Aladdin Sins Bad (The Aladdin Trilogy Book 2)

by J. R. Rain

  Well, you are king, giggled the Nymph. But in this case, I believe you are correct to step aside. Sinbad has his wife, and Nydea has her mortality and thus her chance to truly feel alive.

  I had just wondered where Lamprey had gone off to, when the tall ifrit appeared before me in a swirl of black smoke. He bowed deeply.

  “Master,” he said. “I was down below, ridding the castle of the zombies and stone demons. All have been banished from whence they had come.”

  “You are a powerful djinn,” I said, impressed.

  The tall being merely nodded.

  Queen Nylon’s words next appeared in my thoughts. He is, after all, the rightful heir to the throne, my king.

  What do you mean?

  Prince Zeyn, millennia ago, seized the throne and banished Ifrit Iften. He has been residing in the magical lamp ever since. He was a good and fair ruler, and much beloved. Our land prospered under his rule and never once did he take djinn slaves or kidnap mortal females.

  This is true? I thought, surprised.

  Oh, yes. But he’s still bound to you, despite the freedom he presently enjoys here in Djinnland. The moment you return to the mortal realm, he will once again be at your service. Such is the curse of the Lamp.

  How do we break the curse?

  Only his present master can break the curse. All his previous masters were too greedy to do such a thing.

  I thought about it. Her words were true. It was, indeed, a painful decision to release such a powerful secret weapon.

  But let me remind you, King Aladdin, came Nylon’s words again. He may be a powerful weapon, but he would be an even more powerful ally.

  I saw the wisdom of her words. I could keep the djinn for myself and deprive him of his freedom and of his rightful place as ruler. Or I could do the right thing.

  How do I free him? I asked.

  Destroy the lamp.

  I had tied the lamp securely to my sash, as was my habit. Now, I untied it and held it before me. Lamprey nodded solemnly, apparently accepting his fate, unaware of my intentions. Instead, I set the lamp on the flagstone floor before me and drew my sword. I didn’t know how else to destroy a magical lamp, but I thought this was as good a way as any.

  The Thief of Baghdad suddenly stepped forward. “King Aladdin, but what are you doing? You will destroy it.”

  “Exactly.”

  As Sinbad reached out and pulled the confused thief back, I swung my scimitar down as hard as I could. The blade struck the lamp and there was a great flash of light. I half expected the scimitar to shatter in my hands but it didn’t. Instead, the lamp was gone and Lamprey took a great breath.

  The breath of freedom, no doubt.

  Next, he raised his hands toward the heavens and two dazzling lightning bolts shot forth from them. The lightning rebounded off the ceiling and zig-zagged crazily through the room, and where there had once been pocked-marked holes in the walls, where the demon statues had stood, there were now beautiful stone columns. And from the depths of the castle, there erupted a chorus of shouts. Shortly, men and women appeared in the throne room, all dressed in tattered clothing and blinking hard. They were an odd mix of djinn and mortal.

  Lamprey turned to me and bowed grandly. I couldn’t help but notice that he was floating several feet above the floor. “I am indebted to you, King Aladdin. But of my own free will. I will never forget this act of kindness, and you will always have a friend in Djinnland.”

  I felt Nylon squeeze my finger tenderly, and I felt a swell of emotions.

  The little dragons buzzed playfully around the new king of Djinnland, erupting fire. Lamprey laughed heartily at his little friends, as more and more servants appeared in the throne room. Most looked worn-down and wasted, but upon seeing Ifrit Iften, their faces lifted with hope, and soon there was much dancing and celebrating in the great hall.

  Amid the celebration, Jewel took my hand. “You did good, my husband.”

  “I did the right thing,” I said.

  “Not always an easy choice, but it’s one of the reasons why I love you.”

  I squeezed her hand as a familiar face appeared in the dancing crowd. It was Faddy, my one-time personal djinn of considerably lesser power. He was magically juggling balls of fire, as the other servants and slaves and prisoners cleared a path for him. I watched in amazement as Faddy performed a merry routine as a magical horned instrument trumped loudly in the air next to him.

  Faddy spied me and nodded briefly, before snatching one of his fireballs hurling it back into the air. He twirled once as Lamprey laughed heartily.

  Nylon sensed my surprise. “Yes, my King. Your personal ifrit, El Fadl, was once the court jester until he was banned from the castle by Prince Zeyn.”

  “Banned why?”

  “Well, rumor has it that he accidentally lit the Prince’s toes on fire.”

  I laughed and shook my head. I always knew there was something peculiar about my ifrit. He continued to juggle and dance, and things went on like this for some time to come.

  * * *

  It was later when Lamprey pulled Sinbad and me aside.

  We were in his private quarters, which, in a single wave of his hand, he had returned to its previous state, no doubt the state it had been millennia ago. Gone were the darker images and sculptures left behind by Prince Zeyn, to be replaced by fabulous works of art and beauty.

  “There are many human captives that need to go home,” said Lamprey solemnly. “Unfortunately, Prince Zeyn had a taste for human flesh, in more ways than one.”

  I shuddered at the thought. Surely the prince deserved the fire of Hades, where I hoped he’d stay.

  Lamprey continued, “But I have a proposition for you.” Now he looked at Sinbad. “I’ve received word that there lies a ship in one of our harbors, a ship from the mortal realm. A ship that needs a captain.”

  “I’m interested,” said Sinbad. “But how did it end up here?”

  Lamprey smiled. “It is, of course, a magical ship. A flying ship.”

  Sinbad gasped. “The Flying Dutchman?”

  “But of course. It’s crewed by ghosts, but it is in need of a captain.” He studied Sinbad. “Are you interested?”

  The sailor bowed deeply. “Would be my honor, my liege.”

  Lamprey nodded. “I have but one request: that you return the mortals to their homes. I will, of course, fill the holds with gold and jewels, with the hope that you will give a little to each of them. I just ask that you keep an eye on that scamp of a thief.”

  I said we would, and the next day, after a restful night’s sleep in the arms of my pregnant beloved, I found myself boarding a majestic Dutch man-of-war, tethered to a dock and floating high above the calm water.

  When the human captives had all boarded, aided by the ghostly crew, Lamprey advised Sinbad to fly the ship toward the sun, which was, in fact, the portal to the mortal realm. It would lead to the bridge between worlds and to home.

  My silver ring warmed. Sylvie Siren had something on her mind. What is it? I asked silently.

  You do plan to honor our alliance? To come to the Sirens’ aid when we need it?

  Of course. Anytime. I was paying only peripheral attention, being distracted by the marvelous ship.

  That’s good, because that time is now. I just received the news. The Siren stronghold is under siege by a horrible menace only you can hope to abate.

  Suddenly I was paying full attention. “Now?”

  “Of course not,” Jewel responded gently. “Go quietly below-decks with your concubine.” Because in my amazement I had spoken aloud.

  “Dear, there’s something you should know,” I said, glancing at the silver ring.

  She looked at me, catching on. “The Sirens?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, one destination is as good as another. Tell Sinbad where to guide the ship.” That readily she accepted it. Maybe she preferred more adventure to a dull season at home.

  We’ll be there, I told Sylvie.
>
  Thank you.

  Once the marvelous vessel was untethered, it quickly rose up into the sky. As Sinbad turned the great wheel, frowning until he got a feel for the enchanted ship, Duban pulled out his lyre and struck up a merry tune. I gave them that carefree moment as I pondered what to say about our abrupt change in plans. They deserved at least a brief reprieve.

  And so I took Jewel’s hand and we joined the merriment, dancing together as the flying ship sailed off into the setting sun.

  The End

  Aladdin returns in:

  Aladdin and the Flying Dutchman

  The Aladdin Trilogy #3

  Kindle * Kobo * Nook

  Amazon UK * Apple * Smashwords

  Paperback

  Also available:

  Dragon Assassin

  by Piers Anthony

  and J.R. Rain

  (read on for a sample)

  Chapter One

  It was another unproductive day.

  I don’t like unproductive days, especially as a self-employed private investigator living and working in the city of Los Angeles. Unproductive days meant I don’t eat, pay my rent or pay my alimony. Hell, I hadn’t had a haircut in months. I made it a new manly style, but the truth was I couldn’t afford regular cuts. Unproductive days meant creditors would come knocking, and I hated when creditors came knocking.

  Most important, unproductive days meant I didn’t get to drink myself into oblivion, which is exactly what I’d been doing these past few months.

  I was in my office, alone, my feet up on my old desk.

  It wasn’t much of an office—or a desk, for that matter. The office was just a small room with stained carpet, a couch on the far wall, where I had napped one too many times. The often-broken ceiling fan did little to disperse the hot air. A water cooler occasionally gurgled by a sink and faucet, where I kept my booze. An old TV sat on a bookshelf that was filled with novels I’d always meant to get to, but haven’t found the time yet.

  Not much of an office...and not much of a life, either. When I was working, I was usually tailing cheating wives, one or two of which I ended up cheating with myself.

  Now, as the ceiling fan wobbled above, as the drone of traffic reached me from nearby Sunset Boulevard, I idly wondered how I could drum up more business. Perhaps start a Facebook account? Or even Twitter? Maybe both? Maybe now was a good time to see what, exactly, a Twitter was.

  I hadn’t a clue.

  Truth was, I could barely use those new-fangled cell phones. You know, the ones that are practically a computer. Hell, I had a hard enough time with my laptop, let alone a computer the size of my palm.

  I shook my head, and absently longed for the days when people actually used a land line. When a phone sounded like a phone, and not the latest Lady Gaga song.

  I’d always suspected I was a man born out of time. As a kid, I often wore a cowboy hat and toy six-shooters to school—back when they allowed kids to bring toy guns to school. I longed to be a cowboy—hell, I still did. Now that was the life. No computers, no smart phones, no Twitter. Just me, my horse and the open range...

  I awoke with a start.

  How long I had been asleep, I didn’t know. I’d been dreaming of the Wild West, of the Great Plains, of beautiful showgirls, and of whiskey. Mostly, I had dreamed briefly of long rides on my trusted horse, of its hooves pounding hard through the hot desert sand, kicking up dust a mile long behind me.

  Oddly enough, as I sat up and rubbed my eyes, I was hearing just that: the sound of hooves.

  “What the hell?” I mumbled.

  I knew the sound of horse hooves well. Although I didn’t have much, I always made a point of keeping a horse at a nearby stable, just outside of LA. Whenever I could, I took this horse out—and longed for simpler times.

  The sound came again. Yes, hooves. In fact, many hooves.

  “What the hell?” I said again, a little louder.

  And just as I slid my cowboy boots off the desk and stood, I heard another strange sound: heavy boots approaching my office door. I’ll admit, I briefly considered going for my gun located in the top right drawer, a gun I now kept nearby since an incident with a client’s husband. Long story.

  And so I stood there, undecided. I mean, was there really a horse just outside my door? Or had I imagined that? After all, wasn’t I just dreaming of horses?

  I nearly laughed. Of course, that was it.

  I’d dreamed of the horses.

  Maybe. I certainly wasn’t dreaming of the approaching boots, which grew louder and louder. I considered again the gun in my drawer, and was just reaching for it when my office door opened.

  All thoughts of my gun disappeared when I got a load of the man standing there in my office.

  A man out of time, indeed.

  * * *

  The stranger was short, no more than an inch or two over five feet, and was wearing clothing that I was certain I’d never seen outside of the Renaissance fair. And even then, the clothes still seemed off. Just damn unusual. The man’s shirt had a ruffled collar and wide stitching down the front. It appeared hand-stitched, and of a rough material that I was certain I’d never seen before.

  Oh, and he wore a cape. Yes, a cape. As in Superman, minus the giant “S”. It hung from his shoulder and nearly touched the ground and was embroidered with a material that looked, to my eye at least, like actual gold.

  “What the hell?” I whispered yet again. Admittedly, my day had taken a dramatic turn to the weird.

  Strangest of all, was the sword that hung from a scabbard at the man’s right hip. Strange because it was an actual sword. A sword. Here in my office. And a highly unusual one at that. A bejeweled pommel poked up from the scabbard, a jewel unlike anything I’d ever seen before. Mostly because it seemed to be...

  Glowing?

  I shook my head. Surely, I was dreaming.

  I was about to ask what the devil was going on when the stranger opened his mouth and...began to sing? And beautifully too...except he sang in a language I was certain I had never heard before.

  And then it hit me—a singing telegram!

  An old-fashioned special message. I nearly clapped, and was briefly relieved. After all, I’d been about to question my sanity. Yes, times have been rough of late. I was beginning to suspect too rough, that I’d finally lost it.

  But, yes. A singing telegram.

  And the guy sang beautifully...albeit in another language. Hungarian maybe?

  I laughed and clapped and sat on the corner of my desk and enjoyed the show. One of my buddies had obviously set me up. Granted, I didn’t have many buddies these days—and most were fellow private investigators. And, as I knew all too well, private investigators often had a lot of free time on their hands.

  The man sang and sweated, and when he was done, I clapped again and offered him some water.

  The little man frowned, scratched his head, then finally nodded. He next removed something from his pants pocket. It was a small pouch, held together with strips of colorful leather. The little man pulled open the pouch and proceeded to tap out something onto his open palm.

  A white powder. Cocaine?

  Next, the man did something highly unexpected. He raised his open palm to his face—and blew hard. The dust exploded out and quickly filled my small office.

  “Hey,” I said. “Why the hell did you do that?”

  “I did it,” said the man after a moment, “so that we might communicate. Can you understand me now?”

  “Of course I can understand you,” I muttered, coughing.

  “The spell worked, I see. Very good. It’s one of my own creations, in fact. The princess will be pleased.”

  “Spell? Princess?” I said, admittedly confused as hell. “Oh, I see, you’re still in character. So, what are you, like a magician or something?”

  “A wizard, in fact.”

  “Like Harry Potter and all that?”

  “Harry Potter—” the man paused, cocked his head slightly.
“Ah, you are referencing something in your popular culture. Yes, I suppose I am a little like Harry Potter and his gang of adventurers. There is, of course, one big difference.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I’m a real wizard.”

  I grinned. “Of course you are.”

  “I see by your smile and easy agreement that you are using sarcasm. You are humoring me. You don’t really believe me.”

  “I believe that you’re quite a showman.”

  “In more ways than one, my good man.”

  “Now that I believe.”

  The man frowned slightly. It was almost as if he was, in fact, trying to understand me, or the intentions of my words. This day, certainly, could not have gotten any weirder.

  He said, “Well, kind sir. My name is DubiGadlumthakathi—but you may call me Dubi—and I have no doubt that you will believe soon enough. You are Roan Quigley?”

  I nodded, still grinning through all this madness.

  He continued. “You are something called a private investigator?”

  “Yes.”

  “And we are presently in the city of Los Angeles in the third dimensional physical realm of the planet Earth?”

  I was about to grin again, but something suddenly stood out: the man sounded so...sincere. And so odd. I still could not place his accent. And had he really ridden up on an actual horse?

  “Very good, then,” said the man and reached inside another pocket. He extracted another pouch, this one clearly heavier than the first. I was certain I’d heard the clink of metal. And not just any metal. Gold? “We are here to hire you, Mr. Quigley.”

  I was momentarily caught off guard. “Hire me?”

  “Of course. You do assist those in need, correct?”

  “Yes, of course,” I said, knowing that my grin was faltering a little.

  “Well, Mr. Quigley, the Realm is very much in need of your expert services.”

  “The Realm?”

  “Yes, Mr. Quigley. The Realm, from which we hail.”

  “Of course, right. And who’s we?”

  “Myself and the princess.”