The Potentate surveyed his creamsicle tower cooly.
"Were my instructions not clear," he asked in the calm manner so many of his associates found so frightening. "Was the language I was speaking truly so difficult to decipher?"
Nobody spoke up at first, though everyone knew two things: the longer he went without an answer, the angrily the Potentate would get. The second fact, whoever spoke first stood a good chance of receiving the brunt of his displeasure. As was often the case, everyone opted for an intense anger spread over the whole group, then face being a direct target of same.
That is, except for Oscar. Not one to fear either the truth, or people's rejection of same, he opted after a few moments to speak up.
"You instructions were clear, my lord," he said without a waiver. "You exact words upon dessert 4 days ago were, 'a fortune to the men that can find a way for me to live in a dessert such as this.' Here we have a tower made of that very same recipe on which his lordship dined that day. Built to the height of a tower, and cooled by an ingenious system to remain in tact. Does your lordship wish to enter, or no?"
A long quiet washed over the assembled court. The potentate scratched his head, and made a silent step towards the icy creation, calling behind him,
"Henceforth, I am to not be taken literally, and Oscar is to be appointed my successor."
With that he stepped into the tower and vanished.