MALADICTION
by
Tom Morris
Published by Tom Morris at Smashwords
Copyright 2012, Tom Morris
Maledict the Magnificent, sometimes known as Maledict the Malicious (although very infrequently due to the ubiquitousness of his many informers) leant back and settled himself more firmly on the well-padded lion throne of the hereditary rulers of Tzim in the Land of Belsinor. He smiled benignly at Azart Hath, his grand vizier.
"I seek a refreshment of my palate," he said "which is wearied by the unadventurous cuisine with which I have been served of late by my chief cook, who as we speak is now being impaled on his own spit." At this his Major Domo, head of the Royal household, trembled, became pale and tried as imperceptibly as possible to edge backwards through the crowd of courtiers who attended the August Presence.
"I have been told that a most agreeable and excellent aperitif is to made by an infusion of the leaves of the Quinct bush, which grows on the edge of the Sansomati Desert, in the spring water from the head of the River Ashjard and cooled with fresh snow from high in the Pass of Desolation in the Mountains of Solitude. Arrange for such a beverage to be produced."
Azart Hath showed no flicker of emotion. He practiced maintaining a total imperturbability of his features every morning in front of his mirror, while his wife Jasmine stuck pins into his back and arms. To show surprise in front of the Exalted One was tantamount to insult and invited an unpleasant reprisal. Inwardly he cursed. The whims of His Imperial master were becoming extreme. Azart was beginning to suspect that it was a deliberate ploy simply for the sadistic enjoyment of provoking him.
"Of course, your Glorious Majesty" he responded, bowing so low that his forehead touched the ground. "I will attend to it without delay." He backed away from the throne towards the exit at the far end, conscious of the amused smiles on the faces of those courtiers who took simple pleasure in the misfortune of others, usually in the belief that so long as someone else was in the firing line their own necks were temporally safe from the executioners axe or worse."
He was just on the point of withdrawing through the heavy, gold-embroidered, brocade curtains when there was a cough from the throne. "Before my breakfast, first thing in the morning."
"It shall be done as you wish Divinity," he acknowledged, and dodged behind the drapery before his face could betray his dismay. He hurried back to the seclusion of his apartments, his mind awhirl, and entering through the heavy plank door into the stone tower at one edge of the Palace which provided accommodation for him, his wife and his large collection of antiquities, slammed it violently behind him, screamed at that top of his voice and beat his fists on the large oak table which stood in the middle of the room. Luckily it was of stout construction and withstood the onslaught without damage, unlike the small footstool which he then kicked violently across the room.
His wife, Jasmine, alarmed by the outburst hurried into the room. "What has happened my husband?" she asked, have things not gone well at the council chamber?"
"Not gone well," he snarled. "No, they have gone far from well. He drives me too far, the miserable, egotistical sadist. His latest whim is for a drink to be concocted from ingredients which can only be found three days travel away and he wants it by tomorrow, a complete impossibility as he well knows.”
Jasmine, who was perhaps made of somewhat sterner stuff than he husband, sighed with exasperation. “Perhaps it could be prepared from materials closer to hand?” she asked.
“Not unless you wish to see me flayed alive and staked out for the ants,” Azart replied morosely. “You know as well as I that he has an uncanny nose for such subterfuges. I am ruined. He has finally decided to make an end of me.”
His wife sighed. “Nonsense!” she said. “You are a resourceful man, think hard! Is there perhaps something of use in that collection of old junk which you call your Museum of the Arcane arts? A grimoire or book of spells which might provide an answer?”
Azart sighed. I have read and re-read the librams many times, nothing comes to mind that would be of any practical use. There is perhaps Zasder’s spell of transmigration, but it requires a week of fasting before it may be performed. Perilume’s Bane allows a demon to be summoned to perform one’s bidding, but only at the time of the lunar eclipse, and the next is still some time away.” He scratched his head wildly then leaped into the air. “Of course, of course,” he chortled. “The lamp, the lamp.” He clasped Jasmine’s arms and spun her around. “As always my dear wife you are my inspiration, my guiding star. Do you remember my grandfather, Al ad Din? He left me an old brass lamp and told me that it was the repository for a Djinn who should only be disturbed in a time of extreme peril because he had promised that since he had helped him so greatly in his youth he should be allowed to rest unmolested for as long as possible.”
Jasmine gently untangled herself from her husband’s excited cavorting. “Make haste then,” she said. “Find the lamp, summon the Genie and give him the necessary instructions.”
“Just a minute,” said Azart. “There is something Grandfather told me to remember before I raised him and I have forgotten what it was. Something important.”
His wife sighed in exasperation. “Please think hard then my husband. I have no wish to become a widow on account of your woolly head!”
Azart started, “That’s it.” he shouted, “Again you have put your delightful little finger on the very answer!”
“What do you mean,” his wife asked. The fact that I do not wish to be a widow or that you have a particularly vague memory?
“Neither, my little rosebud. You said ‘Please’ and it reminded me – grandfather was most insistent that the Djinn should be treated with every politeness and that under no circumstances was he to be given an order. He will only help if requested in a civil and courteous manner”
“Well, it’s nice to be appreciated,” Jasmine smiled, a little smugly. “Be quick and get the lamp and let us meet its spirit with all due humility.”
Azart hastened up the spiral staircase that lead to the small room at the top of the tower. He had been an amateur student of the occult for many years and had collected a large miscellany of books, devices and curios which filled the room in a disorganised jumble which he had always intended to classify and order but had never had the time to do, being occupied most of the time in pandering to the whims of Maledict and in avoiding exasperating his wife, who he loved dearly but who had little patience with his hobby. Feverishly he searched through the conglomeration, making his way through books, boxes and assorted objects, picking them up and discarding them. Finally, perched on a bookshelf, between a mummified bat and the five volumes of Zillapart’s ‘Esoteric Law In Theory and Practice’ he found the lamp and seizing it triumphantly dashed back below, almost falling down the stairs in his haste.
Panting, he flourished it at his wife. “Here it is,” he chortled. “Now let’s see the look on Maledict's miserable face when he gets his refreshing morning drink!”
Jasmine smiles encouragingly. “Well done my husband,” she said. Wake the Djinn and ask for his help. I believe, according to the tales that I have heard, that the lamp should be rubbed a few times and that that will suffice.”
Azart gathered up his sleeve and polished the lamp three times with a flourish. Nothing happened. Again he buffed vigorously, until the lamp shone brightly, but to no avail. “Damnation take it,” he yelled. “What ails the thing, why won’t it work?” In his frustration he banged the lamp hard on the table, threw it to the floor and slumped into a nearby sofa.
As it came to rest a plume of reddish smoke spurted from the spout, coiling and curling in the air, gaining in thickness and volume until at last it coalesced into large, fat Genie dressed in blue and yellow striped pantaloons and a purple dressing gown and with an expression of profound annoyance written large upon its face.
“By the Seven Halls of Hell,” it shouted, “have you no patience whatsoever? How quick are you at getting up after a good sleep when someone calls you? And how would you feel if they started kicking and banging on the door?”
Azart jumped to his feet wringing his hands in panic. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he shouted. “I had no idea, I didn’t realise, please accept my most humble and sincere apologies”
The Genie looked slightly mollified. “Well, all right then,” he said. “I’ll overlook it this time, but just make sure there’s no repetition or you won’t enjoy the consequences, believe you me!”
“Please don’t be angry,” Jasmine begged, forcing a few tears from her eyes (a ploy she found useful from time to time, such as when a simple request for new clothes or jewellery had been abruptly refused by her parsimonious husband). “We really had no choice but to disturb you. We desperately need some assistance and we hoped that you could help us just like you helped my husband’s grandfather.”
The Genie’s frown softened as he looked at Jasmine’s contrite expression and a small smile appeared, (he was actually quite kind hearted when not annoyed and a sucker for a pretty face – but that’s another story). “Well, since you’re family, as it were” he said, I might be able to do something. Tell me your problem and let's see what can be done.”
Azart poured out his tale of woe. "And he wants it by tomorrow,” he concluded, “or else my life is forfeit, no doubt in a most ingenious and painful way.”
“That’s awful,” the Genie said sympathetically. I don’t see any great problem there. I can get things you want in the twinkling of an eye as it were,” and he winked at Jasmine,” if not sooner.” And with that there was just the slightest shimmering of the air, a sense of rushing wind and a blurring of the Genies outline and he was holding in his hands a branch covered with pale green leaves and a jug of water and at his feet was a large wooden pail brimming with snow.
Azart and Jasmine were beside themselves with delight. “A thousand, thousand thanks O mighty Djinn!” Azart gasped. “You have saved me from a fate that was probably going to be a lot worse than death. How can I repay you?”
“No problem,” replied the genie, “It’s very boring stuck in the lamp all the time. Things were quite interesting in your grandfather’s day, you know. A little exercise has been good for me. It’s been a pleasure and if you need me again, please don’t hesitate to summon me.” And so saying he shimmered into a cloud of smoke and poured himself back down the spout of the lamp.
The next morning the Audience Chamber was thronged. Word of Azart’s plight had spread and many had come to enjoy the spectacle. Azart stood, conspicuously alone, at the foot of the steps leading up to the vacant throne. The buzz of conversation died as a gong announced the immanent arrival of Maledict; the courtiers and assorted flunkeys flattened themselves to the floor in the approved style of grovel. The Emperor and Fatima, the Empress, made their entrance through the heavily embroidered drapes behind the throne and seated themselves. At a signal, the audience struggled back to their feet. Fatima, never one to miss the opportunity of ensuring that malice could be enjoyed whispered in the Emperor’s ear.
Maladict smiled benignly at Azart. “My dear Vizier,” he smirked, “I do believe that there is a little something missing this morning! It had been my understanding that you were to prepare a light refreshment, was it not?”
Azart bowed. “You are of course, as always, correct, your Magnificence.” He clapped his hands and a small page boy emerged from behind the drapes carrying a large gold goblet, frosted with condensation. “As your Divine Effulgence commanded, an infusion of the Quinct bush leaves in spring water from the head of the River Ashjard and cooled with snow, collected as it fell, in the Mountains of Solitude.”
A supressed gasp of in drawn breath could be faintly heard from the assembled crowd. Maladict struggled to maintain his composure. Fatima looked as though, having sunk her teeth into a juicy pomegranate, she had found a maggot lurking within.
“Made from genuine Quinct leaves?” Maladict snarled.
“Of course your Imperial Majesty,” Azart replied, “Certified by the palace aborealist”.
“I find it most difficult to comprehend how you managed to achieve the matter so promptly,” Maladict said, “given that the captain of the guard assures me that you remained here in the palace all night.”
“This is so replied Azart.” (At which the aforementioned captain, who had been contemplating his immanent demise on the grounds of incompetence and Maladict’s certain determination to find someone to blame, regained control of his bladder). In fact I used a specially trained eagle which is capable of carrying out quite complex commands such as collecting the leaves and gathering water and snow in vessels hung around its neck.”
Maladict was (for once) rendered speechless. Fatima, who despite her vicious and perverse nature, was no fool, again whispered in the royal ear.
A smile quivered on the imperial lips. “How extremely interesting,” he said, his voice dripping with venom. “Please produce this incredible bird without further delay, so that we might all enjoy this wonder.”
“Alas,” Azart replied, “I can only humbly beg you Gloriousness's indulgence. It returned so cold from its endeavours that it attempted to warm itself by perching on the mantle place over the fire but was overcome by exhaustion and falling down was utterly consumed in the flames.”
Maladict chewed his bottom lip, somewhat taken aback by a strong suspicion that he was being taken for a ride. The Empress, who was renowned for quick thinking, again whispered in his ear. Maladict smiled and it was not a smile that promised future wellbeing for its recipient. "Well done," he said. "Well done in deed. We are so impressed with your ingenuity that we shall call upon you for a further demonstration. For breakfast tomorrow please arrange for a dish of broiled Saswami fish."
Azart suppressed a shudder. "No doubt your Radiant Effulgence refers to the Saswami fish which are only to be found in the Lake of Drowned Souls, far to the west in the Desert of the Doomed, which is surrounded by an almost impenetrable growth of poisonous thorn bushes and infested by voracious crocodiles?"
The Emperor smiled again. "The very same," he agreed. "But I am sure that a man of your immense sagacity will have little difficulty in procuring some."
Azart, struggling to retain his composure, bowed low. "To hear is to obey," he said. "Rest assured I will make all necessary arrangements." And to the suppressed sniggers of the courtiers he made a dignified exit.
Once again he retreated to his apartments to acquaint his wife of the new task. "The swine wants me to perform yet another impossibility," he said. "He wants some fish from some deity-forsaken lake in the middle of nowhere for his breakfast tomorrow."
"Have courage beloved," replied Jasmine. "You must summon the Genie and explain. I am sure he will not mind helping you again."
"You are right," agreed Azart. And without further ado he brought out the lamp and gave it a few brisk rubs. Again the Genie appeared.
"So soon?" he asked.
"I greatly regret that it is so," Azart replied. "I have been set a further errand by his Imperial Vindictiveness. He requires Saswami fish for breakfast tomorrow."
The Genie chortled. "Lake of Drowned Souls? Desert of the Damned? Thorn bushes and crocodiles?"
"Exactly," agreed Azart.
"Not a problem. In fact I could quite look forward to a relaxing day's fishing," replied the Genie.
"But the crocodiles and the thorn bushes?" asked Azart.
"Please don't be concerned," said the Genie, we Djinn are impervious to poison and I will try not to damage the crocodiles too much."
Azart spent the remainder of the day nervously chewing his fingers and pondering his fate, then, just before teatime the Genie reappeared in his usual puff of smoke, looking very pleased with himself, four large fish dangling from his hand. "What an enjoyable day," he said. "I haven't had so much fun for a very long time."
Azart let out a sigh of relief. "A thousand blessings upon you, I shall be forever in your debt."
The Genie waved his hands in dismissal. "It's really nothing," he said. "Think no more of it. He turned to Jasmine. "Just to while away the time while I was waiting for a bite I made this for you!" and from beneath his robe he produced a crocodile handbag.
Jasmine was overcome with delight and on impulse gave him a kiss on his cheek. The Genie blushed and disappeared back into the lamp.
The next morning dawned. The imperial audience chamber was crammed with courtiers, royal flunkeys and assorted hangers-on all agog to see the outcome. With the usual fanfare of trumpets Maladict and the Empress entered and settled themselves on their thrones. Azart moved forward, bowed low and offered up a tray holding a large silver serving dish. A slight frown crossed Maladict's face. "Well my dear Vizier," he asked, "what do you have there?"
With a flourish Azart removed the lid from the dish. "As you requested your Excellency, Saswami fish, freshly caught last night from the Lake of Drowned Souls."
"Rubbish", shouted the Emperor. "How do I know that these are genuine and not an attempt to fob me off with some substitute bought at the local fish market?"
"Your Magnificence does me an injustice," Azart replied, greatly daring. "To ensure that there was no misunderstanding I had them authenticated by the Imperial Keeper of the Royal Beastiary before they were cooked." And be beckoned the trembling official to come and stand before the Throne.
"Is this so?" snarled the Emperor, staring hard at the luckless man, who appeared to be on the verge of fainting.
"Indeed it is your Imperial Majesty" the wretch quavered. I checked and rechecked them against the illustrations contained in The Angler's Guide To Rare Species which we have here in your Magnificence's library. There can be no doubt."
"So be it," Maladict snarled, "you may go." and he gave the wretch a look that indicated that he might well be enjoying the comfort of one of the place dungeons in pretty short shrift. He bestowed a baleful smile upon Azart. "You are to be congratulated on your amazing competence. Pray tell us, how did you manage to accomplish such a demanding task. Another trained eagle perhaps?"
"Alas no," Azart replied. Due to the great distance involved and the weight of the fish, I determined to undertake this in person, to which effect I employed a small, one man, hot air balloon, lifting off from the top of my tower and taking advantage of the circular air currents which blow to the East at night and return here in the morning."
The Emperor allowed a small grin of triumph to cross his face. "Incredible," he said. "We must inspect this contraption without delay. Take us to it at once."
"Alas and alack, O Son of Heaven," Azart replied. "On my return disaster struck. Before I had a chance to secure the balloon a great gust snatched it up into the air and it blew away."
At this point faint, strangled, choking noises could be heard from the assembled courtiers most of whom felt that while Azart was well in front on points his winning streak was likely to be brought to a sudden end in the person of the Imperial executioner.
The Emperor, while striving to maintain a poker face, thought furiously. At last a small smile of victory writhed across his face. "You have fulfilled our wishes with admirable promptness," he said. "We have however yet another fancy to beguile the Royal palate." The courtiers held their collective breaths and strained forward. "Tomorrow, Maladict pronounced, "Tomorrow we wish to dine on an omelette." The courtiers were in an agony of anticipation, waiting for the punch line. So was Azart who could sense impending doom like a small mouse crouched before a grinning cat.
"An omelette made from an elephant's egg." The Emperor concluded. There was an audible gasp of astonishment from the courtiers. "I'm sure that you will be able to oblige me in this won't you Azart," the Emperor smiled.
Azart, his bowels tying thenselves in knots, bowed low. "I'm sure that can be arranged," he replied.
Rather wearily and quietly bemoaning his fate Azart returned to his tower. Seeing his face, Jasmine rushed to console him. "Courage," she said. "Whatever he commanded you to do, I am sure that our friend the Genie can help."
Azart shook his head. "Not this time, what he requires is hopeless." And he explained the paradox of the task. "Egg laying elephants are an impossibility. Never have I heard of such a beast, it is beyond all belief." None the less he picked up the lamp and gave it a few desultory rubs.
"This is not entirely unexpected," the genie said as he appeared. "It would seem that your Emperor is a rather single-minded man. What now?"
"A hopeless situation," Azart replied and he explained what he must do.
The genie scratched his head. "Your master would seem to be a most devious man," he chuckled. Unfortunately for him, he is not quite as clever as he thinks he is. While it is true that in this limited existence of yours eggs and elephants have no connection, in my realm a great many things are possible." He scratched his head. "I shall go and consult a great and wise 'Ifrit who has knowledge of many worlds any many dimensions."
Azart and Jasmine waited in a fever of suspense. After what seemed hours the Genie reappeared looking very much the worse for wear, covered in dust and his cloak in tatters. With a flourish he produced an enormous egg. "I want you to know," he said, "that this has not been easy. Separating a very large and maternal elephant from its potential offspring is not something that I have any intention of doing again. I feel that it is now time that you devised some means of making an end to these ridiculous requests." And with that and looking very huffy he disappeared back into the lamp.
Azart scratched his head. "So far so good," he said, "but what am I going to do tomorrow when his malevolence asks for an explanation as to how I managed to acquire the egg?"
"I think that you should tell him the truth," Jasmine told him, and then explained her plan.
Next morning, once again the court assembled, in a fever of expectation. Few bets were being placed that Azart would manage to evade Maladict's trap and the Imperial Executioner had been seen painstakingly sharpening his axe and taking practise swings to loosen up. The Emperor appeared, a smug look of satisfaction on his face as he surveyed the throng. "Where is my Vizier," he asked, beaming round. "Surely he is not late with my breakfast?" There was an appreciative snigger from the baser elements in the watching crowd.
"Not so you Celestial Excellence," Azart exclaimed as he entered. Approaching the steps leading up to the royal, throne he produced the egg and placed it carefully before the Emperor.
"Stuff and nonsense," bellowed the Emperor. "Do you take me for a fool? There is no such thing as an elephant's egg." In his rage he gave the offending object a kick. The egg rolled slowly to the top of the steps and then bumped down them, one at a time, until with a dull crack it landed on the marble floor. Courtiers craned forward to look. There was a great deal of unseemly shoving and pushing. The egg shivered, there was a slight movement and then it fell apart in fragments and sitting in the middle of the broken pieces of shell was a small, pink elephant. There was a stunned silence from the court, then a quick smattering of applause, hastily suppressed as the Emperor, his face taking on a distinct purple hue, gave every appearance of a volcano in the early stages of eruption. With considerable effort Maladict controlled his emotions and beckoned Azart closer. "Pray tell me," he snarled, "how you have accomplished this. Do not bother with tales of eagles consumed in the fire nor balloons snatched away by convenient winds. This time it had better be the truth unless you have a wish to observe the work of the palace torturer at extremely close range."
Azart swallowed. "Indeed not your Magnificence. I must confess that I have practiced a deception. I have employed the services of a mighty Djinn which I have been able to summon by means of a magic lamp." There was a collective gasp of amazement from the crowd.
The Emperor allowed a grin to creep across the imperial visage. "I see, and where is this wonder?"
Azart produced the lamp and held it out for inspection.
"And can will this Genie perform such miracles for anyone?" Maladict enquired.
"Only for its owner," Azart replied.
"In that case then I am sure you will be only too happy to give it to me as a gift," prompted the Emperor.
"It is a family heirloom, I would be most unhappy to loose it your Majesty," Azart pleaded.
Maladict smiled in a rather unpleasant way. "This is not really a request," he said. "There are many degrees of unhappiness, which we can pursue if you are so minded."
Azart shrugged. "Of course Magnificence. Please accept it as my humble gift to both your Majesties, it is yours. Rub the lamp and the Djinn will appear"
Greedily Maladict snatched the lamp and examined it closely, then gave it a brisk rub with his sleeve. There was a rush of smoke from the spout and the Genie appeared, resplendent in a red fez, purple robe, green pantaloons and pearl encrusted slippers. The courtiers were in a collective state of shock and amazement. Several Ladies of a refined susceptibility swooned, but managed to recover very quickly lest they should miss the unfolding events.
"Again?" the genie enquired of Azart, before fully taking in his surroundings.
"I'm afraid there has been a change in circumstances, Azart replied. The lamp is now the property of my master, His Imperial Majesty, Maladict the Magnificent and the noble lady Fatima, his Empress, who as you can see have summoned you."
The Genie turned to Maladict. "This really is not very good timing," he said. I was just on my way to lunch."
Maladict was first taken aback but recovered quickly. "I am your master now," he snarled. "Convenience is a matter for me to choose, not you. Your function is to do my bidding. You can start right now." The Empress, who had barely been unable to contain her glee at the turn of events, clutched at his sleeve and whispered feverishly into his ear. Maladict nodded in agreement. "We will start," he said, "with a few simple things. I command you to make for us a new Palace, constructed from the most beautiful marble and stone, clad in gold and encrusted with precious gems of all description. Further it is to be filled with fountains, bubbling with the purest spring waters and with rare plants." The Empress gave him a sharp dig in the ribs with her elbow. "For my wife," he continued, "you will provide a wardrobe of exquisite clothing made from the finest silks and satins and jewels fit for her station."
The Genie was somewhat amused. "You seem to have some pretty big ideas." he said, "and some rather poor manners."
Maladict choked. "How dare you," he shouted. "Do as I say and do it now, I command you."
The Genie folded his arms. "I don't think you quite have got the hang of things," he said. "I'd be happy to help out with a few requests and such, but building palaces, supplying untold treasure and vast quantities of female clothing is really asking too much."
The Emperor looked fit to explode. He jumped up off the throne and stamped his foot, frightening the baby elephant which had been curled up asleep. "You will do as you are told," he yelled. "I command you to carry out my orders without any further delay and without any more equivocation."
The Genie smiled a big, big smile. "Oh Emperor," he said. "How little you know of the history of the Djinn. Long ago, in the Court of King Solomon, blessed is his name, the Djinn stood with the wise men and with the prophets. We were bound by Solomon as his servants. To my eternal shame I became somewhat haughty and as punishment Solomon decreed that Fandraal the Sorcerer should confine me in that lamp and I should for ever attend to the orders of whoever owned it."
"Ha!" shouted Maladict. "Exactly – so now carry out my instructions."
"Let me finish," the Genie gently replied. "Many years ago I aided Azart's grandfather with a somewhat tricky situation that he found himself embroiled in. In gratitude he interceded with Fandraal and asked that I be set free. Fandraal ordained that I should remain a servant of the lamp but might only be obliged to help those who had the courtesy to ask for my help. In addition should anyone who owned the lamp have the ill-manners to command me three times, than I would be free again to do as I willed. Not only that but they should replace me as servant to Fandraal to do his bidding."
So saying the Genie waved his arms and Maladict and his Empress, to the utter astonishment and universal delight of the court, disappeared with a soft plop of displaced air.
And so they all lived happily ever after.
Well, that's not entirely true of course. The peasants continued pretty much as they always had, enduring toil and deprivation, despising their masters and doing their best to evade the tax collector. The courtiers carried on with the petty intrigues and salacious scandal-mongering which lent such a piquancy to court life, but refrained from wholesale political plotting on the basis that they had come to appreciate the benefits of not living in exciting times. Maladict and the Empress were found suitable employment by Fandraal, such as tending to his pigs, grubbing for roots and herbs for his potions and scrubbing and cleaning in the kitchen under the stern direction of the assistant junior pot-boy. After many, many decades, they learnt humility and to a very little degree a small amount of compassion for their fellows, so Fandraal relented and allowed them to retire to a modest cottage at the edge of the forest where they lived out the remainder of their lives living frugally and daily cursing fate.
Azart became the new emperor. Not because he wanted to, but because Maledict, having been careful to remove any of his court who might have had sufficient ambition in that direction, there remained no other who was qualified. It was not a position which he enjoyed; his only passion in life being to the continuing collection and study of his antiquities, so, quietly, and without fuss, Jasmine took over the reins of administration although at all times being careful to stand discretely behind the throne during any official engagements.
The genie also wished for a quiet life and took up residence in Ahzad's tower, where they both spent many a happy evening discussing the finer points of esoteric philosophy and translating the archaic texts purchased from tomb robbers and purveyors of the occult.
The elephant was left to roam in one of the palace parks where it grew and grew. One fine spring morning it trumpeted loudly and unfurling its newly sprouted wings flew off eastwards into the rising sun and was never seen again.
...ooo000ooo...
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Please note – After many adventures the baby elephant was re-united with its mother and they both also lived reasonably happy ever after. (But that's another story).
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