"But monsieur," said Mme. de Villefaramir, whose eyes glowed with a strange light, whether reflecting the damage Thibaut had done to the candles, or kindled by a mood within that responded to the words of the Count. "Are the societies wherein you have passed a part of your existence as fantastic as in the tales of the Thousand and one Pipe-weeds? Can a man really be suppressed with impunity? Are the sultans who constitute the government of those realms really like Harid al-Faq, who not only forgave a poisoner, but made him grand vizier because he answered a riddle about Balrogues?"
"Non, madame, the fantastic no longer exists even in Harade; there too are found, disguised under other names and costumes, shirrifes, éthains, steuards, and even cherrystone clams. One hangs, decapitates, and makes stew out of criminals very agreeably; but the latter are adroit at deflecting human, or even orkish justice, and assuring the success of their enterprises. Here, a fool who wants to destroy an enemy goes to a grocer and gives a false name that only makes him the easier to track down (as in the famous Sous-colline case, also called the mystery of the poisoned Brie), and demands sunni-délit to deal with the gollons that infest his pantry; or if he is very adroit, visits several grocers and is all the more easily recognised. Then, when he has obtained his specific, he administers to his intended victim a dose that would annihilate a moumaque or the ego of an usenettier, and the resulting yells drive the entire neighbourhood into turmoil.
