“That suits me,” said the soldier, “down to the ground. What would I do with a flimsy, pretty little princess? I can see you’d back me up whatever scam I got up to—and I bet you can darn socks, too.”
“Believe it or not, I can darn,” said Princess Beatrice. “And mend boots. You really mean it?”
“Yes,” said the soldier.
The two of them had swung around to face each other, and it was clear that both were entirely in earnest. And the rest of the princesses had somehow forgotten to be frozen and royal. Every one of them was leaning forward to watch with a tender, approving smile. There was the same smile on Flower-in-the-Night’s face as she said, “Now may we continue our discussion, if no one else objects?”
“Me. I do,” said Jamal. “I object.”
All the princesses groaned. Jamal’s face was almost as red as Princess Beatrice’s, and his one eye was screwed up; but the soldier’s example had made him bold.
“Lovely ladies,” he said, “we are frightened, me and my dog. Until we got snatched away up here to do your cooking for you, we were on the run in the desert with the Sultan’s camels at our heels. We don’t want to be sent back to that. But if all you perfect princesses get away from here, what do we do? Djinns don’t eat the kind of food I can cook. Meaning no disrespect to anyone, if I help you to get away, my dog and I are out of a job. It’s as simple as that.”
“Oh, dear,” said Flower-in-the-Night, and seemed not to know what else to say.
“Such a shame. He’s a very good cook,” remarked a plump princess in a loose red gown, who was probably the Paragon of Inhico.
“He certainly is!” said the elderly Princess of High Norland. “I shudder to remember the food those djinns kept stealing for us until he came.” She turned to Jamal. “My grandfather once had a cook from Rashpuht,” she said, “and until you got here, I’d never tasted anything like that man’s fried squid! And yours is even better. You help us to escape, my man, and I’ll employ you like a shot, dog and all. But,” she added as a grin brightened on Jamal’s leathery face, “please remember that my old father only rules a very small principality. You’ll get board and lodging, but I can’t afford a big wage.”
The grin remained broadly fixed on Jamal’s features, “My great, great lady,” he said, “it is not wages I want, only safety. For this I will cook you food fit for angels.”
“Hmm,” said the elderly princess. “I’m not at all sure what those angels eat, but that’s settled then. Does either of you other two want anything before you’ll help?”
Everyone looked at Sophie.
“Not really,” Sophie said rather sadly. “I’ve got Morgan, and since Howl doesn’t seem to be here, there’s nothing else I need. I’ll help you, anyway.”
Everyone looked at Abdullah then.
He rose to his feet and bowed. “O moons of many monarchs’ eyes,” he said, “far be it from one as unworthy as me to impose any kind of condition for my help on such as you. Help freely given is best, as the books tell us.” He had got this far in his magnificent and generous speech when he realized it was all nonsense. There was something he did want—very much indeed. He hastily changed his tack. “And freely given my help will be,” he said, “as free as air blows or rain bedews the flowers. I will work myself to extinction for your noble sakes and crave only in return one small boon, most simply granted—”
“Get on with it, young man!” said the Princess of High Norland. “What do you want?”
“Five minutes’ talk in private with Flower-in-the-Night,” Abdullah admitted.
Everyone looked at Flower-in-the-Night. Her head went up, rather dangerously.
“Come off it, Flower!” said Princess Beatrice. “Five minutes won’t kill you!”
Flower-in-the-Night seemed fairly clear that it might kill her. She said, like a princess going to her execution, “Very well,” and, with a more than usually freezing look in the direction of Abdullah, she asked, “Now?”
“Or sooner, dove of my desire,” he said, bowing firmly.
Flower-in-the-Night nodded frigidly and stalked away to the side of the room, looking positively martyred. “Here,” she said as Abdullah followed her.
He bowed again, even more firmly. “I said, in private, O starry subject of my sighs,” he pointed out.
Flower-in-the-Night irritably twitched aside one of the curtains hanging beside her. “They can probably still hear,” she said coldly, beckoning him after her.
“But not see, princess of my passion,” Abdullah said, edging behind the curtain.
He found himself in a tiny alcove. Sophie’s voice came to him clearly. “That’s the loose brick where I used to hide money. I hope they have room.” Whatever the place once had been, it now seemed to be the princesses’ wardrobe. There was a riding jacket hanging behind Flower-in-the-Night as she folded her arms and faced Abdullah. Cloaks, coats, and a hooped petticoat that evidently went under the loose red garment worn by the Paragon of Inhico dangled around Abdullah as he faced Flower-in-the-Night. Still, Abdullah reflected, it was not much smaller or more crowded than his own booth in Zanzib, and that was usually private enough.
“What did you want to say?” Flower-in-the-Night asked freezingly.
“To ask the reason for this very coldness!” Abdullah answered heatedly. “What have I done that you will barely look at me and barely speak? Have I not come here, expressly to rescue you? Have I not, alone of all the disappointed lovers, braved every peril in order to reach this castle? Have I not gone through the most strenuous
adventures, allowing your father to threaten me, the soldier to cheat me, and the genie to mock me, solely in order to bring you my aid? What more do I have to do? Or should I conclude that you have fallen in love with Dalzel?”