Abdullah stooped and considerately rolled the carpet up, patting it and speaking soothingly. “Bravely done, most daring of damasks,” he told it. “There, there. Never fear. I will not allow any djinn, however mighty, to harm so much as a thread of your treasured fabric or a fringe from your border.”

“You sound like that soldier making a fuss of Morgan when he was Whippersnapper,” Sophie said. “The castle’s over there.”

They set off toward it, Sophie staring alertly around and uttering one or two snorts, Abdullah with the carpet tenderly over his shoulder. He patted it from time to time and felt the quivers die out of it as they went. They walked for some time, for the garden, although it was not made of cloud, changed and enlarged around them. The hedges became artistic banks of pale pink flowers, and the fountain, which they could see clearly in the distance all the time, now appeared to be crystal or possibly chrysolite. A few steps more, and everything was in jeweled pots, and frondy, with creepers trained up lacquered pillars. Sophie’s snorts became louder. The fountain, as far as they could tell, was of silver inset with sapphires.

“That djinn has taken liberties with a person’s castle,” Sophie said. “Unless I’m entirely turned around, this used to be our bathroom.”

Abdullah felt his face heat up. Sophie’s bathroom or not, these were the gardens out of his daydreams. Hasruel was mocking him, as he had mocked Abdullah all along. When the fountain ahead turned to gold, glinting wine dark with rubies, Abdullah became as annoyed as Sophie was.

“This is not the way a garden should be, even if we disregard the confusing changes,” he said angrily. “A garden should be natural-seeming, with wild sections, including a large area of bluebells.”

“Quite right,” said Sophie. “Look at that fountain now! What a way to treat a bathroom!”

The fountain was platinum, with emeralds. “Ridiculously flashy!” said Abdullah. “When I design my garden—”

He was interrupted by a child’s screaming. Both of them began to run.

Chapter Eighteen

WHICH IS RATHER FULL OF PRINCESSES

The child’s screams rose. There was no doubt about the direction. As Sophie and Abdullah ran that way, along a pillared cloister, Sophie panted, “It’s not Morgan; it’s an older child!”

Abdullah thought she was right. He could hear words in the screams, although he could not pick out what they were. And surely Morgan, even howling his loudest, did not possess big enough lungs to make this kind of noise. After getting almost too loud to bear, the screams became grating sobs. Those sank to a steady, nagging “Wah-wah-wah!” and just as that sound became truly intolerable, the child raised his or her voice into hysterical screams again.