There's Nothing Comyn About Her by Lennox MacBeth
Summary: Mozenrath's taste for collecting magical creatures has taken him far and wide and landed him with lots of problems - this time, it's landed him with a magical woman who may not be exactly what she appears to be.
Rating: R
Categories: Aladdin
Characters: Rajah, Original Characters, Other, Mirage, Abu, Aladdin, Carpet, Genie, Iago, Jasmine, Mozenrath, Rasoul, Sadira, Sultan
Genres: Action/Adventure, Romance, General
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 12/11/04
Updated: 12/11/04
Index
Chapter 1: Chapter 1
Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Chapter 1: Chapter 1
Mozenrath glared down from his throne at the kneeling Mamluk guard before him. The undead servant trembled and tried not to meet his eyes; it inwardly feared what the dark sorcerer had in mind as punishment.
Suddenly, the tense atmosphere was shattered by a whiny shriek that echoed out of the shadowed hall. "Mozenrath! Mozenrath!" A big, slender eel zipped through the air and into the room.
An ugly scowl twisted the sorcerer's full lips into a grimace; his thick black eyebrows furrowed in irritation, and silky black curls swung across his pale cheeks as he slowly looked up and glared at the eel.
"What is it now, Xerxes?" he growled. "I'm not in the mood for nonsense." It was stated simply, but the undertone made it clear that he was not in a joking mood.
"Look! Look!" Xerxes gasped. "Crystal glows! Magic near!"
"So do something about it," Mozenrath seethed.
"I can't, I can't!" Xerxes cried.
"Incompetent fool!" Mozenrath shouted. He leaped off his throne and kicked the Mamluk aside. "You're lucky - it seems you have a reprieve," he snarled. "Get back to your post." He turned back to Xerxes. "Must I do everything for you?" he demanded. He strode across the room to a large window and looked out. Near the center of the dark city below his Citadel, a tall spire topped by a blue crystal emitted an unearthly light. Slowly the light faded, and another crystal began to light up, this one closer to his Citadel. Mozenrath snarled, swung his cloak around himself and Xerxes, and they both disappeared in a brilliant flash.
Comyn smiled slightly as she looked up to see another of the strange crystals light up above her. Her long, loosely curled black hair spilled over her shoulders and she pushed long, curly bangs out of her face to get a better look. She was familiar with the stones; they lit up with ethereal light when they were in contact with magic. Obviously, the ruler of this town possessed magic, and he didn't like uninvited magic in his city. Well, that was fine with her. Maybe this ruler would be a match for her talents.
The thought dwelt in Comyn's head as she mused about what had drawn her away from her homeland and her family. Something had caused her to sneak away from the warmth of the campfire in the middle of the night and had drawn her ever closer to this dark land with its forbidding city. She wondered briefly if the magical ruler had anything to do with it.
Suddenly, a bolt of blue and black fire crashed before her, accompanied by a sound like thunder. A young man in elegant clothes and a flying eel sprang from the tear in the space before her. "Speak of the Devil," she thought.
The young man didn't seem to be in a good mood. He scowled at Comyn as he looked her over. "Who are you?" he demanded.
"Who are you?" Comyn repeated back to him.
"I asked you a question, answer it!" Mozenrath growled.
Comyn tilted her head mockingly. "I asked you a question, answer it!" she growled right back.
With a snarl of rage the young sorcerer leaped toward her; the brown gauntlet on his right hand glowed with blue fire. Deftly, Comyn stepped aside, brought her fist down on the sorcerer's back, and knocked him flat on his face. "You really shouldn't rely on just your magic," she told him.
Mozenrath stood, brushed the fine black sand out of his clothes, and regained his composure. "You little fool," he murmured quietly. "You have no idea what kind of trouble you're in."
"Trouble?" Comyn asked serenely. "I wasn't aware of any trouble in the area."
Mozenrath turned back toward the Citadel. Comyn shook her head and laughed at his arrogance.
Suddenly Mozenrath whirled around and heaved a bolt of magic at Comyn. She, in turn, reacted in the same instant; she threw up her hands and green fire flew forth; it met Mozenrath's magic halfway and canceled it out.
"Tricky, aren't we?" Mozenrath asked. "I'll fix that." He flung his bare hand up, and Xerxes zipped around Comyn's back. The three of them were wrapped in magical light for a moment, and then they were gone.
Seconds later, a crack of thunder announced their arrival in the Citadel. Comyn looked around and took in every detail of the room. The gloomy darkness was increased by flickering torches hanging along the walls. Intricate gold detail work ran along the edge of the floorboards. Her and Mozenrath's footsteps echoed dully on the smooth, intricately patterned stone floor.
"Nice decor," Comyn commented.
"I like it. I designed it myself," Mozenrath said. He grasped Comyn's wrist. "Now, no more games. Who are you, and what are you doing in my kingdom?"
Comyn glared at his hand on her wrist, but suddenly her glare glazed over. The tugging sensation that she'd felt for months was back; this time it was the strongest she had ever felt it. She slowly raised her eyes to Mozenrath's face. "You are the one I've been seeking," she said quietly.
"What are you talking about?" Mozenrath snapped.
Comyn regained her composure. "Perhaps I should explain it to you after all," she said. "Is there anywhere I can put my things?"
Mozenrath noticed the large pack on her back for the first time. "Of course, if it will get some answers out of you," he retorted. "I didn't realize you were planning on moving in; I might have made arrangements." His sarcasm left a biting tone in his voice.
Comyn bristled slightly. "When a person is one of my kind, he does not advertise to the world that he is carrying all of his belongings with him," she said smartly. "I used a minor cloaking spell to hide my satchel from view. I just dropped the spell now."
"Yes, you do have magic powers," Mozenrath said, the memory of the brief scuffle in the dead city returning to him. "But what do you mean by 'your kind'? Cheap magicians are a dinari a dozen."
"For one," Comyn bit back, "I am not a cheap magician. For two, my people are wanderers - we don't have a true place to call home, so we are not truly welcome anywhere."
Mozenrath turned and strode to his throne, where he sat and made himself comfortable. He gestured, and another chair appeared a few feet from his throne.
"You are intriguing," he said. He needed to stall for time as he appraised Comyn for her magical potential. "A nomad of some sort with magical powers, alone in the Land of the Black Sand - why don't you tell me how it is you came to be in my kingdom, especially all by yourself."
"Why, whoever said I was by myself?" Comyn asked innocently. She opened a flap on her long, dust-colored cloak, and a slender brown head peeked out, then a brown, muscular body, and finally a long, flesh-colored tail. The huge brown eyes looked around inquisitively, and rounded ears twitched this way and that as the rat stood on its hind legs and looked around. "My familiar," Comyn said. She slid her cloak off to reveal a small red top and skirt draped with a gauzy blue scarf. "Her name is Amestris."
Mozenrath, himself having an unusual animal for a familiar, was still taken slightly aback. "Your familiar is a rat?" he asked, astonished.
"Yes," Comyn said. "And why not? She's as good as gold, certainly as capable as that eel of yours."
"Xerxes is the perfect familiar," Mozenrath seethed. "He's loyal and he's clean; not like that disease-carrying creature on your lap."
"Amestris is not dirty or diseased," Comyn spat. She glanced at her familiar, who was at the moment washing herself. "Contrary to popular opinion, rats are very clean animals."
Xerxes drifted over to Amestris and sniffed her delicately. "She's clean," he told Mozenrath.
"You're not helping matters!" Mozenrath shouted. He grabbed Xerxes by the tail and pulled him back. Amestris, alarmed, scurried up Comyn's arm and perched on her shoulder.
"It's okay, Messi," Comyn said soothingly. "He can't hurt you."
"What makes you think I can't?" Mozenrath demanded.
"I said you can't, and I'm protecting her," Comyn replied.
Mozenrath had forgotten temporarily that he was trying to judge the amount of magic this girl had. He found it surprisingly difficult. The girl's magic seemed to fluctuate up and down every second.
Comyn laughed. "Why don't you just ask me what kind of power I have?" she asked. "You're not fooling anyone."
"Then you're smarter than you look," Mozenrath grumbled; he was irritated that his efforts to deceive her had been a waste. "And apparently also telepathic."
"Some people have told me that," Comyn said. "My only interest is increasing my power."
"A girl after my own heart," Mozenrath grinned.
"Isn't that the goal everyone has?" Comyn yawned. She glanced down at Amestris, who as tugging at a button on Comyn's cloak. "Are you hungry, Amestris?" she asked the rat.
"Xerxes hungry," Xerxes told his master.
"Shut up," Mozenrath hissed at him.
Comyn smiled. "We could all probably use a bite to eat," she said. "Where might a person find your kitchen, Mozenrath?"
"Kitchen?" Mozenrath asked, dumbfounded.
"You know, the place where food is cooked?" Comyn spoke slowly, as if explaining something to a child, which irritated Mozenrath.
"I know what a kitchen is," he snapped. "Are you suggesting that you are going to cook dinner for us?"
"And why not?" Comyn retorted. "I am the one who dropped in unannounced. It wouldn't be right to expect you to cook for me."
Mozenrath snorted but got up and gestured toward a doorway. "Follow me," he said.
Comyn followed Mozenrath down a broad hall into a tall, long room lined with shelves and cupboards. A lone stove, made of cast iron with intricate wrought iron railings and handles stood in a corner. Long, dark wooden tables filed down the middle of the room with so much dust on them it appeared as if they hadn't been used for years. Heavy cobwebs swung from one cupboard to another, and hung underneath the shelves. The wealth and richness displayed in the room was heavily overshadowed by years of disuse.
"Could use a little cleaning," Comyn observed. Mozenrath started to raise his gauntleted hand, but before he could act Comyn snapped her fingers and aimed small sparks of magic at different parts of the room.
Mozenrath stood amazed at the offhand way she used her magic. Obviously, she was no stranger to it. With the way she carried herself, her whole attitude, it was also becoming apparent that she did have quite a bit of ability after all. She was someone who bore watching.
Moments later the kitchen was spotless. Comyn walked over and peered in one of the cupboards. It was empty. "Of course," she muttered. She thought a moment, then waved her hand, and various items filled the cupboards and shelves. They automatically arranged themselves to her liking. Mozenrath took down a jar, amused, and examined its contents. He found it to only be dried fruit, so he put it down on the table and reached for another.
"Put it back where you found it," Comyn said, her back still turned to Mozenrath. "Honestly, a man can't even be in a kitchen without disturbing something."
"What was that?" Mozenrath asked sharply. He absently put the jar back on the shelf as he spoke. When he realized what he had done he scowled and wondered what had compelled him to do as she said.
"I said, a man can't even-"
"I heard," Mozenrath cut in. "Just what did you mean by that remark?"
"What it sounded like," Comyn said. "Every man I've met has had the tendency to mess something up in the kitchen."
"And you think I'm the same way," Mozenrath stated.
"By the condition this kitchen was in, I'd be willing to bet you've never even used it." Comyn said.
"Why bother?" Mozenrath charged. "Why should I go to the expense and effort when I can just conjure what I want?"
Comyn looked at him curiously for a minute. "Have you ever actually eaten a meal that was cooked by hand?" she asked.
Mozenrath was about to come back with a sneering reply, but stopped short. He stood for a minute, confounded, and a frown crossed his face. "No, actually, I haven't."
Comyn clicked her tongue in her mouth, and turned back to the stove, where she had assembled a number of ingredients. Fresh chicken and vegetables, an array of spices, and a variety of grains decorated the counter. She worked quickly across the surface, cutting, mixing and seasoning as she went. She turned away from some chopped vegetables to tend to the chicken, then turned back just in time to see Mozenrath reach his hand into them. Comyn smacked him deftly on the back of his hand with a wooden spoon.
Mozenrath jerked his hand back. "Just making sure you're not trying to poison me," he said archly.
Comyn laughed aloud. "That's a new one," she replied.
Mozenrath turned away from her with a spiteful look on his face. "I shall be in my throne room," he stated. He strode away haughtily.
Comyn watched him leave. "Spoiled little prince," she remarked. She turned back to her work. "What do you think, Amestris?" she asked the familiar still perched on her shoulder.
"Pepper!" Amestris said, reaching down toward the vegetable bowl.
"You'll get some once they're cooked," Comyn told her. "Honestly, you're as bad as Mozenrath."
Out in the hall, Mozenrath glanced at Xerxes. "I don't know what to make of her, Xerxes," Mozenrath said. "She's more complicated than she looks."
"More complicated," Xerxes agreed, nodding his head.
Mozenrath seated himself on his throne and pondered the best way to find out more about the girl. What was it she had said? 'Why don't you just ask?' Well, maybe he would. What did he know about her now? Almost nothing. She was a wanderer or a nomad of some sort; she had an undetermined amount of magical power. That wasn't much to go on. Still, he wanted her magic; what little she had exhibited spoke of much more underneath - enough to significantly raise his own power, in fact.
As he sat slouched in his throne pondering, he noticed Xerxes rise up and sniff the air appreciatively. Seconds later, he detected a pleasant aroma in the air. Xerxes started toward the doorway.
Mozenrath grasped him around the middle of his body. "You will not ask her for anything," he commanded harshly. "Is that clear?"
Xerxes nodded miserably. "Yes, Mozenrath."
"I am still Lord and Master here," Mozenrath declared. He got up from his throne and sauntered across the room.
When he and Xerxes entered the kitchen, they found a table already set, with a large steaming plate in the middle of the table and glasses of burgundy wine standing ready.
The wine gave Mozenrath an idea. He glanced quickly at Comyn to be sure she was still busy by the stove then quickly waved his gauntlet across one of the wine glasses; a sparkling spell settled into the liquid. Just as Comyn turned around, Mozenrath seated himself at the opposite plate.
"Just what is this pleasant creation of yours?" Mozenrath asked nicely. He watched Comyn sit down across from him. He fervently hoped that she would drink from the wineglass soon; he didn't want to keep up these pleasantries for long.
"Curried chicken and spiced vegetables," Comyn said. "It's one of my favorites, and it's an easy meal." She dug heartily into the plate on the table and piled the plate with tender meat and succulent vegetables. She handed the plate to Mozenrath and then filled a plate for herself.
Mozenrath examined the plate before him. The food smelled delicious and it didn't appear to be tampered with by a spell or poison in any way. He gingerly took a small bite and was surprised to find that it was actually very good.
Just then he noticed Comyn wipe her mouth and reach for her wineglass. He watched eagerly as she picked it up. Before Comyn put the glass to her lips, however, she clenched her fist over it, and a small amount of magic dust showered into the glass. Mozenrath watched with dismay as his spell was completely neutralized.
"I would think you could do better than that, Mozenrath," Comyn said. A smirk grazed her lips.
"Curse you!" Mozenrath swore. He brought his fists down hard on the table; everything on it shook. "Do you have eyes in the back of your head?"
"No, I don't," Comyn said solemnly. "I have just learned to be very careful and observant is all."
Mozenrath sighed in exasperation. "Will you please just tell me about yourself, before I go mad?" he asked. "You are obviously of a higher caliber of magic than I thought."
Comyn took another bite of her meal and was pleased to see Mozenrath do the same. He wanted information about her; maybe she could coax him out of his shell and get information about him at the same time.
"I am a very powerful sorceress where I came from," Comyn began. "Magic is not uncommon in the land of my birth, but it is not found that often among my people - we largely practice entertainment, illusion and divination.
My people travel extensively, since we don't have any one place to call 'home'. Over time, I have become familiar with the customs of many cultures. Each new bit of knowledge I learned carefully, and added to the rest." Comyn got up as she spoke, and moved to the stove, then peered inside the oven.
"A few years ago," she continued, "I discovered my power by accident. I had been working on a reading of my own palm just a couple of days before my discovery, and noticed a Ring of Solomon on my right hand. One of the elders in my band made a big deal over it, claiming I was destined for a higher purpose and whatnot, but I didn't think anything of it at the time. I had other worries, just trying to grow up, learn to be a young woman, and bring pride to my people. However, about two days later, one of our wagons broke down on a muddy road. The men couldn't find the spare wheel, and the horses were exhausting themselves trying to drag the wagon from the mud. I could feel anger welling up inside me, sheer frustration at not being able to help, and I let it off by hitting the side of the wagon as hard as I could. What I didn't realized at the time was that it hadn't been just my anger welling up inside me; it was also a sheer concentration of magic, a force like nothing I'd encountered before, and when I hit the side of the wagon, it literally exploded under my touch."
Mozenrath sat enrapt by Comyn's narrative. "You had that kind of power at that young of an age?" he asked, somewhat in awe of her. "What about the pain that came with it? My hands constantly ached until I earned my gauntlet to channel the energy."
Comyn tucked this little tidbit of information away for later. One small step at a time, she reminded herself. As she removed the cakes from the oven and set them out to cool, she once again continued. "Yes, there was a lot of pain, later. At the time, however, I felt nothing but shock, disbelief at what I had done. When I saw the other members of my band come running, I was also frightened. I didn't know for sure what had just happened, so I certainly didn't know how to explain it to the others. I just ran.
My grandmother stopped me and demanded to know what was wrong. I told her; she shielded me from the others, and took me to an elder who was familiar with magic. That was when I learned the necessity of cultivating my powers."
"How long has it actually been since you discovered your power?" Mozenrath asked.
"Almost six years now," Comyn said. "I've spent that time doing what I could to use my powers for useful, not destructive purposes, so that I wouldn't cause anyone to hate my people. For what little good that did," Comyn added sourly.
Mozenrath shook his head. "You seem a long way from home out here in my desert," he said. "If you care so much for your people, why did you leave them to come here?"
"Months ago I began feeling an urge to leave, a feeling that no matter where I went always wanted to drag me in the same direction. Finally, after a few weeks of it, I could stand it no longer, and followed my instincts. They drew me right to your palace."
"Interesting," commented Mozenrath, intrigued. "Do you have any idea what it is you want here?"
"Yes," Comyn said, without hesitation. "You are the object of my quest."
"Me!" Mozenrath exclaimed. "Why are you so sure it's me you're after?"
"Do you recall when you brought me to this palace of yours?" Comyn asked. "Do you remember grabbing my wrist to pull me along behind you?"
Mozenrath looked at her quizzically. "Yes," he replied. He wondered what her point was.
"From the time I discovered my magic, no one has been able to lay a hand on me without my permission. No one," Comyn said simply.
"But that would be different for me," Mozenrath said. "I am not an ordinary person."
"No," said Comyn. "Even unwanted magic can't touch me. My protection spell has been with me from the beginning, and it has held up to everything I have encountered."
"Impressive," Mozenrath said. To himself he thought, "This girl has far more power than she knows she has. There has to be a way I can use it to my advantage."
Mozenrath decided to try her patience. "If I am truly the object of your quest," he said, "just what do you plan to do with me now that you have found me?"
Comyn realized the sorcerer was underestimating her, and she decided to play up that angle. "I'm not sure," she sighed and glanced around. "Maybe it would be enough if you would just let me stay here."
"And why would I do that?" Mozenrath asked. He could feel an opportunity to finally take hold of her developing. She wouldn't be able to get out of this one; she was the stranger here, not him, yet she obviously needed him for reasons unknown to anyone.
"Perhaps if I were pleasing to you, you would let me stay?" Comyn suggested.
"What could I possibly need from you? I have everything I want right here, and what I don't have I can conjure up."
"My people are some of the finest artists in the world," Comyn said, "particularly in the art of dance. Would you like me to dance for you?" she asked. She turned back to him, and her colorful skirts swirled around her feet.
Mozenrath finished off his wine and tossed the glass aside. "Why not," he said. "I could use a little entertainment." He tilted his legs up onto the table and leaned back in his chair, yawning.
"Entertainment indeed," thought Comyn. Out loud she said, "Just let me climb into my dancing clothes."
Mozenrath's smirk turned into a look of shock, however, when Comyn leaped lightly onto the table and slid her heavy skirts off in front of him to reveal a very thin, very transparent under skirt. His jaw went slack as her scarf followed close behind the skirts. Comyn heard a thud and realized it was Mozenrath's chair's legs falling back to the floor.
"Typical," Comyn thought smugly. She bent gracefully, making sure Mozenrath got a good view of her ample cleavage as she did so. Mozenrath gulped and tried desperately to regain his composure. Comyn straightened and twirled lightly into her dance, her exotic dancing outfit becoming streaks of color against her tanned skin.
"Incredible," Mozenrath thought. "How audacious she is." He absently put his hand up to stroke Xerxes, but though the eel wasn't there, his eyes never wavered from Comyn.
It seemed like an eternity to Mozenrath, and Comyn finally slowed to a halt, still on the table in front of him. She slid gracefully down onto his knees and leaned lightly against his chest.
"So?" she questioned softly.
Mozenrath paused a moment to make sure he was fully composed before he spoke. "You dance excellently," he replied. His hand found her thigh and ran down over her bare leg. "And I must admit, you do fascinate me."
Already his coolness was slipping back into his voice. "Wouldn't you agree, Xerxes?" There was no response. "Xerxes?" Mozenrath questioned again. He looked about the room. "Where did that eel get off to?" Mozenrath grumbled.
Comyn glanced about. Amestris was conspicuously absent as well. A small movement of a flesh colored tail on the counter gave her a clue, however. She stood and ran a finger under Mozenrath's chin. "I think I might know," she said. She walked over to a cloth covered plate and snatched the covering away. Xerxes and Amestris, who had been tugging on a cake, looked up sheepishly. "You two!" Comyn scolded in mock irritation. "Shoo!" She waved her hand at them. Xerxes zipped away, and Amestris slunk to the back of the counter and sulked.
Comyn took a cloth covered bowl off a shelf and picked up a cake. "Here," she said. She drizzled honey from a dark jar over the cake and handed it to Amestris. "Here's your cake."
Amestris snatched the cake, which was easily the same size as she was, and drug it to a corner where she commenced munching on it. Comyn already had another ready for Xerxes. She looked about and saw Xerxes's fearful eyes peering out of a dark cabinet.
"Oh, here you go, sweetie," she said coaxingly. "Come on out, you didn't do anything wrong."
Mozenrath crossed to where Comyn was, just as Xerxes came out of hiding. "Don't baby him," Mozenrath snapped. He snatched the cake from Comyn's hand and threw it across the room. Xerxes chased after it.
"You shouldn't treat him so harshly," Comyn said. She watched Xerxes chew on the cake in fearful silence. "He seems to serve you well."
"He serves me well because he fears the consequences if he doesn't," Mozenrath said simply.
Comyn watched Amestris finish eating. "Sometimes love also commands good behavior," Comyn said quietly. She gestured toward Amestris. Amestris climbed carefully up the thin material hanging down Comyn's leg and held onto her waistband. Comyn lifted her to her shoulder, where Amestris curled up to sleep.
Mozenrath sniffed. "It's not good to get that close to a familiar," he said lightly. "They're just animals."
"Perhaps," said Comyn. "But Amestris's always been there for me. By your reaction to Xerxes' little disappearing act a little while ago, I would be willing to bet that Xerxes has always been here for you as well."
"As I said, he is loyal," Mozenrath said in a low voice. A glare in Comyn's direction brought an end to the conversation, but Comyn was elated. She had all but gotten Mozenrath to admit that he cared about something other than himself.
"I'm getting tired," Comyn remarked suddenly. She strode across the kitchen and gathered her skirts and scarf off the floor. "Where might I find a room for tonight?" she asked, tossing Mozenrath a look over her shoulder.
Mozenrath wasn't impressed. "Sleep where you like," he said. He waved his hand dismissively. "I think I'll stay awake. I don't need you trying anything while I sleep."
"You need have no fear of that," Comyn said. "Your own paranoia will do you in." With a dark look in Mozenrath's direction, Comyn raised her arms and vanished in a spiral of green and silver smoke. Mozenrath just glared at the spot where Comyn had been moments ago.
Comyn glanced about the dark, dry room she found herself in. She had transported herself and Amestris to one of the run-down buildings in Mozenrath's dead city intentionally. Mozenrath wouldn't think to look for her there, at least not for a while. She and Amestris could get some sleep while Mozenrath searched his Citadel from floor to ceiling for her. She smiled as she imagined the way his lips would twist in anger and his brows would furrow as he realized that his search was futile. She just hoped that he wouldn't take his frustration out on Xerxes. Comyn spread a blanket on the sand-coated floor and settled herself and Amestris to sleep.
In the Citadel above his city, Mozenrath stormed about as he searched for Comyn. "That little minx must be here somewhere," he grumbled. He flung another door open. He found the small room empty and turned again; Xerxes followed tremblingly behind him, just out of reach. As he breezed past an open window, Mozenrath stopped and gazed out. He became thoughtful as his gaze swept the dark, desolate city below. She wasn't down there, he mused, or the crystals would be glowing. Unless . . . Mozenrath chuckled suddenly, which startled Xerxes. "Clever, girl, very clever," Mozenrath growled quietly. He swung his arm and vanished.
Comyn stirred slightly. Something wasn't right. She remained quiet and listened; only silence met her ears. At first, she didn't understand why that bothered her, but the realization suddenly hit her. She had heard the mamluks groaning to each other as they went by on patrols since she'd left the Citadel. Now, it was absolutely quiet. "He's on to me," Comyn realized. "Amestris!" she whispered hurriedly. Amestris was by her side instantly. "I want you to be ready to move if things get ugly," Comyn told her. "I won't have him hurting you."
"I'm ready," Amestris replied softly.
The starlight was just enough for Comyn to see Mozenrath's shadow as he stepped into the doorway. "You're sharper than I thought," she said without moving. "I figured it'd take you all night to find me."
Mozenrath was irritated and wasn't about to let the girl get the best of him. "I am finding you more predictable all the time," he said. "I realized that if you are such a peasant that you do all your work yourself, you wouldn't have any qualms about sleeping in the dirt. All the street rats I've known have lived in hovels like this one." He put a little extra emphasis on the word 'rats' just because he knew it would annoy Comyn and Amestris.
Amestris shrieked at the insult, but Comyn sat up and waved her to silence. "Not that you'd know anything about it," Comyn bit back. "You're all too ready to insult and put down "street rats" but you've never even seen just how hardy they can be. Frankly, I doubt you would even survive in their position," she said. She glanced at him skeptically.
"Just what is that supposed to mean?" Mozenrath demanded. "Are you suggesting a measly peasant is better than I am?"
"I'm saying you've been so spoiled and so pampered in your nice little palace and your fancy clothes and hordes of servants that you couldn't even survive on your own in the streets." Comyn shot back.
"Indeed?" Mozenrath sneered. He looked down his nose at Comyn.
"Yes, indeed," she spat back. She clambered to her feet. "In fact, I'm so certain I'm right, I'm willing to wager my freedom on it."
"And just how do you propose to do that?" Mozenrath asked, his curiosity piqued.
Comyn thought quickly, and came up with a plan. "Easily enough," she replied. "I'll pick a kingdom somewhere in the seven deserts, and you will have to survive there for . . ." she thought a moment. "For one month. You won't have your magic, your mamluks, or Xerxes to help you."
"And how do you plan to pull that off?" Mozenrath asked.
"It will involve your cooperation," Comyn said. "I will need you to turn command of your mamluks over to me, and I will keep Xerxes here with Amestris and me." As she mentioned this, she thought Xerxes looked almost pleased, but she pretended not to notice it. "As for your magic . . .let's just say I think I can take care of it."
"All right," Mozenrath said, "Let's say you can. So far, I don't have a problem with this little plan of yours. However, I do wonder - just what do you get out of this?"
"If I win - if you can't make it for a month - then you will return here to remain as my servant. I will be able to do as I please with you and your magic."
"And if I win, you and your magic will be in servitude to me?"
"Yes," Comyn replied.
"Excellent."
They returned to the Citadel, where Comyn and Mozenrath worked out the details of their bet. Both of them made sure there were no loopholes either could get out of the deal through. Finally, as the night approached the midnight hour, the deal was sealed. All that was left was for Comyn to choose the kingdom Mozenrath would reside in.
"Do you have a chart of all the kingdoms?" Comyn asked Mozenrath. "I wouldn't want to give you an easy way out by giving you too easy of a city."
"Yes," said Mozenrath, amused. "I do have such an artifact." He led her to a large, slightly cluttered room, crossed on the ceiling by wooden beams and flaring torches along the walls. In the center of the room stood a round wooden table, divided into seven equal parts. As they approached it, Comyn could see that each of the divisions represented one of the seven deserts and their ruling kingdoms. Mozenrath spun the table with a flick of his wrist, and stopped it on his own kingdom, the Land of the Black Sand.
"All of the kingdoms are on here," he said. He moved aside and let Comyn stand before it. "Make your decision."
"What do you think, Amestris?" Comyn asked. She studied the table. "Any ideas?"
"Quarkistan?" Amestris queried.
"Hmm," Comyn thought, moving the table to the picture of Quarkistan. "An enchanted land with an enchanted king. Nice place. No, I don't think it'll do. The people are much too friendly. It'd be too easy for him to win their aid."
"World of the Al-Muddi?" Amestris asked.
"No, I think not. There's nothing there but mud and fungus."
"Odiferous?"
"Ugh, no," Comyn said. She wrinkled her nose. She moved the table yet again, and landed on Agrabah. She stared thoughtfully at the picture for a moment. She noted absently that there were some scratches on the wood on this section, almost as if someone had dug their fingers into the wood. It seemed odd and out of place - the kingdom was nothing out of the ordinary and didn't even make a habit of going to war. There should have been nothing there to excite any kind of anger or ill-will.
Comyn placed her hand on the scratches and saw that they were indeed from fingers, but those of a hand much larger than hers.
Amestris became anxious at Comyn's silence, and peered down at the table to see what was so interesting. "Agrabah?" she asked. She didn't Comyn's preoccupation.
Comyn noticed Mozenrath and Xerxes glance at each other and raise their eyebrows. Comyn knew then that it was Mozenrath's hand that had made the gouges in the wood. She also knew this was the exact place to send him. She pretended that she hadn't seen the reaction and turned to Mozenrath. "I have made my decision," she stated. "Agrabah is an average city. It is ruled by a kind, elderly sultan. It has the regular distribution of rich and poor people. Agrabah is where you shall go."
"Very well," said Mozenrath. He turned away from her; Comyn thought she saw him wince as he turned.
Mozenrath snapped his fingers, and one of his mamluks stood before him. He ordered the mamluk to have them all under Comyn's command.
"The mamluks are at your command. Xerxes will remain here with you."
"Now to take care of your magic," Comyn said. She walked up to him and grasped both of his wrists. "Remain still. This will only take a moment."
Comyn closed her eyes and concentrated; she surrounded Mozenrath with a shimmering cloud. Then she stepped away.
Mozenrath gasped for air as the cloud closed around him. He felt like he was suffocating and wondered briefly if he had made a huge mistake. After a moment, however, the cloud seemed to disperse, and he was able to breathe again. "What did you do?" he gasped.
"It's an anti-magic cloud," Comyn said. "It will prevent you from using any magic. I am the only one who can remove it, which I will do at the end of your stay in Agrabah." She glanced him over. "Oh, and I'd better take care of this," she said. She took hold of his gauntlet.
Mozenrath jerked his hand back, but even as he did, the gauntlet seemed to dissolve and left only his naked hand in its place. "What did you do with my gauntlet?" Mozenrath cried. Then he did a double take. He held his hands up before himself. His right hand should have been skeletal - instead, it was flesh and blood, just as his left hand was. "My . . . my . . . hand . . ." Mozenrath stammered. He sagged weakly against the wall. "How . . .?"
Comyn saw that Mozenrath was on the verge of fainting. "An illusion only, Mozenrath," she said gently, reassuringly.
"An illusion," Mozenrath echoed. "It feels so real. . ." He ran his hand over his clothes and the stone floor, then flexed his fingers.
"It's supposed to," said Comyn. She saw that Mozenrath was already recovering and would be fine, so she moved away from him. "No one will know the difference if they should touch your hand, and you'll be able to feel with it."
Mozenrath was already composing himself. "Then everything is ready," he said.
"Yes," said Comyn. "I only hope you are prepared for what you have gotten yourself into." As she spoke, she clasped her hands together, and the room filled with an eerie green glow. Mozenrath began to sparkle and fade, then he disappeared entirely. The mamluk and Xerxes gaped at the spot where Mozenrath had just been.
"Bedtime now?" Amestris asked.
"Yes, Messi, now it is bedtime." Comyn walked out of the cramped room with Xerxes and the mamluk close behind her. "You," she said to the mamluk, "get back on your regular patrol, and make sure the others are as well." She turned to Xerxes. "And you, Xerxes, can show me where the master bedroom is. There is no reason the new ruler of the Black Sand should sleep on the ground." She laughed heartily.Back to index
Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Agrabah might have been an average city, but Comyn didn't see the trouble that had started there. Princess Jasmine and Aladdin had been married for several months, but Aladdin hadn't really settled down to the routine of palace life, which was a cause of concern for the sultan. Over a week previous, the sultan had come up with a plan. One night while Aladdin and his friends were asleep, the sultan had called a meeting with Princess Jasmine and Rasoul, Captain of the Royal Guard.
As he paced back and forth across the room, the sultan spoke. "I'm concerned about Aladdin," he said. "While I admire his heroics and bravery, he is a prince now. He needs to learn the skills of a leader. I am already old, and I'm not sure Aladdin is ready to be sultan if something happens to me." He paused, and Jasmine looked at her feet, ashamed.
Sultan walked over to her. "There's no need to be ashamed, Jasmine," he said. "Aladdin is a boy yet. He will learn with experience. However, I feel that Aladdin should get that experience now.
I have come up with a plan," he continued. "Rasoul, I called you here because I will need your help in implementing it." he said. He divulged the details to Rasoul and Jasmine.
The next day, Aladdin was awakened early by Jasmine rushing into the bedroom. She shook him awake and sat down beside him in tears.
"Jasmine, what's wrong?" Aladdin cried. He was immediately awake and alert.
"It's Father," Jasmine sobbed. "He's very ill. He wants to see you right away!"
"Me?" Aladdin asked. He reached automatically for Genie's lamp. "Shouldn't you call a doctor?"
"Rasoul already did," Jasmine said hurriedly. She pulled Aladdin up so suddenly he dropped the lamp. "Hurry!" she said. She pulled him along behind her toward the sultan's room.
As they neared the sultan's room, however, they were stopped by Rasoul.
"Halt!" he commanded. "No one is to enter."
"But Rasoul," Jasmine said. "My father asked for Aladdin specifically."
"I'm sorry, Princess," Rasoul said, "but the doctor said he can see no one." He looked begrudgingly at Aladdin. "He did, however, let the sultan write a letter, which the sultan instructed me to give to Prince Aladdin." He handed Aladdin a scroll of papyrus bound with a gold thread.
"What does it say, Aladdin?" Jasmine asked inquisitively.
Aladdin scanned the contents of the scroll, and his face went very pale. "It's a royal declaration. He wants me instated as sultan by sunset!"
Jasmine wailed suddenly. "Oh, no!" she cried. "This must mean that Father's . . . that he's . . ." She broke off suddenly, absorbed in tears.
After a moment, however, she calmed down, and addressed Aladdin. "We must obey his wishes, of course," she said. She wiped some tears from the side of her face. "You need to prepare for the ceremony. Let's go back to our room." She took hold of his hand and led him along. Aladdin, still in shock, nodded dully and followed her.
Abu and Iago sat together in a corner of Aladdin's room, completely silent. Iago had a pensive air about him as he stared at Aladdin. Next to him, Abu sniffled slightly and wiped a tear from his eye. Aladdin had explained the situation to Abu, Iago, Carpet, and Genie the moment he and Jasmine got back to the room. After a hectic day of making arrangements and preparing an impromptu ceremony, they were all gathered back in Aladdin and Jasmine's room once again. Abu watched sadly as Aladdin stood before a mirror; Genie solemnly helped Aladdin get dressed in royal apparel. For once, Genie didn't crack a single joke; even he knew the seriousness of the situation. Behind them, Carpet was held various items of Aladdin's garb in his tassels; he handed some items to Genie and took others away.
Aladdin finally broke the silence. As Genie finished adjusting his turban, he turned away from the mirror, to the others in the room. "Iago," he said. "This is a state occasion, and a very solemn one at that. I expect you to be on your best behavior tonight. Abu, I'm sorry, but you cannot sit on my shoulder tonight. You, Iago, and Rajah will be posted near the gates of the palace to keep out trouble makers. Don't start any trouble; just don't let creeps like Amin d'Moola or Abis Mal in. Rajah will be able to enforce that."
He continued. "Genie, you will be stationed in the front of the room near the throne, but you will need to stay in your lamp unless I call on you. I don't expect any trouble, but we don't need to start any by the wrong person seeing you there. Carpet, you'll rest underneath the lamp."
As he finished with his orders, Jasmine walked into the room. She was dressed for the occasion as well, in a long, flowing, pale blue skirt and a wrap-around top trimmed in royal blue. She wore a diamond-crested tiara in place of her usual hair band, and her hair was loosely braided down her back. "Are you ready, Aladdin?" Jasmine asked. "It's almost time for the ceremony to start."
"I guess I'm ready," Aladdin said. He glanced one last time at himself in the mirror and tried to calm his nerves. "You guys get to your places," Aladdin instructed his friends. He and Jasmine turned to leave.
Outside the palace gates, the people of Agrabah waited to enter. They had all been summoned to the palace, but no one knew why. In the midst of the people, Sadira walked about in her magician's dress. Without the rags and dust, she was able to mingle easily with the other citizens. She approached a man standing near the gate. "Excuse me, do you know why the town was summoned here?"
"No, no one knows," the man replied. "Rumor has it that an announcement is going to be made."
"That's specific," Sadira muttered. She moved away from him. Whatever the announcement was, she guessed, it must be something that would affect the whole city.
Moments later, Sadira saw Rajah slink past, with Iago and Abu riding on his back. They stationed themselves next to the gate. Then Rasoul appeared, and held up his hand for silence. The crowd became quiet, and he spoke. "Please make way for Prince Aladdin and Princess Jasmine," he commanded. Aladdin and Jasmine appeared at a side door of the palace, and the crowd parted, letting them move to the front doors. There, they could see, a podium surrounded by drapes had hastily been erected. Rasoul spoke again. "Please move into the courtyard, be seated, and remain quiet," he said.
When the crowd had organized, Aladdin and Jasmine turned and addressed the crowd. "You have been called here," Jasmine said, "because my father is very ill. As he is unable to function as Sultan, Prince Aladdin will take his place." Some of the crowd gasped at the announcement. Jasmine spoke again. "As my father cannot attend this ceremony, and there is no royal vizier, the ceremony will be simple, conducted by myself and Prince Aladdin."
Aladdin turned to Jasmine and spoke the words he had been rehearsing all day. "I, Prince Aladdin of Agrabah, take the position of the Sultan of Agrabah. I will serve the people of Agrabah to the best of my ability, and protect the people from all harm."
Then Jasmine delivered her lines. "And I, Princess Jasmine of Agrabah, do now take my place as the Sultana of Agrabah. I will fulfill my duty to help and please the people of Agrabah, and be a good and faithful ruler by my husband's side."
Aladdin turned toward the crowd, who sat in shocked silence. "From this time forward, you shall regard me as your Sultan, and I and Sultana Jasmine shall be addressed and approached appropriately. Please, retire to your homes for the night, my people." He took Jasmine by the hand, and the two of them walked through the palace doors. Rajah, Iago, and Abu followed them; they gathered up the carpet and lamp on their way by. As they disappeared through the doorway, the massive doors closed behind them with an echoing boom.
Mozenrath blinked in the early morning sun; the heat was already becoming intense. He sat up and looked around. The last place he remembered being was in his Citadel; now he was lying in a sandy alley between two rows of sand-colored buildings. A warm wind swept down the alley and caressed his arms and chest. He looked down at himself and found that he was wearing a pair of ragged pants and a vest that hung open in the front. Both were dust-colored and wrinkled from sleeping on the ground. His feet were bare, and he could tell by running his hands through his hair that his hair was tangled and full of sand. He sighed and climbed to his feet.
He peered out onto the main road. Shops were opening, people were milling about, and small children were playing and tumbling about in the doorways of their homes.
"Hey, you little urchins, get out of here!" a heavy-set woman yelled. She swatted one of them with a broom. The children, a boy and a small girl, both dark-complexioned and raven-haired, yelped and flew off the step and into the alley. They rushed past Mozenrath but took no notice of him.
"Children," Mozenrath thought contemptuously. He walked out into the marketplace.
A low growl from his stomach reminded Mozenrath that he hadn't eaten yet; he decided he could put it off, since he'd eaten dinner with Comyn last night.
As he walked past the stalls where merchants were hawking their wares, many of the merchants gave him disdainful looks, and he was pushed aside by several people who were shopping. Many of the rich fabrics appealed to him, obviously of better quality than those he was wearing, and he was surrounded by the smells of a variety of foods. He wondered what would happen if he swiped some fruit while no one was looking.
He found out sooner than he expected. A little girl, dressed in clothing much like his, stood near a stall whose table was covered with fresh apples and pears. A cart next to the stall was heaped with a variety of citrus fruits. As the vendor turned away to attend to a customer, the girl crept up to the stall and reached up slowly to a small apple on the edge of the table. She never got the fruit; a heavy blade slammed down on the table where her fingers had been a fraction of a second before.
"Get away from here, you dirty creature!" the vendor shrieked. "Don't you dare try to steal from here again!" He swung his heavy knife again, just missing the child's arm as she scurried away. She disappeared into the shadows of another dark alley.
More curious than concerned, Mozenrath followed her. He found her weeping and curled into a ball in the dust and sand of the alley.
"How long has it been since you've eaten?" he asked her.
The child gasped and looked up at Mozenrath, surprised. "Don't know," she whispered. "A while."
"Why did you try to steal that food?" he asked. "It can't cost that much for an apple."
"I don't have any money," she cried. "I'm hungry."
Mozenrath looked in the direction of the food stand. It couldn't possibly be that difficult to get something from it without being seen, he thought.
He walked back out into the marketplace, and studied the fruit stand. The front and the one side were open to the street. The top was shadowed by an overhang, and the other side was partially obscured by the cart.
With his magic, it would have been no problem to get the fruit from that stand; he could have got it from the alley. He had to put more consideration into working without his magic.
Mozenrath decided his best bet was to approach from above. He would be able to reach the fruit while being screened from view by the overhang. He noticed a rickety wooden ladder alongside a building near the stand, and he walked casually over to it. He climbed to the roof of the building; from the roof, he was directly above and a few feet from the overhang. To his dismay, he saw a rip in the cloth of the overhang.
He sat down on the stone roof to consider his options. It was only a few feet from the roof to the top of the pile on the stand. Perhaps he could lower himself by his feet and reach the fruit. He'd never tried anything like that before; it was getting more and more complicated to get to the apples. Mozenrath wondered briefly if he should have just walked up to the table as the girl had, but he dismissed the thought immediately. He would have been even more noticeable than the girl had been.
Mozenrath took a deep breath and swung himself over the side of the building then hooked his feet onto the ridge along the roof. He watched to be sure no one was looking, which was difficult to do because of the canopy below him. Through the tear in the cloth, the bright red fruit tempted him to just reach down and snatch one.
Just then, he saw the vendor walk out to the cart alongside the stand to gather fruit for a customer. He reached down quickly and snatched an apple; the ease of the maneuver convinced him to grab another.
He almost fell as a cry rang out on the street below. "Stop, thief!" the vendor cried. He rushed around to where he could see Mozenrath clearly.
Mozenrath scrambled back up to the roof; he scraped his chest on the rough stone as he did so. From the roof, he could see the guards, summoned by the cry, as they rushed up to the stand. The enraged vendor pointed to the roof where Mozenrath stood, and the guards began to ascend the ladder.
There was no other way down from the roof. As the guards clambered onto the roof, Mozenrath backed to the edge on the opposite side. He looked behind him and saw another roof several feet away. He tucked the apples into the pockets of his pants and took a desperate leap toward the next roof.
His hands just barely caught the edge of the building, and he slammed heavily against the side. He ached, and was quickly becoming exhausted as he struggled to find a foothold on the building and climb up. His efforts were futile, however, and he tumbled to the ground where he landed heavily on his back. He wheezed as he tried to get up, and he didn't doubt that he had broken one or more ribs. The guards were already on their way down, however, so he scrambled painfully to his feet and dashed into the dark alley where he took refuge behind a pile of empty crates and broken boards.
The guards rushed past his hiding place without taking notice of him. Once they had disappeared from sight, Mozenrath breathed a sigh of relief and left his hiding place. He retraced his steps toward the main street using the alleys and shadows and stumbled upon the alley where the little girl was hiding. She looked surprised to see him again, and she seemed concerned about the bleeding scrapes that were quickly becoming evident on his body.
Mozenrath reached into his pockets to find the apples and discovered that they were severely bruised and crushed by his escapades. Mozenrath took a bite of one of the apples and discovered that it tasted horrible from the bruises and the sand that had managed to get inside it.
Mozenrath handed the rest of the apple to the girl who accepted it eagerly. She looked at him gratefully. "Thank you, sir," she said happily. "Now there is food for my little brother." She called into the shadows. "Diya," she called softly, "Diya, come get some fruit."
A little boy, no more than three or four years old, wriggled out from under some stained blankets in a doorway and toddled up to the girl. She handed him the apple. Diya eyed it eagerly and ate it just as ravenously.
Mozenrath was surprised to see the boy eating the apple as if it were a delicacy. He imagined that the other must be in as bad of condition and handed it to the girl as well. Mozenrath sat down stiffly next to her and watched her eat it as ravenously as her brother had eaten his.
Suddenly the girl's eyes widened in terror. A dark shadow fell over Mozenrath and the two children, and he looked up to see three burly men glaring down at them.
The leader, whose face was marked by deep scars and missing teeth, growled scornfully at Mozenrath. "A fine mess you made of that, Boy," he said derisively. He kicked sand into Mozenrath's face. "You're an insult to thieves everywhere." He snapped his fingers, and the two men accompanying him seized Mozenrath by the arms and pinned him against the wooden door behind him. Their leader searched Mozenrath's pockets and the inside of his vest.
"Where's your Guild pass, Boy?" he demanded. He waved a fist in Mozenrath's face.
Mozenrath gave him a blank look and said nothing.
"Not in the Guild, eh?" the rough said. He punched Mozenrath in the stomach. "You have two days to obtain a Guild pass, or get out of Agrabah," he said. His two companions let Mozenrath crumple to the ground. The three men kicked more sand over Mozenrath's slumped figure and gave the children a scornful glare, then they left the alley.
Diya whimpered and hugged his sister. "Karima!" he wailed. Karima hugged her brother to her and stared over her shoulder at Mozenrath, who was struggling to sit up.
"Are you all right?" Karima asked softly. She approached Mozenrath as he righted himself.
"Yes, I'm fine," Mozenrath grumbled. He pushed the children back. He couldn't believe that he'd already gotten himself in this much trouble. It seemed his stay here was going to be more difficult than he thought. He gasped as he tried to stand; the punch that the thief had given him had only added to the pain from the sore ribs.
"Here," said Karima. She put one of Mozenrath's arms over her shoulders. Diya did the same with his other arm, and the two children did the best they could to help him stand. They led Mozenrath to an abandoned building and sat him in a dark corner. Karima ran outside and returned with one of the ragged blankets from the alley. She pulled it over him.
"This will keep the sun off you," she said. The sun was becoming scorching as the noon hour approached, and Mozenrath appreciated the cool darkness of the building. The calm and darkness helped Mozenrath forget the pain briefly, and he fell asleep. The children left him where he was and ran outside.
Inside the Palace of Agrabah, Aladdin was beginning to have difficulty with the job of Sultan. The morning's work wasn't too hard; there were only a couple of complaints and one dispute between two clothing merchants to deal with. As the day passed noon, however, the stream of people increased, and the triviality of the complaints became irritating. Along with the nonsense, real problems developed that caused even more of a headache.
"Your Majesty," the farmer who stood before Aladdin begged, "please help us find water. The water for our fields is running out, and the crops aren't ready to be harvested yet. Without the harvest, there will be no food for us!"
Aladdin rubbed his temples, trying to ease his developing headache. He had enough problems without this one. He turned to Genie, who stood next to the throne. "Genie, will you see what you can do? Find a spring somewhere or something. I'll figure out how to get the water to them later."
"Yes, Your Majesty!" Genie said, giving him a proper salute. He puffed out of the room.
Aladdin sighed. He really wished Genie wouldn't call him 'Majesty', but he knew that now that he was Sultan, it was a requirement that even his friends address him as 'Majesty' or 'Sultan'.
As the farmer was leaving the throne room, the royal messenger approached.
"Great Sultan," he said. "The ruler of Quarkistan requests your aid in driving the Al-Muddi from their land."
"Terrific," Aladdin muttered. "All I need is for the Al-Muddi to start trouble."
Jasmine leaned over to him. "Aladdin," she said softly, "you need to help them. Quarkistan is one of our most powerful allies."
"I know," Aladdin sighed. "I'm just so bogged down here, I don't have time to go fight those mud creatures anymore."
"You are the sultan," Jasmine said gently. "Send your troops. They are trained to handle such dangers as the Al-Muddi."
"I guess you're right," Aladdin sighed. He straightened up on his throne. "Rasoul!" he called.
Rasoul appeared from a side door on the throne room. "Yes, Your Majesty?"
"I want you to take a detachment of soldiers to Quarkistan and scout the trouble there; if the problem is too great for you and your men to handle, report back to Agrabah and get the rest of our troops."
"Yes, Sultan," Rasoul said. He bowed as he went out.
All was quiet for a moment, and Aladdin relaxed on the throne. He tried to sort out the problems he was dealing with in his mind. The silence was quickly shattered by a crash and a high-pitched shriek from another room.
"Aaaak!" Iago shrieked. "You're going to get it for that, Monkey!"
"Oh, what now?" Aladdin moaned.
Abu scampered into the room; a soaked and infuriated Iago flapped in behind him. "Come back here, Monkey!" Iago raged. "Let's see how you like it!" Abu shrieked and ran behind a column.
"ABU! IAGO!" Aladdin roared. He leaped off the throne. "Take it somewhere else; I have too much to worry about without you two causing trouble!"
Iago and Abu froze, shocked at Aladdin's outburst. "Sheesh, what a grouch," Iago muttered. "Come on, Abu, let's get out of here," he said to the monkey. He flapped toward the balcony. Abu, frightened by Aladdin's shouting, sniffled and let a tear slide down his face before he followed Iago out to the balcony. Iago picked Abu up by the vest and flew out to the courtyard with him.
Jasmine watched them leave. "Aladdin!" she admonished. "That wasn't very nice. They were just playing as they always do."
"I know, I know," Aladdin groaned. He sunk back onto the throne and put his face in his hands. "I'll make it up to them later. I'm just so worn out . . . maybe after a good night's sleep I'll feel more ready to handle all this."
"I'm sure you will," Jasmine said encouragingly. "Why don't you just take it easy for a while?"
"Your Majesty!" an urgent voice suddenly called.
"That's why," Aladdin groaned. He sat up straight on the throne once again.
When Mozenrath woke, darkness had fallen over Agrabah. He became aware of a cool rag being passed over his forehead and of a number of people in the room with him. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, Mozenrath saw that a young woman was kneeling next to him, rinsing the rag in a dish of water. He studied her face for a moment; the youth showed, despite the sand and grime that ran over her face in uneven wrinkles, and patches of lightly tanned skin showed where she brushed an errant strand of hair from her face with a wet hand. Her hair, so dark brown as to be almost black, hung unbound to her waist, and several strands flew wildly around her neck and shoulders.
The woman saw that Mozenrath had woke up. He tried to sit up, but she held him down gently and stroked his hair out of his face. "Lie quiet a moment," she said softly. "Your injuries aren't too bad, but you are going to hurt for a couple of days. Just relax; some of my friends are making a pot of soup. You can join us for dinner."
Mozenrath looked around the room. Near a window, moonlight streamed in, and a tall, spry man sat in it; he carefully sharpened a knife in the dim moonlight. The blade glistened in the white light, but by looking at the handle, Mozenrath could see that it had seen years of use. A plump, small woman was standing at a steaming pot set over a fire, which a small boy was tending. Two children, who Mozenrath recognized as Diya and Karima, were busy slicing some vegetables - two carrots, a potato, and a head of lettuce - which seemed to be for the soup pot.
Mozenrath sat up again as a heavily built man strode into the room with a package under his tunic. When he removed it, Mozenrath saw that it contained dried meat.
"You did get it!" the woman attending to Mozenrath cried happily.
The burly man looked over in their direction. His face was a deep brown and severely scarred. He had a deep gash in one arm from some ancient injury. He narrowed his dark eyes at Mozenrath. "It's about time you woke up," he grumbled. "I don't suppose you have anything to contribute."
The woman looked up at him and scowled. "He gave Diya and Karima some fruit earlier today; that's how he got the way he is. Isn't that enough, Adel?"
"You're too easy on him, Na'ima," Adel said. "He needs to be able to pull his share if he eats with us. And he shouldn't be handing the children food without making them work for it."
Na'ima just shook her head. She turned to Mozenrath, who climbed to his feet. "You don't need to pay attention to him," Na'ima said. "He just likes to look out for all of us."
"What's your name, Boy?" Adel asked gruffly. He handed the meat packet to the woman at the soup pot.
Mozenrath thought quickly for a name that wouldn't give him away. He suddenly thought of a name he had heard his mother mention in the past. "Anubis," he said. He hoped that none of them were familiar with it. "My name is Anubis."
"Name's Adel," Adel said brusquely. He shook Mozenrath's hand.
"Is this your family?" Mozenrath asked. He gestured around the room.
Adel snorted. "No more than they're your family, Boy," he said. "We're all like you, people without homes or families. We just look out for each other."
"Karima said you had a run-in with the leader of the Thieves' Guild today," Na'ima said. She put away the cloth and bowl of water.
"Yes," Mozenrath replied. He winced at the memory. "I guess I have to get one of their passes."
"Everyone does, unless they spend their life as a beggar, and then Amal still doesn't leave them alone," Na'ima said.
"Don't tell me even the merchants have Thieves' Guild passes," Mozenrath said.
"No," Adel said. A dark look passed over his face. "The merchants are the "good people" of Agrabah. Only the "dirty street rats" belong to the Thieves' Guild."
Mozenrath colored slightly; he remembered the way he'd scorned Comyn as a street rat, and the many times he'd been disdainful of Aladdin's status. He wondered where the little creep was now. Probably living in the palace with his little Princess Jasmine, Mozenrath decided. That would be the worst irony in this whole situation.
Just then, the woman at the soup pot clanged her spoon lightly on the outside of the pot and everyone turned to look at her.
"The soup is ready," she said. She gestured to a stack of crude wooden bowls next to the pot that were filled with soup.
"Thanks Dalal," Na'ima said. She, Adel, Mozenrath and the children gathered around the pot, and she and Dalal handed out the soup bowls.
Mozenrath noticed the man by the window was still there and looked questioningly at Na'ima.
Na'ima followed his gaze. "That's Nadir," she said. "He can't hear. I'll take some soup to him in a minute, if he doesn't notice. He doesn't like people to help him."
Mozenrath stared thoughtfully at Nadir as he sat down with his bowl of soup. A moment later, the children, Diya, Karima and the boy who had been tending the fire walked over to Mozenrath and sat down near him. The small boy crawled into Mozenrath's lap and held out his hands for the soup bowl Karima was holding.
"Terrific, just terrific," Mozenrath thought to himself as the children settled themselves. "All I need is for these children to get attached to me."
The little boy curled himself around his bowl and ate quietly. Mozenrath ate awkwardly, trying not to spill his soup on the child. Karima and Diya, on either side of him, ate ravenously.
After dinner, everyone seemed to relax for a while. Mozenrath let the boy stay on his lap until Dalal came over, picked him up, and took him over to a pile of blankets to sleep. "Sleep well, little Khwaja," she said. She tucked him in to the makeshift bed.
Adel approached Mozenrath. "Anubis," he said.
Mozenrath started; he almost didn't recognize his alibi.
"You should probably go down to the Den tonight and get your Guild pass," Adel continued. "Here." He took a small plate trimmed with gold out of a knapsack. "Amal expects stolen goods as payment for a pass. I just lifted this today; he should recognize it."
Mozenrath wouldn't accept it. "Don't," he said. "I can get something of my own. You might need that later."
"You're sure?" Adel questioned.
"Yes," said Mozenrath. He stood up to leave. "You're right. I need to pull my own weight. I am thankful you let me stay here. I'll be back later, if you don't mind."
"Not at all," Adel said. He was quickly warming to Mozenrath. "This is just an abandoned building we sleep in. We don't own it. The royal guards could come by any time and chase us out, but they don't want to take a chance of one of the royal family seeing us in the streets; it makes their precious city look bad to have poor people sleeping in the street, especially now that Prince Aladdin is the new Sultan."
"Prince Aladdin? The new Sultan?" Mozenrath wondered, thunderstruck. He promised himself he would pay attention to the gossip around him; it had obviously been too long since he'd been in Agrabah.
"Of course it does," Mozenrath muttered as he walked out the door. He wandered down the street toward the Thieves' Den. He wondered where he could pick something up for the fee he needed.
A glint of gold caught his eye as he walked past a darkened stairway leading down under the street. He turned and looked again. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the stairway, he made out the forms of various ancient objects lining shelves of a dark, dusty room. A small gold cat idol with ruby eyes caught Mozenrath's eye and he picked it up. He was a good judge of magic, and he noticed as he turned it over in his hand that it held a strong spell, even though he wasn't able to activate it. He leaned out into the moonlight and read the inscription written on the back in Arabic. Whoever desires power shalt invoke the power of this idol and summon unto himself Evil Incarnate . . .
Mozenrath laughed out loud, despite himself. He chuckled. "Ooh, what a prize," he thought. He laughed to himself. This would be just the thing to give to Amal to get back at him. Let the fool summon Mirage - she would torment him so much he would regret ever meeting Mozenrath.
Mozenrath turned to walk out, but a gnarled wooden cane flew out in front of him. "No!" an old woman demanded. She leaped nimbly in front of him despite her age. "No one steals from this place!"
"Out of the way, Old Woman," Mozenrath said. He brushed her aside and started toward the street.
The woman blocked his path. In the moonlight, Mozenrath could make out her wrinkled face and gnarled features as she glared at him. Her eyes shone with angry fire as she spat out, "You may think you have found a prize, Boy, but I warn you, this idol is more powerful than you can handle!"
"Don't worry, it's not for me." Mozenrath grinned and walked past her.
"It carries a curse you would not wish on your worst enemy!" the old woman called after him as he walked haughtily away.
"That's what you think," Mozenrath muttered. He smirked evilly; then he walked to the Thieves' Den and entered.Back to index