Free Thief of Baghdad by Richard Wormser Page B

refreshed by a few hours sleep and the gift of a necklace, Princess Amina had suddenly become completely somnolent; she lolled back on the pillows from which she had expelled me, her eyes closed, her arms and legs sprawled in gentle and graceful repose.
    She was, to the eye, unconscious. Somehow or other I doubted it. Her gauze-covered bosom was rising and falling at the steady rate that looks like sleep; but there was an added quivering that indicated that her heart was pounding like a gold beater’s mallet.
    So I floated over to the parapet and looked where she had looked, and saw—not at all to my surprise—Karim, climbing up the vine that covered the south wall of the harem wing.
    Heroes are made, not born. If he was really hero-stuff, nothing should be able to stop him. So I floated down and cut the vine, about three feet above him.
    Karim fell to the ground, of course; nobody ever taught him how to float. He invoked the names of two or three minor prophets, a saint or two, and brushed himself off. Then he started climbing again.
    A quick float upward disclosed that the Princess Amina was getting impatient. She had opened her eyes. Then the noise of vine leaves fluttering and fingers scratching came to her, and she redisposed herself in sleep, gracefully and alluringly. At the last moment, she moved enough to pull her bodice down slightly, and then closed her eyes again.
    This time I let Karim make it. It is one thing to try your heroes, and another one to use them completely up.
    He came over the wall with a lithe vault, and then crouched in the shadow of the parapet, looking around cautiously. But there were no eunuchs in sight; he started creeping for the stairs that led down to the harem.
    He was so intent on doing an authentic creep that he almost passed the Princess without seeing her. She fixed that, though; she moved slightly and sighed.
    Karim jumped like an ichneumon surprised by a mother crocodile while eating her eggs. He turned completely while still in the air, and came down facing the Princess.
    She was worth facing. If she had any flaws, they wouldn’t have shown in the moonlight; if she had any glories of figure, face or complexion, they showed to their best. And—ah, my lonely jinnish heart—she had plenty.
    She was much too good for Karim; at his age almost any passable girl will do. And I suppose, at her age, any passable young man would do. I wasn’t sure of that; it was the sort of thing I’d have to consult a lady jinni about. Which was just what I wanted to do; I mean, consult a lady jinni.
    Karim crept slowly toward the Lady Amina, slowly and reverently, like a hadji approaching Mecca. Considering the trouble she had gone to, he could have hurried a little; or maybe she enjoyed the slow approach. Another point to consult on, if I ever get to the Rocky Sands.
    Of course, he was too much blinded by something or other to notice how her heart was beating, though the place where it showed was certainly not one of the places he overlooked.
    Then, slowly, softly, he lifted her face cloth.
    Satisfied with what he saw, apparently, he kissed it. But softly, but gently.
    Was this a true descendant of our Prophet, whose wives were only outnumbered by his concubines?
    Maybe it was, because when he got through kissing Princess Amina’s mouth, he moved a bit lower, and started nibbling gently on the section of bosom she had so considerately exposed for him.
    Princess Amina decided to wake up.
    The scream she gave would have alerted any eunuchs or palace guards who happened to be within six inches of her mouth, and who had particularly good hearing.
    Then her instincts got the better of her and she threw her arms around his neck. This pressed him harder against her bosom for a minute, but he did a wriggle, and found her mouth with his.
    Things were likely to get embarrassing for a lonely jinni; I thought of floating elsewhere, but I am a demon for duty, and my duty was here; Baghdad tradition has it that