But Prince Rhizopod has come for me from the Kingdom of Alicuri-Filicuri-Tintili-Rhododendron, a horrible, horrible man with a church candle instead of a nose and cold hands. Hu! And I’m just going to become his wife when you suddenly appear and say: ‘I’m the Magician Prospero, the hereditary Prince of Zahur.’ And my Uncle Metastasio will fall on your neck and they will begin to ring bells, blow trumpets and fire”
Prokop realized well enough that her playful chatter conveyed something very, very important, so refrained from interrupting her. She kept her arm round his neck and rubbed her fragrant face against his rough one. “Or wait; I’m Princess of Zahur and you are the Great Prokopo-Kopak, King of Spirits. But I’m under a curse, they’ve said over me the words: ‘ore ore baléne, magot malista manigoléne’ and so I’m to be given to a fish, a fish with fishy eyes and fishy hands and fishy in its whole body. and he’s going to take me away to the fishes’ castle. And then the Great Prokopo-Kopak arrives on his magic carpet and carries me off—Au revoir!” she concluded suddenly and kissed him on the lips. She was still smiling, clear and rosy as she had never been before, and left him to brood gloomily over the ruins of Zahur. And in God’s name, what did it all mean? She clearly wanted him to help her; pressure was being put on her and she relied on him. . . expected him somehow to save her! Heavens! what was he to do?
Deep in thought, Prokop wandered back to the laboratory. Clearly . . . nothing was left but the Big Attack, but where was he to begin it? He had
