by Liz Braswell
Morgiana swallowed in nervousness.
“I just wanted to pick pockets for a living,” she said. “Maybe get involved with some high-end jewelry theft. I’m going to lose my head over this little civil uprising.”
“I’ll take these guys over the ghouls any day,” Duban shot back in a whisper. “Better to die at the hands of a man.”
“Wait a minute.…We haven’t seen any ghouls recently,” Aladdin said slowly. “They’re all human guards here inside the palace. Alive. Except for the ghouls outside in the air, with that lantern.”
“They need guards who can actually think and act independently close to Jafar,” Morgiana said, nodding. “Not just, you know, go, ‘Ooogh, die!’”
Two more human guards marched into view. The three thieves fell into silence.
“Forty-five heartbeats,” Duban said when they were gone. “That’s how much time between them we have.”
Morgiana took her grappling hook and swung it around and around, estimating the distance between them and the opening across the way that led to the baths. She kept swinging until the next set of guards marched by below them…and then she immediately let the hook fly.
It missed.
She cursed as it hit the far wall and clattered to the floor.
Quietly as she could, Morgiana whipped the cord hand over hand like a fisherman trying to draw in a line before the end got snagged. When she pulled it up the wall, it dragged, making little scratchy noises.
Two more guards came into view.
Morgiana froze.
The hook hung there, obviously, in the middle of the white marble wall, at the end of a long, suspicious-looking rope.
The guards walked right by it.
The three thieves let out breaths they didn’t even know they were holding.
Morgiana swore again and yanked the hook in, then cast it back out immediately.
It grabbed hold of the opposite ledge—and this time it stayed.
They held their breath again when the next set of guards came by, but the rope hung high above them, unnoticed, as they passed underneath. As soon as they were gone, Morgiana lightly leapt up on it and ran across like it was a tightrope. Duban was next, more slowly, but just as surely. With a measured pace he made it to the other side and dove through the window just as the guards came by.
Finally, it was Aladdin’s turn. He had braced the cord for the other two; now he had no one to do it for him. He grabbed a chair and pulled it close to the window, quickly looping the cord through its arm in a highwayman’s hitch, a knot that would release easily when he was ready. Holding the extra cord in his hand, he waited until the next guards had gone and then leapt up onto the ledge and stepped onto the rope.
He was more than halfway across when the chair tipped.
The sudden slackening of the cord caused Aladdin to pitch forward. He swung his arms desperately, trying to regain his balance.
He didn’t.
He fell—
—and the next pair of guards rounded the corner.
THE DYING MAN BREATHED strangely. First it was quick shallow breaths. Then, gasping, deep, horrible noises, like all the air in the world couldn’t help him now.
Jasmine knelt over him, holding one of his hands with her left hand and nervously stroking his brow with her right. In addition to friends, babies, and the rest of the world, the royal princess had also been isolated from sickness and death. She had no idea what she was doing. She was terrified in a way she hadn’t been when her own parents had died. It took all of her energy just to keep the tears in check and her face calm.
Sohrab had tried to persuade her to let him…do what was necessary. But she had sent him away to continue giving orders in her name. “I am sultana. I cannot expect people to do for me what I cannot,” she had said to the general.
“It will be all right,” she murmured to the man, wondering how bad it was to lie to the dying.
But he didn’t appear to be listening; his eyes were wide and focused on something beyond her.
A long, glittering, sharp knife lay on the floor next to him.
After endless moments of labored breathing and silent staring he suddenly spasmed. His head lifted like he was looking for something.
Then he fell back and stopped moving.
His eyes were still open but there was nothing in them at all now.
Jasmine bit her lip in a furious attempt not to cry. She bowed her head and began to whisper the only prayer she knew that fit the circumstances.
Khosrow finally appeared at the door. He came over and made some gestures over the young man. He closed his eyes and began to pray with her.
The dead man also closed his eyes.
And then he opened them again.
Where his eyes had been were now pools of dark, evil red.
Khosrow’s own eyes widened but he did not stop praying; he merely spoke the words more loudly.
Jasmine picked up the knife.
The ghoul sat up and made clicking noises in the back of its throat, the unlikely sound of clearing leftover, drying blood from it.
Jasmine gritted her teeth and brought the blade down across its exposed throat. She flinched but didn’t hesitate as the edge hit sinew and bone.
The ghoul didn’t scream.
It didn’t thank her.
It gurgled and made some more sounds before growing still, lifeless again.
The guards were heading across the courtyard straight for Aladdin.
Aladdin flailed his arms as he fell, desperately pin-wheeling them, trying to grab for the rope. At the very last second he managed to snag it.
“Quick!” Morgiana hissed, working the hook out of the wall. Together she and Duban wrapped the cord around their fists, trying to pull up Aladdin as he dipped precipitously toward the ground.
He bent his torso like a performer in the market—slowly, so as not to draw attention to himself. Straining his arms, he managed to pull his knees to his chest, his toes braced on the underside of the rope. He hung there upside down like a bat.
The guards kept marching forward…under him.
The red feather on the turban of one tickled Aladdin’s back as he passed under the thief. The guard unthinkingly reached up to stroke his feather back into place. And then they were gone.
Aladdin uncoiled himself slowly, feeling his stomach also uncoil in relief at the same time.
Hand over hand he pulled himself toward Duban and Morgiana. Duban reached over and grabbed him; the knot on the chair loosed itself and the rope fell to the courtyard.
Aladdin quickly pulled it back up and wrapped it around his arm.
“That was close,” Morgiana whispered.
“Aw, that was nothing,” Aladdin said. “I’ve escaped worse with a bunch of stolen bananas.”
“Hey, speaking of, where is Abu? He always comes on your little adventures.”
Aladdin looked bleak. “I…left him back home. If things got bad, I wanted him to be free.”
Silent and sober, the thieves pressed on.
When Sohrab came in, he clapped Jasmine sympathetically on her back and then resumed his duties, like a good soldier. He reported on what her various battalions were doing and what the score was. Some of the religious acolytes had taken the body away, but Jasmine still felt its presence.
“I’m sorry—how many down?” she suddenly asked, realizing she hadn’t been paying attention.
“We don’t know exactly who was caught in the second blast,” Sohrab said, a little impatiently. “Honestly, I have no idea what our true numbers are. This is all a bit more sudden and disorganized than I’m used to.”
“‘Numbers’? These are people. And they are being killed. And raised from the dead. And added to his side, unless someone puts them to their permanent rest. This has to stop. We have to stop people from being killed. Now.”
She said this last part shakily, barely in control of herself.
“Jasmine, this is war,” Sohrab said calmly. “St
range, unholy war. You might have read about tactics and history and wars in the past—but this is reality. People get hurt. People get killed. Do you want to save Agrabah and Maruf and the children?”
“Of course,” Jasmine said. She took a deep breath. “Of course.”
She walked to the doorway and looked up at the sky; even with the dust she could see Hormozd, the large red planet, just beginning to sink behind the mountains. On the other side of the sky, the heavens were a shade lighter than they had been just a little while ago. The sun was preparing to rise. “I will do what needs to be done.”
“Of course, Princess. You would…you would make the warriors of old proud.”
Sohrab saluted and went back inside to give more orders.
The moment his back was turned, Jasmine ran out into the night.
She drew her robe close to obscure her face and body. She passed by the crowds of Street Rats running off on their missions, completely unnoticed. There was a strange excitement in the crowds incompletely illuminated by the scattered torches. People who would normally never have talked to each other were cursing and planning, arguing and preparing. Such teamwork as Jasmine had never been part of. Ever. She wished she could have stayed and joined them.
Well, hers was a different fate. It was up to her to save Agrabah now.
She walked alone into the darkness, leaving the Street Rat army behind her.
She kept to the back alleys, hiding whenever anyone came too close: frightened citizens, angry mobs, scimitar-wielding imperial guards. There was so much confusion in the streets she didn’t worry about any of the aerial soldiers; all they would see—if they spotted her—was one scared, running woman with no torch or weapon. There were far more important things that night for them to deal with.
She passed a courtyard where smoke and fire blanketed everything in blurry light and shadow; despite this, she could see the dark outline of a large tiger pounding through the streets like a ghost.
Jasmine smiled and waved, although he couldn’t see her.
A fsssst caused her to look up: four more fiery arrows passed through the night sky, making a giant Mark of Rajah. Time for Pareesa to start her fire.
Everything was going according to plan. Without her.
Good.
Eventually she found what she was looking for: a lone red-eyed ghoul standing in a pool of darkness, scimitar out. Waiting for orders. Blocking a street.
“Lower your weapon,” Jasmine ordered, stepping forward into its line of sight.
The ghoul slowly raised its head.
“Do you remember me? I am Princess Jasmine. The bride Jafar wants to marry. I am turning myself in. Take me to him.”
Though they were sneaking silently through the shadows quite possibly to meet their doom, still Aladdin couldn’t help thinking how great it would be to live in the palace.
The royal baths were larger than some of the more impressive mosques and synagogues in Agrabah. Vaulted ceilings soared overhead, tiled in white and blue squares that made patterns like waves on the ocean. Delicately latticed, impossibly thin stone screens separated the women’s baths from the men’s. A separate area for cooling off appeared to have its own kitchen and wine cellar. Golden taps controlled the water flow in sunken tubs while jewel-encrusted fountains splattered out perfect diamond-like drops—reflected by the ropes of actual diamonds that draped over tiny blue oil lamps.
Morgiana obviously had similar thoughts, albeit less from a living in than a stealing from perspective. “Duban, we should have hit this place ages ago.”
“Pareesa should have finished her job by now,” Aladdin said, glancing out a window to look at the stars. “So this is the part where we cut through the audience chamber and then the banquet hall to get to the throne room. And then comes the hard part.”
“Yeah. Stealing a lamp and a book and saving Duban’s family out from under the nose of the world’s most powerful sorcerer,” Morgiana sighed. “My mother never warned me about things like this.”
“Think of the stories you’ll be able to tell! Think of the bragging rights!” Aladdin countered. “Think of the—”
As they went into the next large bathing room the three almost walked smack into two patrolling guards.
“Prisoner,” Aladdin amended quickly. “Think of the prisoner—she could get away!”
Suddenly, Morgiana was much closer to Duban, who quickly had his arm around her shoulders like he was preventing her from escaping.
“What goes on here, soldiers?” the older guard demanded. The gem in his black turban was a strange, opalescent yellow. That must mean something in Jafar’s crazy new reorganization—like maybe he was captain or something similar.
“We caught this lady trying to make off with a…diamond soap dish,” Aladdin said cheerfully. “She thought the chaos outside was a perfect time for a brazen theft of the palace.”
“I put it back,” Morgiana whimpered, cringing effectively. “Please let me go. Whip me if you have to. Don’t take me to the sultan!”
The yellow-gemmed guard snorted with derision. “We would never bother His Highness with a Street Rat. Your fellow Rats are ganging up and trying to overthrow the government tonight—and you aren’t even brave enough to join them? You really are a cowardly piece of filth.”
Aladdin noticed the tone in the captain’s voice—it wasn’t respect, exactly. But it wasn’t outright condemnation of the insurrection.
“Hand her over to me. A few nights in the dungeon should teach her what’s really worth fearing.”
Morgiana looked at Aladdin in concern.
“Oh…I thought…we would take her down ourselves,” he improvised. “I want the credit for having caught her single-handedly.”
Duban coughed.
“With my partner, of course. Single-handedly with my partner.”
“No, you should patrol and see if she had any partners of her own,” the captain said, grabbing Morgiana’s shoulder and pulling her. “All prisoners of the state must be handled by Branded Soldiers. Right?”
He narrowed his eyes and glared at Aladdin.
Aladdin felt his heart thumping harder and harder in his chest—
And then Morgiana caught Aladdin’s eye. Very, very slightly, she nodded her head. Let me go, she was saying. Go on.
“Of course, sir,” Aladdin said, motioning for Duban to release her. “Just make sure I get the credit for the capture.”
We’ll come back for you, he mouthed as the guards dragged Morgiana off between them.
Jasmine tried not to show any emotion as the two ghouls carried her into the ominously lightening sky. Their arms locked through hers, around the elbows, and she stood on their feet; there was no fear of falling. She was just a little chilly in the high night air. But below her, Agrabah was burning.
The Moon Tower had been successfully set aflame; Jafar’s personal rooms were at the top and bottom of the ancient observatory and no doubt there would be things—artifacts, personal mementos, books and scrolls—he would want to save. The plan seemed to be working: whatever he had been hurling at the resistance seemed to have abated for the moment.
The scary glow of ghoulish red dotted the city like a plague that was taking over an otherwise healthy body.
And dawn was not that far off.
To distract herself and keep from panicking, Jasmine snuck a look at the thick, ornate cuffs the ghouls wore. Poor magic carpet. Another victim of Jafar’s war on Agrabah. She wondered if what little sentience it had was still there somewhere in its ripped-up and resewn seams. She wished a silly, girlish wish: that she’d had a chance to really fly on the carpet when it was still a carpet. With Aladdin. Zooming through the night air like she was doing now, but with his warm arms to hold on to and the entire world at their feet. They could have gone anywhere they wanted. They would have been completely free.
They dropped down to land on the Public Balcony, the one where her father used to make speeches, the one where Jafar had murdered him.
Now it was a landing pad for the undead soldiers of Jafar’s terrible new army.
As skilled and ungraceful as large, ugly insects, the ghouls hit the floor hard. With wordless pushes from behind, they forced Jasmine before them into the antechamber of the throne room. What few people remained of her father’s staff looked shocked when they saw her standing there, unresisting, chin held high. One chamberlain ran to find Jafar. The rest of them went back to whatever they were doing: drawing up lists, checking off names against maps, and who knew what else. Bad things.
“Jasmine…?”
Jafar strode into the room, resplendent or ridiculous in his black-and-red cloaks, robes, and sashes. He gripped his black cobra staff nonchalantly. But he looked, for once, uncertain.
“I turned myself in, Jafar,” she said, keeping her voice steady. “There have been too many deaths already. I want peace.
“I will consent to marrying you.”
“THIS IS A TRICK,” Jafar declared. He stepped forward to look at her with his neck crooked, like a lizard examining possible prey. “This is a ruse.”
“Oh, sure,” Jasmine said. “Search me if you want, Jafar. I have no magical staffs, genies, rings—I don’t even have a dagger or teeny, tiny crossbow. Or poison dart.”
She opened up her robes in a way that could have been suggestive but was just entirely not. She started to unhook her pants.
“No, no, that won’t be necessary,” Jafar said quickly, holding up his hand and looking around to see if anyone else was watching. No one was. Or at least they had looked away quickly. “But I don’t believe you’ve had a sudden change of heart, Princess.”
“I haven’t,” Jasmine snapped. “I don’t want to marry you. But this is tearing the city apart.”
“You are tearing the city apart,” Jafar snarled, leaning over her. “Everything was fine until your Street Rats began to get uppity. Everyone was safe. No one was starving. There was peace. My Agrabah was a far happier Agrabah than under anyone in your family.”
