The little man looked at Cy. ‘You are getting wiser, aren’t you?’
‘Notwithstanding . . .’ Shahr-Azad began.
‘What?’ said Cy.
‘It means she’s going to give us an argument about why she wants to stay here,’ said the Dream Master.
‘I need some space,’ said Shahr-Azad.
‘You’ve got space,’ said the Dream Master. ‘An Arabian palace or six, for starters.’
‘Personal space,’ said Shahr-Azad.
The Dream Master and Cy exchanged glances.
‘What do you mean?’ the Dream Master asked her. ‘Personal space?’
Shahr-Azad put her hand to her temple. ‘I need to tune into my inner self.’
The Dream Master looked bewildered. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I’m carrying emotional baggage,’ Shahr-Azad declared. ‘And I’m hurting right now.’
‘I think I know what it is,’ said Cy.
‘I’ve got issues to resolve,’ said Shahr-Azad. ‘I need to validate.’
‘Why is she talking like this?’ asked the Dream Master.
‘She’s been watching daytime TV,’ said Cy.
‘Oh no!’ said the Dream Master. ‘She’s had her feminine consciousness raised by Operas.’
‘Oprah,’ Cy corrected him.
‘Whichever,’ said the Dream Master.
‘Next thing she’ll want is closure,’ said Cy knowledgeably. ‘It’s quite important, I think. On these shows “closure” gets mentioned a lot.’
‘Closure?’ said the Dream Master. ‘Closure! If she doesn’t go back pronto and continue telling stories to the King, when she does she’ll have closure all right.’ The little man gave Cy a worried look. ‘You do remember what happened to the King’s previous wives? The ones who didn’t tell stories?’ The Dream Master made a sawing motion across his throat with the edge of his hand.
Cy shuddered.
‘That’s closure. Of the permanent kind.’
‘Shahr-Azad,’ said Cy, ‘Greaseball offered you money. And it may be that he could supply it. He offered you fame. It is not his to give. And,’ Cy went on with regret in his voice, ‘it is not yours to take. You have to go back, Shahr-Azad. You have to ensure that your tales are written down, that they are recorded in some way for all those who come after you.’
‘Princess,’ continued the Dream Master, ‘think of all the stories that will not be written, all the plays that will not be performed, the television programmes not made, the radio broadcasts lost, the films never screened. The children who will cry in the night with no story to comfort them. Consider the loss to the world without your stories to teach philosophy, learn logic, extend knowledge.’
‘I do not need to return,’ said Shahr-Azad. ‘I have told my thousand tales.’
‘Look.’ Cy held out the book he had borrowed from the library. ‘This is one copy of many, many, versions of your stories. There are millions of different editions in every part of the world, in every language that people speak.’
‘I wanted to be famous here and now,’ said Shahr-Azad sadly.
‘But you are,’ said Cy. ‘When I looked you up on the Internet you registered fourteen thousand three hundred and nine hits!’
‘O wonderful Princess,’ said the Dream Master. ‘History honours you. People of many lands respect the name of Shahr-Azad. The world owes you more than it can ever repay.’
‘And,’ said Cy, ‘there is a reason that you must return. You told my Dream Master that I must not be denied my destiny. In the same way, you must keep faith with your destiny.’
‘I do not understand,’ said Shahr-Azad.
‘You told me that you had told tales to the King for one thousand nights,’ said Cy.
‘Yes,’ said Shahr-Azad. ‘That is so.’
‘So,’ Cy went, ‘the book is called the Tales of One Thousand and One Nights.’
Cy looked into the beautiful violet eyes of Princess Shahr-Azad. He kept his gaze and his voice steady. ‘You must go back,’ he told her. ‘You must keep faith with your destiny. There is one more tale to tell.’
‘I cannot do it,’ said Shahr-Azad.
For the first time Cy saw a shadow within the eyes of the Princess.
‘I have exhausted my store of tales,’ she said. ‘I have nothing left to give. There is no last story.’
‘There must be something that took place in the last few days that will give you inspiration,’ said Cy. ‘Lots of stuff happened. The Dream Master disappeared. Everything went haywire at the magic show. The genie . . .’
‘I don’t know . . .’ Shahr-Azad moved around picking up objects and putting them down. Her hand came to rest on the little enamel teapot from the doll’s tea set. ‘If I could find a character . . .’ she said. ‘And for that character I would need a name. A name that is plain, yet mysterious. A name that is magical. For this boy, and yes,’ she glanced at Cy, ‘the hero of this tale will be a boy. A boy,’ she went on, ‘who will travel far and have many wonderful adventures.’
Cy took his personal things from underneath his chest of drawers. He began to place them inside the secret drawer in the box that Shahr-Azad had decided to give him to keep his precious possessions safe.
Shahr-Azad watched as Cy put these objects away. One of her scarves, the matchbox with Arabian sand, the coin from Pompeii, his fossil stone, Grampa’s war medal . . .
‘Tell me again,’ said Shahr-Azad, ‘the name of the place where your honoured grandfather won his medal.’
‘El Alamein,’ said Cy.
‘El Ala-Mein,’ repeated Shahr-Azad. ‘El Ala is such a noble name. And one that would sound very well within a story. Also I think that there should be a place for a genie in my new story, or a powerful djin as I would call him.’ She rolled the words around her tongue. ‘El Ala and the Djin.’
Cy took the piece of dreamsilk from the pocket of his trousers and placed it in the box. He touched the hidden spring. The lid closed on the secret drawer. Where did stories come from? he wondered. What threads drew together to weave a dream, or a tale of magic and Imagination? Many strands – a ‘What If . . .?’, an ‘And Then . . .’, a ‘Whatever Next . . .?’, a ‘Just Supposing . . .?’
‘Just supposing . . .?’ said Shahr-Azad. She looked at the little metal teapot that contained the genie.
‘Please, take it,’ said Cy with relief. He gave the teapot a quick rub with his sleeve to clean it, and then handed it to her.
‘So . . .’ Shahr-Azad went on, ‘What if . . .? If, in this final story, we have a lamp . . . a genie . . . and a boy called . . .’ Shahr-Azad pondered for a moment then her eyes brightened. ‘I have it! This boy with the magic lamp. He will be known as Ala-Djin!’
‘Ala-Djin,’ Cy repeated the name aloud. ‘Aladdin?’ He glanced at the Dream Master. ‘It’s not possible . . .’ Cy began, ‘that just now, in my room in the twenty-first century, the story of Aladdin is being written?’
‘There are stranger things . . .’ the Dream Master murmured.
Shahr-Azad’s eyes sparkled as she lifted her head to face Cy. ‘I think I have it!’ she said. ‘Or at least part of it. I will return to Arabia to find Whatever Next?’ She took the little enamel teapot and settled herself on her magic carpet.
‘Peace be upon you, Shahr-Azad,’ said Cy, and he pressed his palms together and bowed his head.
‘May all the stories of the world be yours,’ Shahr-Azad replied. ‘We will meet again, I hope.’
The Dream Master nodded and his eyes were thoughtful as he spoke. ‘That will be . . .’ he said.
‘Another Time.’
About the Author
THERESA BRESLIN is an award-winning Scottish author whose work has appeared on television and radio.
Her first book, Simon’s Challenge, won the Young Book Trust’s Fidler Award for new writers and she was awarded the Carnegie Medal for Whispers in the Graveyard. The Dream Master was shortlisted for the Children’s Book Award and Remembrance, a story of youth in
World War One, was shortlisted for the South Lanarkshire, the Sheffield, and the North-East Book Awards.
She managed the BAFTA-nominated Scottish Writers project and was awarded Honorary Membership of the Scottish Library Association for distinguished services to Children’s Literature and Librarianship.
Also available in this fantastic series that explores storytelling skills:
THE DREAM MASTER
Ancient Egypt intertwines with real life
DREAM MASTER NIGHTMARE
Viking invaders threaten!
DREAM MASTER GLADIATOR
An eruptive adventure in ancient Pompeii
Also available by Theresa Breslin for older readers:
REMEMBRANCE
An epic tale of youth in World War One
SASKIA’S JOURNEY
A story of self discovery, lyrical, mesmerizing and absorbing
DIVIDED CITY
A gripping tale of two boys who must find their own answers in a world divided by differences
www.theresabreslin.com
DREAM MASTER: ARABIAN NIGHTS
AN RHCP DIGITAL EBOOK 978 1 446 45191 5
Published in Great Britain by RHCP Digital,
an imprint of Random House Children’s Publishers UK
A Penguin Random House Company
This ebook edition published 2011
Copyright © Theresa Breslin, 2004
Chapter head illustrations copyright © David Wyatt, 2004
First Published in Great Britain
Corgi Yearling 9780440865025 2005
The right of Theresa Breslin to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
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Dream Master: Arabian Nights Page 12
