The Secret Formulas of Bin Abajazhineer–3
Mohammed Bin Abajazhineer picked up a deep blood red book that was laying next to the black bag and read. I again wondered about the black bag’s purpose.
“‘It is written,’” he read, his long bony finger cruising back and forth over the page (actually, it slid from right to left, which really means that his hand was roving forth and back over the page, but whatever). “‘That some time before the Light of Arabar cooled the land and a full four centuries before Qandisa roamed the Earth seducing the first man, Jain, there came upon the Earth a race known as the Binnerani, a race who arose from the middle of the Meditterrean, thirteen in number, neither man nor woman, twelve feet in height from head to foot, with hands that carried an extra finger on their right hand, eleven fingers in all, and were born upon feet as long as shields which allowed them to walk over the surface of the ocean and unto the land.’”
At this point he lifted his head from the book, flipped a couple of pages and continued.
My mind reeled: the Binnerani? Shoes? London? The Mediterranean? What the hell was all this about? The whole thing had taken a weird and wonderful turn. Granville was taking notes.
“I shall just jump ahead a few centuries and… ah… here it is,” Bin Abazjh said flipping pages and then continuing. “‘In the sixth century BC, King Mahudummed III found and transcribed an ancient Binnerani text. In this text he tells us that, ‘the Binnerani language was the language of the Polvo a Modo–an ancient relative of the octopuii–which is more of a color than a sound and is really not a sound at all. It is through this color/sound that they taught The People of Lixus and Mogador the secrets of Sabbahlah.”
He stopped reading and with the book hanging by his side, he addressed us again. “I am a direct descendant of the line of Mogador and my people are the last of a proud and strong warrior intellegensia sect. I am the fifth son and have been entrusted with the secrets of the Binnerani and the Sabbahlah.” With this strange admission, his long pointy face tucked deep into his chin and darkened. His brow set like concrete across his face and then he nodded at the Stairwell Assassin who walked over from the door and stood back onto us and rummaged through the black duffel bag. He pulled out a bunch of black bandannas and walked around the room, tossing them on our desk. “And,” Mohammed Bin Abajazhineer said, “I intend to keep these secrets safe.”
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