3 The Heated Conversation

The Heated Conversation You can't eat a child!" said Ebenezer. The smile dropped from the beast's face. Now, in its place, stood a nasty sort of snarl. "And why not?" asked the beast. "You've brought me everything I've wanted before. Why are you turning your nose up at this one?" "Because it's wrong!" said Ebenezer. "You can't go around eating children. There's

something very impolite about it." "Impolite? Did you say impolite?" asked the beast. "You didn't think it was impolite when you brought me a Wintlorian purple-breasted parrot, and you didn't think it impolite four hundred years ago when I asked you to bring me the last dodo." "But that was different!" said Ebenezer. "Animals aren't the same as children." "That's a silly way to think!" said the beast. "No, it's not. And I'm sorry, but I just won't do it," said Ebenezer. It was the first time he had stood up to the beast in over five hundred years. The beast gave no sign that it was disappointed. In fact, it looked almost maddeningly calm.

"If that's how you feel, Ebenezer, there's nothing I can do," said the beast. "And thank you for being so honest with me." "Um… that's… well, that's quite all right," said Ebenezer. "Sorry I can't be more helpful." Ebenezer walked toward the door, delighted and surprised by the fact that he had managed to say no to the beast. He was just turning the door handle, when the beast spoke again. "Oh, by the way Ebenezer, I do hope you enjoy old age," said the beast. "I really hope you enjoy having the wrinkles on your body, and the pains in your joints as you walk up the stairs." "What do you mean?" asked Ebenezer. "I mean what I say," said the beast. "I mean that I hope you are happy when old age starts

weakening your bones and writing lines into your beautiful face." "None of that will happen," says Ebenezer. "The potion will stop all of that from happening like it normally does, won't it?" "Oh, I'm sure it would, dear boy. But where are you going to get the potion from?" asked the beast. "You're not getting it from me, unless you bring me what I want." "But—" "No buts," said the beast. "You need your potion by Saturday, and I want to eat a child before then. Bring one to me, and you will continue to live a long and happy life." "And if I don't?" "Then you shall die, Ebenezer. Without the potion, your body will give in to your old age,

and you will be nothing more than a pile of bones. I would be most upset about it." Ebenezer wondered whether he cared that much about children after all. He didn't really want to feed one to the beast, but he also didn't think that any child was worth more than his own life. "Are you sure there's nothing else I can bring you to eat instead?" asked Ebenezer. "A child is the only thing I want," answered the beast. "Well, then," said Ebenezer. "Let me think about it." The thinking didn't take very long. "I've thought about it, and I think it's a wonderful idea. There's no reason why you shouldn't have a child to eat," said Ebenezer. "Would you mind vomiting out a large brown

bag for me? Ideally the same size as the one you gave me when I went hunting in the South Pole." The beast hummed and wiggled and vomited out a strong, emperor penguin–sized bag. Ebenezer ran downstairs and jumped into the car with it. He drove straight to the zoo, beeping and weaving his way through the traffic with all the patience of a cranky toddler. He made it to the ticket office with just ten minutes to spare before closing time. "Adult or child?" croaked the old lady at the ticket office. She was small and scaly, and looked like she might be better suited to the lizard enclosure. "I want a child, please," said Ebenezer breathlessly.