This caused a silence, if possible more frozen, outraged, and royal than before, until Flower-in-the-Night pulled herself together and rose to her feet again. “My friends,” she said, “we all need the help of this man—if only for his ruthless, low cunning. What we do not want is to have a beast like him set over us to guard us. Therefore, I vote that he be allowed to choose a wife from among us. Who disagrees?”
It was clear that every other princess disagreed mightily. Further freezing looks were turned on the soldier, who grinned and said, “If I go to Dalzel and offer myself to guard you, rest assured you’ll never get away. I’m up to every trick. Isn’t that true?” he asked Abdullah.
“It is true, most cunning corporal,” Abdullah said.
There was a small murmuring from the tiny princess. “She says she’s married already—those fourteen children, you know,” said the elderly princess, who seemed to understand the murmur.
“Then let all who are as yet unmarried please raise their hands,” said Flower-in-the-Night, and most determinedly, raised her own.
Waveringly, reluctantly, two-thirds of the other princesses put their hands up, also. The soldier’s head turned slowly as he looked around them, and the look on his face reminded Abdullah of Sophie when, as Midnight, she was about to feast on salmon and cream. Abdullah’s heart stood still as the man’s blue eyes traveled from princess to princess. It was obvious he would choose Flower-in-the-Night. Her beauty stood out like a lily in the moonlight.
“You,” said the soldier at last, and pointed. To Abdullah’s astonished relief, he was pointing at Princess Beatrice.
Princess Beatrice was equally astonished. “Me?” she said.
“Yes, you,” said the soldier. “I’ve always fancied a nice bossy, downright princess like you. Fact that you’re a Strangian, too, makes it ideal.”
Princess Beatrice’s face had become a bright beety red. It did not improve her looks. “But—but—” she said, and then pulled herself together. “My good soldier, I’ll have you know I’m supposed to be marrying Prince Justin of Ingary.”
“Then you’ll just have to tell him you’re spoken for,” said the soldier. “Politics, wasn’t it? It seems to me you’ll be glad to get out of it.”
“Well, I—” began Princess Beatrice. To Abdullah’s surprise, there were tears in her eyes, and she had to start again. “You don’t mean it!” she said. “I’m not good-looking or any of those things.”
“That suits me,” said the soldier, “down to the ground. What would I do with a flimsy, pretty little princess? I can see you’d back me up whatever scam I got up to—and I bet you can darn socks, too.”
“Believe it or not, I can darn,” said Princess Beatrice. “And mend boots. You really mean it?”
“Yes,” said the soldier.
The two of them had swung around to face each other, and it was clear that both were entirely in earnest. And the rest of the princesses had somehow forgotten to be frozen and royal. Every one of them was leaning forward to watch with a tender, approving smile. There was the same smile on Flower-in-the-Night’s face as she said, “Now may we continue our discussion, if no one else objects?”
“Me. I do,” said Jamal. “I object.”
All the princesses groaned. Jamal’s face was almost as red as Princess Beatrice’s, and his one eye was screwed up; but the soldier’s example had made him bold.
“Lovely ladies,” he said, “we are frightened, me and my dog. Until we got snatched away up here to do your cooking for you, we were on the run in the desert with the Sultan’s camels at our heels. We don’t want to be sent back to that. But if all you perfect princesses get away from here, what do we do? Djinns don’t eat the kind of food I can cook. Meaning no disrespect to anyone, if I help you to get away, my dog and I are out of a job. It’s as simple as that.”
“Oh, dear,” said Flower-in-the-Night, and seemed not to know what else to say.
“Such a shame. He’s a very good cook,” remarked a plump princess in a loose red gown, who was probably the Paragon of Inhico.
“He certainly is!” said the elderly Princess of High Norland. “I shudder to remember the food those djinns kept stealing for us until he came.” She turned to Jamal. “My grandfather once had a cook from Rashpuht,” she said, “and until you got here, I’d never tasted anything like that man’s fried squid! And yours is even better. You help us to escape, my man, and I’ll employ you like a shot, dog and all. But,” she added as a grin brightened on Jamal’s leathery face, “please remember that my old father only rules a very small principality. You’ll get board and lodging, but I can’t afford a big wage.”
The grin remained broadly fixed on Jamal’s features, “My great, great lady,” he said, “it is not wages I want, only safety. For this I will cook you food fit for angels.”
“Hmm,” said the elderly princess. “I’m not at all sure what those angels eat, but that’s settled then. Does either of you other two want anything before you’ll help?”
Everyone looked at Sophie.
“Not really,” Sophie said rather sadly. “I’ve got Morgan, and since Howl doesn’t seem to be here, there’s nothing else I need. I’ll help you, anyway.”
Everyone looked at Abdullah then.
He rose to his feet and bowed. “O moons of many monarchs’ eyes,” he said, “far be it from one as unworthy as me to impose any kind of condition for my help on such as you. Help freely given is best, as the books tell us.” He had got this far in his magnificent and generous speech when he realized it was all nonsense. There was something he did want—very much indeed. He hastily changed his tack. “And freely given my help will be,” he said, “as free as air blows or rain bedews the flowers. I will work myself to extinction for your noble sakes and crave only in return one small boon, most simply granted—”
“Get on with it, young man!” said the Princess of High Norland. “What do you want?”
“Five minutes’ talk in private with Flower-in-the-Night,” Abdullah admitted.
Everyone looked at Flower-in-the-Night. Her head went up, rather dangerously.
“Come off it, Flower!” said Princess Beatrice. “Five minutes won’t kill you!”
Flower-in-the-Night seemed fairly clear that it might kill her. She said, like a princess going to her execution, “Very well,” and, with a more than usually freezing look in the direction of Abdullah, she asked, “Now?”
“Or sooner, dove of my desire,” he said, bowing firmly.
Flower-in-the-Night nodded frigidly and stalked away to the side of the room, looking positively martyred. “Here,” she said as Abdullah followed her.
He bowed again, even more firmly. “I said, in private, O starry subject of my sighs,” he pointed out.
Flower-in-the-Night irritably twitched aside one of the curtains hanging beside her. “They can probably still hear,” she said coldly, beckoning him after her.
“But not see, princess of my passion,” Abdullah said, edging behind the curtain.
He found himself in a tiny alcove. Sophie’s voice came to him clearly. “That’s the loose brick where I used to hide money. I hope they have room.” Whatever the place once had been, it now seemed to be the princesses’ wardrobe. There was a riding jacket hanging behind Flower-in-the-Night as she folded her arms and faced Abdullah. Cloaks, coats, and a hooped petticoat that evidently went under the loose red garment worn by the Paragon of Inhico dangled around Abdullah as he faced Flower-in-the-Night. Still, Abdullah reflected, it was not much smaller or more crowded than his own booth in Zanzib, and that was usually private enough.
“What did you want to say?” Flower-in-the-Night asked freezingly.
“To ask the reason for this very coldness!” Abdullah answered heatedly. “What have I done that you will barely look at me and barely speak? Have I not come here, expressly to rescue you? Have I not, alone of all the disappointed lovers, braved every peril in order to reach this castle? Have I not gone through the most strenuous
adventures, allowing your father to threaten me, the soldier to cheat me, and the genie to mock me, solely in order to bring you my aid? What more do I have to do? Or should I conclude that you have fallen in love with Dalzel?”
“Dalzel!” exclaimed Flower-in-the-Night. “Now you insult me! Now you add insult to injury! Now I see Beatrice was right and you do indeed not love me!”
“Beatrice!” thundered Abdullah. “What has she to say how I feel?”
Flower-in-the-Night hung her head a little, although she looked more sulky than ashamed. There was a dead silence. In fact, the silence was so very dead that Abdullah realized that the sixty ears of all the other thirty princesses—no, sixty-eight ears, if you counted Sophie, the soldier, Jamal, and his dog and assumed Morgan was asleep—anyway, that all these ears were at that moment focused entirely upon what he and Flower-in-the-Night were saying.
“Talk among yourselves!” he shouted.
The silence became uneasy. It was broken by the elderly princess saying, “The most distressing thing about being up here above the clouds is that there is no weather to make conversation out of.”
Abdullah waited until this statement was followed by a reluctant hum of other voices and then turned back to Flower-in-the-Night. “Well? What did Princess Beatrice say?”
Flower-in-the-Night raised her head haughtily. “She said that portraits of other men and pretty speeches were all very well, but she couldn’t help noticing you’d never made the slightest attempt to kiss me.”
“Impertinent woman!” said Abdullah. “When I first saw you, I assumed you were a dream. I assumed you would only melt.”
“But,” said Flower-in-the-Night, “the second time you saw me, you seemed quite sure I was real.”
“Certainly,” said Abdullah, “but then it would have been unfair because, if you recall, you had then seen no other living men but your father and myself.”
“Beatrice,” said Flower-in-the-Night, “says that men who do nothing but make fine speeches make very poor husbands.”
“Bother Princess Beatrice!” said Abdullah. “What do you think?”
“I think,” said Flower-in-the-Night, “I think I want to know why you found me too unattractive to be worth kissing.”
“I DIDN’T find you unattractive!” bawled Abdullah. Then he remembered the sixty-eight ears beyond the curtain and added in a fierce whisper, “If you must know, I—I had never in my life kissed a young lady, and you are far too beautiful for me to want to get it wrong!”
A small smile, heralded by a deep dimple, stole across Flower-in-the-Night’s mouth. “And how many young ladies have you kissed by now?”
“None!” groaned Abdullah. “I am still a total amateur!”
“So am I,” admitted Flower-in-the-Night. “Though at least I know enough not to mistake you for a woman now. That was very stupid!”
She gave a gurgle of laughter. Abdullah gave another gurgle. In no time at all, both of them were laughing heartily, until Abdullah gasped, “I think we should practice!”
After that there was silence from behind the curtain. This silence went on so long that all the princesses ran out of small talk, except Princess Beatrice, who seemed to have a lot to say to the soldier. At length Sophie called out, “Are you two finished?”
“Certainly,” Flower-in-the-Night and Abdullah called out. “Absolutely!”
“Then let’s make some plans,” said Sophie.
Plans were no problem at all to Abdullah in the state of mind he was in just then. He came out from behind the curtain holding Flower-in-the-Night’s hand, and if the castle had chanced to vanish at that moment, he knew he could have walked on the clouds beneath or, failing that, on air. As it was, he walked across what seemed a very unworthy marble floor and simply took charge.
Chapter 20
In which a djinn’s life is found and then hidden.
Ten minutes later Abdullah said, “There, most eminent and intelligent persons, are our plans laid. It only remains for the genie—”
Purple smoke poured from the bottle and trailed in agitated waves along the marble floor. “You do not use me!” cried the genie. “I said toads, and I mean toads! Hasruel put me in this bottle, don’t you understand? If I do anything against him, he’ll put me somewhere even worse!”
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 Par
agon’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.