Aladdin Sins Bad (The Aladdin Trilogy Book 2) Read online

  “You amuse me, Master, as I have said.”

  His reasoning still did not add up to me. Unless compelled, I have never heard of a case where a djinn willingly helped his human counterpart. I let it go for now.

  Sinbad took all of this in with a jovial smile. His thick beard and mustache seemed particularly expressive, rising and falling easily with the smallest of grins. “And what is this assignment, if I may ask?”

  The boat rocked gently in the currents. Above, I heard a change in music. One that seemed particularly skilled and melodious. I frowned at that. I said, “He was given the task to figure out how we might escape the whirlpool.”

  “I see!” said Sinbad, clapping. “And pray tell, my good djinn, what have you come up with?”

  Above, the music picked up in tempo. There were more hoots and hollering, whistles and stomping of the feet. I think men were dancing. I frowned some more, knowing my son was up there.

  “I’m afraid your king, the venerable Aladdin, has not been entirely forthcoming with you,” said Faddy. “He has yet another djinn, one far more powerful than I. In fact, some claim perhaps the most powerful of all.”

  “Prince Zeyn might have something to say about that,” I said, mentioning the cruel djinn who had destroyed my family so long ago, and who might also be behind Sinbad’s own troubles.

  “And where is this djinn that you speak of?” asked Sinbad.

  “The djinn that I speak of is in a safe place,” I said, frowning at Faddy. Lamprey, my nickname for the powerful djinn who had been in my care all these years, was my closely guarded secret. Or, had been my secret. “What’s gotten into you, ifrit?”

  “You asked for my help, my liege, and I’m giving it.”

  “I did not ask you to give away my secrets. If you do so again, your presence will not be welcome.”

  “Understood, master.”

  “I’m most certainly not your master,” I said. “And if you continue giving away my secrets, you will no longer be a friend either. Got it, Smoke Face?”

  “As you wish, my master.”

  “Your djinn,” said Sinbad wildly. “He can help rescue my wife!”

  “Perhaps,” I said, “but first we need more information.”

  “But if your djinn is as powerful as you say, then you can just command him to rescue my wife!”

  Faddy said, “Allow me, master. Aladdin’s djinn and the mighty Prince Zeyn are of near equal strength. If Prince Zeyn is behind your wife’s disappearance, there will be dark magic surrounding her indeed. Magic that Lamprey cannot easily undo.”

  “This Lamprey, can he then help us recover treasure?”

  “He would,” I said, “if I would allow it.”

  “And you will not allow it?”

  “And let a djinn live my life?” I bellowed, slapping the sailor heartily on the shoulder. “Where is the adventure in that, man?”

  “I don’t want adventure, my liege. I want my wife.”

  Except I didn’t believe it. I saw the fire erupt behind Sinbad’s eyes. He was indeed a man of action.

  Faddy continued, “There is more. One old man claimed that the whirlpool led to a land of the walking dead.”

  “I do not understand,” I said.

  Sinbad nodded, “Aye. I have heard such a tale, but I did not know it was here. The isle of the damned.” He turned to Faddy. “So it is here, beneath the whirlpool?”

  Faddy nodded gravely, although I caught a hint of a smirk on his narrow lips. Already he was beginning to fade. “You have with you two great magicians, my liege. I suggest, once you have located the ambergris, you utilize one of them and make haste. They say those who journey to the land of the damned never return.”

  “Begone!” I said irritably. Faddy, of late, was becoming an irritant. I should never have freed him, or permitted his return.

  The music above hit a high note, followed by much clapping, and I moved quickly out of the cabin and up the rickety ladder. There, encircled by mostly drunken sailors, was my son playing a lyre. Men of all shapes and sizes and sobriety danced around him. Clapping and keeping beat to the beautiful music that issued from his instrument.

  My anger abated when I saw the joy on my stepson’s face.

  I knew then that he would never be king.

  I slipped below deck again, where Sinbad and I made plans for our covered vessel...and our journey to the land of the dead.

  Chapter Five

  “Here are the rules of the road,” I told Sinbad firmly. “No special magic unless it’s absolutely unavoidable. I believe that anything magic can accomplish can also be accomplished without magic, albeit it maybe less conveniently. It’s no good to depend on magic; it makes a man grow fat and useless.”

  Sinbad shook his head. “The main reason I haven’t used magic is that I have not had enough of it to use. How are we going to deal with walking dead if we don’t use magic? I have heard that they long to consume living human flesh, thinking it will make them live again.”

  I had heard similar. Also that they could not be killed, being already dead. It was said that the only way to stop a zombie from attacking was to hack it into fragments too small to move effectively, and even then the fragments would strive to reform into zombies and resume the attack. I did not have a formal list of things I did not want to do, but fighting zombies hand to hand was surely near the top of it.

  But we needed to fetch the ambergris. That meant dealing with the zombies. “There must be a way.”

  Sinbad gazed at me cannily. He was not a foolish man, and he already knew better than to try to thwart my notions openly. “Maybe this compromise: no magic until such time as we are about to be chomped to death and become zombies ourselves.”

  I hesitated, not enamored of any loophole. Who was to judge how close to chomping we might be?

  “What would your wife the queen say if your son got chomped when you could have prevented it?”

  “Camel turds!” I swore. “All right, I accept the compromise.” Because even my becoming a walking dead zombie would scarcely dissuade Jewel from wreaking vengeance on me.

  However, thereafter my mind focused. “A boat on a boat,” I said. “Top one upside down, sealed tight to make a waterproof capsule with only holes for the oars, and plenty of grease to stop leakage there. We’ll ride the whirlpool down, and lift the top boat when we come safely to rest.”

  “That may do, one-way,” Sinbad said. “But what of the return?”

  “It’s a tidal whirlpool, existing only when the tide goes out. There is surely a similar whirlpool on the other side, existing only when the tide comes in. We’ll ride that out, in due course.”

  “That’s so utterly crazy it just might work!”

  “Thank you.”

  “And what about the zombies?”

  “I’m working on that. Meanwhile we can assemble the boats.”

  We assembled the boats: two matched landing craft, precisely fitted together and sealed with tar. We cut a window in the top one and put in a translucent slab of mica. It wasn’t great, but at least we’d have half a notion what was outside. We braced the boats with timbers so they couldn’t be crushed inward. It looked good. So why were my knees feeling like cooked noodles? Maybe it was that I still hadn’t figured out what to do about the zombies.

  We had the submersible boat ready in time for the next whirlpool. The upper boat was fastened in place with hinges on one side and removable ties on the other. It was crude but it would do. We had a small supply of food; we did not expect to be away long.

  Sinbad gave orders for the ship to wait upon our return. If we didn’t appear within a week, then it should sail to the home port for some other mission. Then the three of us climbed in, sat on the seats, shipped the oars, swung down the upper boat, and tied it in place. It was dark inside, but some wan light filtered in through the window. A hoist on the Fat Chance lowered us into the water with a splash. We were on our way.

  Sinbad and I took the oars and rowed, guid
ing the craft toward the forming whirlpool. Once that current caught us we relaxed, physically; it would do the rest.

  “I’m thinking this is not a good idea,” Sinbad said.

  Duban and I both laughed, treating it as a joke, and thus it became one. It was of course too late to change our minds. Nevertheless, thoughts of Jewel coursed through my mind, lying nude on the bed, invitingly. She had truly restored me to potency, and I loved her for it. Or maybe it was the other way around. Then my thoughts morphed into an image of my beloved first wife. Perhaps I was about to join her in death.

  The current caught us. We shipped the oars again and touched up the tar seal. So far no water was leaking in, but we were still floating high enough so that there was only splashing. I felt the craft accelerating as the current carried it around the circuit.

  Duban peered through the mica window. “We’re getting there,” he reported.

  “We never would have known,” Sinbad muttered with sour irony. If I hadn’t known better I might have thought he was looking a bit seasick himself. Probably it was a trick of the shadow.

  Then he retched. Fortunately he managed to hold it in. We certainly didn’t need the smell of vomit in our close confinement.

  Now the craft accelerated. “Sit down, hold on,” I told Duban. He was happy to obey.

  “Oh, you’re going to get it now, master.” It was Faddy, of course, reveling in our discomfort.

  “You are referring to the ambergris, of course,” I told him.

  “That too,” he agreed with a sinister smile. “Wait until you meet the maidens.”

  He was obviously teasing us. I did not deign to rise to the bait.

  The craft swung around in an ever-tighter circle, moving at incredible velocity. I closed my eyes and hung on. Was the contraption sturdy enough? Or would it fly apart and cast us into the rushing water?

  Then we were at the center, spinning madly. That continued for a brief eternity. Then, abruptly, it ceased.

  “And we are there,” Faddy announced. “Good luck with the zombies, master.” He faded out.

  We pried open the craft. Light washed in. We were grounded on a beach. It looked almost pleasant. Palm trees lined its inner edge.

  “Where’s the ambergris?” Sinbad asked.

  We got out and looked around. There was no sign of ambergris, or anything else. The beach was clear.

  Then there was a cry. “Men!”

  We whirled. There, passing the palms, were women, dozens of them, each more nude and shapely than the others. They were charging toward us, their flesh bouncing in fascinating ways.

  Before we could properly react, they were upon us. One flung her arms around me and put her face to mine. She sought to kiss me. That was when I realized that she had no face. Her head was a blob of what seemed like solidified cloud stuff, shaped about right, but with only sockets for the eyes and a mound for the nose. Her hair consisted of streamers of vapor. Her body was similar, with mounds in the right places and shapely thighs, but all white cloud.

  Whatever she was, she was not exactly human.

  Now I’m not particularly prejudiced, particularly when it comes to bare women. But this was not my style. “Get away from me,” I said.

  “No, no, I love you!” she responded, the words issuing from the vent that was her mouth. She pressed her pelvis against me. Trying to push her away, I moved my hands across her back and found her bottom. It felt interesting, but it was more cloud stuff. I suspected it would be possible to, well, penetrate her, as a man does a woman, but inside her would merely be more cloud.

  Assuming I would be potent with her regardless, which was highly dubious. So it was easy for me to do the right thing. “I am a married man. I will not tarry with the likes of you. Now give over, hussy, before I treat you unkindly.”

  “No no, I love you!” she repeated. It seemed that her head was filled with cloud stuff also.

  I tried to pull her arms off me, but where I gripped her turned to vapor and I had no purchase. So I walked to the edge of the sea, and into it. Soon I was waist deep.

  As I thought, her cloud stuff couldn’t handle water. It floated, separating her substance from me. Her arms still clung, but I ducked down below the surface, and was free.

  I came up and looked around. Sinbad and Duban were still entangled in cloud stuff. “Get in the water!” I called.

  They heard me and lurched into the sea, carrying cloud maidens with them. In moments they too were wet but free. The ghostly girls stood at the edge, frustrated.

  “That was interesting,” Sinbad said. “In other circumstances I might like to learn more of clouds.”

  “It was appalling,” Duban said. “She was all over me.”

  I exchanged a glance with Sinbad, and did not argue the case. It would not be long before the boy got interested in shapely bare female figures. No need to rush him.

  “I think there is nothing here for us,” I said. “Let’s get back in the boat and row to the other island.” Because now I saw a nearby isle, and it looked as though the carcass of a whale was there. We had merely landed on the wrong one.

  We hauled the boat off the beach and clambered in, straight-arming affectionate maidens. Dunking made them let go without otherwise hurting them. They weren’t afraid of the water; they simply couldn’t handle it. We were soaked but otherwise unharmed.

  We oriented on the other island, and were delighted to see that the massive lump on the beach was a whale; as we approached, the stink of it smote my nostrils.

  “Ooops,” Sinbad said. “The walking dead.”

  Now I saw them, coming from the nearby palms. Dozens of zombies, with rotting flesh galore. They had spied us with their deteriorating eyeballs. They looked hungry. They did not venture into the water; evidently that was impassible for them, as it was for the cloud maidens.

  “I could be wrong,” Duban said. “But I don’t think they’re going to let us search for ambergris unscathed.”

  Sinbad shuddered. “They want a piece of us, just as the cloud maidens do. Just not the same piece.”

  I got an idea. “A causeway!” I exclaimed.

  Sinbad and Duban looked at me.

  “We can make a causeway by dredging sand from the shallow sea floor,” I said. “A ramp between the isles.”

  Duban caught on first. He was a smart boy. “The maidens will cross!”

  Then Sinbad did. “And seek to make love to the zombies.”

  “And will not be dissuaded,” I concluded. “While we, ignored, fetch and load the ambergris.”

  The others nodded. We now had a feasible plan of attack. Assuming that nothing went wrong.

  Chapter Six

  “One problem,” said Sinbad. “How do we build the causeway?”

  I bit my lip, perhaps harder than I intended. With a taste of salty blood filling my mouth, I realized that my plan was brilliant...if we had the proper time.

  As I thought about this, hard, I was more than aware of the walking dead approaching. Where did they come from? And where, exactly, were we? My best guess was a spirit realm. I had heard a mystic once discuss parallel realms that overlapped our own. A fascinating concept, but one that hurt my head. The whirlpool had brought us down to the nether regions, wherever this was, where the dead walked again, and fair maidens were nothing but exciting puffs of cloud-like shapes.

  “Father, if I may,” said Duban, his little face looking nervously from me to the approaching corpses, some of which clawed their way toward us on nothing more than hands, their legs long since gone. A horrific sight if I had ever seen one. To the boy’s credit, he handled it all with a calm that I certainly wasn’t feeling.

  “Out with it, boy,” I said.

  “I can handle this,” he said. “I’m sure of it. My control over the elements is strengthening.”

  I thought about it, even as the walking dead continued pouring through the shrubs and trees, bearing down on us inevitably. On the far isle, I could see the fair, cloud-like maidens wat
ching all of this with obvious interest. How often did sailors end up on these shores? And how did the undead know of our arrival? What had alerted them?

  The stink of the whale filled my nostrils, so strong that bile rose up in the back of my throat. Another stink soon mixed with that of the massive beast: the undead, their rotting flesh, soil and decaying garments wafting to us so strong that this time I did turn and wretch.

  The ambergris was here, waiting. All we needed was time.

  And now the first of the undead was upon Sinbad. I drew my own scimitar, but Sinbad was faster. His own flashed brilliantly, catching whatever was the source of light in these dull skies, and promptly hacked off the foul creature’s rotting head. It landed in the sand, its jaw still napping. Headless, the creature lumbered past us, stumbling in the lapping currents, and then finally pitching forward.

  I realized that a convergence of corpses, with a taste for human brain, qualified as an emergency to use magic, even though it galled me to think I had given in so quickly.

  “Fine,” I said. “But be quick about it.”

  Duban grinned, and as more and more of the walking dead approached, my son, who had been prophesied to be a powerful wizard, so powerful that greatest wizard in Djinnland had conspired to destroy him at a young age, stepped forward and raised his hands. The sand around him erupted in hundreds of dervishes, swirling around the undead, clearly disorientating them.

  Duban, who had closed his eyes, opened them now and grinned. He was truly a powerful young wizard. He kept one hand up, and with his other he motioned toward the narrow channel that separated the two islands. A great wind appeared to erupt, although I felt no such wind. The water, clearly agitated, began lapping and churning...and parting.

  Amazingly, the young man cleared a path through the water, revealing dry land, and now the waif-like puffs of nubile female figures crossed rapidly, seeing their opening. They disappeared behind the haze of churning sand, and as my stepson stood there, holding at bay both the elements, Sinbad slapped my shoulder hard, jarring me into action.