“That might be the solution,” the genie agreed, rather to Abdullah’s surprise. “What wish then?”

“Transport me to the nearest person who can help me find Flower-in-the-Night,” said Abdullah, and he bounded down the sandbank and picked the bottle up. “Quickly,” he added to the genie, now billowing above him.

The genie seemed a little puzzled. “This is odd,” he said. “My powers of divination are usually excellent, but I can’t make head or tail of this.”

A bullet plowed into the sand not too far away. Abdullah ran, carrying the genie like a vast streaming mauve candle flame. “Just take me to that person!” he screamed.

“I suppose I’d better,” said the genie. “Maybe you can make some sense out of it.”

The earth seemed to spin past under Abdullah’s running feet. Shortly he seemed to be taking vast loping strides across lands that were whirling forward to meet him. Though the combined speed of his own feet and the turning world made everything into a blur, except for the genie streaming placidly out of the bottle in his hand, Abdullah knew that the speeding camels were left behind in instants. He smiled and loped on, almost as placid as the genie, rejoicing in the cool wind. He seemed to lope for a long time. Then it all stopped.

Abdullah stood in the middle of a country road, getting his breath. This new place took a certain amount of getting used to. It was cool, only as warm as Zanzib in springtime, and the light was different. Though the sun was shining brightly from a blue sky, it put out a light that was lower and bluer than Abdullah was used to. This may have been because there were so many very leafy trees lining the road and casting shifting green shade over everything. Or it may have been due to the green, green grass growing on the verges. Abdullah let his eyes adjust and then looked around for the person who was supposed to help him find Flower-in-the-Night.

All he could see was what seemed to be an inn on a bend in the road, set back among the trees. It struck Abdullah as a wretched place. It was made of wood and white-painted plaster, like the poorest of poor dwellings in Zanzib, and its owners only seemed able to afford a roof made of tightly packed grass. Someone had tried to beautify the place by planting red and yellow flowers by the road. The inn sign, which was swinging on a post planted among the flowers, was a bad artist’s effort to paint a lion.