Three hours later, just before hostilities could begin in earnest, a hasty cease-fire was lashed together: involving a three-mile neutral zone along the common frontier, a UN peacekeeping force and a unilateral ban on all forms of ballroom and flamenco dancing throughout the front line states. It held. Just.

Which pleased the human race no end but irritated Philly Nine, who had put a lot of thought and effort into the attack, and had quite reasonably expected a result. Back to the drawing board.

High in his solitary eyrie, he watched the tanks withdraw, clicked his tongue, and took out his crumpled envelope.

He ran his pen down the margin and drew a cross.

Ah well, he muttered to himself. Better luck next time.

One small random particle, working its way steadily towards the centre…

“That signpost,” said Asaf, with deadly patience, “says Ankara, 15km.”

The Dragon King lifted his sunglasses and squinted. “Too right, mate,” he said. “Well, stuff me for a kookaburra’s uncle.”

Asaf breathed out slowly through his nose. “I may yet,” he replied. “Admit it,” he went on. “We’re on the wrong road.”

The King looked out of the window. “Hell,” he said, “it all looks different from down here. I’m used to the aerial view.”

Asaf snarled, put the camper into reverse and started to backup. The King put a hand on his arm.

“Just a second there, mate,” he said. “While we’re here, we might just as well…”

He tailed off. Asaf scowled.

“We aren’t lost, are we?” he said accusingly. “You’ve lured me out here for another of your goddamn poxy adventures. Admit it.”

“Fair dinkum, mate, you’ll like this one. Stand on me.”

Asaf stamped on the accelerator, sending the camper hurtling backwards. “Oh no, you bloody well don’t,” he snapped. “Not after the last time.”

“Yes, but—”

“And the time before that.”

“Hang on just a—”

“And the time before that, with the talking shrub. I nearly died of embarrassment.”

The King shut his eyes, took a deep breath and stalled the engine. Or rather, he caused the engine to stall. Then he tried his best at an ingratiating smile.

“Adventure,” he said weakly, “is the spice of life.”

“Get out.”

“Pardon me?”

“Get out of my van,” Asaf growled. “And you can bloody well walk home.”

“You haven’t seen the adventure yet.”

Just then, at precisely the moment when Asaf was leaning across to work the passenger-door handle, a beautiful white gazelle sprang out in front of the camper, stopped dead in its tracks, raised its head for an instant and then ran on. Asaf stared.

“Is that the adventure?” he said.

The King drew breath to explain, thought better of it and nodded.

“You see?” he said. “Told you you’d like it.”

Asaf frowned. “I must be mad,” he muttered. “Stark staring—”

“She’ll be right, mate. Trust me.”

Still muttering, Asaf climbed slowly out of the camper, shut the door and walked slowly towards the gazelle, which had stopped about seventy-five yards away and was feeding peacefully on a discarded cheese roll. He had covered half the distance when — WHOOSH!

It seemed as if the ground split open at his feet, as a huge apparition reared up and loomed over him. Generally humanoid in form, it had three heads, five arms and the legs of a wild goat. Out of the corners of its mouths projected weird curling tusks, and in its hands it held a variety of archaic but imagination-curdling weapons. It crouched in a fighting pose and said, “Ha!”

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” said Asaf, disgustedly. “Not you again.”

And justifiably; because all three of the monster’s heads were the same, and the face on each of them was identical to the one Asaf had so far encountered on one camel-riding magician, one magic-carpet-riding Grand Vizier, one man-eating Centaur, one seven-headed magic bird and, improbable as it may seem, one evil but enchanting houri. It was a face that was starting to get on Asaf’s nerves.

“Tremble!” the monster commanded, a mite self-consciously. It was the tone of voice a policeman might use when arresting someone who, on closer inspection, turned out to be his elder brother.

“Bog off,” Asaf replied. He turned on his heel and started to walk back to the van.

“Wretched mortal, I shall devour…” the monster started to say; then it realised that its audience was fifteen yards away and walking briskly. It scampered after him; a manoeuvre that wasn’t helped by the goat’s feet.

“Wretched… mortal… I…” it puffed. “Here, wait for me!”

Asaf turned and scowled, hands on hips. “Look,” he said, “I told you the last time. I’m not interested. Go away.” He turned and quickened his pace, and the monster had to sprint to keep up with him.

“But I shall devour… oof!”

Before the monster could halt its teetering run (imagine Godzilla in a pair of two-inch-heel court shoes, each shoe on the wrong foot) Asaf had whirled round and prodded it hard just below the navel. It wobbled for a fraction of a second and then sat down hard on a sharp boulder.

“Ouch!” it said. “That hurt.”

“Good.” Asaf grabbed a pointed ear and twisted it. “Look, chum, so far I’ve killed you twice, imprisoned your soul in a bottle, thrown you off a cliff and nailed your ears to a tree. What exactly do I have to do to you before you get the message?”

“I’m only doing my job,” the monster replied.

“Find another job, then,” Asaf snapped. “Carpentry, for instance. Plumbing. Chartered surveying. Anything which doesn’t involve meeting me ever again. Otherwise,” he added, “I shall get seriously annoyed. Got it?”

“Finished?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” The monster clicked its tongues. “Now then, where was I? Oh magnanimous one, spare my life and I shall…”

“Hold on,” Asaf interrupted, turning the ear in his hand a few degrees clockwise. “This doesn’t involve three wishes, does it, because I’ve had all that and as far as I’m concerned you can take your three wishes and you can—”

“No, it doesn’t,” replied the monster irritably. “And my ear is not a starting handle. Thank you very much.”

“Get on with it, then.”

“Spare my life,” growled the monster, “and I shall show thee the most wondrous treasure.” It glanced up with its unencumbered heads. “Interested?”

“Not very,” Asaf replied. “But it’s an improvement. Go on.”

“Not three leagues from here,” said the monster, “there lies an enchanted castle, under whose walls—”

“Hold it.”

“Well?”

“Three leagues,” said Asaf. “What’s that in kilometres?”

“Fourteen and a half,” snapped the monster. “Not fourteen and a half kilometres from here there lies an enchanted castle, under whose—”

Asaf shook his head. “No way,” he said. “A fifteen-kilometre detour on these roads, there and back, that’s best part of an hour. We wouldn’t reach Istanbul till gone nine.”

“Hoy!” the monster broke in angrily. “We’re talking about a wondrous treasure here.”

“Sorry,” Asaf replied. “Not even with free wine-glasses.” He gave the ear a final twist, for luck, and let go. “So long,” he said. “I have this strange feeling we’ll meet again soon. Till then, mind how you go.”

“Gold!” the monster yelled after him. “Silver! Precious stones!”

“Balls,” Asaf replied.

“You can’t do this,” screamed the monster. “I’ve signed for it now, they’ll have my guts for—”

“I expect you’re used to that by now,” Asaf said. “Ciao.”

“Bastard!” The monster shook its many fists, spat into the dust and started to sink into the ground. Asaf walked a few more yards, and then stopped.

“Hey!” he said.

The monster paused, waist-deep in the earth. “Well?”

“Did you say gold?”

“Yes.”

“And silver? And precious stones?”

“Yes.”

“Stay there, I’ll be right with you.”