“I would like to go with you and see these things,” Princess Scarlet said. “But I promised my aunt that I would return home immediately after the ball.”
“No problem,” Achmed said. He snapped his fingers. There was a flapping sound in the air, and Princess Scarlet beheld a large and luxurious Persian carpet which had come seemingly from nowhere and hovered now at the level of the balcony.
“This is a flying carpet,” Achmed said. “It is a common means of transport in my land, and by utilizing it I can take you to the Grand Turk’s court, show you around, and return you to this very spot before the evening is out.”
“It is very tempting, “Scarlet said. “But I really shouldn’t. …”
Achmed Ali smiled a subtle smile of incredible attractiveness and stepped from the balcony onto the carpet. He turned to Scarlet, extending his hand.
“Come with me, beautiful princess,” he said. “I am crazy about you and I will show you a very good time and respect you throughout and I will have you back here in plenty of time to return to your esteemed aunt as you had originally planned.”
Princess Scarlet knew she shouldn’t. But the unexpected freedom, the temporary relief from the napping spell, the grandeur of the ball, the mysterious and tantalizing presence of Achmed Ali, the glass of unaccustomed champagne, and the perfume of the Mater Delirium plant that grew beneath the balcony all combined to make her senses reel and cause a feeling of boldness to come over her. Scarcely knowing what she was doing, she accepted Achmed’s hand and stepped onto the carpet.
Chapter 8
Cinderella was just about to go to the sumptuous buffet and get herself another glass of champagne, and perhaps a plate of sherbet, too, when a footman came up to her, bowed low, and said, “There is a someone, Princess, who wishes to converse with you.”
“A man?”
“A demon, I opine, though manlike for all of that.”
“A demon,” Cinderella mused. “I don’t remember asking any demons.”
“I believe he came on his own recognizance, Princess,” said the footman, straining to find enough time to mention that he, the footman, was himself a prince in disguise.
“What does he want?”
“I do not know,” the footman said, brushing his wrist against his luxuriant mustache. “He claims it is a matter of great importance.”
This exchange might have gone on longer if at that moment Azzie hadn’t come striding up with two doormen clinging to his coattails trying to restrain him.
Azzie gave a shrug that sent them sprawling, and said, “You are Cinderella?”
“Yes, I am.”
“And this is your party?”
“Yes, it is. And in case you’re thinking of crashing it, I have demons of my own whom I can call up at a moment’s notice.”
“It seems that you invited my niece, Princess Scarlet, to your festivities.”
Cinderella glanced around. Several of the guests seemed to be taking an interest in the conversation, and the footman was still hanging around twirling his ridiculous mustache as he tried to insert himself and his bogus credentials into the proceedings.
“Come over here to the secret bower,” Cinderella said. “There we can talk quietly.”
They walked to the bower.
“You can put your broomsticks in the corner,” Cinderella said.
“I think I’ll hold on to them. Enough small talk. Where’s Scarlet?”
“Are you really her uncle? You shouldn’t have left the child alone so long in that enchanted castle. I didn’t think it would do any harm to invite her to my party.”
“Where is she right now?” Azzie said, his foot tapping ominously.
Cinderella looked around, but she couldn’t see Scarlet. She called over a footman – another one, not the one with the mustache-this one had a little goatee-and told him to find Princess Scarlet.
In a moment the footman hurried back. “I am told she left with the turbaned gentleman, Achmed Ali.”
Azzie turned to the footman. “How did they depart?”
“By flying carpet, milord.”
Azzie rubbed his chin and looked thoughtful. “And in what direction did they head?”
“Due east, milord.”
“Do you know who this man is?” he asked Cinderella.