint Portal. Beings like us,
made of candy, cannot!”
“Well I know it, else I’d have gone already, and own two worlds
instead of one,” Licorice Lad said. He raised his hand with a
flourish. “Very well. It is hereby decreed, by me, that Tommy Troll be
permitted to be at liberty, for the purpose of doing as he’s promised.
Make that damn thing work, Tommy,” Licorice Lad said. Then he scowled.
“And if this is another one of your tricks, Tommy, don’t think you’ll
get away with it. Here in MY realm we’re going to have Law and Order!
There will be none of the ‘L’ word while Licorice Lad is in charge!”
The gingerbread guards nodded.
“Oh, no, great Sultan Licorice Lad, lord of us all! I would
not ask for leniency, or liberality,” the troll said. “The machine will
work, just as I’ve promised!”
“Very well,” Licorice Lad said. “My court is adjourned.”
30
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