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![]() A Mynah for the Kingby Ahmed A. KhanGet the eBook single!9 pages, $1.50the Pulp Corner storeon iTunesAmazon KindleNook VersionPage 2 “If the king reads them,” the young man explained patiently, “these stories will help him become a better ruler.” “Ah! Ah!” Wait till he shared this with his fellow guards once he was off-duty. This should be good for at least a five minute laugh. “So when can I see the king?” “And who are you?” “Story-teller,” he did not add “of course” but it was there in his tone. “Here, fill out this audience form and we will contact you when the king has a slot available for you in his busy schedule.” The guard reached inside his pouch, pulled out a paper and handed it to the young man. The young man looked at the form, sighed, tore the form in two, put the pieces in the guards hand, turned and left before the guard could say or do anything else. Page 1 | Page 2 | Page 3 | Page 4 | |
About the AuthorTweetAhmed A. KhanAhmed A. Khan is a Canadian writer whose works have appeared in Strange Horizons, Interzone, Anotherealm and many other venues. He has edited anthologies like SF Waxes Philosophical and A Mosque Among the Stars He maintains an irregular blog at ahmedakhan.livejournal.com.Story DiscussionStories by Ahmed A. Khan![]() A Mynah for the King“I burned the papers. The stories are in my head.” The prime minister turned to the captain of the soldiers. “You heard what he said?” “Yes, sir.” “And you heard what the king said. The king wants the stories and not the story teller.” “Yes, sir.” “The stories are in this man’s head.” “Yes, sir.” “Then what are you waiting for? Split open his head and get the stories.” The captain pulled out his sword. “No,” Read More |
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Alitza scrambled backward until she hit a barrel then pulled herself up on it, trying to keep her feet on the wet and thrashing deck. The serpent caught her movement and turned its head toward her, baring its teeth. Its neck was narrow and writhing, its claws lashing at the ship.
“Alitza!” someone yelled. She couldn’t have responded if she’d wanted to, and didn’t try…
Aubrey stifled a gasp. How could this be? His head swam. He pulled back the covers on his side, saw a fresh stain in the center of the mattress, looked down at his shorts—no, another man’s shorts.
This can’t be. No, no, no, it’s all wrong.
He stumbled from the room. Everything was strange, nothing right.
He looked out a window. A great storm brewed over the ocean. Lightning, darkness, clouds prancing like dogs beneath a treed prey. Raindrops bounced off the concrete walk, trees vacillated in the ever-changing breeze.
But this was not an ordinary storm. Aubrey saw it for what it was: the coming of the devils.
He backed away from the window. His foot caught on something, and he fell to the floor. Stickiness covered him. Blood. He looked behind him, to the object on the floor that had tripped him. A man’s body, handsome, tall, smartly dressed.
Dead. A massive blow to the head.
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