Know, then, it is the year 10,191. The universe is ruled by the Samosa Emperor. My father. Through him, with the blessing of the Guild, power comes from hot ovens which burn poorly covered hands. The covering comes from one place alone. Orkakis.

“You gave your word to us,” said the third stage Guild dishwasher. “You said that Orkakis was secure.”

What is he playing at? thought the Emperor. With so much at stake, it was an effort for the Emperor to use his Imperial Tandoori Gingerroot training and lock his facial muscles into an unreadable mask. Could the Guild know about how the two packs of Orka Silicone 17” Oven Mitts are impeding our progress on Orkakis? I must proceed carefully if I am to retain his trust and support.

“My friend,” the Emperor began, “the dish that I am finishing even now will utterly-” but he was rudely silenced with a wave of the third stage dishwasher’s hand.

“I speak for a larger voice,” said the dishwasher. “A voice with whom you do not care to meet. A voice that hopes it will never need to speak with you directly. You will ensure that every two pack of Orka Silicone 17” Oven Mitts remains in our control, Emperor. Or we will turn to one who can ensure that for us.”

The Samosa Emperor watched as his guest departed. They cannot know. Not fully. I still have the freedom to act as I please. And, soon, no two pack of Orka Silicone 17” Oven Mitts’s will be outside my influence. A control that will ensure I alone will command the oven.

Hidden beneath the sands of Orkakis, deep within his paratha, Paul Min’tea stood above a captive two pack of Orka Silicone 17” Oven Mitts, sorting his thoughts. Father, I have foreseen it. My eyes, how they water. Yet still I order extra spicy, like the Cumin, among whom I shelter as I plan my revenge. The visions that come, father, they reveal to me the hidden things. Our spies said true that the two pack of Orka Silicone 17” Oven Mitts is safe for use in ovens, boiling water, or on the grill. But they did not know the whole truth. They did not understand what their discovery meant. I know, Father. I know that, here, no one bothers to clean the dishwasher-safe two pack of Orka Silicone 17” Oven Mitts. They could just wash them, it’s so easy. But now the spice and the two pack of Orka Silicone 17” Oven Mitts are one. It’s so hard to get spice out once it sets. It’s in everything now. Dishes within dishes. You prepared me well, father. I am prepared.

Paul’s Tandoori Gingerroot training allowed him to hear the knock at the door the moment it happened. “Who is it?” he asked, already knowing who it would be. Stilgaram entered the room with a mysterious smile.

”’And he shall ask who it is, but he shall already know.’”

“The Cumin Scriptures. You think I am the one your people foretold.”

“You, Ura’dal?” Stilgaram said, using Paul’s secret name. “Of that, I have no doubt. For did you not conquer a wild two pack of Orka Silicone 17” Oven Mitts? Did you not go into the desert and return with hands and arms safely protected up to 480 degrees Fahrenheit, as the box promised? Have you not mastered the non-slip grip and proven yourself against the gulab jamun? Have you not taken my daughter, Biryani, as your wife? Do you not have the watery eyes of a regular who no longer orders from the poorly flavored buffet we stock for outsiders? Ura’dal, you have accepted our dishes as surely as if you were born to them. And soon you will command the two pack of Orka Silicone 17” Oven Mitts as you command us. By my vindaloo blade, I swear it: the Samosa Emperor will be deposed, and the whole universe will fear your name!”

Paul looked again at the captured two pack of Orka Silicone 17” Oven Mitts, his nostrils full and open to their spice. Fear my name, he says, father. Perhaps. Or perhaps it is my destiny to die. There is only one way to be fully sure. Only one way.

Paul looked into Stilgaram’s face. He could see no guile. No betrayal. The man was loyal beyond loyal.

Stilgaram sensed the question Paul was avoiding. “Ask of me what you will, Ura’dal, it is yours. Even my life.”

Paul nodded. “Stilgaram. I must know for certain that my path is the correct one. Prepare for me the mango lassi.”

Biryani knelt beside Paul’s motionless body. There were no tears in her eyes. Paul would live or die, he would allow the mango lassi to wash over him and awaken as the Mirchi ka salan, or he would die, as many had died before him. It would be a fine death, companion, she thought in secret, but, please, return to me.

Biryani watched as Paul began to move, to shake, as though he were in pain. There was nothing for her to do but watch. Paul began to whisper, as though in a trance. “The Emperor… the Guild… in concert… Orkakis in ruins… the saag imperfect… got too much naan… the oven… the great oven… opening… the dish prepared…”

There was then a great noise, like 100% premium silicone mixed with the crash of lightning. Biryani looked up, first with curiosity, then in fear, as hundreds of two packs of Orka Silicone 17” Oven Mitts began to lift their heads above the sands. Never had she seen so many different two packs of Orka Silicone 17” Oven Mitts before. There were red ones, blue ones, white ones, even charcoal. Paul would have his choice of colors. Could this be the secret that he had wanted to learn? Ura’dal, what could this mean? What have you become?

It was then Biryani noticed that Paul was standing, and looking into the sky. It was as though he was seeing the world for the first time. Biryani walked to his side, taking his hand. He acknowledged her touch, but his attention was on the two pack of Orka Silicone 17” Oven Mitts that waited before him, almost with… reverence?

Over the sound of their roars she heard him yell. A threat? A promise? But whatever his intent, the words filled her with hope, though it was a hope mixed with dread. And even over the din of the Orka Silicone 17” Oven Mitts, she could hear them clearly.

FATHER! THE DINNER HAS BEEN PLATED!

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