[Lauchenoiria]

PREVIOUSLY

Jointly written with Xiomera

Yousef Chaher, José, Cranston, Citlalnite, and Tlotli the parrot were all quite relieved that their three months in a Saladian jail were now over. As they signed the paperwork for their release and had their belongings returned, José was already cooking up his next scheme.

“Nah, I’m going legit,” he told the others as an official from the Salad Land Police Service pointed at another line for his signature. “Fake vegetables made of meat! Think about it; you get fake meat made of vegetables; why shouldn’t you get fake veg made of meat?”

“Arrr walk the plank,” squawked Tlotli.

“I agree with the parrot,” Yousef mumbled.

Once the paperwork was finished, they were led to the exit and swiftly deposited back into the streets of Port Salad, with instructions to leave the country within ten days. Tlotli flew up into the air in joy and glided in circles as José attempted to recruit Cranston and Citlalnite into his “carnivore vegetables” scheme. Yousef was about ready to slap one of them after three months in jail, and he planned to get as far away as fast as possible from the others.

Before he could, however, a lizard leapt out of a nearby bush onto Yousef’s chest and bit him hard on the lips, in a grotesque parody of a kiss.

“What the-” Yousef shouted, falling over onto his back in a struggle to get the bitey lizard off of him. As he fell, he caught the eye of one of the police officers… who promptly slammed and locked the door behind him.

Yousef wrestled with the lizard, whose jaws continued to move in its attempts to bite once more. Citlalnite turned and ran away, with Tlotli flying off after him. José began to whoop and cheer on Yousef in the fight, offering to take bets on who would win from passers-by. Cranston leaned over and plucked the lizard off of Yousef, and was about to snap its neck, when a man ran up shouting in Persian.

“What is going on!?” Yousef gasped.

“No! Do not kill it, please!” the man begged. Up close, the gang could see that he was dressed in the uniform of a royal courier from Zargothrax. “That lizard is the property of King Shapur! Give me, please!”

“Cool,” José said, appraising the lizard, which was being restrained quite effectively by Cranston. “Zargothrax is a great place for business! I was there a few years back with… a florist. Yeah, a florist.”

“Please give me the lizard!” the courier begged. “His Majesty is already frustrated with the delays. The Saladians, they will not allow us to leave.”

“Tell me about it,” Citlalnite said, appearing again behind where Yousef was sitting. He was now holding a giant net, and Tlotli was perched on his shoulder.

It was at this point that the door to the jail opened again, and several police officers came out. "One of those dammed lizards again," the officer in charge muttered under his breath. "I thought you lot were rounding them up," he said with a displeased look at the courier.

“We are trying!” the courier wailed. “They enjoy the taste of Thraxian blood.”

“I don’t think it depends what nationality you are,” Yousef pointed out, wiping blood off his face from where the lizard attacked.

“We’ll help you catch the lizards!” José said cheerily.

“José!!” shouted Yousef and Citlatlnite at the same time. Cranston just glared.

“As much as we’d love to,” Yousef lied,  “We’ve been told to leave the country. So, we better be going! Good luck with your lizards!”

The police officer paused, hand holding his chin. "Hmm. We could use some more hands rounding up these little bastards," he mused. "Gentlemen, your friend had an excellent suggestion. Consider yourselves drafted into the Salad Land Lizard Capture Service. Something I just thought up." He beamed at his colleagues. "Doesn't that sound nice and official?"

"Oh, it's splendid," one of the other policemen said. "That's quick thinking there. You might even get that promotion you were wanting when the Commissioner hears about it!" The officer in charge's smile grew even wider at that thought.

Yousef opened his mouth to speak, but then decided better of it. Citlalnite let out a stream of what was probably a string of profanity, but since it was in Huenyan, nobody else present understood exactly what he’d said.

“Cool, let’s get those bitey boys!” José grinned.

“Shiver me timbers,” Tlotli squawked.

[Xiomera]

(Joint post with Lauchenoiria)

“You have GOT to be kidding me!” Yousef Chaher shouted as José excitedly exited the bathroom, clad in his new Salad Land Lizard Capture Service uniform. The gang had been instructed to show up here to receive their new uniforms, and José had jumped at the chance to be a guinea pig and model it for the others before they changed.

José was now kitted out in a bright green t-shirt with a picture of a cartoon lizard on the front; the back stamped with SALAD LAND LIZARD CAPTURE SERVICE. On his head was a bright, rainbow-coloured hat with a knitted lizard on the top. His trousers looked normal at first, before he spun around to show a lizard tail on the back of them.

“You’re just doing this to torture us!” Yousef accused the smirking Saladian police officer standing next to the boxes holding the rest of the uniforms. “What is wrong with this place!? You’re all completely insane!”

“I think he looks handsome,” the Thraxian courier, who had since been introduced as Jahangir Hosseini, piped up from the corner. Yousef turned to scowl at him.

“Arr, walk the plank,” Tlotli said disapprovingly.

“Come on boys, we haven’t got all day,” the police officer tapped the cardboard boxes holding the other uniforms.

“No, no way,” Citlalnite said. “I demand to speak to the Huenyan ambassador!”

“Aww, come on guys, I think it looks cool!” José said, admiring his tail in a mirror.

Officer Boisselot looked disapprovingly at Citlalnite. "You can speak to the ambassador if you like. But you should be aware that refusing a call to duty during a national emergency here can land you right back in jail. And these lizards," the officer said with a baleful look at Hosseini, "be a national emergency."

Yousef groaned in frustration. "Come on, let's just get it over with. The faster we catch these things, the faster we can get out of here," he grumbled, reluctantly plucking a uniform out of the box.

Ten minutes later, all four of them were in their lizard hats, and lizard shirts, and lizard tails. José attempted to take a picture, to which Cranston silently responded by swiping his phone out of his hand before he could so much as unlock it. Yousef was bright red with embarrassment, while Citlalnite was bright red with fury. Tlotli remained silent, watching in disapproval.

"I almost forgot," Hosseini said. "I got little hat for your parrot!" He pulled out a tiny lizard hat.

"Arr, go to Davy Jones locker," Tlotli threatened.

Boisselot chuckled and plucked the hat from Hosseini's hand. "Now, be good, Polly," he said firmly, reaching over to plant the hat on Tlotli's head.

"This is not fair," Citlalnite shook his head as Tlotli struggled as the hat was placed on his head. "This is not fair at all!"

"You are welcome to appeal your drafting to the Marquis if you like," Boisselot said with another chuckle. "He could always order you to do something worse, though."

"Let's just… get this over with," Yousef said glumly. "Where do you want us to start?"

[Lauchenoiria]

“Stop taking photos!” Citlalnite shouted, batting his lizard-catching net in the direction of a group of Eirian tourists. They laughed, called out something he didn’t understand, and ran off looking at the pictures on their phones. He hissed, sounding much like the creatures he was attempting to capture.

“I can’t believe you threw my phone in the sea,” moaned José, the only member of the group so far who had actually managed to catch a lizard. He’d then proceeded to ask the Thraxian, Hosseini, if he could keep it as a pet, to which the Thraxian had offered to instead feed him (José, not the lizard) to King Shapur’s cats. José had handed over the lizard.

“You kept taking pictures of us, without our consent,” Yousef pointed out.

“I was only…” José began before he was interrupted by screaming coming from one of the tourist-focused salad bars by the beach. They’d visited the place once, and ended up in the bathroom all the next day. It seemed like a good breeding ground for bitey lizards. They all began to run towards it.

“GET. IT. OFF!” shouted a Xiomeran woman wearing what Citlalnite identified as an A’pilne dress. Great, a rich Xiomeran. Just what they needed.

The lizard was biting right onto her designer dress, jaws fastened right to the bottom as the Xiomeran woman flailed back and forth, knocking over tables and chairs in her distress and hurrying to get the hell out of the salad bar. The noise became worse after she knocked over a toddler who began to scream, which in turn set off the family dog, which in turn set off the seagulls on the beach.

“Stay still,” Citlalnite told her in Huenyan as José whacked her with the net and Yousef tried to pick up the lizard by hand while wearing a pair of absurdly thick gloves.

“Here, lizard, lizard, lizard!” Yousef coaxed as the bitey creature climbed further up the dress to avoid José’s net. The woman tried to get away and Citlalnite stopped her, holding her still long enough for Yousef to pluck off the lizard and dump it in their lizard carrier.

“You’ve seen it here, folks! Live lizard capture by the - I promise I’m not making this up - Salad Land Lizard Capture Service,” came a voice from a young woman holding a high-end smartphone on a selfie stick, which was clearly live-streaming.

“Shut that off!” Yousef said to her.

“Not a chance, have you seen how many views I’m getting? This is literally my job,” she shrugged, flicking her hair in a practiced gesture.

“Influencer,” Citlalnite spat. In his mouth it took the form almost of a slur.

“Lizard merch coming soon to my online store, link in bio!” the influencer told her phone. “And remember, there’s still time to enter the contest to win a bowl of salad signed by the Marquis of Salad Land himself! Stay chill, see you tomorrow!”

Citlalnite once again hissed and began to storm towards the woman. Sensing the danger, she immediately ran off into a crowd, running easily despite her absurdly high heels, short skirt, and twenty layers of makeup. However, even if she had not fled, Citlalnite would not have gotten far, for the Xiomeran woman grabbed him and shoved him roughly to the ground.

“How DARE you touch me!” she snapped. "Do you know who I am?"

Almahuatzan, Member of the Imperial Parliament from Texca, looked angrily down at Citlalnite, and then back up at her two security escorts. "You failed to protect me from the lizard, and then from these miscreants. There will be consequences," she told her guards. Almahuatzan then looked back down at Citlalnite. "You. Explain yourself."

“He’s a member of the official Salad Land Lizard Capture Service!” José announced proudly. “See, he’s wearing the uniform!” He pointed at the lizard hat and then wagged his own lizard tail as well, to add to the point. Yousef groaned and put his head in his hand. Cranston stood, ever-silent, behind the group once again. Tlotli was nowhere to be seen.

Almahuatzan took in the "uniform", looking José up and down, before a slight sneer crossed her face. "Do you mean to tell me that you people work for what passes for a government on this island?"

“Yup!” José grinned. “Do you like my tail?”

“Apologies for my friend, he…” Yousef searched for an excuse but none came to mind, so he let the sentence trail off. “I understand that the uniforms are… unorthodox. They are likely the result of a practical joke played by someone within the government hierarchy who wishes to cause embarrassment to ourselves. But yes, we do work for the government of Salad Land, attempting to capture these escaped lizards. We apologize for any distress we have caused.”

“Speak for yourself,” Citlalnite piped up, standing up and folding his arms. “Do you know who this is?”

“Uh, no?” Yousef replied. “Should I?”

"You are speaking to the honorable Almahuatzan, Member of the Imperial Parliament from Texca and Chair of the Parliamentary Committee on National Defense," one of the guards said sternly.

“Ah, my apologies,” Yousef replied. “I am unfamiliar with Xiomeran politics, however…”

“Don’t apologize to her!” Citlalnite snapped. “She’s one of Calhualyana’s pet politicians, aiding the monster in her dreams of empire-building, conquest and oppression.”

“I didn’t know you were into politics, Citlalnite!” José said, while making faces at the lizard now trapped in the lizard cage. The lizard eyed him disdainfully.

The three Xiomerans stiffened at Citlalnite’s words. "I will not stand here and be accosted by, and insulted by, some Huenyan low-life. I insist on speaking to your superior," Almahuatzan demanded.

In response Citlalnite merely whistled.

“Oh no,” Yousef said. “Run!” he said to Almahuatzan. “Trust me, run!”

Instead of running, the two guards began looking around to see if there was a threat. Almahuatzan stood her ground. "I will not leave until I speak to your boss. You are all in very serious trouble."

“Please, I’ll take you to them, just…” Yousef trailed off as, from the sky a colorful shape began to approach at high speed. He pointed.

Tlotli was diving towards Almahuatzan at a speed that Yousef did not realize that parrots could reach. José glanced up, then grabbed the lizard cage and dove onto the beach to get out of the range of the impending catastrophe.

Upon looking up, the two guards saw the approaching bird. One of them moved to draw his sidearm, only to stop after a shout from the other guard. The two guards then promptly took Almahuatzan to the ground instead, earning them another cry of outrage from the XCP grandee.

Tlotli pecked one of the guards on the head, and then at another whistle from Citlalnite, flew back onto his owner’s shoulder, before he could dive-bomb the Xiomerans once more.

“Now, we should run!” Citlalnite shouted to the others. He took off at speed in the direction of the tourist crowds. José picked himself up from the beach and followed, lizard cage in hand. Cranston shrugged and followed as well.

“That will just make things worse!” Yousef yelled after the departing lizard-catchers, to no avail. He glanced between the crowd and the Xiomerans on the ground. He sighed and stayed where he was. “That’ll just make things worse,” he repeated, this time a mutter.

As Yousef muttered, three Salad Land police officers arrived, having been informed there was a disturbance on the beach. "You there. Officer," Almahuatzan demanded as she stood up and vainly brushed sand off her dress. "Who is in charge of these….lizard capture people?"

"Um….I think our police commissioner is?" one of the officers replied.

"Good. You will take me to speak with them at once. I have been berated, insulted and assaulted by these people in your government's employ. I insist on filing a formal complaint and possibly charges." Almahuatzan folded her arms across her chest, clearly expecting action.

As two of the officers took statements from Almahuatzan and her guards, the third walked up to Yousef. "What did you do?"

[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.

[Xiomera]

Jointly written with Lauchenoiria

Once back at police headquarters, the four of them were led back to the Commissioner's office. They were greeted by a group of people in the midst of a heated discussion. Almahuatzan and the Huenyan ambassador to Salad Land, Necacoztli, were arguing with each other while Commissioner Rudhall vainly tried to calm things down. As soon as Boisselot entered with his detainees, Almahuatzan saw them. She pointed at Citlalnite. "That's him! That's the one who attacked me! I demand that he be punished along with his bird!" The guard who had been pecked in the head nodded vigorously in agreement, then winced.
 
"We rescued you from a bitey lizard and this is the thanks we get?" Yousef replied before the others could.
 
Before Almahuatzan could answer, the door to the office swung open. Bathed in a ray of sunlight that just happened to stream in through a nearby window, Bastien de Salad stopped in the entrance. The Marquis gave everyone a huge, glittering smile. Rudhall sighed under her breath as he walked in. "Forgive the interruption," he said smoothly. "But I heard that one of our guests on the island - a very important guest, apparently - had a concern with some of our civilian workers. Madame, I am the Marquis of Salad Land and I am so sorry to hear of this. Could you please tell me what happened?"
 
Rudhall started murmuring something about how the police were already investigating the incident and that the Marquis really didn’t need to trouble himself with it. "But it's no trouble!" he insisted. Rudhall smiled politely, and the sound of her teeth grinding together was only slightly audible.
 
Almahuatzan smiled triumphantly, having reached the manager of all managers. "We'll, first, that hooligan put his hands all over me," she said, pointing to Citlalnite. "Then, when I demanded to speak with his boss, he sent that filthy winged rat to attack me!" She looked at Tlotli as if the bird was plague incarnate.
 
"Actually, I think you will find that my colleague and I rescued her from one of the lizards," Citlalnite responded. He pointed to where Yousef was carrying the lizard in question in a cage. The lizard was attempting to escape the cage, hissing while doing so. "In the process of carrying out our duties, it was necessary for her own safety that I steady her."
 
"So that I could whack that lizard!" José said, demonstrating with a gesture. "Gotta catch these bitey boys!"
 
"I see," the Marquis replied, clearly enjoying José’s enthusiasm. "And when, exactly, did the parrot become involved?"
 
"Uh…" Yousef began, looking at Citlalnite uncertainly.
 
"Tlotli thought her hair was ice cream!" José lied. "Yeah, parrot ice cream flavored with, uh… Xiomeran flavor."
 
"Xiomeran flavour? Really, you couldn't come up with something better than that?" Citlalnite said. "No, in truth, Tlotli attempted to protect me from this… individual, who desires the destruction of my people."
 
"Protect you from what? She claims that you assaulted her," the Marquis said. "On an unrelated note, perhaps we could look into Xiomeran flavoring…."
 
"He did assault me! Are you accusing me of lying?" Almahuatzan said in a haughty manner. At that moment, Officer Boisselot handed the Marquis some papers. He began reading through them. "These are witness statements taken at the scene of the incident," he said finally. "They all say that after this individual stopped you to remove a lizard from you, that you actually shoved him and knocked him down. Is this true?"
 
"That is indeed what occurred," Yousef nodded. "There was a young woman filming the whole thing for social media, if you'd like further evidence."
 
The Marquis nodded in agreement, and was directed to find the influencer's video on his phone. He watched the video in silence, and then watched it again. When he was done, he put his phone away and looked at Almahuatzan. "Shoving someone to the ground for doing a public service to protect you from a lizard seems like a rather…extreme response, no?"
 
"What of it? He put his hands on me without permission," Almahuatzan said in an unbothered fashion. "He then had his infernal bird attack me! Surely that counts as an assault or as misconduct at the very least!"
 
"Oh, I don't know." The Marquis placed his chin in his hand, assuming a contemplative expression. "One could argue that your initial shove was the initial assault, and that the incident with the bird was self-defense. A bird as a not-concealed weapon, there’s an interesting thought…"
 
"The bird was set upon me well after the shove!" Almahuatzan looked at the Marquis in shock. "That was not self-defense….wait, why am I entertaining this as if it makes sense? Is everyone here insane?"
 
Yousef and Cranston shared a look, and then Yousef turned to Almahuatzan and mouthed 'yes' silently.
 
"The fact does remain though that you struck this gentleman first," the Marquis replied. He was no longer smiling. "We will provide coaching and re-training of these lizard capture agents so that they are more aware of how to treat visitors in the future."
 
Boisselot groaned slightly; he was the one who would need to do the re-training.
 
"However, since you chose to assault government agents, regretfully I must withdraw your visas to be in Salad Land. You shall be placed on the next flight back to Xiomera."
 
Rudhall had a look of horror mixed with morbid anticipation of what was about to happen. Almahuatzan's expression of bewilderment was rapidly being replaced by sheer rage. "You are expelling us? After I was the one attacked? This is an outrage! Do you know who I am?" the Xiomeran barked.
 
The Marquis grinned once more. "Yes, Madame, I do. And I don’t care. That is the privilege of being who I am."
 
Almahuatzan would have protested further, but the three Salad Land police officers who arrived to escort the Xiomerans back to their hotel had other ideas. As she got to the door, though, she did turn to face everyone in the room one last time. "You are all going to regret this," she said before walking out.
 
"Well….no, I doubt I will," the Marquis said with a slight laugh. "As for you lot…care to explain exactly what you were thinking?" he demanded of the lizard capture team.
 
“We had no idea who she was, to be fair,” Yousef pointed out. “We saw a lizard, and we tried to catch the lizard. It was only afterwards that we found out she was part of the Xiomeran imperial parliament, or whatever, and then…”
 
“Citlalnite got angry because the Xiomerans keep biting off chunks of Huenya so he set Tlotli on her,” José finished helpfully.
 
“He had a momentary lapse of judgment,” Yousef attempted to clarify. “And then, realizing he had made an error, attempted to leave the area out of shame, with the others.”
 
“Oh, I wasn’t ashamed,” José corrected. “I just realized I was late for my meat-veg appointment! Sorry, should’ve said something rather than just run off! I’m so bad at that!”
 
"No doubt," the Marquis replied with a small smile before adopting a more serious expression. "I just burned a lot of goodwill with the Xiomerans on your behalf. It doesn’t bother me much to do so, as I am not fond of the Xiomerans. However, seeing as how I could have tossed you in jail instead to gain favor with them, I trust you will honor the fact that I have done you a favor and avoid any such incidents in the future." His gaze was squarely on Citlalnite.
 
“Of course,” Yousef said quickly. “I will make sure of it. There will be no further incidents. We will carry out our… lizard duties incident-free. Right, guys?” he said sharply, leaving no room for disagreement. All he wanted was to get out of here. That wouldn’t happen if they ended up in jail again. They were going to have to grin and bear the lizard costumes a little longer.
 
“Yeah, we’ll totally be the best lizard catchers ever!” beamed José. Cranston nodded slightly in what at the very least resembled agreement.
 
“Fine, I promise I will not instruct Tlotli to harm any further members of legislatures from evil, imperialist countries,” Citlalnite huffed.
 
"I suppose that is all I can ask," the Marquis replied in a dry tone. "I will therefore accept your promise. Commissioner, I see no need to detain our lizard team any further. Would you agree?"
 
Rudhall nodded in response. If she was in agreement, though, someone would have needed to tell her face that, judging from the sour expression it bore.
 
"Very well then. You are all free to go back to work catching lizards. And since you volunteered," the Marquis said while looking at Yousef, "I am placing you in charge of your companions moving forward. Do make sure that everyone behaves."
 
"Don't worry, I will," Yousef replied. He was determined now to get this done, and over with.

[Lauchenoiria]

King Shapur of Zargothrax was becoming increasingly irate with the government of Salad Land. They had made it abundantly clear that they would not permit the Cosmic Paragon to depart until all the lizards were on board. Which, given he’d selected a lizard species that bred like rabbits, well. If he wanted his ship, he was going to have to speed up the work of the lizard-catchers.

This was why His Royal Majesty decided that it would be an excellent idea to send a delivery of lizard-eating hawks to Salad Land. At no point did he consider doing such sensible things as asking Salad Land if it was okay, or checking that this wouldn’t make the problem worse. Or indeed, even consulting with Royal Advisor Hashemi or his son Prince Bahman – both of whom were not happy when they found out.

Neither would the people of Salad Land be when yet another Thraxian ship entered their territorial waters, sailing close to the land and releasing a cloud of hawks into the skies. The hawks flew over Port Salad, turning the sky dark briefly before spreading forth across the country. A few did indeed dive down and grab a few lizards. Then, before Salad Land could consider their response, the ship turned tail and sailed off at maximum speed; Salad Land’s ill-equipped navy powerless to stop them.

[Xiomera]

At Port Salad, the Marquis and his steward, Dominic Gardner, were enjoying a lovely morning walk on the main parapets of the Palace de Salad. "Such a beautiful morning. We are very fortunate to live in such a beautiful country, aren't we?" Gardner nodded in agreement with the Marquis. "Indeed, sir, we are. I often say that there is no more glorious sight than a sunrise in Salad Land."

"It is true, even when there is a storm coming in." The Marquis eyed the cloud more closely. "Although, that is a rather odd-looking storm...."

Gardner squinted, his vision not as sharp as that of his boss. "It does seem rather compact...and moving this way..."

Without further warning, part of the cloud detached itself from the rest and suddenly plunged downward towards the two men. "Birds! Agh!" the Marquis shouted, trying to prevent the hawks from pecking at him. In his sharp green waistcoat emblazoned with the seal of de Salad, he did rather look like a large lizard from far away. 

"Ouch! It has my mustache!" Gardner batted at his head to fend off another hawk.

The two rushed back inside the Palace, as palace guards ran up to distract the hawks. "What the hell was that?" the Marquis shouted.

Gardner had just been handed a phone, and he scrolled down the screen. A look of horror mixed with irritation crossed his face. Wordlessly, he showed the Marquis the screen. King Shapur's social media post was displayed. The Marquis read the post. His face reddened, which was fortunate since it hid the scratches from hawk talons. He marched into his office and slammed the door, ignoring the attempt by Gardner to stop him.

While the Marquis was quite fond of social media, he was also nothing if not dramatic. Only a formal letter would do for his response to King Shapur.

To the addled monarch of Zargothrax, King Shapur XIV:

Was it not enough that you infested my country with a plague of lizards? Now you have seen fit to infest it with a plague of hawks as well, without even asking us? A pox on your lizards, a pox on your hawks, a pox on you and your house, a pox on your country and a pox on your cats!

I demand that you remove both the lizards and the hawks at once, using more conventional means than bombarding us with more insane creatures. If you do not, I shall turn your ship into firewood and have a lizard and hawk barbecue on the beach!

-Bastien de Salad, Marquis of Salad Land

[Lauchenoiria]

“ ‘A pox on your cats’!? A POX ON MY CATS!?” King Shapur of Zargothrax shouted. He picked up the tablet displaying a copy of the Marquis’ letter and threw it across the room so that it shattered against the stone accent wall, pieces flying everywhere. Then the king stormed over and started stamping on the pieces.

His council, who hadn’t seen him attend a meeting in years, all wisely remained silent. They watched as their monarch stormed around the room, smashing random items in a manner more suited to a toddler than a fifty-three-year-old father of six. Eventually, he exhausted himself and sat back down at the head of the table, turning to face the gathered men.

“We are declaring war on Salad Land,” he informed them.

“What!? Your Majesty, don’t you think that is something of an overreaction?” the palace treasurer said, alarmed at how much going to war would cost.

“No! No, I don’t think it’s an overreaction! Guards, arrest this man for treason!” the King said, pointing at the treasurer.

“What!? But your majesty, I haven’t… stop, get your hands off me… this isn’t the fifteenth century, what are you doing… let me go! Your Majesty! YOUR MAJESTY!”

“Now that he’s gone,” the King said once he’d been dragged out, “we can talk about our war plans. We will destroy Salad Land for this!”

Nobody was brave enough to say a word. They were all eyeing Shapur in fear of what the mad king would do next. Because as much as what he’d just done was giving fifteenth century vibes, that was about the last time the structure of the Thraxian government had been updated. He was well within his rights, no matter how old-fashioned exercising them would be seen as.

“Good, I see nobody else is a Saladian spy,” Shapur nodded, content. He turned to Chief Advisor Hashemi and his son Prince Bahman. “Issue the formal declaration of war to Salad Land. I don’t know how you formally declare war, actually, so look it up. And then get me my Generals. I have a plan.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Hashemi responded in a tone of resignation, leaving the room. Prince Bahman just stared at his father.

“Father…” he began hesitantly.

“Don’t worry son, we’ll win. It’ll all be fine. WE GO TO WAR!”

[Xiomera]

At the Palace de Salad, the mood following the Thraxian declaration of war was frantic. A group of Saladian leaders had gone to the Palace to attempt to talk some sense into the Marquis following his disastrous letter.

Leading the group was the Prime Minister, Leighton Taylor. Accompanying him were Valentin Daucourt, the head of what passed for a Saladian military, and Police Commissioner Katherine Rudhall. Quinn Mitchell, the head of the Air Patrol, was also with them. Normally, the head of the Naval Patrol would also have come with them. But since Piper Drummond had quit, there was no head of the Naval Patrol. Daucourt, in particular, was regretting that vacancy as the Thraxians would most likely arrive by sea.

The group had poor expectations, at best, of being able to talk sense into an inherently unsensible man. But even their low expectations would be disappointed.

"Sir, I must again point out that we can only muster 1,368 soldiers and police combined to meet any invasion force," Daucourt said in frustration. "We can't possibly fend off even a minor invasion force with such a small number of combatants."

"Nonsense! The natural martial spirit of the Saladian will prevail! We shall open up the island armories and arm the citizens. They shall aid in our defense," the Marquis said. He was practicing his sword-fighting in the mirror, not even looking at the delegation.

Taylor sighed irritably. "You are talking about fighting a country whose population outnumbers us almost 300 to 1. Even if we armed every single person on the islands, including the elderly and babies, we still can't stop an invasion! The only course of action is that you must apologize to King Shapur and sue for peace!"

"Apologize? And allow insults to our sovereignty and the House of de Salad to go unanswered? Absolutely not, Taylor. If you're too afraid to fight, just say so. But there shall be no apology."

"If that is your stance, Marquis," Taylor said in a tone of warning, "then I shall have no choice but to call a meeting of the Council of Custodians and seek to override your decision."

Bastien stopped his self-dueling, and looked at Taylor. "You misunderstand the situation, sir. At a time of war, the monarch's power reigns supreme for the safety of the nation. Guards, arrest the Prime Minister. You shall undertake no coup while I reign, sir."

As Taylor shouted and protested, he was dragged out of the throne room by the palace guards.

"Does anyone else have an objection?" the Marquis asked. No one else dared speak. "Good. Let us stand united, instead of squabbling, and defend our homeland!"

---

Later that day, on the grand balcony of the Palace de Salad, the Marquis addressed his people. "I know that the odds are seemingly against us, and our situation seems grave. But, Saladians have triumphed over the odds before. Our ancestors landed on these islands and built our nation out of nothing. We have defeated the greatest of challenges in the past. And we shall defeat this one! Together, we shall defeat the Thraxians and their plague of creatures! Take to the walls, the ramparts and the barricades, citizens! Salad Land shall prevail!"

A smattering of claps and cheers greeted his speech. "Uh....yay?" one very unreassured citizen said noticeably.

Convinced the people were behind him, the Marquis went back inside the Palace to plan the defense of Salad Land. His first task: finding a suitably martial outfit.

[Lauchenoiria]

Several days later...

The Thraxian armada approached Salad Land ominously. The ships crept forward as the Saladians watched and waited to see what horror would be unleashed on them this time. On the beach, the members of the Salad Land Lizard Capture Service (still in lizard uniforms) stood next to some of the local police, watching the approaching ships.

Citlalnite was beside himself, telling anyone and everyone who would listen that he didn’t want to get killed by Thraxians and they were cruel and heartless forcing him to be here. Even José seemed subdued by the uncertainty. Cranston looked unusually cheerful, which was in itself a cause for concern. Yousef felt resigned to whatever fate. He’d had no control over his life for years now. What was even t”he point in trying when, clearly, God hated him?

Suddenly, an ageing landing craft shot towards them, which had probably last seen use in the Great War. It landed on the beach and opened. The Saladian defenders collectively held their breath, expecting attack. Nothing happened. Indeed, nothing came out of the craft at all. Fearing a trick, the Saladians held back, watching, when eventually a small figure shot outside, darting across the beach and grabbing a lizard from underneath the sand.

The cat held the lizard in its mouth, biting hard enough to trap it but not enough to kill. Then it dropped the lizard and clawed at it, playing with its food. The gathered Saladians watched the cat in confusion as it bullied the lizard before swallowing it whole. Then the cat promptly curled up in a ball and went to sleep.

“What the…” Yousef said.

“You, go check it out,” Boisselot said, nudging Yousef.

“Oh, come on,” he complained.

Boisselot pointed a dagger covered in fake gemstones (personally gifted to him by the Marquis, much to his embarrassment) at Yousef in warning. He groaned and stomped forward towards the Thraxian craft.

Inside was about a thousand cats, all curled up in a pile, mostly asleep. A few were batting at each other’s tails. A couple came towards Yousef, meowing, batting at his ankles as if asking for food. Yousef knelt down to give one of the cats some pets, and noticed it was wearing a collar with a tag. He read the text. In Persian, with Arabic below, the tag roughly translated to “Mr Fluffles, Thraxian Royal Army, service no. C-198-325-843”.

“What in the lizard-infested insane island?” Yousef muttered to himself. He turned back to the Saladians and called aloud. “Uh, they’ve sent cats.”

“They’ve sent what!?” Citlalnite replied.

“Cats! They’ve sent cats with military service numbers! There’s like a thousand of them! Most of them are asleep!”

Boisselot stared at Yousef in shock for a moment, before he began to giggle. The giggles became a full-throated belly laugh, with the policeman bending over and slapping his knees in amusement. "Cats! They sent cats! Are they expecting us to sneeze to death?"

Next to Boisselot, Valentin Daucourt grinned. "We'll have to wait and see if they land any more ships. But if they are only sending cats...that just gives us more animals to deal with."

As if to hammer home the point, a hawk swooped down towards one of the cats, which responded by extending its claws and hissing. The hawk dodged, and the cat gave chase, jumping on top of an abandoned ice cream stall, knocking a display of cotton candy to the ground. Seeing the hawk, many of the other cats also shot out of the landing craft, running across the beach.

Towels, ice cream, a couple of Saladian flags that had been planted, and more were dislodged as the cats spread out, chasing hawks and being chased by hawks. Then lizards started appearing out of the sand to get away from the cats, jumping towards the Saladian defenders. Yousef, meanwhile was staring out to sea as about ten more landing craft rapidly approached.

Boisselot and Daucourt no longer looked amused. "Cat-astrophe!" Daucourt shouted, ducking from a lizard. He stepped on a cat's tail, causing the cat to hiss and swipe at him. Daucourt tried to dodge the cat and ended up tripping on Boisselot, knocking both men to the ground.

The Saladian defenders were now thoroughly confused. "Uh...are we supposed to shoot the cats?" one of them asked. "I don't want to shoot cats," his fellow Saladian soldier replied somberly.

One of the new landing craft got knocked around by a big wave, causing a terrifying howling to erupt from inside. Once it reached the beach, another thousand cats shot out - angry, furious cats who had been disturbed from their nap.

"Hey, at least now we know where the lizards have been hiding," José remarked as more appeared from beneath the sand, running away from the cats. The appearance of lizards attracted the hawks, which began to dive down to eat lizards.

A hawk swooped down to pluck a lizard from near Yousef's feet; only for a cat to jump on the hawk's back, hanging on with its claws as the hawk rose into the sky, with the lizard still in its jaws. The three battled each other in the sky for a while. Someone on one of the Thraxian ships - presumably a human - began to blast Thraxian pop music out of speakers at full volume.

Seeing that there was no actual shooting about to take place, a group of young tourists emerged from a nearby hotel and began dancing to the pop music while streaming both their dancing and the chaos. "It's a beach party of the sort you can only find on Salad Land! Lizards and hawks and cats, oh my!" the person streaming the video giggled.

Meanwhile, the Saladian authorities on the ground began desperately trying to regain control of the situation. Some tried to herd cats. Others tried to shoo away hawks. Boisselot turned to Yousef and his companions. "Catch something! Lizards, cats, birds, anything!" he shouted.

Yousef immediately obeyed, picking up a pair of cats he'd begun petting. He grinned at Boisselot as José began waving around his lizard net, and Cranston went after the hawks with grim determination. Citlalnite was too busy protecting Tlotli, who several of the cats had decided would make a good snack.

"The song playing is literally about cats," Yousef remarked, as the only Arabic speaker in the vicinity.

The music could be heard as far away as the Palace de Salad, where the Marquis cursed and covered his ears. He called in a set of orders to Daucourt, who relayed them but not without some cursing of his own.

Some minutes later, the Saladian "navy" began sailing into the harbor from their docks. The ships didn’t have much in the way of guns. But they did have hoses.

Led by the ship Yousef and the others had brought to Salad Land, the Saladian ships began spraying the Thraxian ships with blasts of water. The goal was to make the music stop, and to encourage the cats to turn on the Thraxians instead of continuing to storm the beach.

A yowling out of a horror movie could be heard as chaos erupted on the Thraxian ships. Unfortunately, those cats already on the beach could not turn back now, but the cats still on the ships went wild. One of the Thraxian ships careened to the side as a cat attacked the person steering; while another ground to a halt, and still another sped up, seemingly unintentionally. Unfortunately, the speeding one was heading right for one of the Saladian navy's tiniest ships. If it could even be described as a ship.

The tiny converted fishing boat, now known as the SPS Grande Salade, hastily tried to move out of the way of the speeding Thraxian ship. It was only partially successful. The Thraxian ship clipped its stern with a loud crunch. The Saladian vessel began to take on water. It's captain hastily ordered the ship to proceed to the beach before it sank. The Grande Salade beached itself, then continued to use its water cannon to fend off cats and hawks.

The Thraxians managed to get their ship under control (or, perhaps the cats had mutinied and taken control. You never know) and began to hastily retreat from Salad Land's territory. The others began to follow, except one ship where a cat came flying across the deck, landing and letting out the loudest hiss ever. The cats on that ship then turned on the humans, who began screaming and jumping off the ship into the water in their haste to get away from the cats.

The animals on the beach had mostly dispersed by this point, disappearing deeper into Salad Land, where they would need to be hunted down and captured. Yousef glanced around as he held about six cats who had climbed on him. He sighed in resignation. They weren't getting to leave anytime soon.

[Lauchenoiria]

“Will none of you volunteer!?” King Shapur whined at his children. The group stared at their father in weary resignation.

“I don’t want to find out what the inside of a Saladian prison looks like, and there’s no way this ends in any other fashion,” the 17-year-old Prince Golshan retorted.

“My brother is right,” Crown Prince Bahman nodded. “And besides, this whole thing is ridiculously old-fashioned. Has nobody here heard of sending an email?”

“But we need to send a royal messenger!” the King insisted. “It’s only polite! To show them we are so very serious about our threat!”

“There is no part of this that one could call serious,” fourteen-year-old Princess Mina pointed out, while adjusting her makeup in a portable gem-covered mirror.

“YES IT IS!” the King said, stomping a foot. “If they don’t surrender, we will send DOGS and MICE which with the cats already there will cause CHAOS!”

“Father!” Bahman shouted. “You know my opinions on the matter, but I really think you ought to reconsider abdication. You can spend more time on your experiments, and…”

“Let me stop you there,” Shapur growled. “Or I’ll have to throw YOU in the dungeon too.”

Prince Bahman wisely shut up.

“If none of you volunteer to go, I’ll choose one of you at random,” the King declared.

“But I ALSO don’t want to end up stuck in a Saladian prison, far away from home,” whined 10-year-old Prince Jahangir.

Stuck… far away from home. Princess Leila stood up. “I’ll go!”

The others turned to her. “Sister, do not be a fool,” Bahman told her. “Regardless of what Father says, if any of us set foot in Salad Land, they will lock us up.”

Duh, that’s the point, Leila thought. Far away from Father’s infernal cat law.

“I’m willing to take the risk,” the 11-year-old Princess said gravely.

“Excellent!” King Shapur clapped his hands. “Then it’s settled! Leila will deliver our ultimatum, and will come back triumphant, following a Saladian surrender!”

“There is no way...” Bahman began.

“NOW! Onto the next matter!” King Shapur interrupted. “Several of my Generals have resigned because of their cowardice when it comes to a REAL war!”

“I don’t think that’s why they resigned,” Mina snorted, applying eyeliner.

“So, I need someone I can trust in the position. Golshan, what about it? You’re second-oldest, it would be a fitting position for you.”

“Hard pass,” Golshan snorted. “I’m not taking any part in your insane cat war.”

“Well, it can’t be Bahman, as he’s Crown Prince. And it can’t be Mina or Leila, as they’re girls. So if you won’t, then Jahangir, what about you?”

“I’m literally ten years old,” the young prince pointed out.

“Well, I won’t trust anyone outside the family, and Amir is about to be declared Royal Wizard!” the King whined.

“Amir is seven years old, and there is no such thing as wizards!” Bahman blurted out, infuriated. “Father, you are clearly not fit to rule.”

“Don’t make me do this son,” the King warned.

Bahman paused, weighing up the likelihood of staging a successful coup right now, versus getting sent to the dungeon. And while he fancied his chances, he didn’t want the risk. He backed down.

“Excellent! So, Jahangir! What does our newest General suggest we do next?”

“Uh…” the 10-year-old blinked, unsure what just happened.

“This is insane,” Mina remarked again. “Golshan is the only sensible one here. Bahman is a coward, Leila actively wants to end up in a Saladian prison, and you two,” she pointed at the youngest pair, “are going along with this?”

“I want to be the Royal Wizard!” Prince Amir, age 7, said, pulling out a toy wand and waving it around. “Then I get to talk to dragons and cast spells and other fun things!”

“I just don’t want to end up in the dungeon,” Jahangir shrugged. “I’m just going with it.”

“Dungeons! That’s it!” the King said, clapping his hands. “Son, you’re a genius! Right, come with me to a war meeting. Leila, go prepare for your journey. Amir, go prepare for your ceremony. And you three, my eldest children… one foot out of line and I will be forced to question if you have Saladian sympathies. Onwards!”

Princess Mina waited until their father had left the room, then looked at her two elder brothers. “If I end up in a freaking dungeon, I will kill both of you. Do something about him.”

*

Princess Leila had considered her decision further, and the more she thought about it, the more she understood that nothing that faced her in Salad Land could be worse than what was happening here at home. Quite aside from the cats, her father naming a ten-year-old commander of the military, and claiming that Prince Amir could cast spells, had already sent visible waves of discontent throughout Castle Zargo.

When she snuck out to tell her Kerlian contact of her task to go and threaten the Marquis in person, the woman had first been displeased, and then - thinking it through - had declared that it was actually better for her plans if Leila was outside of the capital during this period of potential domestic unrest. She had, however, been instructed to keep her involvement with the woman a secret, on pain of death.

Now, on a Thraxian ship approaching Salad Land, Princess Leila felt the first wave of fear wash over her. The Marquis was hardly more predictable than her father, and he had thrown his own Prime Minister into prison according to reports. She would be entirely at his mercy. Still, if she instructed them to turn back now, her father would in all likelihood do worse to her. She had made her decision; she would have to live with it.

The Saladians had been informed that Princess Leila had arrived with an urgent message for the Marquis de Salad from the King of Zargothrax. They allowed her ship to dock, though as they approached she could see a number of heavily armed guards awaiting her. And, curiously, a man in a lizard hat holding a large animal cage.

"Good morning," a man leading the guards told Leila once she disembarked. "I am Dominic Gardner, Steward of the House of de Salad. Please follow me." He led Leila to an elderly and rather fancy limousine painted a brilliant green. The vehicle drove the two of them, along with the man in the lizard hat, to the Palace de Salad. Leila was treated to an excellent view of the harbor as they drove.

Leila breathed deeply. Despite the cat invasion, Salad Land at least had some level of a breeze, unlike the still and stifling atmosphere in Castle Zargo. And no cats had been in the limousine, thankfully. Indeed, she had rarely ever been outside of Zargothrax, so this was a treat for her. She made sure that she didn’t give anything away, however. Despite this being an excuse to get the hell away from the cats, she would still do her duty.

[Xiomera]

Upon arriving at the Palace, Gardner led the other two inside and through a lobby to a grand staircase. At the top of the staircase, double doors which were open led to a relatively small but nicely appointed throne room. At the other end of the room, a young man lounging on a wooden throne trimmed in green and gold greeted Leila with a small smile. "You must be the envoy from Zargothrax," he said. His face registered slight surprise that she was so young, before moving on. "I am Bastien de Salad, the Marquis. Welcome to Salad Land. What message do you bring us?"

“Greetings, Marquis,” Leila began, giving a short curtsey since she was unsure of Saladian protocol. And while she had learned fluent English, she was unused to actually using it aloud outside of the classroom. Her accent was notable, and she spoke slowly. “My father, King Shapur of Zargothrax, has instructed me to deliver the following message.”

She glanced around, suddenly a little nervous. She had memorised the words perfectly, but she did not know what reaction to expect. “King Shapur asks that Salad Land immediately surrenders and agrees to return all Thraxian bio… biological lifeforms, whether lizard, hawk, cat or human, along with all Thraxian ships. If Salad Land does not meet his ultimatum, His Majesty the King will have no choice but to unleash chaos in order to prevent the apocalypse.”

Leila looked away, embarrassed. “My father, um, believes that you are, um, possessed by a demon. And that you are, uh, trying to make the world end by destroying messengers from God. I am, uh, unsure which God he means.”

"I am not sure he knows which God he means either," the Marquis murmured. "As for the lifeforms, we offered your father the chance to take them back. He just kept dumping more on us. So I am not quite sure what he wants us to do. At any rate, if he wants them back, he can have them back if he can find a sane way for once to withdraw them. Otherwise, we will begin offering barbecued lizard and hawk tacos and use the cats for a cat cafe. We won't barbecue the human Thraxians or send them to a cafe though."

“Oh [insert blasphemous phrase here]! If you cook the lizards, Father may well send a human assault force!” Leila cried, alarmed. “It took his people years to find the right species! He thinks he can make a dragon out of them!”

She bit her lip. While she did not believe he would succeed, that felt like the sort of thing that she wasn’t supposed to let slip. She attempted a disarming smile, only succeeding in looking exactly like an eleven-year-old girl playing at adult diplomacy.

The Marquis paused for a long period, and then laughed for an even longer period. When he finally regained his composure, he grinned at Gardner. "Well, we can't have a human assault force come here. Dominic, please instruct Mickey Knife and the other chefs and cooks and whatnot on the islands that the Thraxian animals are off the menu." He looked over to Yousef next, grinning again at the lizard hat. "Take extra care capturing the lizards, when you manage to catch some."

“Sir, with all due respect,” Yousef replied, stifling a groan, “this child is an envoy of the enemy. Can you truly trust a word she says? What if this is a trick, to get us to keep the lizards alive, for some nefarious purpose?”

Then he turned to Leila, switching briefly to Arabic. “No hard feelings, I’m just trying to make my own life easier.” Leila met his eye and shrugged, as if to say fair enough.

The Marquis sighed. "A child would not lie. Then again, I lied all the time when I was a child….never mind that. I believe this child, because it seems just insane enough for King Shapur to actually believe it." He thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. "I have the perfect solution for this dilemma, Dominic. We shall rely upon our ancient and rogueish Saladian traditions."

"We will, sir?" Gardner raised his eyebrow.

"We shall! Or, rather, I shall. I will travel to Zargothrax and demand a parley. Just like my ancestors would have done. We shall settle this in person, like men. As for you, my dear," the Marquis turned to Leila, "you regretfully will need to remain here and enjoy the hospitality of Salad Land as a guarantee of the parley. All in our finest tradition. I do believe my ancestors would be quite pleased with me."

“Oh no, what a shame,” Leila said, deadpan. “Hey, lizard guy,” she said to Yousef, “I can give you some tips on taming them if you visit me wherever they lock me up.”

"We are not barbarians, child," the Marquis clucked. "You shall have a room here at the Palace and be treated as a guest. You will be guarded and escorted, of course, but that is a formality. And if you can help my team of lizard capture specialists, that would be lovely." The Marquis jumped up from his throne. "Let's go, Dominic. I need to see what outfits to take with me to Zargothrax." He led his Steward out of the room with him, leaving Yousef and Leila with a guard.

“Huh, last time my father took a hostage, he made the boy fight a giant rat,” Leila informed Yousef in Arabic, glad to switch to her mother’s native tongue. “Although, to be fair, the Lord whose son that was, ended up attacking Castle Zargo and getting killed. Are my people barbarians? Well, I guess probably, since we still play at feudalism.”

“Um,” Yousef was unsure how to respond, given the girl was seemingly having a conversation with herself.

“Anyway, lizards! This wasn’t Father’s first shipment, he’s done this before. They sometimes get loose in the palace. What you need are these little Serrielan sweets, they’re strawberry flavoured. The lizards go mad for them, but they also make them sleepy. So, like, you can attract a whole bunch to the same place and then send them to sleep. You’ll just have to import a ton of these sweets.”

“And your father couldn’t have told us this before, I dunno, this whole war broke out?” Yousef muttered.

“Oh, he doesn’t know, he thinks the lizards go back to the lab themselves because they love him. We don’t tell him the truth,” the Princess chuckled. She switched back to English. “Anyway, can I see my room? I want to get out of this ridiculously heavy dress and then I’ll show you how to catch a lizard.”

The guard wordlessly nodded, directing the two of them to follow him. They soon arrived at the residential section of the Palace. "This is one of the guest rooms. You will use it while you are here," he said as he opened the door to a small but well-appointed chamber. There was a view of Port Salad and the distant beach through the window.

Leila eagerly ran up to the window, staring out. “Cool! Nice view! Especially considering my brother thought I’d end up in a dungeon. Right, give me a second,” she said, then pulled off her dress to reveal more practical clothes hidden underneath. “Okay, take me to the beach, the lizards like sand.”

Yousef led her to the beach, curious to see if the girl would be as effective at lizard catching as she was implying. She pulled some candy out of her pocket, unwrapping a pink piece and placing it on the sand. Immediately, three lizards shot out of the sand towards it, fighting with each other over the candy. One of them won, swallowing it, and then flopped over, lying still. Then it let out what Yousef could only describe as a lizard snore.

“See?” Leila pulled out two more pieces, giving them to the other two lizards, who promptly joined their fellow in sleep. “Three lizards, easy peasy. I’ll happily help you catch them all. On one condition.”

“Uh…”

“For every ten lizards I catch, you buy me one piece of boys’ clothes. I hate dresses,” Leila informed him, crossing her arms.

Yousef turned to the guard, seeking permission.

The guard pulled out a walkie-talkie and had a brief conversation with the Palace. "The Marquis says if it means catching the lizards, it's a deal."

“Yay!” Leila clapped her hands. “Let’s get started!”

[Lauchenoiria]

Princess Leila, (willingly) dressed in a miniature lizard costume, held the timer and crouched down as if at the beginning of a race. She glanced mischievously at the other faces in the circle. José caught her eye and grinned. None of the others seemed so enthused.

“Aaaaand… go!” Leila shouted, then shot off towards the beach. The guards assigned to her followed, frustrated with the amount of exercise they were getting. Yousef Chaher trailed after Leila, nowhere near as excited as she was. José had run in the other direction, trailed in turn by Cranston. Citlalnite and Tlotli had trudged in a third direction.

This was Leila’s new plan for maximising lizard-catching. They would split into three teams and compete to see who could catch the most lizards, using the new Serrielan sweets. Leila and Yousef had acquired a bunch in a dodgy-looking store called “NORTH NERIAN FOOD” with a bad Arabic translation underneath. The shopkeeper, who looked more like he came from Western Hesperida than Northern Neria, had sold them every single one of the sweets he had, and Leila had divided them between the teams.

So far, Leila and Yousef were very much in the lead. Leila had so far managed to catch 46 lizards since joining the group, with Yousef adding five to her number. For some reason, the lizards did not easily trust the sweets given by the men. José’s team was in second with 24 and Citlalnite was trailing behind with 7 – although, Tlotli had killed three, somehow. Casualties in the Thraxian-Saladian War, apparently.

“Yousef, grab it!” Leila demanded, handing him a lizard. She was quickly running along to attract more. Yousef trailed along, pulling a large shopping trolley full of lizard cages that Leila had sweet-talked the owner of a bizarre bright-pink corner shop into lending them. It did make it easier to transport the sheer number of lizards the girl could catch.

“Aren’t you worried your father will get angry that you’re catching his lizards?” Yousef asked Leila as he watched the girl work. He was being lazy, but she was much better at this than he had ever been.

“No, he wants the lizards back, it’s the cats he’d get mad if I caught,” Leila said while she waited for another lizard to get high on the sweet. “At least, I think. I mean, the catching isn’t the issue really. It’s handing the lizards over to the Saladians rather than the Thraxians. But all the human Thraxians are prisoners of war now, except me. And I still get followed and watched by these guards all the time.”

They were speaking Arabic, which Yousef didn’t think the guards spoke, but he couldn’t be sure. He glanced at them every so often, checking if they were reacting. Right now, though, they were both bent double; catching their breath from Leila’s running. Yousef had cheated somewhat, by leaning on the lizard-cage trolley as they ran downhill.

“Yousef! Hand me another cage,” Leila said, holding three lizards in her arms. He hadn’t even noticed two more lizards approach. She was good.

[Xiomera]

(Jointly written with Lauchenoiria)

Three days later…

The Saladian Pride, the yacht of the Marquis, was bobbing happily off the coast of Zargothrax. It had been escorted by what was now the flagship of the Saladian navy, the ship that Yousef and the gang had brought to Salad Land. That ship had been christened the Saladian Defender, and it had been haphazardly armed. The two ships waited for the Thraxian authorities to contact them.

The Thraxian authorities, meanwhile, were wondering whether or not Salad Land intended to reply in kind, and thus sent animal control officers to the docks before contacting the Saladians and giving them instructions to bring their ships into the ports of Castle Zargo. A messenger was sent to the King’s laboratory to inform him of the visitors. After visiting the laboratory, the messenger then attempted to quit his job, was denied permission, and had a mental breakdown. But this was not known to the Saladian visitors.

With a few of his personal guards in tow, the Marquis walked onto the dock. He was dressed in his finest golden waistcoat, with a brilliant green cape trimmed in gold billowing in the wind behind him. A tricorn hat and a golden rapier completed the ensemble. He stopped at the end of the dock, taking the hat off with a sweeping gesture to the Thraxians waiting for him. "I am Bastien de Salad, Marquis of Salad Land. I am here to request a parley with the King."

The animal control officers were relieved that they weren’t about to be faced by an army of wolves or some other such thing. They stepped aside and allowed the royal liaison, who had also been sent to the docks, to guide the group to the royal palace. The city had been built when the Zargo family took over the entirety of the Thraxian peninsula. This, however, happened in 1738 - meaning the city was still rather old. The palace was, naturally, up the top of a large hill, which the Marquis and his entourage were led up on foot.

“Our apologies for the lack of a vehicle,” the liaison said, “there is only one road to the palace and it is currently closed.” What he didn’t say was that it was closed because the King had ordered it so; after several cats fell asleep in the middle of it.

"No reason to apologize. A brisk walk is just the thing sometimes. Have to stay fit, you know." The Marquis strode eagerly up the hill. His guards did their best to keep up; at least some of them did not share their master's passion for fitness.

The view of the city was at least good as they walked. They could see the old walls, and the growth of the settlement far beyond them. They could see the wealthy areas, with their large houses and non-native trees kept alive using hose pipes in the dry climate. Beyond those, they could also see the poor areas, with the houses half falling apart and crammed too close together. Closest was the shopping district, with foreign department stores standing to either side of a row of market stalls.

Upon arrival in the palace, they were led inside and taken to the throne room. Inside, King Shapur sat upon his throne, a cat in his lap. Eleven other cats sat beside the throne, nine of which were asleep and two of which were play-fighting. The King’s five other children were lined up at the side of the room, while Chief Advisor Hashemi stood to the side of the throne. A number of Thraxian nobles were also gathered in the room, watching the proceedings nervously.

The proceedings involved a man on his knees in front of the throne, sobbing. The King was glaring at the man, when he suddenly shouted “seven!” and two guards came, picked up the man and dragged him off, still sobbing. “Everyone else out!” the King then demanded, turning to face the Marquis. He stared, expectantly.

The Marquis gave a short nod of civil respect.  "Greetings, your Majesty. I am Bastien de Salad, Marquis of Salad Land. I have come here to request a parley between us about our current…difficulties."

“Fascinating,” the King said, looking the Marquis up and down. “Did you bring a salad?” he asked.

"Actually, I did. It's customary when arriving somewhere as a guest in Salad Land." The Marquis gestured to one of his guards, who brought forth an ornate wooden box. When the lid was opened, it revealed that the wooden box was merely the covering for a fancy cooler. Inside was a large serving of salad, neatly wrapped and placed inside a nice bowl.

The King clapped his hands together in delight. “Why thank you! This has made my day much better! That man you saw earlier, he refused to get a cat. How can I protect Thraxians from the apocalypse if they keep refusing to follow God’s guidance? So, I sentenced him to a week in prison, a hundred rial fine, and to spend a month working at the cat shelter when he gets out. He then claimed he was a ‘dog person’, so I decided to multiply each part of his sentence by seven. Honestly!”

“The war, Your Majesty,” Hashemi murmured in his ear.

“Ah yes! Prince Amir, come here,” the King gestured to his youngest son. The seven-year-old practically skipped over, grinning. He was wearing purple robes covered in stars, with a badge that read ROYAL WIZARD, PRINCE AMIR. At least, if you could read Persian. “Where’s your hat?” the King demanded in Persian.

“Sorry father, it blew away in the wind,” Prince Amir said in Persian, hanging his head. His English still required a lot of work. “It was too big for me.”

“Never mind now,” the King said, then switched back to English. “Tell me, Marquis, have you ever summoned a demon?”

"No, never. I hear that they're awful on the furniture and that they pee everywhere," Bastien replied in a deadpan voice. What kind of a question is that?

“Ah, it must have been someone else then,” Shapur sighed. “That’s unfortunate. I’ll have to find the summoner separately once we exorcise it.”

"Exorcise…what? Or who?" The Marquis was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.

“The demon that’s possessing you,” Shapur replied. “That is the only logical explanation. You see, when I was in the hospital, I communed with God. He told me that there would be an apocalypse soon; that it would be started by a demon in disguise, who would try to destroy the servants of good. He told me that He needed me to get cats for all those who should be saved. That only with the company of cats would salvation be possible. You tried to curse my cats. Therefore, you must be possessed by a demon.”

"Unless you mean the awful case of upset stomach that I had after the last time I ate at Mickey Knife's, I can assure you that nothing has possessed me recently. And I am not sure about being exorcised."

“My Royal Wizard shall perform the exorcism,” the King said calmly. “Don’t worry, Marquis, you will feel much better once the foul demon is out of your body. Amir?”

The 7-year-old stepped behind the throne, lifting up a box that seemed almost as large as him. He waddled with the box to stand next to the Marquis and then pulled out a bag of salt. He began to pour it in a circle around the Marquis.

I wish there was a drink with that salt, because I could sure use one now, the Marquis thought to himself. He shrugged and decided to let the kid finish whatever he was playing at.

After Amir had finished the salt circle, he went back to the box, and brought out a large fake magic wand, alongside a packet of white face masks. He went around the room, handing out face masks to his siblings, to his father, and to all the guards stationed in the room. He even offered some to the Saladians accompanying the Marquis.

After looking at the Marquis and getting a nod, the Saladians collectively shrugged and put on the masks.

Once everyone was masked up, Amir pulled out the reason the box was so large. He placed wooden carvings of planets around the circle, careful not to touch the salt. He had to consult a piece of paper while doing so, in order to get them in the right order. Once he was finished, he took his wand and walked clockwise around the circle, tapping the wand to each wooden planet and chanting in Persian. Once he was finished, he turned and repeated the same chant, this time in Arabic. He turned a third time and repeated it in English, reading off his piece of paper.

“On Neptune I call to separate the soul from the demon. On Uranus I call to protect the soul from the demon. On Saturn I call to bind the demon. On Jupiter I call to strengthen the soul against the demon. On Mars I call to pull the demon from the body. On Earth I call to protect the body from the demon. On Venus I call to shatter the tie of the demon to the body. On Mercury I call to banish the demon to Hell!”

Then the prince yawned, and turned one final time, repeating the whole thing in Latin, even more dependent on his piece of paper. When he finished, he went back to the packet of salt and poured some onto his hand, then threw it at the Marquis.

Bastien recoiled, making a hhmph sound. "I did not come here to be as-salted," he said in an irritated tone. "Can we discuss the war now?"

“Prince Amir?” prompted Shapur.

“You are free of the demon,” the seven-year-old proclaimed, then broke out into a round of applause. The King and his ten-year-old brother also clapped. Nobody else bothered.

“Right, yes, the war,” King Shapur nodded. “General Jahangir, what are the reports?”

The aforementioned ten-year-old shuffled forward, embarrassed. He did not enjoy the stares and giggles that had accompanied his appointment to such a position. “Um, they’ve caught 3,000 cats and Leila’s started catching lizards with that guy who’s father started the war in Lauchenoiria.”

“No, the other report!” the King huffed.

Prince Jahangir cringed, knowing what the other report contained. “Um, there has been no thunder and lightning, or locusts,” he muttered.

“Excellent! We have prevented the apocalypse!” the King turned to the Marquis and beamed.

"That is a very good thing," the Marquis said soberly. "Bearing that in mind, Salad Land wishes to come to an amicable solution to this situation despite having endured so many animals dumped on us. What would your terms be to achieve a mutually agreeable solution?"

“Well, we’ve exorcised the demon,” the King said, ticking off the item on his fingers. “What we need are our lizards back. I don’t particularly care about the hawks. Also the release of prisoners of war - both human and lizard. And we want our ships back.”

"All we have wanted to do is return both lizards and ships to you, so that is acceptable if you can help us remove them all in a way that does not involve further animal incursions," the Marquis said pointedly.

“Well, I’ve been informed my daughter is already doing a good job. Here, Mina, show the Marquis the video! Don’t worry about the salt circle, you can cross it now,” the King said, ushering his other daughter over.

Princess Mina sighed and walked over to the Marquis, handing him a smartphone. On it was a viral video of Princess Leila next to a shopping trolley full of lizards in cages, plucking three lizards out of the sand and handing them to Yousef, who stuck them in the cages.

"Well, so she is," the Marquis said happily. "What about the cats? Do you want them all back as well or can we keep some? People do love cats after all."

“That’s up to the cats!” the King chuckled. “Ask them; they can stay if they wish or they can return. Shall we discuss this further over dinner? I can’t wait to try the salad you brought!”

"That sounds like an excellent idea. And I think you will enjoy the salad. My family invented the salad, you know. So we have a knack for it."

[Lauchenoiria]

Jointly written with Xiomera

The Royal Dining Room still contained some of the original pieces from when it was first constructed in 1738. One of these was the fireplace, and several tapestries and paintings decorating the walls. It had also been updated with several modern features, including a fridge full of white wines and a large television, which was currently switched off. But the newest piece of decor was in the corner, which now contained a veritable playground for cats.

The twelve cats had followed the King and the Marquis to the dining room, encouraged in some cases by the guards. They were directed towards the cat area, while the Marquis was led to sit next to the King at the grand table. Shapur had dismissed his children, instructing them to go and find out who had summoned the now-exorcised demon in the first place.

Once they were seated, the King turned to the Marquis and beamed. "I am so delighted to have this opportunity to speak with you, demon-free. And I can’t wait to try your salad!"

"I am sure you will love the salad. It was created by one of the best chefs in Salad Land. And I also am glad for the opportunity to speak with you, now that the unpleasantness is over with." The Marquis watched as his entourage took the special salad out of its cooler and prepared to place it on the table.

Shapur was clearly very excited to try the salad. He was beaming, and hadn’t even paid any attention to the cats since they’d entered the dining room. “So, my daughter Mina tells me that you have a man working on carnivorous vegetables? I must say, I was intrigued by the idea.”

"Oh, they're not quite carnivorous vegetables. They're vegetables made of meat. Although, I suppose, with the right effort, they could be made carnivorous," the Marquis said as the Saladians began serving the salad to everyone.

The King was very intrigued by the idea of making them carnivorous. Just before he tucked into his salad, he remarked: “I must show you my laboratories. We are doing some fascinating stuff here, you’d love it!”

"I would enjoy a tour," the Marquis replied. "What kind of work are you doing?"

“Ah, well this is why there were lizards. You see, we are attempting to genetically engineer the lifeforms that used to exist before God decided that humanity needed to be tested, and sent us to this test world. Are you familiar with the tenets of Cosmic Infinity? Well, once upon a time there was one world on which humans lived alongside dragons, unicorns, and other fantastical creatures. And then…”

The King launched into a description of his entire religion, with the enthusiasm of a five-year-old discussing their favourite cartoon. After about ten minutes, he finally finished his impromptu lecture, and immediately started to devour his salad.

The Marquis smiled and nodded politely as he listened to the lecture, not allowing a trace of his true feelings to show. He privately thought that Shapur was crazier than a basket full of cats. But if humoring the man could extricate Salad Land from this situation, he would humor away. He began to eat as well. "So what do you think of the salad?" he asked the King between mouthfuls.

“It’s delicious! Thank you so much!” the King said, nodding enthusiastically. A cat jumped onto the table and began to sniff his bowl. Upon realising there was no meat involved, the cat yawned, showing off its jaws, and then curled up in a ball and went to sleep.

The Marquis absent-mindedly gave the cat a few pets as he put aside his now empty salad bowl. "I have to say, this whole situation has really made me warm up to cats."

“They are truly majestic creatures,” the King replied, nodding. “Beautiful, and the perfect little predator in such a small package. Their little bodies contort in the most fascinating ways. I’ve been watching lots of documentaries about it. I’m sure some of the cats in Salad Land will choose to stay, and you can get to know them.”

"We certainly hope so. I have actually befriended one of them myself. An orange tabby that we named Reginald. Reg for short."

“Reg! That’s so cute!” the King smiled. “I’d love to meet him. In fact… no, perhaps that idea is too crazy.”

Too crazy for this guy? I have to hear this. "I am sure it isn't. What is your idea?"

“How about we seal our new friendship to make it everlasting?” Shapur turned to the Marquis, his eyes glittering. “Not with a peace treaty - though we can have one of those too if you like - but with a marriage? A cat marriage!”

Oh yeah, that was worth hearing. "A marriage between, say, Reg and a cat of your choosing?" the Marquis grinned.

“Yes! Think about it! We can link our families and our countries with this marriage, as in years gone by!” Shapur returned the grin.

The mention of "years gone by" did have an appeal for the Marquis, who fancied himself a bit of a romantic. And if nothing else, a cat marriage would certainly bring attention to Salad Land. All attention is good attention, as they say. "No living being should be alone, including cats. I accept."

The King clapped his hands together, which summoned a whole flock of servants.

“Let us prepare! Farvardin! Farvardin!” he called. An elegant looking calico cat detached herself from a cat tower and slinked over. The King picked her up, holding her in the air. “Farvardin is engaged. There will be a wedding!!!”

The Marquis smiled and raised a glass in a toast to Farvardin. The people back home are going to flip when they hear this. Either in a good way, or a bad way. I'm not sure yet.

The servants had begun to applaud in rhythm, clearly a Thraxian custom. The King walked around the room, still holding up the calico cat (who looked rather bemused), above his head as he showed her off to the gathering crowd, which now included his human children, who had quickly been summoned from somewhere. Shapur smiled like, well, like he had been blessed by God.