[Lauchenoiria]

As two of the officers took statements from Almahuatzan and her guards, the third walked up to Yousef. "What did you do?" Officer Boisselot asked plaintively. He had been assigned to monitor the lizard capture team since it had been his idea.

“Citlalnite set his parrot on the Xiomerans,” Yousef sighed. “One of the lizards was climbing up her dress, and we managed to apprehend it, but in the process, Citlalnite had to hold her still and she took offense. Then he went on some political rant while José showed off his tail, and then they took off. I’m very sorry; I tried to stop them!”

Officer Boisselot sighed. "You two, go and find the others. I will escort our guests and...this individual…to police headquarters." The other two officers nodded and left, to try to find the absconded lizard capturers. "We will take more complete statements there. This way," Boisselot said as he gestured to a nearby police vehicle.

Yousef complied forlornly, already knowing that this would end badly for himself and the others. All he'd wanted was to get out of Lauchenoiria! But things kept going from bad to worse.

The police van soon arrived at a rambling three-story building on the seashore with many long verandas on the ground floor. The sign above the main entrance read "The Grand Salad Hotel", which spoke of the historic building's previous life. The large sign on the ground level, however, declared the building to be the headquarters of the Salad Land Police Service. The green banner of Salad Land waved limply in the wind on the flagpole next to the sign, contributing to the overall aura of lethargy surrounding the place. Officer Boisselot led the other four into the building and up a long staircase in the lobby, arriving at a landing on the third floor. The glass windows that greeted them read, Office of the Commissioner in large letters which appeared old and flaking off. Katherine Rudhall was written below in smaller letters which were in slightly better condition, but a bit crooked.

Officer Boisselot led the four inside the front office, and after a brief conversation with the secretary, soon walked them into the rear office. A woman in her fifties, with graying hair pulled back in a bun and a rather stern expression, listened to Boisselot explain why they were there without saying a word. When he was done, she turned to Almahuatzan. "Madame, I apologize wholeheartedly for this incident. This is not what we expect of our workers, and I can assure you we will get to the bottom of this." Commissioner Rudhall then turned to Yousef. "Do you have any idea where your….colleagues have gone?"

“I don’t know, but I can try to guess,” Yousef thought hard. “José has been meeting with some local cafe about his ridiculous carnivorous vegetables, but I don’t know which one. Probably whichever is run by the most insane person here. Citlalnite does keep threatening to go and hide in the Huenyan embassy also; but he might also have, uh, pirate friends. Cranston is probably just following them honestly. He’s probably making sure José doesn’t accidentally run into quicksand again.”

"I see. That gives us a start, at least. I already know which is the most insane cafe here. Boisselot, take Yousef with you and go to the Verdant Vine. José has probably been meeting with Mickey Knife and it's possible he ran there." Boisselot nodded and led Yousef out, as Rudhall continued to try to placate Almahuatzan.

Boisselot led Yousef back downstairs and to the police van. They drove in silence to the center of Port Salad, not far from the main square. The van coughed to a stop in front of a large building made to look like a tropical hut. Yousef was greeted by an assault to the eyes - the building was daubed in blinding hues of yellow, purple, green, blue and red. Fake palm trees made up the pillars of the hut, embossed with winding tropical vines. Over the main entrance, a sign hanging from crossed fake palm trees declared the building The Verdant Vine in equally bright colors.

Boisselot led Yousef inside, both of them looking for José or any of the others.

In the corner stood a man wearing a costume that was half-bacon, half-broccoli. He was handing out leaflets to random customers from behind his giant sunglasses. It was, on the whole, a terrible disguise for someone known to be marketing “carnivorous meat”. When José turned and saw them, he froze like a rabbit caught in headlights, then attempted to hand Boisselot a leaflet, while adopting an embarrassingly poor Zongongian accent.

“Meat? Bless the rocks, meat veg! For your horse?” he said.

Boisselot went to take the flyer, but instead grabbed José's wrist in a firm grip. "I've heard better Zongongian accents in the crap soap operas they show on Salad 1. Nice try."

“But I really do want to sell meat vegetables!” José whined. “I’m not lying!”

"Of course you're not lying about that. Only someone insane or stupid would even mention the idea of a meat vegetable. Deception is a bit too clever for such a concept." Boisselot glowered at José. "Where are your companions?"

“They went to the parrot house,” José replied, as if that meant something.

"You will need to clarify exactly what that is," Boisselot snapped. But before José could respond, a shout echoed from the kitchen. "Hey copper! Why are you manhandling by business partner?"

A tall, gangly man wearing a chef's smock and hat emerged from the kitchen at high speed. Wisps of bright ginger hair stuck out from under the chef's hat at odd angles as it perched precariously on his head; it appeared to be a bit too small for his head. The smock and hat were in the same blinding colors as the rest of the establishment. The chef stopped in front of Boisselot, hands on hips.

"Mickey, this is police business. Please don't interfere," Boisselot said with a sigh.

"Don't tell me not to interfere!" Mickey Knife, Salad Land's most famous (and insane) chef, shook his head. The motion sent his tiny chef's hat flying; it bounced off Boisselot with a slight whap. "What is going on here?"

“Lizards, Xiomeran politicians, the usual apparently,” Yousef shrugged. “José needs to come and explain things. Also, José, where did you put the lizard we caught?”

“Relax, it’s in the back room,” José sighed. “The Thraxian warned me not to do anything to them, and I don’t really want to incur the wrath of the aliens when they invade the planet.”

“The aliens… you know what, never mind. I’m gonna go fetch the lizard,” Yousef said to Boisselot.

Boisselot nodded distractedly. "Mickey, we just need to borrow this...bacon broccoli gentleman…for some questioning. Once we're done, you can have him back. But until then, go away." The chef snorted and walked back to the kitchen, picking up his hat as he went. "Now, what's this about a parrot house?"

"Tlotli found it! It's on the beach at the edge of town," José said. "It's, uh, probably easier if I show you."

Twenty minutes later, the three of them were standing on a beach staring at a wooden hut covered in paintings of parrots. The sound of music drifted towards them from the hut. When they got closer, they saw Cranston lying on a towel sunbathing.

Boisselot gave Cranston a stern look as the three of them approached the hut. "You just stay right there roasting yourself and don't move." The policeman firmly led Yousef and José inside.

Inside, Citlalnite was sitting shouting down a phone in Huenyan. Clearly, the person on the other end of the call was not giving him good news. Also in the hut was a woman dressed in a pirate costume, painting skulls and crossbones on her nails. And above all the humans, about six parrots were flying around in circles chasing each other.

"Of course you found another insane pirate," Yousef groaned. "Why does anything surprise me any more?"

"Excuse you, I am not a pirate," objected the woman. "I am a parrot breeder with a side business in cosplay videos."

"I'm not sure which is worse," Boisselot said with a sharp sigh. "In any event, those of you who are not cosplaying parrot breeders need to come with me."

Citlalnite hadn’t even noticed the arrival, engrossed as he was in his conversation. Anyone fluent in Huenyan would realise that he was shouting down the phone at someone who one could surmise was the Huenyan ambassador, decrying them for their inability to rescue him from this chaotic mess of a country.

Boisselot did not speak Huenyan, and also didn't have the patience to wait for Citlalnite to finish his chat. The policeman walked over and tapped Citlalnite on the shoulder with his baton. "Allright you, wrap it up and let's go."

Citlalnite turned and scowled. “I demand consular assistance,” he said in English, both to the phone and the policeman. Then he hung up the phone, folded his arms and glared.

"You can have whatever assistance you want at police headquarters," Boisselot retorted. "But unless you want to make things worse for yourself, you will come with me right now." Boisselot glared back, then ducked slightly to avoid a pair of parrots flying over his head.


“Fine,” he grumbled, allowing himself to be escorted out of the room. Yousef and José were waking up Cranston, who had fallen asleep while sunbathing.

Boisselot made sure all three of them were in the police van, then pointedly locked the doors, before beginning the drive back to police headquarters.