A Whole New World

by Liz Braswell

  “The Mark of Jafar,” Morgiana spat. “Like on his coins and flags.”

  Jasmine put her hand to her mouth, unsure if she was going to throw up or swear in frustration.

  Amur swore.

  “My apologies, Morgiana,” he growled. “You know your business. You have the eye of a hawk.”

  “What is that?” Jasmine finally asked, moving forward to get a closer look.

  The man’s slitted eyes raced back and forth like a crazed horse’s. He tried to scramble with his legs but Ahmed sat on them and held them together tightly.

  “It’s a brand,” Shirin said simply. “Like what they do to goats.”

  “Who did this to you?” Jasmine asked the man coldly.

  “You get extra,” the man whined. “The red light. He looks into you and sees that you really are completely devoted. And then you get the mark. And then you get meat and gold.”

  “But what about…the oaths?” Jasmine asked. “Don’t you get bread just for saying the oaths?”

  “Everyone lies,” the man jeered. “But I’m pure. I’m safe. I’m one of Jafar’s men now. A Branded One.”

  “Dear heaven,” Amur murmured. “When did this start?”

  “I am in the first hundred,” the man bragged. “Soon all of Agrabah will be pure, but I am one of the first.”

  “He can’t make them love him with magic or bread,” Jasmine said. “So he’s gaining their loyalty by torture and fear? Where is he doing this?”

  “In the palace,” the man answered sullenly. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve seen you. I am the eyes and ears of Jafar.”

  “We’ll have to kill him,” Morgiana said.

  “No,” Jasmine said, more tiredly than righteously. She thought quickly. What would Aladdin do?

  Lie.

  “So Jafar knows I’m in the city—he probably already knew that. He doesn’t know where I’ll be next. Because…I never stay still. I never sleep in the same place twice. I move like the wind and the shadows. I am sheltered by the good and faithful all over Agrabah, in every neighborhood.

  “Go crawling back to your master, scum. Tell him that I am the eyes and ears of my people, and they do not want him.”

  Morgiana dug the dagger in one more time, drawing blood.

  Then she let him go.

  In a series of clumsy, desperate flops, the man got up and ran away from them, sandals hitting the ground loudly.

  He didn’t even shout a curse or promise back at them.

  “Coward,” Amur spat.

  Jasmine wanted to crumple to the ground. The smell of recently burned flesh was still in her nose; the Mark of Jafar hung in the air before her eyes, bloody and pale.

  Morgiana put her arm around the princess’s shoulders.

  “Jasmine,” she said, “I believe it’s time to rethink our tactics. He’s building his own power base—a strong one—with threats and rewards.”

  “You’re right,” Jasmine growled. “This isn’t some heist-and-hijinks resistance operation anymore. We can’t wait around patiently to win the hearts and minds of all of Agrabah. We need to do more.

  “We need to attack Jafar directly and take back Agrabah.”

  BROTHER AND SISTER were in the sky together, if briefly: the sun was just sinking below the horizon in the west. The moon followed not far behind, slowly chasing the day away. It was a strange orange crescent that night, its tips pointed directly down like a bull getting ready to charge. Old folks called it a dry moon and said bad times were coming.

  As if the curfew, the patrols, and the loyalty brands weren’t bad enough, Aladdin thought cynically.

  But the moon was also beautiful with the stars beginning to come out around her and palms below, waving in the hot wind. At least that’s what he told himself and Abu.

  This heist was going to be trickier precisely because it was at dusk. The Peacekeeping Patrols were just setting out, so the streets were empty. There was no chance of using the “watering the camels” ploy or “angry merchants arguing” gambit or “flock of wayward goats” ruse to distract the drivers of the caravan.

  “Injured child” would have to do: a girl lying in the street, moaning in pain and grabbing her leg. In some ways this was actually better in the early evening, because she would have more reason to be terrified, not wanting to get left by herself to be found by the patrols.

  This was the big one—the caravan from Carcossa. In it they would almost certainly find Al Azif. Keeping that out of Jafar’s hands was pivotal in the war they planned to wage against the sorcerer to take back the city. Once he got it and began to raise the undead, things would get a lot harder.

  And besides the obvious advantage of depriving Jafar of a weapon he was counting on, a victory against the “all-powerful sorcerer” would be huge for morale. It would be a sign to the rest of Agrabah that the good guys could win—and that, in turn, would drive even more people over to their side. Jafar would begin to feel vulnerable. Then it would only be a matter of time before they could defeat him entirely.

  Aladdin waited on a rooftop, watching the wagons that appeared on the horizon grow larger and larger. The warm, dry wind whipped around his face, bringing the resinous scent of desert scrub with it. He wished Jasmine could be there next to him—just the two of them, sharing a quiet moment on a rooftop together. Like they were originally supposed to, scant moons ago, when she was just a rich girl in disguise slumming it and he didn’t even have a name.

  He sighed, kicking his dry, bare feet against the dried mud roof. Someday there would be time. When all of this was over. When Jafar was overthrown and the city was theirs and Jasmine was sultana…instituting her reforms.…Sure, there would be plenty of time for hanging out on rooftops.

  Right now she was back at the lair, working on plans to attack the palace. Amur had brought in the lead Alchemaic to discuss explosives. Morgiana had organized the sudden influx of new recruits, dividing them into real troops. Duban was in charge of tactics, along with some new guy named Sohrab, who had defected from the royal guard. Maruf managed the flow of supplies to their incipient army and continued the largesse to families who supported the resistance.

  Aladdin was in charge of making trouble, of course. That was why he was leading tonight’s raid.

  The wagons stopped their forward motion just inside the city gates.

  A girl lying on the ground cried up for them to help her.

  “Please, Esteemed Effendi! Give me a ride—anywhere. Even a few blocks to the first empty house you see! So I might seek refuge from the night and the Peacekeeping Patrols!”

  That was Aladdin’s cue.

  He leapt down lightly, Abu beside him. The drivers—although strangely drawn-looking and hollow-eyed—were predictably more annoyed by the interruption of their routine than concerned for the little girl’s safety. They got down to move her just a few feet out of their way and damn her fate to the patrols.

  So Aladdin didn’t feel too bad when Morgiana and Duban slipped out of the shadows behind the drivers and knocked the backs of their heads with silent leather-covered clubs. The plan was to tie them up somewhere after drawing all sorts of strange insignia on their clothes—as if they had been magically subdued by a rival sorcerer. As much as Aladdin didn’t like those who worked for Jafar, he didn’t want to see them lose their lives because they had failed their master.

  Street Rats melted out of the scenery, hoisted the guards between them, and disappeared again. Aladdin gently took the reins of the lead camel, whispering and clicking his tongue. A little unnerved by the turn of events, the animals immediately followed their new human master. He would probably, like all humans, give them water and food. Abu leapt onto the back of one and chittered like he was driving the whole caravan himself.

  Aladdin led them back out the gate and around the outside wall. If Agrabah was quiet at night these days, the outskirts of the desert were as silent as death. The insects and little chirping lizards and animals that usually called through the dark
hours were still. The only noise came from the wind whispering through the dry grasses.

  Aladdin found himself shivering despite the heat and was relieved when they came to the crack in the wall where a whole crowd of Street Rats was waiting quietly to unload all the books and artifacts at once in one long human chain. He patted the lead camel on her neck.

  “We’ll get you all watered in a moment,” he promised before going to the back of the wagon and throwing open its cloth flaps. There were crates and urns and even western-style barrels sealed tightly for the trip. Someone handed Aladdin a metal-tipped construction hook and he went to work immediately, prying the lid off the first of the crates.

  It was filled to the top with ancient moldering…

  …rocks?

  He stared at the beige and gray desert stones, chunky and worn. They were all jumbled together like a giant child had picked up a handful of pebbles and stashed them away, pretending they were precious gems.

  He opened another crate. More rocks.

  He brought the tool down on a clay amphora, smashing the top off. Instead of holy water or magic potions—or even wine or beer—sand poured out in a fine stream that mockingly replicated the thing it replaced.

  Aladdin stared at it for only a moment before reacting.

  “Get out!”

  He spun around and shoved the smaller Street Rats in front of him, trying to make them move faster.

  “It’s a trap! Get out! Run! Hide!”

  Malicious laughter rose all around him. It grew like a dust storm: from the desert, from the city walls, from the streets, from the very air itself.

  “Did you really think your little treacheries would go unnoticed by me?”

  Aladdin tried not to pay attention to the voice of Jafar as he concentrated on getting the children away. He put two up on a camel and whacked its flank, causing it to scream in annoyance and gallop off into the city.

  “Me. Sultan of this city and greatest sorcerer in the world. You thought you could hide from me?”

  Duban and Morgiana had abandoned the original plan: upon hearing the voice, they had just left the unconscious guards and run to find Aladdin. They helped scatter and send off the rest of the Street Rats.

  “We have to warn Jasmine,” Aladdin said as the last little thief ran off. “Is she back at your hideout?”

  In silent answer, Jasmine herself stepped out of the shadows, looking a little guilty.

  Aladdin threw his arms around her and squeezed so tightly he was almost afraid of breaking her. He kissed her hard.

  “And here I was thinking you’d be angry I came to see one of your heists,” she said with a rueful smile.

  “I’m just glad you’re safe with me.”

  “But other people are at the hideout,” Jasmine said. “Maruf and Shirin and Ahmed and everyone else not here. We should go back.…”

  “No one has turned over its location yet,” Morgiana said uncertainly.

  “Did you Street Rats really think you could talk to the genie, right under my nose, as it were? The genie whom I control? Oh, yes, Jasmine. I caught him coming back from your little tryst. He didn’t want to tell me anything—not without me giving up my last wish for it, of course. It took me a while to convince him. Far longer, and with far more torture, than I expected.”

  Jasmine went pale. Aladdin put his arm around her waist as she swayed, sick with shock.

  “But, in the end, he told me everything about your little plan. And with the help of some of my Branded Ones, I’ve learned about the location of your—and I use this term loosely—‘headquarters.’

  “My scouts had already returned from Carcossa. Al Azif is already in my possession. This was just to lure you out…leaving your hideout completely unprotected.”

  “My father…” Duban said, eyes wide. “The kids…”

  “We have to go back,” Morgiana said grimly.

  Aladdin agreed. It was probably another trap, but what choice did they have? They couldn’t let Maruf and the children perish. The four of them began to run.

  Jafar’s voice followed them mockingly.

  “You still don’t understand, little Rats. True power is not the will of the people. It is not brute force, or trickery, or stealth or planning. All of this—all of this—can be overcome with magic. Your people of Agrabah understand that. Magic brought them gold, and bread, and police, and peace, and prosperity. Magic brings pain and obedience. Magic is the only way to change a corrupt, broken system. Magic is the only true power in the world. And you have none.”

  Aladdin didn’t think he had ever moved so fast. Morgiana, lighter and swifter than he, raced on ahead like a gazelle. Then came Jasmine. Duban brought up the rear, and as much as he huffed and puffed, the veteran thief didn’t weaken or slow his pace.

  “PEOPLE OF AGRABAH. Behold those who would make life hard for you. They scurry like the very rats they call themselves and escape into the filth and the diseased parts of your beloved city. If you would see Agrabah at peace and prosperous, I would implore you to turn in any of these villainous wretches who are trying to tear it apart.”

  As the friends finally got close to the Quarter, a strange smell began to permeate the air. It didn’t come and then fade, like when they passed a garbage pile or an open sewer. It stayed as they ran…and grew stronger the closer they approached the hideout. The stench was terrible, like rotten meat, filth, decaying corpses, all mixed in the heat of the sun.

  Aladdin shook his head and tried to focus on running. The four of them had to veer to the left quickly to avoid hitting a Peacekeeping Patrol head-on. The patrol turned to follow them—but in the same ominous, constant-yet-slow pace they walked through the rest of the city.

  Aladdin and Jasmine barged through the secret entrance of the hideout first, sliding down into the main room. The horrible smell was stronger here, almost overpowering in the close quarters.

  Jasmine held her nose and hurried into her war room. Aladdin pulled his vest up over his face and followed close behind.

  The map of Agrabah was gone.

  It had been completely erased from the floor. The pebble buildings were strewn across the room like a giant wind had taken them. The Mark of Rajah on the wall was ominously blurred, like someone had tried to wipe it off.

  Aladdin frowned—either someone from Jafar’s camp had been there or the Street Rats had tried to destroy everything to keep anyone from seeing their plans. It was impossible to tell.

  Morgiana and Duban entered their lair by other secret means and ran through the rooms at their end to meet up with Aladdin and Jasmine.

  “It’s empty,” Duban announced, trying not to breathe.

  “Everybody already godd oudd?” Jasmine suggested doubtfully through a pinched nose.

  “What is that smell?” Morgiana asked, gasping.

  Aladdin had no idea. But he didn’t like the way things were adding up. Something was off about the whole place.

  And still Jafar’s voice echoed through the walls.

  “I’m afraid…that until we have quelled this terrorist group, I will just have to keep a closer eye on everyone. I’ve tried the carrot, and now it’s time for the stick. And just in case you’re wondering how serious I am about your safety, please come by the palace gates and see what’s left of some Street Rat sympathizers we caught.”

  Jasmine turned white. Duban looked sick. Morgiana spat in anger. Aladdin wondered how bad it was—if what he imagined was worse than what Jafar had actually done.

  “We should gedd oudd of here,” Aladdin said, choking on the stench.

  They didn’t even bother trying to keep their noises and movements small; the bad guys already knew where they were. The four friends burst out of the entrance with daggers drawn, ready for an attack.

  Down the street, palace guards were heading toward them, rising up into the air.

  “What the…” Duban said, rubbing his eyes.

  “Is this more of Jafar’s trickery?” Morgiana demanded.

/>   The guards eerily hovered above the buildings, hands at the ready over their swords.

  Without even seeming to try, they arranged themselves in military formation, two by three. Their uniforms were slightly different from those of the rest of the red-and-black guards; each wore thick, colorful cuffs on the ends of their sleeves that were strangely patterned for a military group.

  “Oh, no,” Aladdin said with horror, recognizing the design.

  “It’s the magic carpet,” Jasmine whispered.

  “Jafar must have cut him—it—up.” Aladdin felt sick with shame. Despite the carpet being just that—a carpet, magicked into being able to fly and having a rudimentary understanding of the world around it—Aladdin felt like he had betrayed a friend.

  Abu chittered sympathetically on his shoulder.

  Jafar had taken another mysterious, beautiful thing and destroyed it, twisting it for his own purposes. Everything he touched he desecrated.

  And the guards stank. They were the source of the terrible smell. What was Jafar doing now—forbidding baths?

  Jasmine pointed to the captain of the flying soldiers. He was large and maneuvered silently into place at their lead.

  “Ra-Rasoul,” she stammered in disbelief. “He was dead. He died that day.…”

  Aladdin bit back a cry.

  It was Rasoul leading the phalanx. His eyes were red. A dead black-red that somehow made them look smaller and infinitely deeper than they should have. His skin was white, like a grub or old nail clippings or the fat of a long-butchered sheep. His arms and legs hung, unmoving, by his sides.

  “He is…risen from the dead,” Morgiana said. For the frst time perhaps ever, Aladdin heard fear creeping into her voice.

  Aladdin had never meant to kill Rasoul. And the guard certainly didn’t deserve this. To be turned into a ghoul. Was he in pain? Did he have any control over his actions? Did he just long to be at peace? Was he enraged at the living?

  Whatever happened now was, in some ways, Aladdin’s fault.

  He straightened his shoulders and shook off the nausea. Guilt he would deal with later. Mistakes he would make up for later. Right now they had to survive.