All of them, including the man who was wading out of the pool with some kind of bottle, looked at Abdullah with expressions that said his explanation had better be good. Or else.

Abdullah blinked more sand out of his eyes and stared earnestly at the man with the pistol. The man really was the absolute image of the villainous bandit of his daydream. It must be one of those coincidences.

“I beg your pardon a hundred times, gentlemen of the desert,” he said with great politeness, “for intruding on you in this manner, but am I addressing the most noble and world-famous bandit, the matchless Kabul Aqba?”

The other villainous men around him seemed astonished. Abdullah distinctly heard one say, “How did he know that?” But the man with the pistol simply sneered. It was something his face was particularly well designed to do. “I am indeed he,” he said. “Famous, am I?”

It was one of those coincidences, Abdullah thought. Well, at least he knew where he was now. “Alas, wanderers in the wilderness,” he said, “I am, like your noble selves, one who is outcast and oppressed. I have sworn revenge on all Rashpuht. I came here expressly to join with you and add the strength of my mind and my arm to yours.”

“Did you indeed?” said Kabul Aqba. “And how did you get here? By dropping from the sky, chains and all?”

“By magic,” Abdullah said modestly. He thought it was the thing most likely to impress these people. “I did indeed drop from the sky, noblest of nomads.”

Unfortunately they did not seem impressed. Most of them laughed. Kabul Aqba, with a nod, sent two of them up the sand dune to examine Abdullah’s point of arrival. “So you can work magic?” he said. “Do these chains you wear have anything to do with that?”

“Certainly,” said Abdullah. “Such a mighty magician am I that the Sultan of Zanzib himself loaded me with chains for very fear of what I could do. Only strike these chains apart and undo these handcuffs and you will see great things.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw the two men returning, carrying the carpet between them. He hoped very much that this was a good thing to happen. “Iron, as you know, inhibits a magician in the use of magic,” he said earnestly. “Feel free to strike it off me and see a new life open before you.”

The rest of the bandits looked at him dubiously. “We haven’t got a cold chisel,” said one. “Or a mallet.”

Kabul Aqba turned to the two men with the carpet. “There was only this,” they reported. “No sign of anything to ride. No tracks.”

At this the chief bandit stroked his mustache. Abdullah found himself wondering if it ever got tangled with his nose ring. “Hmm,” he said. “Then I’ll lay odds it’s a magic carpet. I’ll have it here.” He turned sneeringly to Abdullah. “Sorry to disappoint you, magician,” he said, “but since you delivered yourself so conveniently in chains, I’m going to leave you that way and take charge of your carpet, just to prevent accidents. If you really want to join us, you can make yourself useful first.”

Somewhat to his surprise, Abdullah found he was far more angry than frightened. Perhaps it was that he had exhausted all his fear that morning in front of the Sultan. Or perhaps it was just because he ached all over. He was sore and scraped from sliding down the sand dune, and one of his ankle bands was chafing brutally. “But I have told you,” he said haughtily, “that I shall be no use to you until my chains are off.”

“It is not magic we want from you. It is knowledge,” said Kabul Aqba. He beckoned to the man who had gone wading into the pool. “Tell us what manner of thing this is,” he said, “and we may let your legs loose as a reward.”

The man who had been in the pool squatted down and held out a smoky blue bottle with a rounded belly. Abdullah levered himself to his elbows and looked at it resentfully. It seemed to be new. There was a clean new cork showing through the smoky glass of the neck, which had been sealed over with a stamped lead seal, again new-looking. It looked like a bottle of perfume that had lost its label. “It’s quite light,” said the squatting man, shaking the bottle about, “and it neither rattles nor sloshes.”

Abdullah thought of a way he could use this to get himself unchained. “It’s a genie bottle,” he said. “Know, denizens of the desert, that it could be very dangerous. Do but take these chains from me, and I will control the genie within and make sure he obeys your every wish. Otherwise I think no man should touch it.”

The man holding the bottle dropped it nervously, but Kabul Aqba only laughed and picked it up. “It looks more like something good to drink,” he said. He tossed the flask to another man. “Open it.” The man laid down his saber and got out a large knife, with which he hacked at the lead seal.

Abdullah saw his chance of getting unchained going. Worse, he was about to be exposed as a fraud. “It is really extremely dangerous, O rubies among robbers,” he protested. “Once you have broken the seal, do not on any account draw the cork.” As he spoke, the man peeled the seal away and dropped it on the sand. He began prying the cork out, while another man held the bottle steady for him. “If you must draw the cork,” Abdullah babbled, “at least tap on the bottle the correct and mystical number of times and make the genie inside swear—”

The cork came out. Pop. A thin mauvish vapor came smoking out of the neck of the flask. Abdullah hoped the thing was full of poison. But the vapor almost instantly thickened to a cloud that came rushing out of the bottle like a kettle boiling bluish mauve steam. This steam shaped itself into a face—large and angry and blue—and arms, and a wisp of body connected to the bottle, and went on rushing forth until it was easily ten feet tall.

“I made a vow!” the face howled, in a large, windy roar. “The one who lets me out shall suffer. There!” The misty arms gestured.

The two men holding the cork and the bottle seemed to wink out of existence. Cork and bottle both fell to the ground, forcing the genie to billow sideways from the neck of the bottle. From the midst of his blue vapor, two large toads came crawling and seemed to gaze around in bewilderment. The genie came slowly and vaporously upright, hovering above the bottle with his smoky arms folded and a look of utter hatred on his misty face.

By this time everyone had run away except for Abdullah and Kabul Aqba, Abdullah because he could barely move in his chains and Kabul Aqba because he was clearly unexpectedly brave. The genie glowered at the two of them.

“I am the slave of the bottle,” he said. “Much as I hate and detest the whole arrangement, I have to tell you that he who owns me is allowed one wish every day and I am forced to grant it.” And he added menacingly, “What is your wish?”

“I wish—” began Abdullah.

Kabul Aqba quickly rammed his hand across Abdullah’s mouth. “I am the one wishing,” he said. “Get that quite clear, genie!”

“I hear,” said the genie. “What wish?”

“One moment,” said Kabul Aqba. He put his face close to Abdullah’s ear. His breath smelled even worse than his hand, although neither, Abdullah had to admit, was a patch on Jamal’s dog. “Well, magician,” the bandit whispered, “you’ve proved you know what you’re talking about. Advise me what to wish and I’ll make you a free man and an honored member of my band. But if you try to make a wish yourself, I kill you. Understand?” He put the muzzle of his pistol to Abdullah’s head and let go of his mouth. “What shall I wish?”

“Well,” said Abdullah, “the wisest and kindest wish would be to wish your two toads turned back into men.”

Kabul Aqba spared a surprised glance for the two toads. They were crawling uncertainly along the muddy edge of the pool, obviously wondering whether they could swim or not. “A waste of a wish,” he said. “Think again.”