Jafar was in the marble hall cum office, chasing paperwork.

He had in front of him several ancient scrolls, each one of them contradicting one another, cross referencing one another and occasionally confusing themselves. He was trying to ascertain the origin and whereabouts of the Cave of Wonders and the lamp, and having a hard time of it. In the white marble, glowing with icy perfection, the black-clad Vizier and his yellowing work looked like an unsightly smear, or a wasp caught in a child's seaside ice cream.

He found his mind begin to drift away from the task in hand. There was one thing the scrolls agreed on, and that was the amount of wishes: three. One scroll suggested the appropriate formula for the three wishes would be to ensure health, wealth and happiness. He wondered exactly how he would achieve his own health, wealth and happiness.

Naturally, being the Sultan would mean I was wealthy, he pondered. Not only would I be an exceptionally rich man, but under a tyrannical and despotic rule I do believe I could make this country prosper, even make it the founding block of an Empire. Yes! I would wish to be Sultan, then use my innate genius to add to my wealth from there! After all, under my guidance, has the Sultan not already found himself ruling an economically stable and efficiently cosmopolitan city?

How to secure my health? Hmm. A harder one, for in this measly human body I am constantly besieged by aches and pains. Often I dream of having greater power in my magehood, that I might magic the ills away- there! An all-powerful sorcerer! Since I am so busy ruling Agrabah for the addlepated twit I have no time to perfect my art, otherwise I would have become a great sorcerer long ago. An all powerful sorcerer! Life would indeed be so much easier.

But my happiness? What surplus requirement would ensure my happiness?

Unbidden, an image of Suzuki glided across his mind, bowed to his astonished consciousness, and exited as silently as she had come.

That was... strange, he thought, cautiously peering around his mind's eye to check the oddly alluring image had departed. Could it be that my happiness could be ensured by constant, mindless sex? But she was fully clothed... Surely... surely I don't want... Could it be... no... that all I want is lo-

This was such a weird and wonderful novelty that Jafar laughed aloud.

It was in this amused, chuckling state that Princess Jasmine found him. She strode up to the desk and rapped her small fist on the table. "Jafar!" she snarled in a voice much senior to her fourteen years. "I have come to tell you that I refuse to meet the Prince!"

Jafar wiped a tear of laughter from his kohled eyes and turned a benevolent smile on the Princess. It was like being grinned at by a cobra. "Ah... Princess. But of course you don't want to meet the Prince. I quite understand!"

Jasmine was taken aback. "What? You- you do?"

The Grand Vizier's grin widened. In front of him he could see Agrabah's beloved princess- a sweaty, good-looking, moody teenager with opinions coming out of her ears. Never before had he seen her quite so young, yet at the same time quite so womanly.

"Did your father ever talk to you about your mother?" he asked dreamily.

"He sometimes mentions her," Jasmine ventured cautiously. "I get the impression they didn't talk much."

"Like you, she married young and was pregnant at seventeen," Jafar said, lost in the past. "You take after her, I believe, Princess. She was a clever, mouthy, difficult lady." Jasmine glowed at the adverse compliment. "She often... tried to steer the country through her husband. But as you say, they did not get on very well. She was barely out of childhood when she married, and being forced to grow up so quickly she often blundered and became confused. She was frightened of going wrong, as there was none to help her. I offered my help, you understand, but she was proud and, oh, so much like you! She disliked me, Princess. I'm afraid that was her downfall." He smiled, serpentine, and reached across for Jasmine's hand. "I hope you will not make the same mistake. Perhaps you ought to... visit her grave. You will find she was still young when she died."

Chastised and disturbed, Jasmine snatched her hand back, and in a compulsive gesture drew her sparse sleeves around her bare shoulders. Without saying another word she turned and left the marble hall. Jafar was still smiling.