“High Master, you remember Khaled,” Faruq said, not even trying to keep the gloating from his voice. “The one who destroyed your most magnificent cuffs. The one who dared to try to release himself from his pledge of Service, and then hide like the dog he is. The one who is unworthy of even the slightest mercy on your part.”
Kal snorted and rolled his eyes. He couldn’t help it. The vizier was laying it on thick.
The High Master glanced over to study Blue Eyes when Kal returned his gaze. Was that a look of regret on the chubby old guy’s face?
Hmm… Maybe her odds were eighty-twenty.
“Sire?” Faruq was nothing if not diligent.
The High Master shook his head and grabbed the sides of his shudra, pulling them across his belly where eight inches still separated them.
“He freed himself?” the High Master asked Faruq, one eyebrow arching into his bald head. “You corrected this oversight, I presume.”
“I have, Sire.”
“Good.” The High Master bent down and stared into Kal’s eyes. The High Master’s irises started to swirl.
Kal crunched the glass vial between his teeth, uncaring that he’d cut his tongue. This had better work.
The swirling in the High Master’s irises increased and Kal could swear bolts of lightning flashed across his pupils, but he remembered to close his eyes so the magic wouldn’t have any effect.
And then the potion hit. Kal could feel it slam through his veins, and he had time for only one thought before he fell back into the potion-induced coma.
Damn it all—Newly-Snipped didn’t catch him.
The Middle
The stink was going to kill him.
Kal sucked in a breath, figuring the stench was a good thing since it showed he was alive enough to be killed.
But where was he?
He clamped down on his breathing, listening for clues to tell him where he was.
Something round and hard poked him in the small of his back. The muted sound of something crackled nearby. A soft, cool breeze which didn’t help much with the stench, drifted along his nose—and the smell of smoke suddenly wafted over him.
That did not bode well.
He cracked open an eye, praying he wouldn’t see a wall of flames. Luckily, it was either night and he was safe, or he was in a box.
Given the thing poking him the back, he was going with the former.
Okay, so he had a shot at freedom.
He tightened his hands ever so slightly. The cuffs were still gone from his wrists. A plus. Now all he had to do was get away from wherever he was.
He opened his eye a little more. No box, but…
He was in the dump.
The dump.
Faruq had actually had him tossed away like a piece of garbage. If it weren’t so funny—and he didn’t care what Faruq thought—he might be a bit put out not to have gotten even some small concession to a funeral, but, hey, at least he didn’t have to dig himself out of the ground. Or worse—
The smell of smoke grew stronger.
He opened his other eye, blinking against the fine grains of sand drifting across his face, and caught the flickering of fire to his right.
Fire.
Faruq, the bastard, was going to burn him alive. Well, okay, Faruq didn’t know he was alive, but still… Didn’t anyone at the palace have any sense of propriety? Any sense of common decency when it came to a burial? At the very least he ought to be able to expect a nice pyre, not a pile of rotting trash.
He blew out a breath. The sadly ironic thing was, he was where he was because he’d wanted the vizier position. He’d wanted to help the very people who’d abandoned him to this fate. Well, not Faruq. He’d never liked the weasel and the walad’s actions in stealing his thesis and usurping the position for himself were confirmation of exactly what type of person he was.
The type to burn a person on a pile of garbage.
Kal had had big plans if he’d become vizier. Things to make djinn life easier, and improve mortal-djinn relations to balance the scales a little more in the djinn favor. It wasn’t that he was opposed to the master/servant relationship, but cultures were changing. The djinn world had to change with them or they’d become like other species who couldn’t adapt: extinct. The route Faruq had kept them on was a path straight to extinction. Not that the jackass would see it; Faruq was all about absolute power.
But Kal’s thesis had been about creating a balance of power; he’d love to stick around and see how Faruq planned to live up to that while keeping his dictatorship running. After all, the High Master had chosen his vizier based on that thesis, so the ruler was on board with it.
But Kal wasn’t sticking around. He’d committed an unforgivable act; there was no way around it even if he had the chance to plead his case with the High Master. From now on, he was on his own.
He turned his head slowly. The flames weren’t too close; he had some time to assess his situation before he’d have to make a run for it.
The coast was clear to his left. They’d tossed him on the top of a twenty-foot pile, so he had a decent view of the surrounding desert, and without the light of the moon or stars, no one—if they were watching—should be able to see him move.
Unless the flames grew too big, in which case they’d be the worst sort of backdrop for his silhouette.
And then the flames surged higher, their heat singeing the tip of his nose.
Kharah! He had to get out of here now.
Tentatively, he inched to his left, not wanting to think about what was squishing beneath his hand. Or his arm. Or his back.
It took him a while to slither to the downward slope, but once he did, he tucked his arms and his face against his chest and let himself roll down the hill.
He landed at the bottom with a soft oomph and a cloud of sand in his nostrils. He fought back a coughing fit and peered through the hair that had fallen over his face. No one was running in his direction.
Pulling his knees slowly beneath him, Kal took his time righting himself. So far so good.
He let out another breath, this time from relief. He was going to make it. He didn’t know how he knew it; he just did. Freedom was right around the corner.
And so was the High Master.
Kharah.
“I knew you were faking. Jamilliah, yes?” The High Master held out a vial that looked like the one Iman had given him. “A very good selection and one most wouldn’t suspect. But I knew you wouldn’t go willingly to your death, Khaled.” He tucked the vial into the sash around his wide belly. “But this does present me with a problem. You broke The Code, you know. You must be punished and our law states that that punishment is death.”
“Actually, our Code also states that the laws are subject to review by the High Master. You could always repeal it.” Kal straightened his back. If he were going to go down, he’d do it fighting.
“Yes, you do know our laws well, don’t you? Jurisprudence, wasn’t it?” The irony of an Arab using Latin wasn’t lost on Kal, but he hadn’t aced his classes by study alone. He’d always had a good handle on djinn nature and knew the High Master wouldn’t be receptive to the joke.
“So you’re expecting me to let you go free after one of the biggest transgressions in our world, not to mention faking your death to escape. Sorry, Khaled, but even if I wanted to, I’d have a mutiny on my hands when word got out.”
The High Master rocked back on the soles of his khussas. Also blue. The guy did like blue. Some said it was why the sky was blue, but that had more to do with light reflecting off the water surface that covered most of the planet than anything else. But it kept up the High Master’s mystique so Kal had kept his mouth shut.
“It would be a shame to lose so talented a djinni. Your knowledge of our Code could come in handy, and as for the strength of your magic, well, it is something for other djinni to aspire to. And there has been a bit of an outcry among the female population in Al-Jannah at your demise. I swear the entire F
rench Quarter is in mourning.”
At least someone missed him. Well, quite a few someones and Kal couldn’t help but smile at those memories.
The High Master ran a hand over his chin. “Still, I do need to maintain my power base. If I were to start letting criminals off the hook, I’d undermine my own authority.” He snapped his fingers.
Kal instinctively ducked. Each djinni had his or her own way of doing magic, but he’d never figured out what the High Master’s was. Part of that mystique the guy cultivated.
The High Master clasped his hands and a wall of fire shot up along the top of the garbage pile twenty feet above them. “We’ll use the flames and say that Karma decreed that you should survive their destruction, but you must still be held accountable.”
Kal didn’t like where this was heading—which was in the opposite direction from that freedom he’d wanted so badly.
Unless…. Unless the High Master had other plans for him? Unless maybe he’d realized what Faruq had done and was now going to give him the job that should have rightfully belonged to him in the first place?
“I’m sorry, Khaled, but I can’t do what you’re asking.”
Asking? Kal hadn’t asked anything.
“In your thoughts. You were so hopeful. I could hear it.”
Kal did a double take. The High Master could read his thoughts?
The High Master adjusted his sash. “Of course I can. You didn’t think this job was all about luck, did you? There are some talents one must have to be a successful High Master. Thought-reading is one of them.”
He patted Kal’s arm. “Now, I know you’re hoping I will absolve you of all your wrongdoing, but that isn’t going to happen. I’ve come up with the fairest punishment I can think of. I don’t want to break your spirit; our world needs more men like you. But I also can’t disregard the Code, otherwise the structure of our world would collapse. And we can’t have that. There are times when the good of the masses is more important than the good of one individual. And while I understand you’ll disagree with me on this, well, I am the High Master and what I say goes.”
Kal was about to argue when the man held up a pudgy hand. “I suggest you don’t argue with me as I’m about to impose your sentence. As you say, I can repeal the laws, and in this instance, I will. It is not good for our culture to lose powerful djinn just because they have decided they no longer want to be part of our world. We cannot have disgruntled djinn wandering around among mortals, but death is so final. Therefore, you will have to want to come back into the fold. I believe being in Service to a thousand and one masters will be just the thing to change your mind.”
“A… a thousand…”
“And one.” The High Master nodded. “You will grant each one of them one thousand and one wishes before you can move on, and by the time you reach that last wish, you may be more than willing to return to our world. Then we will not have lost your power and knowledge, we will not have lost one of our trained and talented Service members, and morale among our people for carrying out a senseless execution will not fester.”
He brushed off his hands then conjured a glass of something amber which he raised in Kal’s direction. “Yes, I do believe that’s the solution. Sort of an eye-for-an-eye sort of thing. Brilliant concept, that. You left The Service taking all your magic with you; now you will return it tenfold. And you will start,” the High Master rubbed his hands together and, all of a sudden, there was Kal’s lantern.
So much for Iman’s hiding place.
“Oh, don’t blame Iman. She was loyal to you to the end, but I am the High Master. There are certain advantages to that and while knowing where every djinni’s lantern is isn’t among them, the crystal tracking board is. I’ve always known where it was, Khaled. That’s why I suspected you were faking your death. Quite cleaver of you. I must commend you.”
Kal didn’t know what to say. He wanted to cry, actually. All that hard work for nothing.
“Oh I wouldn’t say that.” The High Master held out the lantern. “You’ve revealed a weakness in our cuff system and caused a task force to be created to deal with the issue. And now you will serve more masters than most djinn ever will. A win/win for everyone.”
Everyone, Kal thought as he was being smoked into his newest prison, but him.
The Beginning…of the End
Kal’s lantern
656,624 days later
“Nine hundred ninety-seven. Nine hundred ninety-eight. Come on, Kal! You can do it!”
If Kal weren’t already in enough trouble with the Djinn High Master, he’d wish laryngitis on his four-legged, court-appointed watch dog—er, fox—just so he wouldn’t have to hear that number.
Unfortunately, that same High Master that had handed down this prison sentence for attempting to leave The Service had also banned him from fulfilling his own wishes, so hear it he would.
“Just three more, Kal. Let’s go!” The euphemistically titled “magical assistance assistant” waved his bushy tail like a pom-pom.
Nice of Dirham to include himself in the let’s part, but the fennec fox was thoroughly enjoying himself bouncing on the mini-trampoline in the spout end of Kal’s lantern, while Kal’s arms shook with the effort it took to force his body upward one more time. Or maybe it was the energy he repressed so he wouldn’t hurt Dirham’s feelings. Gods knew, not being able to use his magic had built up a lot of repressed energy.
“That’s it, buddy. Two more. You can do it!”
Kal rested his forehead on the cool polished floor of his lantern for a second, then worked into push-up number one thousand.
Dirham went wild, doing back flips that would make any cheerleader weep with envy. “One more! You’re almost there!”
That sentiment was the guiding premise of Kal’s life at the moment.
Grunting through the pain, he finished off the last push-up and got to his feet, twisted the pewter cuffs on his wrists the High Master had “gifted” him with back into place, then wiped the sweat off his face with a gym towel.
One thousand and one sit-ups done, one thousand and one push-ups. He should probably go for the pull-ups, but the stress of sitting here day after day, not knowing why Monty, his current master, hadn’t summoned him in the last six months was getting to him, both with worry and anticipation.
One thousand and one.
That number followed him everywhere. Sit ups, push-ups, pull-ups… And masters.
He was on number one thousand. So close to the end, he could taste it.
Or smell it actually. Was that fesenjān?
Kal walked around the exercise equipment and sniffed through the lantern’s spout. It was fesenjān. What was his master doing not sharing it? Monty might keep the lantern—and therefore Kal—locked in a safe in his office when he wasn’t around, but they often had dinner together in that office, with Kal doing the cooking, of course. Well, conjuring. One of Monty’s favorites was fesenjān.
And it was one more reason to worry.
Dirham hopped into the tunnel of the lantern spout, his paws sliding on the smooth copper finish. “Now for the pull-ups.”
Kal picked him up and set him on the sit-up bench on the Bowflex. “Not today, Dirt.”
“Hey, I’m not dirty. I just took a bath.”
Dirham might be a helpful little thing, but he had a major deficit in the sense of humor department. Everything was always so literal with him.
Take the time Kal had said he was so hungry he could eat a camel. He’d had to spend hours cleaning up the floor from the camel’s, er, “presents” until Dirham had shown up and led the animal out through the magic portal in the handle.
This no-magic-for-personal-use thing sucked.
“You’re right, Dir. And your fur looks great. Any special reason?” The fennec was in love with a vixen named Lexy—hopelessly so because Dirham thought she was way out of his league. Given that Lexy was the head of the thinktank headquartered in the magical outpost of Madeenat Al-saqf Al-zojaaj
ey, otherwise known as Izaaz, Dir might have a case. Kal kept trying to beef up his magical assistance assistant’s confidence.
But when Dir toppled, slack-jawed, off the weight bench at the question, Kal figured it was better to let sleeping dogs, er, foxes, lie. No sense piling more pain on Dirham’s bruised heart and fragile ego.
Kal headed to the mini fridge, chucking the towel into the basket beside the sofa, then grabbed a V-8. He’d have to do laundry soon, and since he couldn’t use his magic even inside his own lantern, he was going to have to do it the mortal way.
Luckily, the stainless stackable washer and dryer had been magicked to contour to the curved wall, so he didn’t have to send his clothes out. The genie laundry service always took a while to get his stuff back. You’d think magical beings could zap laundry to rights in an instant, but apparently there was a whole lot of red tape to go through for demi-genies.
Demi-genie.
The categorization bugged the kharah out of him.
Kal swiped the cold bottle across his forehead to cool both his body temperature and his temper. It wasn’t his fault he was a demi-genie. Well, all right—the demotion was a by-product of removing the gold cuffs that had bound him into The Service, but he’d only done it because of Faruq.
Bile churning in his gut, Kal uncapped the bottle and drank half. Faruq. The most vile ibn el-kalb who’d ever flown a magic carpet.
Dirham bounced over. “So, you need anything, Kal? Can I get you something? What about a body pillow? I hear they’re comfortable. Or water wings? Some taffy? How about a jar of foot cream?”
Where did the fox come up with this stuff?
“The combination to the safe would be nice.” Or Faruq’s head on a silver platter.
Kal shook his head and finished off the drink, restraining himself from flipping the bottle into the air. In centuries past—two millennia actually—the bottle would have simply disappeared into the spectrasphere. Now, it’d shatter all over the floor.
He sighed and set the bottle on top of the fridge.
Your Wish Is His Command Page 2
