Cairo, night.
The group stopped in a stretch of wilderness.
Magician's Red held his hands out before him, palms up, flames blazing between them. In front of him, Don Quixote still sat in his wheelchair with his legs crossed, holding two steel skewers threaded with enormous wings-three full pairs in all, each roughly half a meter long.
Despite their size, the roasted wings did not suffer from the usual problem of seasoning failing to penetrate. Both sides were golden now, the fat giving off an enticing aroma, while some invisible force kept their juices firmly locked inside.
Star Platinum crouched nearby, constantly sucking air in and blowing it out. As the Star Platinum vacuum cleaner, he naturally had to make himself useful.
Though with Magician's Red there to control the flames perfectly, they did not actually need the wind's assistance.
Meanwhile, beneath those flames was another campfire. Iggy controlled The Fool, wrapping several mud balls and quietly roasting them with Magician's Red's help.
"The wings are almost done. The beggar's hawk should be about ready too."
Magician's Red spoke in a human voice.
The instant he spoke, a decidedly unfriendly bird cry came from nearby. Ordinary people could not understand it, but they could still tell that none of those curses were anything nice.
Following the sound, they saw a falcon wearing a headcloth, bound tightly by Hermit Purple and hanging upside down from the vehicle. Crouched before him were a boy with a steak-shaped pompadour and a blond boy with fluffy hair and three circles at the front.
The two chatted as they poked here and there with little wooden sticks.
They seemed determined to thoroughly investigate the anatomy of Pet Shop, who had been reduced to a prisoner.
"First thing this morning, while I was hungry, this stupid