Диана Джонс - Wizard's Castle - Omnibus

Sophie looked up and frowned at the smoke. “There really is a genie!”

“But I merely require your powers of divination to tell me where Hasruel’s life is hidden,” Abdullah explained. “I am not asking for a wish.”

“ No !” howled the mauve smoke.

Flower-in-the-Night picked the bottle up and balanced it on her knee. Smoke flowed downward in puffs and seemed to try to seep into the cracks in the marble floor. “It stands to reason,” Flower-in-the-Night said, “that since every man we asked to help has had his price, then the genie has his price, also. It must be a male characteristic. Genie, if you agree to help Abdullah in this, I will promise you what logic assures me is the correct reward.”

Grudgingly the mauve smoke began to seep backward toward the bottle again. “Oh, very well,” said the genie.

Two minutes after this the charmed curtain in the doorway to the princesses’ room was swept aside, and everyone streamed out into the great hall, clamoring for Dalzel’s attention and dragging Abdullah in their midst, a helpless prisoner.

“Dalzel! Dalzel!” clamored the thirty princesses. “Is this the way you guard us? You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”

Dalzel looked up. He was leaning over the side of his great throne to play chess with Hasruel. He blanched a bit at what he saw and signed to his brother to remove the chess set. Fortunately the crowd of princesses was too thick for him to notice Sophie and the Jharine of Jham huddled in the midst of it, though his lovely eyes did fall on Jamal and narrow with astonishment. “What is it now?” he said.

“A man in our room!” screamed the princesses. “A terrible, awful man !”

“What man?” trumpeted Dalzel. “What man would dare?”

“ This one !” shrieked the princesses. Abdullah was dragged forward between Princess Beatrice and the Princess of Alberia, most shamefully clothed in almost nothing but the hooped petticoat that had hung behind the curtain. This petticoat was an essential part of the plan. Two of the things underneath it were the genie’s bottle and the magic carpet. Abdullah was glad he had taken these precautions when Dalzel glared at him. He had not known before that a djinn’s eyes could actually flame. Dalzel’s eyes were like two bluish furnaces.

Hasruel’s behavior made Abdullah even more uncomfortable. A mean grin spread over Hasruel’s huge features, and he said, “Ah! You again!” Then he folded his great arms and looked very sarcastic indeed.

“How did this fellow get in here?” Dalzel demanded in his trumpet voice.

Before anyone could answer, Flower-in-the-Night performed her part in the plan by bursting out from among the other princesses and throwing herself gracefully down on the steps of the throne. “Have mercy, great djinn!” she cried out. “He only came to rescue me!”

Dalzel laughed contemptuously. “Then the fellow’s a fool. I shall throw him straight back to earth.”

“Do that, great djinn, and I shall never leave you in peace!” Flower-in-the-Night declared.

She was not acting. She really meant it. Dalzel knew she did. A shiver ran through his narrow, pale body, and his gold-taloned fingers gripped the arms of the throne. But his eyes still flamed with rage. “I shall do what I want!” he trumpeted.

“Then desire to be merciful!” cried Flower-in-the-Night. “Give him at least a chance!”

“Be quiet, woman!” trumpeted Dalzel. “I haven’t decided yet. I want to know how he managed to get in here first.”

“Disguised as the cook’s dog, of course,” said Princess Beatrice.

“And quite naked when he turned into a man!” said the Princess of Alberia.

“Shocking business,” said Princess Beatrice. “We had to put him in the Paragon’s petticoat.”

“Bring him closer,” commanded Dalzel.

Princess Beatrice and her assistant lugged Abdullah toward the steps of the throne, Abdullah walking with little mincing steps that he hoped the djinns would put down to the petticoat. The reason, in fact, was that the third thing under the petticoat was Jamal’s dog. It was gripped rather firmly between Abdullah’s knees in case it escaped. This part of the plan made it necessary to be minus one dog, and none of the princesses had trusted Dalzel not to send Hasruel looking for it and prove that everyone was lying.

Dalzel glared down at Abdullah, and Abdullah hoped very much that Dalzel truly had almost no powers of his own. Hasruel had called his brother weak. But it occurred to Abdullah that even a weak djinn was several times stronger than a man. “You came here as a dog?” Dalzel trumpeted. “How?”

“By magic, great djinn,” Abdullah said. He had intended to make a detailed explanation at this point, but under the Paragon’s petticoat, a hidden struggle was developing. Jamal’s dog turned out to hate djinns even more than it hated most of the human race. It wanted to go for Dalzel. “I disguised myself as the dog of your cook,” Abdullah began to explain. At this point Jamal’s dog became so eager to go for Dalzel that Abdullah was afraid it would get loose. He was forced to grip his knees together tighter yet. The dog’s response was a huge, snarling growl. “Your pardon!” panted Abdullah. Sweat was standing on his brow. “I am still so much of a dog that I cannot refrain from growling from time to time.”

Flower-in-the-Night recognized that Abdullah was having problems and burst into lamentations. “O most noble prince! To suffer the shape of a dog for my sake! Spare him, noble djinn! Spare him!”

“Be quiet, woman,” said Dalzel. “Where is that cook? Bring him forward.”

Jamal was dragged forward by the Princess of Farqtan and the Heiress of Thayack, wringing his hands and cringing. “Honored djinn, it was nothing to do with me, I swear!” Jamal wailed. “Do not hurt me! I never knew he was not a real dog!” Abdullah could have sworn that Jamal was in a state of true terror. Maybe he was, but he had the presence of mind, all the same, to pat Abdullah on the head. “Nice dog,” he said. “Good fellow.” After that he fell down and groveled on the steps of the throne in the manner of Zanzib. “I am innocent, great one!” he blubbered. “Innocent! Harm me not!”

The dog was soothed by its master’s voice. Its growls stopped. Abdullah was able to relax his knees a little. “I am innocent, too, O collector of royal maidens,” he said. “I came only to rescue the one I love. You must surely feel kindly toward my devotion, since you love so many princesses yourself!”

Dalzel rubbed his chin in a perplexed way. “Love?” he said. “No, I can’t say I understand love. I can’t understand how anything could make someone put himself in your position, mortal.”

Hasruel, squatting vast and dark beside the throne, grinned more meanly than ever. “What do you want me to do with the creature, brother?” he rumbled. “Roast him? Extract his soul and make it part of the floor? Take him apart?”

“No, no! Be merciful, great Dalzel!” Flower-in-the-Night promptly cried out. “Give him at least a chance! If you do, I will never ask you questions, or complain, or lecture you again. I will be meek and polite!”

Dalzel grasped his chin again and looked uncertain. Abdullah felt much relieved. Dalzel was indeed a weak djinn—weak in character, anyway. “If I were to give him a chance—” he began.

“If you’ll take my advice, brother,” Hasruel cut in, “you won’t. He’s tricky, this one.”

At this Flower-in-the-Night raised another great wail and beat her breast. Abdullah cried out through the noise, “Let me try to guess where you hid your brother’s life, great Dalzel. If I fail to guess, kill me. If I guess right, let me depart in peace.”