Disclaimer: Aladdin and its characters belong to Disney.
Aladdin got a whiff of the melon in his hands and cringed. Of all the vendors he'd stolen from back in Agrabah, at least the merchants there regularly ensured the food was fresh. With a sigh, he broke the melon in two and ate his half with a sour face. It would have to do until morning.
He'd been banished to a trading port in Butü, a land of green hills and mountain terrain on the other side of the world. There was no snow in the winter, fortunately, but the wind still bit cold and brisk at night. When Aladdin asked the traders how far he was from Agrabah, none of them could give him an accurate answer. Agrabah? One even said. Never heard of it.
Traders slept in their covered carts while beggars slept in the streets, shivering and praying their limbs didn't fall off over the course of the night. Aladdin wrapped himself in an abandoned tattered sheet while Abu nestled himself between his arm and chest, providing a small source of warmth. When he closed his eyes, he heard the beggars starting up a fire in a run-down pit down the alley, the flames making monstrous shadows along the walls. Aladdin listened to the cackling and smelled the smoke but was too far away to feel its heat.
"I hear he burns cities," one beggar was saying, "that he can turn entire lands into ash."
"But how?" said the other.
"Maybe he's a god."
Aladdin huffed, wishing he could block them out. He knew it did him no good feeling helpless and frustrated; he needed to save his energy for Jasmine. She needed him now more than ever and he was determined to crawl his way back if he had to.
Abu chirped nervously. Aladdin relaxed, realizing he had been crushing him. "Sorry, buddy."
The monkey chirped again and went back to sleep.
After a long breath, Aladdin tipped his head back and searched the skies for the moon. It sat high and veiled by dark clouds, unwilling to light any paths for him tonight.
Jasmine, too, was staring at the moon. It was bright and unobscured that night, casting a soft white glow in the star-filled sky. The desert moon, her mother had called it.
A lamp in the lonely night, bright and blue.
A shrill laugh cut her out of her reverie.
She was having dinner with Jafar and his harem. It had been three nights since the selection and a routine had been established. The girls would meet in a study room for lunch and frivolous activity, and then Jafar would join them for dinner, the table filled with cuisines and grains and spices vegetables. She made it a point to always sit as far from him as possible and found it unbearable to stomach looking at him.
The laugh came from the girl at his left—one of his favorites. Her face was striking and she had a lithe, seductive figure. The girl at his right was another favorite: her skin was as pale as Dalia's and her hair was the color of chestnuts. Both eagerly engaged him in conversation and seemed to have no problem carrying out that task night after night.
The others were just as accepting of the situation. Already they had formed friendships and would lean on one another as they embroidered tapestries in the afternoon hours. Jasmine would overhear them talk about their upgrade in lifestyle and how nice it was having servants and maids and cooks. They seemed nice enough and perhaps Jasmine could've been friends with them in a different life, but due to her ongoing refusal to bathe and dress properly, they seemed to avoid her like a stray dog. And to be fair, Jasmine didn't blame them. She didn't want to be there any more than they desired her company.
Scowling, Jasmine fished her spoon through her lentil soup before taking a bite. Her father would be heartbroken if he could see her now. She always believed Jafar to be capable of great disrespect, but not this—not subjecting her to this lowly demeaning position. She was a princess, a Sultan, and now nothing—the equivalent of his whore. The eleventh concubine. The thought of throwing herself off the highest balcony wasn't entirely out of the question, heinous as it was.
Jasmine felt a gentle nudge on her arm. The youngest of the harem, the girl with green eyes that stood next to her during the selection was offering her a plate of cumin rice. She couldn't have been more than sixteen and yet she was the only one who regularly made sure the dishes reached Jasmine's isolated corner of the table.
"Did you want any?" she asked softly.
Jasmine shook her head. "No, thank you."
"You're the Sultan, aren't you? I mean—the princess. From before."
Jasmine looked up, surprised that anyone had put that together when she looked so homely. The girl stared back, her face curious and inviting.
"I…yes," Jasmine said.
The girl smiled. "It is a great honor to sit beside you."
"Is it?"
The girl's face fell. Jasmine winced, hating that spite came to her so easily. Where had that respectful and dignified woman-sultan gone?
"Thank you," she quickly remedied.
The girl smiled again and Jasmine mustered a smile back. She later learned the girl's name was Zariah and that she was born and raised in the streets of Agrabah. It felt nice to have someone to talk to; it had been so long since Jasmine spoke to anyone. She would give anything to have Aladdin there, or Dalia, or her father. She went mad just thinking about them.
Jasmine held in her tears and resigned to finishing her soup in silence.
Once dinner was finished, Jasmine watched as Jafar's new head of the guard ushered in servants to come clear the table. He was young for a captain, young and misguided and blind with loyalty. Of course they would all flock to Jafar like a swarm of buzzards. They didn't actually love him as a Sultan: they saw him as a purse, a shield—and it irritated Jasmine to no length that Jafar thought they were loyal to him out of respect and not out of fear and necessity. Her people were not meant to be his pawns. It made her utterly sick.
The captain rapped his staff against the ground. "Tonight, one of you will accompany the Sultan back to his chambers."
The room went silent and Jasmine grew nauseous. She'd read stories and knew what the purpose of harems were, but it still came as a surprise to see it manifested into reality. Maybe some part of her hoped Jafar was only using the women for publicity, to flaunt his newfound power by having the most beautiful women in his care. But once again she was proven wrong, having underestimated the extent of his iniquity.
She watched as Jafar uncurled and offered his hand to the woman at his right. She beamed, despite her egregious circumstances, and willfully matched his pace as he led her out of the room. The sight made Jasmine fume.
"Princess?"
It was her elderly handmaid, the one who accompanied her to all dinners and events. "We may return to your chambers."
Jasmine wordlessly followed her out with the rest of the girls. All she wanted to do was scream and shout how despicable of a person he was, but she knew better. She was no longer an Agrabah ruler with the rights to an opinion; she was just as much a slave as everyone else.
The handmaid shut the chamber doors behind them and asked. "A bath tonight, princess?"
Jasmine shook her head and went straight to her bed. Only after her face was buried in the soft silk pillows did she let the tears come.
"All together now, girls! One, two, three! One, two, three!"
Jasmine promptly ignored the dance instructor's tinny voice and the dissonance of inexperienced steps against the hardwood floors. She was deep in a volume of The Jeweled King, a story of a man who rose to imaginable power within three short years, likely with the intervention of a genie. And the answer to defeating that power, Jasmine liked to think, would be found in her book.
Long afternoons of tapestry-sewing were now replaced with dance lessons in an effort to please the Sultan. Many of the harem girls were foreign and not of noble birth, so they weren't accustomed to performing the traditional Agrabah dances that Jasmine memorized at the age of five.
"You there! Dirty girl. Get up!"
Jasmine scowled as she looked up. The instructor held firm, gesturing her to join the rest. With a deep sigh, she closed her volume and stood next to the others, her ripped black harem outfit a sharp contrast to the lively gowns and veils.
"Now—begin!"
The lutes started and Jasmine did as she remembered, each step something she could've done in her sleep. While the other girls tripped and stumbled around her, only she in her disarrayed rags perfected the dance. On the final note, Jasmine swiveled with grace into a low bow, a move that she'd been complimented for throughout her years as a royal dancer.
The instructor's face was screwed in tight as she watched Jasmine stand tall again. "Good," she merely said.
Jasmine returned to her place by the window and opened her book to its saved page. She could feel all eyes on her—all of the girls who whispered and wondered aloud if she was indeed not just the 'dirty girl' from the slums like they thought.
Zariah was the only one who smiled.
"Rice?"
Jasmine looked up from her plate to young Zariah holding out a bowl. That night, she accepted it. "Thank you."
"You hate him."
Jasmine blinked, looking past her to the person she knew Zariah was referring to. At the other end of the table he was surrounded by three of the women he'd bedded so far, all somehow more beguiled with him than before. A scoff escaped her lips.
"Can't you tell?"
"Yes," said Zariah. "So can the others."
Jasmine shrugged. If Zariah thought she cared, she was sorely mistaken. It was impossible to hide her disgust for someone so terrible. "It's my fault you're in this position," she said. "If I had only left him to rot in that cave—"
"No, princess," said Zariah, shaking her head, "I'm grateful for this opportunity, as are they."
"You are?"
Zariah nodded, poking her food around. "Before Shirabad came, my family and I…we weren't doing well. I thought I would have to sell myself to make sure my little brother got his supper. At least this way my family is provided for. They were happy for me when I was chosen." She saw the look on Jasmine's face and persisted. "Truly, they were. And so am I."
Jasmine felt a stab of guilt. Zariah—one of her subjects—had been starving under her rule. How did she not know this? How did she not know some of her people were starving and suffering? She thought she eliminated all of that when she increased trade and opened new markets. How much was she really in the dark about?
She watched Zariah muster a smile, though it came across as more of a grimace. Despite all her grateful, flowery words, Jasmine couldn't shake the feeling that the girl was more petrified with her circumstances than ever. But in some sick way, at least now she was provided shelter and clothing and food—things Jasmine couldn't offer as the Sultan.
"I wish I could have done more," was all Jasmine could say.
When her attention returned to the table, she noticed Jafar staring from the other end. He gestured for his young captain and murmured something in his ear. Seconds later, the captain made his way to them around the table. Jasmine's stomach dropped.
But it wasn't her the captain addressed.
"You—" he said, pointing to Zariah, "will accompany the Sultan tonight."
Zariah shot her a panicked look. Jasmine went rigid and reached for Zariah instinctively. The captain, meanwhile, moved to grab the motionless girl himself. Jasmine slapped his hand away.
"Do not," she stressed, her voice low and protective, "lay another finger on her."
The captain's eyes grew. "You dare—?"
"Yes, I dare." Jasmine stood then, turning to Jafar. "Not everyone wants to sleep with you. Can't you see she doesn't want to?"
The other girls quieted around them, anxious to see the reaction of their beloved Sultan. Only Jasmine was disappointed to see that such a defiant outcry did nothing but amuse him.
"Are you offering to take her place?" Jafar inquired.
Jasmine instantly went red. "No, I—"
The words stuck in her throat, the sheer ridiculousness of it rendering her from speaking. Jafar's eyebrows went up, waiting patiently.
Zariah suddenly stood. "It's okay," she told Jasmine. "I will go."
"No. Don't—"
"I will go, my Sultan," she said louder.
Jasmine lost her grip on Zariah, the girl pushing in her chair and walking towards the head of the table. Jafar's eyes did not leave Jasmine's until Zariah's fingers found his. With a sneer, he turned them away and out of the room.
Jasmine watched helplessly, as if watching Zariah walk to her execution.
The lilac throw pillow that graced Jasmine's loveseat lasted a whole two seconds in Jasmine's presence before it went soaring with great force across the bedroom. She'd never been one for temper tantrums and had maintained proper etiquette all throughout her regency, but the dinner exchange made her so mad she wanted to explode.
A gentle knock came from the door. The old handmaid stepped through, likely having heard the untypical commotion. She looked at the pillow on the floor.
"Is…everything alright?"
Jasmine huffed. "Yes. It's fine. Perfectly fine."
The handmaid wasn't convinced. "Perhaps a bath would put you at ease, princess."
That was the last thing Jasmine wanted to hear—yet another bath request. Fuming, she turned away, batting the disheveled strands of hair out of her face.
"I don't want a bath."
It was a lie and they both knew it, but Jasmine was still determined not to give Jafar the satisfaction. Who knew—if she were to give in and clean herself up, she could easily be the next one chosen to join him and his nightly excursions. And what could she do to stop him then?
Of course, she probably should have volunteered to go in Zariah's place. That would have been the right thing to do, what a good Sultan would do—sacrifice herself and her comfort for the young girl's. Jasmine eyes filled with tears of shame.
"She's a young girl," she choked out. "A child, practically! What kind of sick person would force a child into that position?"
"She is not a child," said the maid.
"But she didn't want to go with him! It's not right! It's…"
Again, Jasmine pushed her hair aside, the strands unable to stay locked behind her ears. The handmaid sighed and walked over to the polished vanity, pulling out a large comb.
"Come. I will untangle it."
Jasmine swallowed the lump in her throat and considered the offer. Having her hair brushed wouldn't be the end of the world. If anything, it offered the slightest bit of relief to Jasmine's distressed state of mind. She reluctantly sat herself in front of the mirror and pushed her hair behind her for the maid's access.
The comb felt like butter in her hair—even with all the knots. The feeling of it running across her scalp was simply euphoric. The maid gathered every strand and began forming a new, elaborate braid.
"If I may be so bold, princess," she later spoke up, "I don't believe your defiance aids you."
Jasmine's eyes narrowed. "You don't understand," she said back. "You weren't here in the palace before. He took everything from me."
"I was here," said the maid, meeting her stare. "My husband and I worked in the kitchens. The salads you ate every meal—I fixed them."
Jasmine's face softened. "Baba loved the salads."
The maid smiled knowingly. Jasmine closed her eyes, again chastising herself for behaving so rudely. She cleared her throat. "Forgive me. For assuming you didn't know."
The maid made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "I think the first woman sultan of Agrabah had more important things to worry about than knowing every worker in the palace."
Jasmine's lips turned up. She admired the woman's spunk. How fortunate she was to have this woman not only survive the Shirabad war but be there now as an assistant to her. It was a relief to know anyone had survived after witnessing all those bodies.
"How did you become my handmaiden?" asked Jasmine.
The maid juggled some pins between her lips but seemed to have no trouble speaking. "No one else volunteered. Everyone feared working with you would prove disloyalty to the vizier. Or Sultan, I should say." She rolled her eyes. "But I was not afraid. I do not have long for this world anyway. By age or execution—my time will come." She nodded to Jasmine. "But you, princess. I would see you live a long, happy life."
Jasmine felt her heart both swell and sink. "I wish that were possible."
"And it could be," said the maid, "if you were more compliant with the vizier."
"I want nothing to do with him."
"But you do want Agrabah. Yes?"
Jasmine sighed. "Yes."
"Then what is your plan? To overthrow him?"
The question went straight to Jasmine's gut. It was the same question she'd turned over in her brain since she'd been thrown in the dungeons. It was the root of every book she perused, every mention of magic she could find. And it filled her with anxiety that after all that time, she still had no answer.
"He's too powerful," she finally said.
The maid leaned down so their heads were joined. "But there is another way," she whispered. "Rule with him."
Jasmine recoiled away, appalled at the suggestion. The maid persisted. "If the vizier loved you, he would listen to you. Just like your mother and father."
"That treacherous snake is nothing like my father."
"But he is a man, like all others. And." The maid shrugged, taking out another pin. "He is not ugly."
Jasmine scoffed, beyond exasperated. She couldn't count how many times growing up she'd overheard servants and handmaids discuss his supposed attractiveness. Forget how atrocious of a human being he was—he never had any difficulty catching the eye of women throughout the palace. Princes she'd rejected would bring their families, some of them royal sisters who would also make eyes at him. Even Dalia, Jasmine suspected, seemed to fall for the mysterious vizier's charms early on, although she knew Dalia would never say a thing.
"Yes, I know," Jasmine bit out. "I've heard that many times."
The maid shrugged again. "Women of the harem have faced worse circumstances."
"But he is repulsive. The way he treats people, the tricks he pulls, the way he deceived and controlled my father…I've always hated him with every fiber of my being."
"And such thoughts won't help your people," the maid said bluntly. "It's not as if you have the choice to walk free."
Walking free. What a foreign concept. Jasmine sighed, imagining all the people in Agrabah that got to go on living their normal lives to some capacity while she and her husband were the subjects of Jafar's vindictive torture.
"Why doesn't he just let me go?" she said aloud. "He has everything he wants. Why not banish me too? Why not kill me?"
When she looked at the maid again, she caught the woman smirking.
"What?" urged Jasmine.
"You must notice how he observes you."
Jasmine felt the red creep up in her cheeks, her heart beating that uncomfortable flutter. As much as she wanted to ignore her instincts and pretend they didn't exist, she knew exactly what the maid was referring to. "It is not a look of love."
"No," said the maid. "It is not. But if he desired only to humiliate you, well…he didn't have to put you in his harem."
Jasmine took a long breath, willing herself to be calm. "If he wanted me that way, I could do nothing to stop him." She remembered him in her chambers, how she was bound to the floor. "He could bind me in place and force me in the blink of an eye."
"Yes. But I suspect your…compliance would be more favorable to him."
Jasmine was definitely red now. She couldn't think about that. She couldn't. She wouldn't.
"No," she said.
"No?"
"No. Not only would that mean I would have to…but Aladdin." She shook her heard vigorously, as if she could shake the concept out. "I would never betray him that way."
The maid put the final pin in her hair. "Admirable. But what matters more, princess? Your loyalty to your husband—or the fate of Agrabah?"
Of all the things the maid had said that night, it was that which rendered Jasmine speechless. For any other reason, the maid's words were easy to refuse—but bringing up her people was something she couldn't ignore, not as the true ruler of Agrabah.
"My hair looks nice," Jasmine said instead, smiling. "Thank you."
The maid bowed and knew to dismiss herself. Once she'd left the room, Jasmine met her own eyes in the mirror and shuddered.
A warm midnight wind blew in from the window, carrying with it the scent of flowers and gardens. It gently caressed Jasmine's harem pants and the small strands of hair that escaped her new braid. She turned another page of her book, nearly finished with it now. Everyone in Agrabah was asleep at this hour, but she couldn't sleep with her handmaid's words hanging in the air. Another solution to stopping Jafar needed to be discovered—and soon.
To her surprise, her handmaid opened the door. "Princess?"
"What is it?"
"You have a visitor."
Seconds later, a tear-faced Zariah came walking in. Jasmine immediately cast her book aside and rushed to her, taking her hands.
"Oh, you poor thing," she said. "Are you okay?"
Zariah's face crumpled more. A streak of anger ran through her. "That snake. I'll kill him—"
"No—no—" Zariah brokenly got out. "He didn't touch me. I…I think he thought I was too scared or…I don't know! I didn't even take off my nightdress."
Jasmine closed her eyes, relief washing through her. "I'm glad."
"But…I'm being dismissed from the harem." Zariah looked up at her imploringly. "Princess—you must help me! What do I do? My family…they'll be so disappointed! We can't go back to the state we were in before—we just can't—"
"Calm down, calm down." Jasmine took her in an embrace. "It's okay."
Zariah shivered and heaved. "What do I do?" she whispered. "I…I went back to his room again to try…but he sent me away!"
Jasmine broke the embrace and took her by her shoulders. "When are you being dismissed?"
"After dinner," Zariah sniffled. "My handmaids are packing my clothes."
Jasmine steeled herself and looked past her to her own handmaid in the doorway. It wasn't the decision she thought she would be making tonight, but it was one she was making regardless. It was the least she could do after everything she'd put Zariah and the people of Agrabah through.
"Okay," said Jasmine. "Listen to me. Zariah, go to your room. Stay calm—and I promise that you won't go home tomorrow empty handed."
"But how?" said Zariah.
"Do you trust me?"
Zariah stared up at her with the same look of wonder and confusion that Jasmine had once looked up at her adventurous Prince Ali. Zariah swallowed, nodding. "Okay…"
Jasmine kept her hands on the girl's shoulders as she led her out of her room. As soon as she seemed in better spirits and was fit to return to her own chambers, Jasmine closed the doors behind her with a resounding slam.
Her handmaid was waiting behind her. All Jasmine had to do was turn around.
"A bath?" said the handmaid.
Jasmine nodded.
"My Sultan."
"My Sultan."
"My Sultan."
Jafar glazed over the harem women's evening greetings as they moved to sit around him for dinner. He noticed a certain someone wasn't among them and his focus on it only intensified as the night progressed.
Without turning his head, he gestured Amir over. "Where is she?"
"My Sultan?"
"The eleventh."
The captain went quiet. Finally, he said. "I will look into it."
Once he left, the woman beside him—Ushila, he believed—gave him her usual suggestive glance as she took a drink from her chalice. "You look magnificent tonight, my Sultan," she said, examining his new robes that were a deep blue with silver trim.
Jafar's lips spread but didn't quite form a smile. She had been a good choice for the harem: a good conversationalist and an even better lover. Her beauty was undeniable and he very much enjoyed her enthusiasm in his bed chambers. It was an intoxicating feeling being worshipped, being appreciated for everything he had done for Agrabah.
And she was right. He did look magnificent.
The girl farthest from him, however—the one'd taken to his chambers the night before—was not on par. She was a skittish thing. Childlike, almost. And Jafar had no desire to bed anything resembling a child. Even with her exotic virtues and unique eyes, it would not change Jafar's decision to have her removed from the palace.
Halfway into the courses, the door behind him opened.
It was her heels he heard first.
Right away, he knew something was different. Her usual battle shoes definitely did not carry the same sound and depth. Around him, the girls' eyes focused and widened as she came into view.
It was the red dress—his red dress, although no one would've known after seeing how perfectly it clung to her: the pleats trailed after her in a sea of red and gold; her moon-shadowed hair was upheld in a delicate gold clip; her eyes were kohled, her face blushed and powdered; and the tops of her arms were grasped possessively by two snake bracelets.
Jafar managed a slow exhale.
This was the princess he remembered—the one that took breaths away, the one that moved with an air of entitled regality. She wasn't doing much, just walking to her normal spot while simultaneously holding together the fabric of his world. She pulled out her seat beside the green-eyed girl, but before she sat, she turned to face him, her lips curled in a polite smile that let her have her way for so many years.
"My Sultan," she said curtly.
How…interesting.
Of all the people he'd heard say those words, no one brought him the same delight as hearing it come out of her lips.
Finally.
"My Sultan," croaked Iago from his roost. "My Sultan, my Sultan."
Jafar growled under his breath: the damned bird was ruining it. But he did have a point—Iago only echoed statements of absolute importance. And the fact the princess decided to push her chess piece in this direction perplexed him. She was plotting something and he intended to find out what it was.
The women of his harem did not resume their conversations. Many, he noticed, were sneaking glances at him, curious at where his attention was now that the princess appeared as a formidable rival. Jafar himself felt the need to cast his eyes away. He had the authority and power now to do whatever he wished, but he learned long ago the danger of letting his opponents know where his interests lay. It was an old habit as the vizier as well. If he stared at her for too long, he would surely catch fire.
The room persisted in silence until Amir came forward with a group of servants and maids.
"My Sultan, the belongings of the harem girl are packed."
The green-eyed girl looked up, her eyes drowning. Jafar simply nodded his approval until another voice from the end of the table spoke up.
"Actually, captain. I would like a word about Zariah."
Jafar couldn't hide his sneer. So that was it. Naturally, how could she stay silent on a matter like this after the way she defended the girl before?
The princess closed her hand around the girl's. "I've grown close to her and would like to see her well provided for before she leaves. She comes from a line of dutiful working hands and her family needs assistance." She turned to face him. "It would be only fitting, as the Sultan, that you reward her for her service to you."
A fallen princess telling him—the real Sultan—how to handle diplomatic matters in front of his own people. How typical.
"And what would you do in order to have this done?" he retorted.
She paused, just as he knew she would. But she quickly got out. "Anything you wish," followed by, "my Sultan."
"Anything," he mused.
He didn't believe her, but by all accounts, the way she looked at him was a valiant effort. There was a great many things she would be resistant to if he suggested it. She was who she was—the princess—and her aversions to him wouldn't change overnight.
Perhaps he should kill the harem girl. Chop off her head in front of her. That would certainly make for a delectable piece of torture, having her friend subjected to a cruel fate for attempting to seduce him out of a decision. And yet he rather liked this game, the sound of her admitting her place beneath him. How often had she ever put her pride aside to get something she wanted out of him? And just how far would she go?
The captain looked around, unsure how to proceed. "The girl, my Sultan?"
Jafar turned at him, his decision made. "Give her that." He summoned a bag of gold coins next to the girl's belongings. "It should sustain her well outside the palace."
The green-eyed girl nearly jumped out her chair. "Thank you, my Sultan! Thank you so much! My family and I will sing your praises—"
He didn't hear the rest. He was too preoccupied watching the princess breathe a sigh of relief, thinking she won something.
Indeed, it would be a great game ahead.
The girl was officially escorted out after dinner ended. Each harem girl bid their polite goodbyes, likely pleased at having one less contender to compete with. The princess wrapped her arms around her with more compassion and whispered something before releasing her. And with that, the girl followed her maids out of the room and out of the palace doors with her sack of gold.
The harem stayed in place. There was still one final decision for him to make.
Amir stepped forward. "One of you will accompany the Sultan tonight."
He looked at her again. Now that her friend was gone, the princess seemed short on courage. He could feel her pulse speed up when he focused on it, her little palpitations pumping her full of fear. She thought she knew what was coming and that the consequences were unavoidable. He idly wondered what that pulse would feel like against him when he touched her skin.
Alas, it was not time. He wanted to see her game through.
And with that, he extended his hand to his left and waited for the weight of Ushila's fingers to follow.
The closer Aladdin got to Agrabah, the more people around him talked about the sorcerer.
Seagulls cawed overheard as wind whipped around his hair and sprinkled mist in his face. The ocean port was busy with passengers from all walks of life, but none seemed to be heading in the direction of the next continent. Certainly not the continent which was home to a sorcerer that killed thousands with the snap of his fingers.
Aladdin created a makeshift hood out of his sheet while Abu wrapped himself within his legs and next to the bag carrying pieces of Carpet. They had a long journey ahead and Aladdin had no intention of causing trouble on their passage back, particularly because he didn't know how to swim. The best course of action was to stay low and not speak to anyone.
As Aladdin looked on, a man stumbled past him, blocking his view.
"Sorcerer this, sorcerer that," slurred the man. "What a bunch of hussies. You'd think they were women."
Aladdin caught the man's eye and gave a simple, stiff nod. Unfortunately, the man collapsed all too near him, his blackened glass bottle only halfway empty. Aladdin huffed. Of course when he was actively trying to avoid trouble it would follow him anyway, and this time with a loud, drunken thief. Aladdin looked around, scouting for another place for him and Abu to wait.
"Purple wool, eh?" said the thief, seeing Carpet sticking out from the bag. "People would trade gold for a color that rare."
Aladdin blocked it with his leg. "It's not for sale."
"Wasn't offering. I know it's value." The thief took another long drink. "A product from the Cave of Wonders…that's near priceless."
Aladdin's eyes widened. The thief stared back, seemingly sobering up at an inhumane rate.
"I… what did you say?"
"It was a carpet, wasn't it?" said the thief.
"And you know this how?"
"My grandfather," said the thief, "was the diamond in the rough before you. Poorest beggar alive but had a heart of gold. He told me stories about the cave. About the purple carpet that helped him get what he wanted." He made a whirling motion with his hand. "He drew pictures for me."
"Is he still alive?" Aladdin's eyebrows knitted together.
The thief nodded. "Aye. You aren't a diamond your whole life and there's good reason. They may be selfless and pious when they're young, but they don't stay selfless their whole lives—especially not after getting a taste of the cave's treasures." He gestured to him with the hand holding the bottle. "Your time will pass too."
Aladdin took in the man more intently, trying to detect foolery. He couldn't. The man certainly had a swagger about him—his big black boots, his thick beard, and yet he seemed so indistinguishable, so unimportant. If he was a thief and did have knowledge like this, it was no wonder he was still alive.
Abu chirped warningly. Aladdin pressed on.
"Your grandfather. Did he take the lamp?"
The thief grunted, scratching at his beard. "That'd be double dipping. There's more in the cave than genies and wishes. What happens when someone finds a genie and wishes for infinite power? What protects the people? What restores balance?"
Aladdin blinked. "There's another…artifact?"
"Oh, aye. Your lamp was just one of three."
Three?
Aladdin sat in silence, struggling to make sense of it. Jafar never mentioned three items when he was first captured. Did he even know they existed? It seemed as if the genie's lamp was the most prized possession in the cave based on how it was placed on the steepest rock. Were there other steep rocks he missed?
And what were those final two items?
The thief watched Aladdin's thoughts unfold. "That sorcerer in Agrabah…I assume that's your business?"
Aladdin closed his eyes. "I should've never trusted him," he admitted.
"No, you shouldn't have." The thief's demeanor darkened. "My wife and children were in Shirabad when he came to power. And they say nothing survived the blast."
Aladdin inwardly grimaced. He knew it was true. He may not have freed Jafar the second time around, but he definitely didn't do any favors by aiding him find the lamp in the first place.
Aladdin sighed. "I don't know if this is any consolation to you, but…I'm going back to stop him."
"No need." The retort was quick and didn't miss a beat. Aladdin opened his mouth but the thief was suddenly gone, having rolled off the cobblestone wall and back up the port, disappearing into the crowd of people. Abu chirped again.
"I know," said Aladdin, "that was strange."
Abu echoed his sentiment tenfold.
After an hour passed, the first mate came around calling all those to board the ship. Aladdin decided to hold Carpet's pieces himself, not wanting to risk losing it to someone who saw it in its threads and knew exactly what it was. A line was formed from the ship's bow and up ahead, the first mate asked the passenger's names and their reasons for travel. From the corner of Aladdin's eye, he saw the thief line up a few men behind him.
The line slowly moved forward. The mate's questions gradually became more audible.
"I am Abdul," said a merchant. "To visit family."
The merchant was approved and he stepped aboard. The man in front of him came forward, his muscles the size of cannons.
"Vadik," said the man. "For trade."
Then it was Aladdin's turn. "Aladdin," he said. "For my wife."
After the mate nodded, Aladdin stepped aboard and waited until he heard the thief's voice.
"Ranvir. To kill the sorcerer."
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