“He’s a nobleman from the courts of the Grand Turk, ruler of all Turkestan.”
“Is that all you know?”
“Know you something al contrario?”
“Did he tell you his court position?”
“No, not specifically.”
“He is the Chief Procurer for the Seraglio of the Grand Turk.”
“How do you know this?”
“I make it my business to know such things,” Azzie said.
“Procurer! Surely you don’t mean – ”
“I mean,” Azzie said, “that Princess Scarlet is at this very moment being transported across international boundaries for purposes of white slavery and imperial prostitution.”
“I had no idea!” Princess Cinderella said. “Where is my grand vizier? Strike Achmed Ali’s name from the guest list! Put a double line through it! My dear demon, I can’t tell you how sorry I am-”
But she was talking to herself. Azzie had already leaped to the rail of the balcony and, pausing only to activate the brooms’ drive mechanisms, soared off onto the ambient air, going east, due east.
Flying carpets are swift, powered as they are by the strongest spells of mighty djinns. But they are not aerodynamically efficient and tend to be unstable. The leading edge of a carpet in flight invariably curls up like the front of a toboggan and provides an airfoil that slows flight. Still, Achmed was making good time. As for Scarlet, she had started to think about her situation and found it a little less delicious than she had earlier. As she looked at Achmed, sitting tailor fashion at the carpet’s controls, she noticed the cruel lines etched down his face, which somehow she had overlooked earlier, and the angry way his black mustache curled down and then back up again, terminating in needle-sharp waxed points. It occurred to her that she had been just a touch precipitous when she had accepted this invitation. It was only then that she thought about Prince Charming, her intended. He might even now be entering the enchanted castle. What if he arrived and didn’t find her and went away and found someone else? Would she be doomed to live alone under the napping spell for the rest of her life? Was there any salvation for Napping Beauties who have the bad luck not to be found by their Prince Charmings? And anyhow, what was she getting herself into and was this Achmed really sincere?
“Achmed,” she said, “I have changed my mind.”
“Indeed?” Achmed said, in an offhand way.
“I want to go back to Cinderella’s party now.”
“The Grand Turk’s court is just a little way from here,” Achmed said.
“I don’t care! I want to turn back right now!”
Achmed turned to her, and now his face was ugly with machismo, self-pride, hatred, bad faith, as well as a touch of pusillanimity. “Little Princess, you have chosen this adventure, and now there is no turning back.”
“Why are you doing this? ” she asked. “There comes a time when only the truth will suffice.
“It is my job,” he replied, “and my master, the Grand Turk, will reward me well for adding you to his seraglio. Need I put it any clearer?”
“I’m not going to any seraglio! I’ll die first!” Scarlet said. She moved to the edge of the carpet. Peering over, she saw, far below, the isles of Greece, dark lumps in a milk-white sea. She decided that things weren’t so extreme as to warrant suicide, at least not yet.
She shrank back to the middle of the carpet, already mourning the handsome young prince who she seemed destined now never to meet. She brushed back her long hair, which was getting ratty from the wind, and saw, behind her-for that was the direction in which she turned in order to ease a crink in her neck-a tiny speck in the sky moving directly toward them. The speck grew, and hope blossomed in Scarlet’s heart, and she turned away so as not to betray her emotions or her discovery to Achmed.
Azzie, driving the two broomsticks at full throttle, saw the flying carpet ahead of him, outlined fantastically against the full moon, and he closed in, his eyes slitted against the airstream. His rage seemed to power the broomsticks even faster. He gained rapidly on the flying carpet, and then, coming up behind and above it, nosed the broomsticks over into a power dive.