By L-J Baker
Adijan, a bad messenger lady in an Arabian Nights fable international, needs she might construct a world-spanning enterprise empire. Shalimar, her spouse, needs Adijan may spend extra time at domestic. Their landlord needs Adijan could pay the hire. Adijan's brother-in-law needs she may get trampled through a herd of camels in order that he might marry his sister Shalimar to somebody prosperous and influential. And of all of the needs on the planet, Adijan needs the genie she's saddled with may furnish her needs rather than treating her with disdain. be cautious what you would like for in a global of genies, sorcerers, and flying carpets.
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Adijan, a terrible messenger woman in an Arabian Nights fable global, needs she might construct a world-spanning enterprise empire. Shalimar, her spouse, needs Adijan could spend extra time at domestic. Their landlord needs Adijan may pay the hire. Adijan's brother-in-law needs she may get trampled via a herd of camels in order that he might marry his sister Shalimar to a person prosperous and influential.
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Additional info for Adijan and Her Genie
The guard jabbed a grubby finger at the leather bag tied to the donkey’s shoulder. “You have a fine eye, glorious sir,” Adijan said. “That is the best of the wares I carry. ” He tugged at the knots. ” Adijan loosened the ties. Silk slithered from the leather bag. Edged with a deep border of brightly-colored embroidery, the red shawl shimmered and shone in the midday sun. Shalimar would gasp to see such finery. Adijan might not earn enough to buy her wife such a garment, but some day she would.
Behind her, bad-tempered animals and their owners grumbled in the heat as they waited. Swarms of black flies buzzed around the stinking pats of donkey and camel dung. The guards acted oblivious to the seething impatience clogging up the road. The officials of Ul-Feyakeh were the least corruptible and most arrogant. Adijan had heard fellow couriers whisper about spells placed on the guards. With over two dozen years experience of life at its lowest, Adijan didn’t need to blame magic for any human vice, failing, or folly, she remembered three weeks rotting in a flea-infested jail for attempting to bribe an Ul-Feyakeh night-watchman and endured the tension and perspired.
That must be the enchanter’s signature pattern. The three tiny yellow seals fixing the end of the cloth were more flexible and shiny than ordinary wax. Adijan bit her lip as she stared at the seals. She had risked much to open the bag. Breaking the seals would be madness. Every child learned in its cradle about the dire and everlasting consequences of meddling with the work of enchanters. Unwilling to become a donkey or grow extra heads, she contented herself with easing the folded cloth apart to see if she could glimpse what it held without straining the seals.