Wizard's Castle: Omnibus - Jones Diana Wynne. Страница 79

“How do you make that out?” asked Abdullah.

“Because he hates everyone,” said the soldier. “Maybe it’s his nature—though I daresay being shut in a bottle doesn’t help any. But don’t forget that whatever his feelings, he’s always got to grant you a wish. Why make it hard for yourself just to spite the genie? Why not make the most useful wish you can, get what you want out of it, and put up with whatever he does to send it wrong? I’ve been thinking this through, and it seems to me that whatever that genie does to send it wrong, your best wish is still to ask for that magic carpet back.”

While the soldier was speaking, Midnight—to Abdullah’s great surprise—climbed to Abdullah’s knees and rubbed herself against his face, purring. Abdullah had to admit he was flattered. He had been letting Midnight get to him as well as the genie and the soldier—not to speak of Fate. “If I wish for the carpet,” he said, “I am prepared to bet that the misfortunes the genie sends with it will far outweigh its usefulness.”

“You bet, do you?” said the soldier, “I never resist a bet. Bet you a gold piece the carpet will be more use than trouble.”

“Done,” said Abdullah. “And now you have your own way again. It perplexes me, my friend, that you never rose to command that army of yours.”

“Me, too,” said the soldier. “I’d have made a good general.”

Next morning they woke into a thick mist. Everywhere was white and wet, and it was impossible to see beyond the nearest bushes. Midnight coiled against Abdullah, shivering. The genie’s bottle, when Abdullah put it down in front of them, had a distinctly sulky look.

“Come out,” said Abdullah. “I need to make a wish.”

“I can grant it quite as well from in here,” the genie retorted hollowly. “I don’t like this damp.”

“Very well,” said Abdullah. “I wish for my magic carpet back again.”

“Done,” said the genie. “And let that teach you to make silly bets!”

For a while Abdullah looked up and around expectantly, but nothing seemed to happen. Then Midnight sprang to her feet. Whippersnapper’s face came out of the soldier’s pack, ears cocked sideways to the south. When Abdullah gazed that way, he thought he could just hear a slight whispering, which could have been the wind or something moving through the mist. Shortly the mist swirled—and swirled harder. The gray oblong of the carpet slid into sight overhead and glided to the ground beside Abdullah.

It had a passenger. Curled up on the carpet, peacefully asleep, was a villainous man with a large mustache. His beak of a nose was pressed into the carpet, but Abdullah could just see the gold ring in it, half hidden by the mustache and a dirty drape of headcloth. One of the man’s hands clutched a silver-mounted pistol. There was no question that this was Kabul Aqba again.

“I think I win the bet,” Abdullah murmured.

Even that murmur—or maybe the chilliness of the mist—set the bandit stirring and muttering fretfully. The soldier put his finger to his lips and shook his head. Abdullah nodded. If he had been on his own, he would have been wondering what on earth to do now, but with the soldier there he felt almost equal to Kabul Aqba. As quietly as he could, he made a gentle snoring noise and whispered to the carpet, “Come out from underneath that man and hover in front of me.”

Ripples ran down the edge of the carpet. Abdullah could see it was trying to obey. It gave a strong wriggle, but Kabul Aqba’s weight was evidently just too much to allow it to slide out from under him. So it tried another way. It rose an inch into the air, and before Abdullah realized what it intended to do, it had darted out from under the sleeping bandit.

“No!”said Abdullah, but he said it too late. Kabul Aqba thumped down on to the ground and woke. He sat up, waving his pistol and howling in a strange language.

In an alert, leisurely sort of way, the soldier picked up the hovering carpet and wrapped it around Kabul Aqba’s head. “Get his pistol,” he said, holding the struggling bandit in both brawny arms.

Abdullah plunged to one knee and grasped the strong hand waving the pistol. It was a very strong hand. Abdullah could do nothing about taking the pistol away. He could only hang on and go crashing to and fro as the hand tried to shake him off. Beside him the soldier was also crashing to and fro. Kabul Aqba seemed quite amazingly strong. Abdullah, as he was battered about, tried to take hold of one of the bandit’s fingers and uncurl it from around the pistol. But at this Kabul Aqba roared and rose upward, and Abdullah was flung off backward with the carpet somehow wrapped around him instead of around Kabul Aqba. The soldier hung on. He hung on even though Kabul Aqba went on rising upward, roaring now like the sky falling, and the soldier from gripping him around the arms went to gripping him around the waist and then around the top of the legs. Kabul Aqba shouted as if his voice were the thunder itself and rose up bigger yet, until both his legs were too big to hold at once, and the soldier slid down until he was grimly clutching one of them, just below its vast knee. That leg tried to kick the soldier loose and failed. Whereupon Kabul Aqba spread enormous leathery wings and tried to fly away. But the soldier, though he slid downward again, hung on still.

Abdullah saw all this while he was struggling out from under the carpet. He also caught a glimpse of Midnight standing protectively over Whippersnapper, larger even than she had been when she faced the constables. But not large enough. What stood there now was one of the mightiest of mighty djinns. Half of him was lost upward in the mist, which he was beating into swirling smoke with his wings, unable to fly because the soldier was anchoring one of his enormous taloned feet to the ground.

“Explain yourself, mightiest of mighty ones!” Abdullah shouted up into the mist. “By the Seven Great Seals, I conjure you to cease your struggling and explain!”

The djinn stopped roaring and halted the violent fanning of his wings. “You conjure me, do you, mortal?” the great sullen voice came down.

“I do indeed,” said Abdullah. “Say what you were doing with my carpet and in the form of that most ignoble of nomads. You have wronged me at least twice!”

“Very well,” said the djinn. He began ponderously to kneel down.

“You can let go now,” Abdullah said to the soldier, who, not knowing the laws that governed djinns, was still hanging on to the vast foot. “He has to stay and answer me now.”

Warily the soldier let go and mopped sweat from his face. He did not seem reassured when the djinn simply folded his wings and knelt. This was not surprising, because the djinn was high as a house even kneeling, and the face coming into view through the mist was hideous. Abdullah had another glimpse of Midnight, now normal size again, scurrying for the bushes with Whippersnapper dangling from her mouth. But the face of the djinn took up most of his attention. He had seen that blank brown glare and the gold ring through that hooked nose—albeit briefly—before, when Flower-in-the-Night was carried off from the garden.

“Correction,” Abdullah said. “You have wronged me three times.”

“Oh, more than that,” the djinn rumbled blandly. “So many times that I have lost count.”

At this Abdullah found himself angrily folding his arms. “Explain.”

“Willingly,” said the djinn. “I was indeed hoping to be asked by someone, although I had supposed the questions most likely to come from the Duke of Farqtan or the three rival princes of Thayack, rather than from you. But none of the rest has proved determined enough— which surprises me somewhat, because you were certainly never my main irons in the fire, either of you. Know then that I am one of the greatest of the host of Good Djinns, and my name is Hasruel.”

“I didn’t know there were any good djinns,” said the soldier.