Fritting

It was Stacey.

I've come to read you two a story, she said. Where's that book?

Under the seat, said Lavender. Arthur wanted it, but we wouldn't let him have it.

Stacey leaned over the top of the seat, and tapped Arthur on the head.

You can listen too, she said kindly. Now is everyone sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin.

I'm not comfortable, said Arthur. And that's because I haven't been given a pillow.

I've heard you like to live dangerously, said Stacey.

Arthur suddenly remembered that was true.

Stacey read them the story of the fisherman who let an ifrit out of  a bottle. The ifrit threatened to kill him. The fisherman asked why. The ifrit said it was because he'd been imprisoned for so long. The fisherman didn't think that was fair because it was he who had let him out. The ifrit said it would have been a different story if he'd been let out earlier.

What's an ifrit? interrupted Lavender.

An ifrit? said Stacey. Frit.....frit..... I suppose it's a sort of fritter. Or a kind of i-fritter or something, I don't really know, but obviously they can kill you.

I saw an ifrit once, said Ouvert. At La Rochelle. At least I saw something in a bottle.

Wow, said Lavender. It might have killed you.

Arthur snorted in derision.

Alright Arthur, said Stacey, what's an ifrit ?

A genie, said Arthur.

Everyone looked disappointed.

Shall I get on with the story now? asked Stacey.