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.