“Excellency, it shall be done!”
“Of course it shall be done!” Arjasp roared. Metal tinkled, and he said, “Give this chain and amulet to the courier who will bear the message! It will protect him from djinn and afrits as he travels.”
“Must we forego the conquest of China, then?” the aide asked, voice quavering still.
“No, but we must delay it! Their emperor is so decadent, and his government so rotten, that a fraction of our barbarian army can easily hold them until Prester John has been buried and the Caliph fully defeated. When all is secure in the West, we may tum east again! Then the horde can ride back to finish the conquest of China. Now go and see it done!”
Hurried footsteps padded to the door; it swung open and closed.
The chair scraped, and Arjasp’s slower steps scuffed the rug as he paced back and forth, muttering to himself.
Balkis crouched in the ring-lit world under the bed, waiting for him to leave. Then she began to feel a very queer sensation, as though invisible fingers were pulling at her, not up or down or sideways, but in some direction that was neither. Her fur stood on end; she barely managed to keep herself from arching her back and spitting. In the nick of time she realized that she was feeling the pull of the spell that would return her to Lakshmi.
There wasn’t a moment to spare. Balkis stood up and began to worry at the brooch with her teeth, trying to pull the pin loose from the rope. The return spell pulled more strongly—but some warding spell of the high priest’s began to tug at her, too, and she felt stretched between them with her middle in a void.
The footsteps stopped with an exclamation of surprise. Then they began again, approaching the bed.
Fear pierced Balkis as she realized the tug-of-war between the two spells could tear her apart—and that the tension had alerted Arjasp to a presence within his private chamber. If he saw her, what would he do?
Whatever it was, it would be painful. She worried at the brooch, twisted and tugged.
Old bones creaked as Arjasp knelt by his bed. The bed-skirts lifted, showing a faded but angry blue eye beneath a shaggy white eyebrow next to a blade of nose over a voluminous white moustache and beard. The eye narrowed in anger and Arjasp shouted, “Leave be! Whatever manner of creature you are, let go of that brooch!” A palsied, bony hand reached under the bed, hooked to catch Balkis.
“That’s more than half an hour!” Matt cried. “She isn’t back yet! What’s wrong?”
“Peace, Lord Wizard.” Prester John laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You are not her father, you know.”
“No, but I’m responsible for her. She’s only a kid, blast it! I shouldn’t have let her go! Lakshmi, what’s wrong?”
“Something is fighting my spell, striving to hold her prisoner.” Lakshmi’s brow was beaded with sweat. “Lend me strength, husband. You also, wizards! We must have her back and dare not delay!”
Matt seized her hand as she reached for Marudin with the other. John tightened his grip on Matt’s shoulder.
“All together, now!” Matt started singing,
But Prester John interrupted, calling,
Matt yelped with dismay as the whirlwind caught him up, spun him around, rotated him to the horizontal, spinning, spinning …
Spun. He landed flat-faced on something soft but solid. A skinny hand closed on his wrist, and he wrenched it loose by reflex, snarling. A voice cried out; there was a scrambling, then running footsteps, a creaky old voice calling for guards and assistant sorcerers, and a door opening.
As the surroundings stopped reeling, Matt realized he was under a bed that was lit by a rosy light—and was nose-to-nose with a very frightened Balkis. The cat mewed in astonishment at seeing him—and a brooch fell from her mouth. Matt caught it just as she disappeared.
The little cat squalled with surprise and pain, for she found herself suspended by the forepaws between Prester John and Lakshmi.
“Put her down, quickly!” the djinna said, but the calico cat’s form clouded, stretched, and turned into a teenage girl, standing tall and squeezing the hands that held hers in a panic. “We must help him, quickly! The Lord Wizard is in Arjasp’s private chamber! The sorcerer is calling for guards and magicians! They shall overwhelm him by sheer numbers, and he will be too stubborn to let go of the brooch so that he can escape!”
“What brooch?” Prester John demanded.
“The brooch that has the kittens in it!” she cried. “That foul Arjasp transported them into a jewel, not a bottle—and he has enchanted it with a spell that held it near him, no matter how hard we pulled away!”
“Be sure Matthew will not let it go if it has his children in it,” Lakshmi snapped, “and ours! It is the brooch that has the holding spell?”
“Yes! Enchant it! Make him drop it! Whisk him away!”
“An excellent thought.” Lakshmi, still holding Marudin’s hand, closed her eyes and chanted in Arabic. When she opened them, she seemed much more relaxed, even smiled.
Balkis looked about her. “He has not come!”
“Of course not,” said Lakshmi. “Arjasp would follow such a spell and appear beside us here with all his forces.”
“Then where have you sent him?” Balkis asked, eyes round.
Lakshmi smiled. “Do you not remember the Lord Wizard telling us that he who has babes gives hostages to fortune?”
“You have not sent him there!”
“Of course.” Lakshmi shrugged. “They seemed to like each other well enough, after all.”
The air clouded and developed into streaked and curving colors whirling around a vortex, right there in front of them.
Balkis cried out and ducked behind Lakshmi. Prester John stepped to the fore, but Marudin stepped in front of him, arms out to protect them all.
The color wheel streaked more and more tightly as it turned until it shrank into the contours of a large woman wrapped in a voluminous garment, a fluffy turban, and a look of high indignation. In her arms she held Matt, brooch and all, dripping wet. She dropped him unceremoniously at Lakshmi’s feet and jammed her fists on her hips. “Most embarrassing! Have a care where you send your victims, young woman, and when! I have no wish to have unexpected company arrive when I am in the bath—especially when they arrive in the bath! I can only say it is well that I use plenty of bubbles!”
“I had never thought.” Lakshmi hung her head in repentance—and to hide her smile. “Your pardon, Excellent Dame.”
“Well … there is no damage done, after all,” Fortune said, somewhat mollified. She transferred her gaze to Matt. “Have a care, young man, or I shall send word to your wife, telling her that you come unexpectedly upon poor women in their private moments. Be warned—never involve me in your machinations again, or I shall rig my darts to always land in the wrong squares on your wheel!”
Matt climbed to his feet, all meekness and apology. “I am very, very sorry, Good Dame. I certainly never intended to intrude.” He lifted his head a little, cracking a smile. “However, I must say that you do look grand in a towel and turban.”
“Well! Such cheek!” said Dame Fortune, clearly flattered. “See that you behave yourself in the future!” She turned about and disappeared, leaving behind only a whirling disk of colors and a mollified but very indignant sniff.
Matt sagged. “I suppose I have to thank you for the rescue, Princess—but it was a bit of a shock.”