Mahdi woke to an oddly clear head and a pounding beat in his skull that didn’t hurt nearly as much as he’d expected.

Before opening his eyes, he ran through the sequence of events the night before, since half-remembered bits of the scene seemed like some figment of a dream when noticed by a sober mind.  Had a man really been waiting in his room, after rummaging through all his things, to ask him forcefully about the lamp?

How in the vast blue sky had he known about it?

Perhaps he should ask the genii.  After longer consideration, he decided that made a good deal of sense, and set about waking up more thoroughly so he could get around to it.  Finally dressed, sipping hot ghala and feeling much more awake, Mahdi pulled the lamp out from under the clothes he’d been wearing the day before and rubbed the smooth metal.

Shimmering cloud became genii.  Jadir looked different today, Mahdi realized with some surprise.  The well-formed head rested at the top of a straight spine, as before, but instead of slumping, his broad shoulders were squared back, making Mahdi realize just how tall he was, and although his face still tilted towards the floor, keeping his eyes well below his master’s, it held something more of the reserve Mahdi had originally expected, the expressionlessness of a mask rather than the blankness of despair.  When they looked up, the brown eyes seemed sharper than before, absorbing things and letting nothing back out of what they’d seen.

“Jadir,” he started, a bit uncertain of how to say it, “that man who was up here last night, looking for your lamp…”

The djinn tilted his head barely to one side, waiting.

“How did he know it was here?  I’ve only had it for a day, and haven’t used it except on him, so it’s not because my neighbors have noticed me flaunting a genii.”  He took a long sip from his warm glass, savoring the rasping sting of the sharp-flavored ghala, and watched the attentive golden face.

Jadir bowed his head for a moment, hesitating.  “I cannot say for certain, Mm-Mahdi.  He may have been sent by a former master of mine, from whom I was stolen.”  Something indecipherable in his voice there, grim, but why Mahdi couldn’t judge.  “Or…”  Brown eyes slitted and the mobile mouth tightened.  “At a guess, Mas – rmph,” an annoyed noise as he cut the forbidden and automatic word off, “at a guess, he may have been notified of my… location by another djinn of my aquaintance who bears me some considerable ill-will.”

Mahdi frowned, sucking for a moment on the smooth lip of his glass.  That didn’t make any sense at all.  “Why would an enemy of yours try to get you stolen by someone else?  What would it matter to him who commands you?”  There was that thing the tumbler lady had said about the “best master,” of course, but that was ridiculous.  Surely one mortal was the same as another to the djinn.  How could anyone mistreat a genii, anyway?  No mortal would dare to beat one – subsequent wishes would be horribly misinterpreted to the point of death, not to mention that any physical harm wouldn’t last past when the genii returned to its incorporeal form, and what else could one do that a djinn would care about enough for it to be cruelty?

Jadir hadn’t answered yet, brown gaze dark on his hands, which were twining together in a very human gesture of distress.  He opened his mouth, clamped it shut again, then looked up with the openest expression Mahdi had seen on him yet – entreaty.  “Master,” he said quietly, “I am at your mercy as no djinn has been for many mortal lifetimes.  My former master,” he drew a deep, hard breath, “was a magician, and bespelled me.  While my kinfolk owe but three wishes to any mortal who comes into possession of them, I must serve however and as long as my master pleases.”

Mahdi blinked in shock, leaning forward.  “Wait – you give more than three wishes?!”

Closing his eyes as his head bowed with the tension of one awaiting a blow, Jadir nodded silently.

Unregarded, the ghala had cooled to skin temperature, and Mahdi grimaced slightly as he sipped again.  Besides that automatic reaction, he barely noticed, mind fumbling around this new information.  He had a feeling it should explain the genii’s behavior when he first appeared, could sense that it all hung together somehow, the despair and this spell and the magician-master, but he must be still missing pieces.

“But – Jadir,” he set the ghala down to gesture with both hands.  “Why should it matter to you how many wishes you grant one person?  Isn’t one mortal the same as the next, to you?”  He rode over the top of his own questions, former puzzlements finally taking the chance to make themselves heard.  “And what did the tumbler lady mean by calling me the best owner for you?  I have no special wishes I need filled – she said to treat you well – how can one treat a djinn badly?!  Your kind is more like to treat us badly, not so?  And yet you behave…”  Mahdi sighed, catching himself up.  “Jadir,” he said more calmly, “I wish you to tell me the truth.  Why were you so… miserable, when we first spoke?”

Slitted brown eyes fixed on Mahdi’s, Jadir didn’t look much happier now.  Tight lips opened, after a moment, to let the velvet and spiced honey voice out in short, tight words.  “My master, the magician, had been draining me of power, to the point where I had very little left.  I had not had much time to… reaccustom myself to being well again.  I did not expect to receive more.”  The last words came in a slightly softer tone of voice, gratitude of a sort.

Mahdi nodded slowly.  “Was he stealing your power for his own?”

Dark gold lips parted and hesitated before the genii said, almost regretfully, “No.”

“Jadir, I said the truth,” Mahdi reminded him.  It looked as if the djinn had been considering stretching a point there, for a moment.

The bent head and slightly hunched shoulders straightened as if galvanized, and brown eyes flashed amber gold fury at him.  “You wished it!  I have no choice but to follow your wish, and to suggest otherwise is to say I stand beyond the bounds of law and unworthy of the title of genii!”  The words tumbled over each other like whirling grains of sand in a windstorm, and Mahdi blinked and leaned back, battered by the rush.  Both hands raised almost involuntarily to signal submission as he lifted his eyebrows, startled at the sudden outburst. 

“Jadir!  I did not mean to impugn your honor, I apologize, I was unaware of the laws involved.”  Hands palm to palm, he bowed over them.  “Please, forgive me.”  He quite honestly hadn’t meant to insult the djinn, and certainly hadn’t known his comment would reflect on Jadir’s honor as a genii!  At least now he knew that the part about djinn being easy to offend was true…

When he straightened up again, Jadir was watching him warily, confusion just visible in the tilt of his brows.  “Truthfully,” he said stiffly after a moment, “you need not even make wishes, only command me, and I must do as you say.”

Mahdi leaned back on his hands, determined to sort out the tangled threads of this story and turn them into some kind of sense.  “You sound very unhappy about this, but really, what’s the difference between serving many masters for three wishes and one master for many?  There must be one, or this spell wouldn’t make you so miserable.”

The djinn paused for a long moment, twining his fingers together again, before answering.  “There are things… mortals can command from us, which drain us, using more power than is safe for us merely by their nature.  Usually between masters and wishes there is a space of time in which we can recover our full strength, so we are not in danger.  When one mortal has control of one genii for as many wishes as he desires, he can command many things that use much power, and order them as quickly as the genii regains enough strength to carry them out, whether or not the genii is safe doing so.  By the end of my stay with the magician, I was weakened to the point of sickness.  In another moon I would have faded into nothing.”

Open-mouthed, Mahdi stared at him.  “But surely, if you’d told him the danger you were in, he would have stopped!  If nothing else, he wouldn’t have wanted to lose his genii so quickly, truth?”

Amber eyes dropped to the cushions they sat on, and the rich voice was quiet.  “I preferred to die rather than continue to work for him.  I did not tell him what he risked.”

“And everyone knows djinn are immortal,” Mahdi said softly, “so he wouldn’t have thought to ask.”

Silence spread in rippling folds between them, and filled up the room.  Mahdi absently reached for his ghala again, sipped it, and made a face as he found it tepid and thick.  Setting it down again, he pulled his thoughts together. 

“Well, you don’t need to worry about being overworked by me.  I don’t need anything, so I won’t be making many wishes except things like last night.”  He offered Jadir a smile.

Deep brown eyes watched him steadily from a head cocked slightly to one side.  “You need nothing, Mahdi?”  The care with which he said the name gave it the same meaning as if he was still saying “Master.”

Uneasy and uncertain why, Mahdi shrugged and shook his head, ignoring the small ache deep inside.  He was used to ignoring it, and barely noticed.  “I’ve got my work, my friends, a home, and plenty of wine.”  He laughed.  “Why would I need anything else?”

Still the dark eyes watched him, seeing through him, staring past his eyes to, he had the uncomfortable feeling, the truth he was doing his best to hide, although how a djinn would know it Mahdi hadn’t any idea, or why he would even suspect.  Velvet stroked his ears, quiet and bold.  “Your true love, perhaps?”

For a moment the room wheeled around him, fading behind the rushing sound in his head like an angry wind.  Tight-lipped and silent, Mahdi jerked to his feet and walked past Jadir to the head of the stairs.  It was time to open the shop for the day anyway.

Bare feet followed him quietly down the stairs, and he whirled at the bottom to glare up at the genii.  “You know nothing about my lover.  Don’t presume to make my wishes for me.  That is not within your perview!”

“I know this, Master,” Jadir said quietly, undaunted by his anger.  “I only wonder why, when you are clearly miserable without her, you make no effort to rejoin her or bring her to you, or wish for another lover – ”

Fists tight, shoulders pulled forward and every muscle clenched, Mahdi lost his control.  “Quiet!” he snarled in a whipcrack of sound.  Barely keeping from striking the djinn’s broad chest with his fists – which would likely make little impression anyway – he spoke instead, in a rapid snap rivalling the djinn’s offended honor before.  “Can you bring mortals back from the dead?  Can you make one love who is not inclined to do so?  What makes you think you know enough to advise me on the matter at all?”  He paused, breathing hard, and abruptly frowned.  “How do you know about it in the first place?”

“Being in my lamp does not prevent me from hearing what goes on outside it, Master,” Jadir replied, raising his eyebrows.

Mahdi’s lips tightened.  “Fine.  Answer the first two questions.”

“I cannot bring mortals back from the dead, Master,” he said, bowing his head in agreement, “and when one mortal hates another, I cannot turn the hate to love.  However, if the feeling is only disinterest, and love does not revolt the spirit, I can indeed persuade the heart to love.”  He looked up and smiled slightly.  “Your suit may not be as hopeless as you think.”

Lacking the energy to rage at him anymore, Mahdi shook his head and turned away, continuing into the shop to start setting it up for the day.  “If you knew of what you truly spoke, you would think otherwise.”

“How can you be sure?” Jadir argued, following him.  “Magic is a flexible medium, and djinn are skilled at using it.  Unless you try, how can you know what is possible?”

Last nerve strained past bearing, Mahdi whirled on his recalcitrant genii with bared teeth.  “Jadir,” he said through them, “be silent.  Do not speak of this matter again.”

Face blank, the genii bowed.  “Yes, Master.”

Mahdi drew a deep breath and let it out again, trying to relax.  The djinn had no way of knowing what a painful subject it was, and it wasn’t fair to take the hurt out on him.

Silence held for a while as he readied the shop for customers.  Just as he was about to open the door, something occurred to him.  Former anger dissipated, Mahdi tried to smile and speak casually, turning to face the expressionless djinn.  “Jadir, can you make it appear that you’re an ordinary customer, stopped in for a friendly conversation with your wine, so that no one who comes in will think you particularly noticeable?  I don’t want them to notice us talking of lamps and spells and the like, not only for business’ sake, but because we don’t need anyone else trying to steal your lamp.”  He frowned hopefully at the impassive gold face, and smiled in relief as Jadir nodded.

“Good.  Well, that’s one worry dealt with.”

The genii made no reply, and Mahdi started to feel a little uncomfortable as he propped open the shop door.  No doubt it was startling even for a djinn to have a perfectly natural inquiry answered with a flying rage, but he wasn’t going to apologize for it. 

Near the door was a waist-high wall standing out from one wall of the shop, behind which resided the money chest and records along with the shopkeeper’s stool.  Mahdi sat down on it and pulled a new jar of wine out from the small group he kept there.  All things considered, it was far past time he started drinking this morning.

Sighing deep satisfaction, he put down the opened jar after a long pull and turned back to look at the silent djinn.  A decidedly cold silence radiated out from the still golden figure. 

“Jadir, sit down!  Make yourself comfortable,” Mahdi waved a hand at various cushions scattered around the shop – in case customers felt like taking advantage of the cool and shade to sample the wares for a bit.  His uncle was aware that comfort promoted a looser hand on the strings of the money-pouch, although he insisted that the shop was not a tavern and customers were not to be drunk within its walls.

Glancing around, the djinn moved to the other side of the shop and sat, straight-backed, on a plain blue cushion beside the wall before looking back at his master, face still cool, eyes still flat and hard.  Mahdi took another drink.

Clearly, a change of subject was called for to renew amicable relations.  And there was something he had to find out in any case.

“The magician who drained you of power, what exactly was it he required of you?  What specifically was it that wore you down to that point?”

If possible, the handsome face became even more masklike, but the brown eyes were cool and wary on Mahdi’s, and he hesitated long enough before answering that Mahdi added in exasperation, “I’m not going to demand the same thing, I want to know so I won’t put you in danger by mistake!”

A blink and a slight widening of the eyes were the only signs of surprise that Mahdi could see, but the tense cant of the broad shoulders gradually loosened as the djinn looked thoughtfully away from him, across the room.

“I was made to change my shape… for hours at a time,” he said quietly.  “One of the things that drains us most is being in a form different from our own, and the farther the form from our natural one, the more the drain.”

Frowning to stamp this piece of intriguing information into his memory, Mahdi nodded, absently taking another sip of wine.  “All right.  Please stay in your natural form, then, and remind me of that if I ask you to shift without a very good reason.  I’ll try to remember it, and even if you do shift form for some reason, you won’t have to stay there for long.”

A strange expression crossed the still golden features as Jadir opened his mouth as if to speak, then hesitated, gazing at Mahdi.  He seemed to be struggling with himself.  Puzzled, Mahdi waited for him to finish, and finally the genii cast his eyes to the floor, looking very nearly as discomfited as when they had first spoken the day before.

“Mas-Mahdi, this is not my own form, but I doubt you wish to see my true one.  I… have learned, recently, that mortals are ill-at-ease around it, and…” strong gold fingers twined together.  “Relations tend to suffer when one’s master is uneasy around one.”  The deep, smooth voice was bitter on that.

Mahdi scratched one shoulder thoughtfully.  Unless a djinn’s original form was dripping with venomed fangs and claws, he was fairly certain it would be bearable, and if not, a middle ground could undoubtedly be found that was not as far from his form as this, but easier on the eyes than a monster.  More interesting to consider was the dark note in the djinn’s voice, which spoke to the the constant, silent ache in Mahdi’s own chest.  He could recognize a hidden wound when he heard it, especially in such an expressive voice.

“Well, show me your natural form,” he suggested, laying that aside for later, “and if it’s too strange you can shift back to this one.”

Brown eyes gave him a steady, considering look, then closed, and glittering mist rose from the genii’s skin and clothes, shrouding him in an opaque cloud.  Mahdi waited in some suspense to see what Jadir truly looked like, hoping it wasn’t too outlandish and a little sad to see this form go – metallic skin or not, it wasn’t hard to look at… not that he should be thinking about that.

The mist cleared and Mahdi’s eyes went round.

Golden eyes like molten amber met his, wide and wary, with slitted pupils like a cat’s, but of a deep, lush green.  Skin the pure, clear blue of a crystalline pool in some princeling’s courtyard rippled over muscle beneath the woven vest Jadir wore, and strange markings of a darker blue crossed his cheekbones.  His fingernails had the same pearlescent sheen as the teeth showing behind anxiously parted lips, but besides the colors of everything and the shape of his pupils – and delicately pointed ears, Mahdi realized belatedly – his body seemed to be the same.  At least, as much of it as was visible at the moment; there might be other, more interesting differences hidden beneath his clothes…

Closing his eyes for a second, Mahdi lifted up his wine-jar and stared at it, thinking that as little as he’d had so far, there must be something wrong with the wine for him to be thinking this way.  Except that somehow, half of it was gone.  Mahdi put the stopper back in the jar and set it carefully down next to the others.  Clearly he needed something in his stomach before drinking any more.

He looked at the wine-jar for a moment, gathering strength before he looked back at the djinn, sitting there so quiet and still.  The amber eyes were apprehensive, waiting for a clearer reaction from him to judge by.  Mahdi could only stare at him in silence, hoping his face didn’t betray the conflict in him.

Of course the strange, inhuman appearance was unnerving, the djinn looked like something out of a dream or an old tale, but it wasn’t unbecoming.  On the contrary, the vivid colors of his skin and eyes were beautiful, he looked like a statue carved of jewels in the dim daylight of the shop.  It was unnerving… and exotic.  And something in that strange beauty touched Mahdi inside, grabbed him and made him want things, want to own and master this creature, use him as Mahdi pleased without regard to his own thoughts or desires.  Warring with this was the desire to protect him, make him happy and live quietly, leaving ownership out of it – why else would he have insisted on being called Mahdi rather than Master?  The unusually open expression of anxiety on Jadir’s face now, the vulnerability there somehow fed both impulses at once, but more the desire to use him.  Why not?  After all, he was only a slave, and lamp-djinn were creatures of power, made to be conduits for that power through any man strong enough to take one and hold it.

Mahdi closed his eyes as if in pain, turning his head away.  “Power corrupts,” he said softly.  “Owning a genii’s lamp, I abruptly possess a great deal of power.  It is fortunate that I have no use for it, and don’t want it.”

“Master, shall I take my other form?”  The spiced-honey voice was hesitant, worried.

“I told you to call me Mahdi,” he answered a bit sharply, looking back at the djinn.  At the word “Master” in that tentative voice, the gleeful urge to make his ownership keenly felt intensified again, and he fought it back with every sinew.  “No.  I’ll get used to it,” he added with a small smile.  He meant not that he would eventually get used to the form, because that would be neither difficult nor painful to the eyes, but that he would grow accustomed to the effect it seemed to cause, and learn to fight it off with more ease.  He doubted that Jadir would guess that, however, which was fine.

Silence fell between them, and Mahdi looked through the large window beside him at the busy midmorning street, calling a cheerful greeting out the door when aquaintances passed by.  He was well-known for his friendly disposition, after all, and behaving normally gave him some relief on what was a distinctly abnormal morning.

Perhaps he would get used to this eventually, but it was going to be an interesting journey until then.

The djinn Jadir Siraj sat silently on an elderly cushion, cool as a desert oasis at dawn even in the hot dry shade of the wineshop, and watched the man called Mahdi Ayasha ignore him.  Lean body perched on his stool, arms resting on the half-wall in front of him, the wineseller stared out into the street, bright brown eyes flicking from face to face as he tallied possible customers and observed their other purchases – if that was what he was doing.  Jadir could have looked within his mind to see his thoughts and easily learn what he was looking at, but he remembered what the response of the spell on him had been when he had last tried to see into the mind of a master – Shakoor had been first puzzled, then amused, when his genii had whimpered in pain for no apparent reason.

It occurred to him that Mahdi’s reaction would probably be different, but he brushed the thought aside.  The wineseller was far too strange for him to predict his reactions with any expectation of accuracy.

Shaggy straight black hair fell into the angular face as Mahdi nodded courteously, greeting a small, shapely woman who’d just walked through the door, and he absently brushed it back again, listening intently to her particular questions before answering her concisely and carefully.  Looking pleased, she bought several smaller winesacks and one jug and thanked him, laughing at the flowery compliment he gave her before she walked out the door.

Jadir’s eyes hooded thoughtfully.  Something about Mahdi’s manner was different around women.  Not that any male mortal didn’t act differently around females than they did around other males – but perhaps that was what he’d noticed:  Mahdi didn’t seem to treat them differently in the same way as any other man that Jadir had known.  In the djinn’s experience, one could place any ordinary mortal man in a room with an attractive female and even if his eyes didn’t go immediately to her feminine attributes, there would be a certain feeling in the air.  An awareness, a potential that vibrated in the space between them like tension, no matter how unaware of it one or both of them might seem.

With Mahdi, it was as absent as if he was entirely unaware that there was a female in the room – which he obviously was not, given the outrageous little flirtation he’d just engaged in with that woman.  He had sighed at her, saying that she took such good care of her family that he was desperately unhappy he’d never met her father to get into his good graces, and alas, to let such a bride slip through his fingers – but he could not leave, having a wineshop to attend, and he was sure she understood.  Extravagant, and despite being meant as a joke, the same words used by any other man would’ve held a clear spark of truth; courtesy, yes, but hope too – and desire.

However kindly meant and well-played, the words were empty when Mahdi said them.  No desire lurked in his wide-set brown eyes, even in the face of that woman’s obvious fertility.

Well.  A puzzle.  Considering this particular mortal, Jadir could hardly be surprised.  Perhaps Mahdi simply had no interest in the activities of other men, or perhaps the wine had leached it out of him. 

Setting the strangeness aside, Jadir thought about some other aspects of his new master’s personality.  The man was self-absorbed, overly touchy on certain matters, and not only completely lacking in ambition, he honestly seemed to be avoiding even the effortless power afforded by a genii!  Jadir had never had such a strange master, and wasn’t entirely sure what to make of him.  Of course, in ignoring the power available to him, he was also failing to make wishes that would be humiliating or dangerous to Jadir, for which he was grateful.  But he couldn’t help thinking that there was something wrong with the way things were working when a mortal with access to a genii so steadfastly refused to ask for anything, however large or small it might be.  Admittedly, this one didn’t seem to be very bright, but even stupidity was rarely enough to slow the kind of avarice most mortals seemed to have in abundance.

These weren’t the only oddities he’d noticed about this Mahdi.  Jadir was aware that the consumption of intoxicating substances was an enjoyable pastime for many mortals, but they were rarely able to drink quite as much as this one did without having it affect their behavior rather severely.  Yet all morning one long hand had absently reached down for the winejar beside the stool, lifted it to tilt against parted lips, and set it down again a long minute later. 

It was nearly empty now, and Mahdi was relaxed, smiling readily at passersby and his occasional customers, but hardly swaying on his stool.  He spoke clearly and without a slur to those who inquired about a particular vintage or price, haggled cleverly, and when he fetched jars from the back room, walked easily, without even the overcareful balance and avoidance of obstacles of a man who’s drunk too much.

Altogether strange.

Another difference – no master Jadir had ever had, no master of any other genii he’d known or heard of besides, had ever insisted on being called by name rather than the title of “Master.”  He couldn’t imagine why one would.

Given all the other ideosyncracies, he might actually be allowed to ask.  Jadir thought about this for a long moment as the current customer chuckled at a comment and walked out with his wine, then shrugged inwardly and spoke.

“Ma-Mahdi.  Might I ask a question?”

The man turned to him with an easy smile, brushing persistant locks of hair out of his face again.  “So long as it’s not about love,” he warned, still smiling but with wary eyes.

“No.  Why must I call you Mahdi, rather than Master, as I am accustomed, as is habit for my kind?”

Mahdi looked down at his hands for a moment, rubbing them thoughtfully across his thighs.  “Slaves have masters,” he said, looking back up to meet Jadir’s gaze.  “But friends call each other by name.  If I may call you by your name, it is only fair for you to call me by mine.  It reminds me that you are at least my equal, and to treat you accordingly.”  He smiled again.  “I had rather have a friend than a slave, however powerful.”

He held the gaze, still smiling at Jadir, apparently honest and meaning it, until it became clear that there wasn’t going to be an answer and the clear brown eyes turned back to the street.

Jadir was mute, stunned.  He doubted that any other genii had ever had a mortal honestly propose equal friendship as preferable to massive power enslaved, and when the power didn’t seem to figure into the picture at all…  Of course, the notion of a djinn and a mortal ever being equal was utterly ridiculous, nothing that could become reality for a hundred different reasons, but – it said something interesting about this one that he’d suggested it.  Jadir might not know exactly what that was yet, but he intended to observe him closely enough to figure it out.

Mahdi sighed and got off his stool, stretching.  The look on Jadir’s face just now had been enough to nearly set him off laughing.  You’d have thought he’d said something completely incomprehensible and outlandish – but then, to a genii with the experiences he’d apparently had, perhaps it was.  That was a sobering thought.  He shook it away.

Leaning on the barrier in front of him, he peered out the door at the bustling street.  It was nearly noon, and people would start coming in soon for the smallest jars of wine to take with their midday meal before custom dropped off for an hour or so.  Earlier he’d eaten a small loaf of bread and the last piece of overripe chel fruit left over from the day before, but he was starving and hardly wanted to wait another hour and more for everyone else to finish noon shopping before he ate.

On the other hand, if he left the shop to get his own meal at the midday rush, his uncle would skin him.

Frowning over the quandary, Mahdi looked back into the shop and caught sight of his genii sitting quietly.

“Jadir,” he began slowly, thinking about it as he laid out the problem, “I cannot leave the shop to tend itself while I fetch my midday meal, but I’m already hungry enough and I don’t want to wait longer.  Would you be willing to mind the shop for a little while I go for food?  I’m certain you’re capable, you’ve seen what I do, and you can make the customers think you’re a trusted friend of mine who’s visiting.”  He looked anxiously at the sculpted blue features, which were currently shaped around an expression of utter confusion.

“Mas – ah,” Jadir caught himself with a sigh, continuing with a look so puzzled it held a mild edge of exasperation, “Mahdi, you could simply ask me for whatever you wish to eat.  I can produce not only any food in the world, but foods unknown everywhere and incomparable to any other in flavour and delicacy of texture, fit for princes and poets–”

“But I only want a meatroll,” Mahdi protested.  “Maybe some figs, if Nasser still has them.”

“I could give you those as well,” the djinn replied, voice tinged with strained patience, narrow black brows pulled together.

“Yes.  You could.”  Mahdi smiled.  “Can you mind the shop?”

A very long pause held as blue lips tightened in annoyance before Jadir finally nodded.

“Thank you.”  Mahdi nodded courteously, still amused, and waved the genii over to take his place on the stool.  “You know how to act, and you won’t have any trouble with the customers?”

“I believe I can manage, Ma-ahdi.”  Jadir settled on the stool, square hands at rest on his thighs, and met Mahdi’s gaze with a blank expression that nevertheless somehow carried a sardonic edge.  “I pledge you they will notice nothing unusual about me.”

“All right then.”  Patting the pouch under his shirt, Mahdi made sure he had the money for his meal before nodding to the djinn and starting out the door.  “I’ll be back soon, if’s there’s a problem.”

As it turned out, the meatrolls were smaller than usual that day, so it was fortunate that Nasser was indeed still trying to get rid of his dates before they were quite over the peak of ripeness.  Mahdi bought a small bunch and munched on one as he turned away from the shop, only to feel a large hand settle on his arm.

“Mahdi, isn’t it?” said a friendly, if unfamiliar voice from behind him, and Mahdi turned to see a large man standing behind him, smiling through a thick black beard.  “I’ve a matter to discuss with you,” the man said, wrapping one huge arm around Mahdi’s shoulders, and started to guide him down the street.

Well aware that it was unwise to allow himself to be led anywhere by a complete stranger, Mahdi didn’t intend to move, but the man was quite strong with a very firm grip and didn’t seem to notice the resistance, even when Mahdi started to struggle harder.

“Pardon,” he gasped, trying to slip out from under the arm to no avail – it clamped around him like an iron bar, “but who are you, and why can we not discuss it here?”

“My name is Kaliq,” said the man quite as genially as if he wasn’t dragging Mahdi along by main force, however well disguised, “and you met me in a tavern several spans back.  We exchanged a few words then, seemed to get along well enough, and agreed to meet at some later date to continue our discussion.”  As Mahdi tried to connect this story with a reason for his odd behavior, Kaliq drew him through a gap between two shops and down a narrow alleyway beyond, coming to a halt in the dim middle, where there was barely room for his broad frame front-on.

Here he turned to Mahdi, one large hand on either shoulder in a friendly manner and smiled at his unwilling companion, who was dearly wishing he hadn’t left Jadir to mind the shop, but brought the lamp with him.

“In truth,” rumbled the deep voice, “I wanted to speak to you about a rumor I’ve heard of.   The lamp isn’t with you at the moment, I expect?  Much too dangerous to carry it around, after all – what if you were robbed?”

Mahdi stared at him, feeling as if the ground were trying to tip him off his feet.  Here was another complete stranger who knew that he had a genii, and what was Mahdi supposed to do about it?  A breeze swept past them, carrying a strange acrid scent, like mineral smoke from some alchemist’s den.  “Lamp?” he said weakly. 

“You left it at home, correct?  Tell me you’ve been that wise, boy,” said Kaliq urgently, shaking him slightly.

“I – well, yes, of course,” he admitted to calm the man down, bewildered.

“Prophet’s Grace, I’m glad to hear it,” Kaliq sighed.  “Mahdi, you need to keep the lamp in a safe place, and I can help you.  Take me to where you live and show me where you keep it,” he said, giving one shoulder a little push towards the end of the alley they’d come in from.  The breeze had stopped, but the acrid smell was still there, as if emenating from Kaliq’s clothing.

Mahdi balked, staring up at him.  “Why should I trust you enough to show you where I keep it?”

Kaliq looked back thoughtfully, frowning.  “That’s true.”  He twitched broad shoulders in a shrug, clasping Mahdi’s shoulder in one huge hand again.  “Fortunately, I don’t actually need you to,” he said, and his other fist slammed into the back of Mahdi’s head, knocking the world into orbit around him that spiralled quickly into darkness.  As the last of the light faded and his mind slipped away, Mahdi’s last thought was to wonder what that wretched smell was.

A heavy weight of cloth lay over Mahdi, something light covered his face, and his mouth wouldn’t close properly, nor would his hands move out from behind him.  Rustling and thudding noises sounded from somewhere nearby.  It was all so strange that he accepted it as part of some dream, and went on lying on his back with his eyes closed, breathing slowly.  He only realized that he was awake when a spiced-honey voice spoke quietly in his ear.

“Mas-Mahdi, he is searching for the lamp, and I cannot stop him unless you give me permission.”

“Oh,” Mahdi tried to say, but it came out an indistinct mumble, and he realized with a shock that he was gagged.  Indignant and disturbed, he was about to open his eyes and sit up, see where he was and what the situation was, when the voice pleaded low in his ear.

“Please don’t move or show you’re awake, Ma-ahdi, or he will knock you unconscious again and I will have no recourse; the lamp will be lost to him.”

How am I supposed to ask questions, then? Mahdi wondered irritably, and was cut off before he could think any further.

“Just think them,” said the genii’s quiet voice, “and I will answer them.  I am speaking inside your mind, presently, not out loud, and you can speak to me in the same way.”

Do not look any further! Mahdi told him in a panic, as soon as he’d worked through the meaning of this.  There was no way he wanted Jadir seeing some of the things in his mind.  Some of the memories, some of the thoughts… he shuddered inwardly.

“I obey, Mast – Mahdi,” said the voice humbly, and Mahdi wondered suddenly why Jadir sounded so… abject.  Why are you so worried? he asked silently.

“This man is working with an imp,” Jadir said flatly in his head, “and I cannot see his mind.  If he knows about the lamp, I can only think that the djinn who is my enemy has sent him, and – Would you want to work for an employer picked out for you by one who wished you complete misery?”

When he puts it that way… At least Jadir sounded closer to normal now.  An imp, Mahdi started slowly, remembering – is that what made that awful smell in the alleyway?

“Yes, Master – there’s no time!” the voice almost moaned.  “Make a wish, keep the lamp!”

I don’t know what to – maybe –  same wish as last time?  Take Kaliq across the city and leave him there!

A soft, hopeless sound like a bitten-off groan slipped through his mind.  “Too late,” the voice said, almost inaudibly, and Jadir’s presence vanished.  Mahdi growled around the material in his mouth, sitting up, eyes snapping open as he reached to rip the stuff out, only to discover that the reason his hands wouldn’t move before was that they were tied behind his back.  But in the instant it took to realize that, he also took in the situation and made a decision.  He was in his own room over the wineshop and across the room stood Kaliq, lamp in his hands, wide smile on his face, and taking no notice whatsoever of Mahdi, who was a head shorter, one third as broad, and tied up to boot.

But Jadir had asked him to keep the lamp and begged not to be left to Kaliq, and Mahdi was not about to ignore his plea, tied up or not.

Surging to his feet, which at least were not bound, he lunged toward the huge man, desperately wishing he knew a little more about fighting, especially how one might go about it with hands secured behind one’s back.  Then, as the bearded face turned towards him, startled and beginning to laugh, Mahdi wished he’d been aware that the thick cloth he’d been draped in was actually wrapped around him, hindering his legs.

Still moving forward at an impressive speed, legs tangled in cloth and unable to catch himself with arms prisoned behind his back, Mahdi toppled against Kaliq, who lurched backwards, arms flung out to catch himself on the wall behind him, lamp flying from his grasp.  Mahdi coiled his body like a spring, launching from the floor to land hunched over the dented lamp, and as hard fingers dragged at one shoulder, desperately thought, I wish he was gone!

Apparently all one needed to be in technical possession of the lamp was contact with it, rather than the actual ability to rub its side, because the hand vanished and there was the sudden feeling of absence from behind him.  Breathing hard, Mahdi dragged himself into a sitting position.

Jadir, can you free my arms?

The harsh rope that had cut into his skin when he’d moved was abruptly gone, and Mahdi suddenly had an unpleasant realization.  Jadir, he said slowly, reaching up to take the bunched cloth out of his mouth, what happened to him?  I said “gone” – what does that mean for him?

He had the mental impression of a shrug as the genii’s presence returned to him.  “I only gave the magic rein to carry out your command, Mast – Mahdi,” said the voice from thin air in front of him.  “I am not aware of how it did so.”

Mahdi stared at the lamp as a terrible feeling spread tendrils through his chest.  “But – is he – dead?” he said out loud.  “On another plane?  On the other side of the world?  Where is he?”

“I do not know, Master,” said Jadir’s voice, sounding rather puzzled.  “Does it matter?”

Mahdi looked at the empty patch of air as if trying to burn a hole in it and glare through it at Jadir.  “Does it matter?  Jadir,” he cut himself off shortly, “Are you watching the shop still?”

“Although ownership of the lamp temporarily switched, he had not yet replaced my original command with others, so I am,” the djinn’s voice said.  Mahdi hadn’t asked for the explanation, but from Jadir’s tone the genii hoped to be accommodating enough to soothe his master’s temper.

“Fine, I’m coming down,” Mahdi told him, and stood up to head for the stairs, tucking the lamp inside his cupboard first, behind the stack of refolded clothes.  He was reminded on his first stride of the cloth wrapped around him.  “Jadir, what is this?” he said in annoyance.  The cloth was a faded grey-blue, and seemed to have more shape than a simple stretch of fabric – in fact –

“Mas-Mahdi, he dressed you as his wife,” the voice said quietly, “carried you into the shop, then explained that he was a friend of yours and his wife was faint, and you had said that he could bring her up to rest here.  Although I knew there was something wrong when I smelled the imp and could not see the man’s mind, I had no chance but to allow it – I can do very little without the permission of my master.”

Scowling, Mahdi ripped the all-enveloping garb off, tore the head-covering and face-veil away, and flung it all in a heap on the floor.  At least no one had been able to tell who he was through the disguise, so his reputation would still be intact.  If he was discovered to have been wearing women’s clothing in the middle of the market at midday – Mahdi shuddered.  It wouldn’t be quite as bad as when he’d last had to flee a home, but he was still grateful for the reprieve.

This evening he was going to see about putting his room back together, he thought, coming down the stairs.  Getting wrecked a second time hadn’t helped it recover from the first.

He reached the shop to find Jadir smiling at the customer who was just then paying for her purchase.  She laughed at something he’d said, then nodded respectfully and walked out the door without noticing Mahdi in the other doorway, wine-jugs clutched to her flat bosem.

“Not bad,” Mahdi said quietly, nodding at the genii, who pressed his azure hands together, bowing over them.

“Thank you, Master,” he whispered, and Mahdi realized he wasn’t talking about the compliment.

Shrugging awkwardly, Mahdi moved farther into the room, hesitating between sitting down and heading for his usual stool, which Jadir was occupying.  Before he could step either way, the genii was off the stool and bowing low, hands waving him to the stool, and Jadir moved across the shop to take his former seat on the cushion.

Mahdi sat down and reached for the jug of wine he’d been sipping all morning, taking a gulp of it before his stomach cramped and he remembered that he still hadn’t eaten lunch.  “Curse that mangy – I must have dropped everything when he hit me!”  Mahdi groaned, rubbing his temple with one hand.  “Well, what man needs food that has wine?” he sighed.

“Master,” Jadir said quietly, with the barest hint of exasperation, “would you like me to retrieve the food you bought earlier?”

One browned hand scrubbed across his face before Mahdi emerged to stare tiredly at his genii.  He shrugged.  “I suppose you may as well, but what’s the use when it’s covered with dust and filthy from the ground?”

The meatroll and dates appeared on the wide surface of the low wall in front of him, as fresh and clean as if he had only just bought them.  For a moment Mahdi looked at them, thinking tiredly about the many and varied possible applications of magic and what a silly use this was for a genii, and then he shrugged it off and started in, washing the food down with liberal amounts of wine.  That Jadir wasn’t using his name anymore had not escaped his notice, nor had he forgotten the matter he wished to discuss before he’d come down to the shop, but it could all wait until he had something solid in his stomach to drink on.

Finally he finished the last date – he thought there were perhaps more of them than he’d bought, but it wasn’t worth bickering over – and washed the mildly overripe taste away with another swallow, and it was abruptly time to consider those other matters.  However little he wanted to do so.

“Jadir,” he said heavily at last, “what happened to Kaliq is important because however unpleasant he may have been, he had his own life, and if I’ve stolen that from him, I am responsible to make recompense.  If keeping a genii’s lamp allows me to do that kind of damage, I… must use it to repair the damage as well.”

Golden eyes in a blank blue face looked him over thoughtfully before Jadir finally spoke.  “If you are concerned, Master, merely wish for Kaliq’s life to be as it was before he found you, but lacking knowledge about you or the lamp.  Shall I bring this about?”

“Yes, please,” Mahdi agreed fervently, “but I also want you to respond the same way to the next person who tries to steal the lamp.  If I make a wish that you could interpret as death or injury or something else, I don’t want anyone hurt or killed.”

“I cannot kill, Master,” Jadir told him quietly.

Mahdi gave the genii a long, thoughtful look.  “How about, when asked to move an attacker one hundred miles away, happening to leave him in the middle of a lethal sandstorm without shelter?”

Slowly, intrigued gold gaze seeking to look through Mahdi’s eyes into his thoughts and the workings of his mind, Jadir nodded.

“I suspected as much,” Mahdi sighed.  “Do nothing of the kind on my behalf – return any such person to his life without memory or knowledge of the lamp, but please do not place him in danger from now on.”  His voice was quiet yet firm, commanding, but he suddenly felt very tired.  He hadn’t asked for this responsibility, and he didn’t want the power.  Yet it seemed that if he didn’t take both, the lamp would fall into the hands of men who would misuse it.

“As you command, so shall I obey, Master,” Jadir said slowly, eyes still intent on his face.

Mahdi took no notice, frowning as he addressed the second matter.  “Master?  Jadir, I told you to call me Mahdi.  Maybe it’s hard to break the habit, but can you at least keep trying?”

For a long moment, the genii watched his hands, touching the fingertips together in over-careful sequence before he looked up at last.  “Master,” he said in a low tone, eyes fixed on Mahdi’s, “I heard when you spoke of equality and friendship, but… I am not your equal.”  His eyes didn’t waver, saying this, but held steady on Mahdi’s face, melodious voice unfaltering.  “I am a slave to whomever holds the lamp, and no matter how well I am treated, this will not change.  It is unwise to call – I – I cannot pretend friendship when I am unable to practice it because I am only a slave.”  With this final sentence his eyes fell back to his hands and stayed there, unwilling to look up.

Mahdi didn’t know what to say.  He fumbled for how to approach this argument – he couldn’t possibly just leave it, he couldn’t afford to have Jadir calling him “Master,” not with the effect it had already had on him once!  “You did practice it, though – you spoke to me when Kaliq was looking for the lamp, gave me a chance to keep it, you went so far as to speak into my mind to tell me what was happening!”

Head down, Jadir didn’t answer, and Mahdi felt suddenly chilled and unhappy in the dusty warmth of the shop, knowing what the djinn would have said.  He had not done it for Mahdi, he’d done it to keep the lamp out of the hands of Kaliq, who would not have been a good master.  Friendship had nothing to do with it.

Dejected, he sighed.  “Please call me Mahdi,” he implored.

The dark head shook once.  “I cannot, Master.  I will not lie.”

This statement was startling enough that Mahdi tilted his head and frowned curiously at the djinn.  “I thought your kind loved to lie and mislead and fool humans.  Why would you choose not to?”

Jadir’s mouth opened, but nothing came out for a moment; he was looking into his open palms as if searching for a clear answer.  “I am prevented,” he said stiffly after a moment.  “The spell on me does not allow the manipulation of words’ meanings that djinn typically employ.  You may have noticed the complete lack of such in the carrying out of your own wishes.”

Distracted from his original concern now, Mahdi frowned more deeply.  “I had wondered about that, actually.  But if calling me “Mahdi” is lying, you succeeded in getting around the spell for some time, did you not?”

There was an even longer pause than before, as Jadir apparently searched for a way to explain.  He still hadn’t looked up to meet Mahdi’s eyes since naming himself a slave.  “It is true that the spell may not consider this small matter a lie,” the djinn finally admitted.  “And in any case your specific command that I call you by your name perhaps overrode it.  But…” he took a deep breath. 

“If I call you by your name, Master, you may forget my status and believe that we are truly equal.  When that happens, you will expect me to help you in ways that I cannot, in future situations similar to that with the bearded man.  I will be unable to help you, and should you retain the lamp despite that, it would be understandable if you were to become very angry with me.  I… cannot afford that risk.”  Jadir’s rich voice was very calm, and Mahdi frowned in distaste at the way of thinking that lay behind his explanation.

For a moment there it had sounded like the genii had objected to lying to Mahdi on some moral or personal grounds, and a small, warm glow had lit in his stomach, sympathy waking to flood through him for Jadir, a good person despite being a soulless creature trapped in a lamp and enchanted.  No surprise that personal politics, rather than feeling, backed his reasoning, but a cold gust of reality had extinguished the glow, and Mahdi’s interior felt hard and chill as barren rock.

“I see,” he said, and turned back to the window.

Jadir had told Mahdi Ayasha the truth – he could do nothing else, could not tell an outright lie now if he wanted – but he could leave pieces out.  He had done so, just now, had told Mahdi a small truth that would keep him from depending on a djinn fettered too much to be of assistance, but even he did not entirely understand his reasons.

Of course it was in his own interests to keep Mahdi safe, because if the wineseller lost the lamp, Jadir lost the only protector, however unlikely, that he had.  But it was also in his own interests to keep his new master happy with him, and if he wasn’t going to call Mahdi by his name as he wished, then Jadir was acting against his own interests, which made no sense.

It was just… something in his perception of the strange mortal had changed abruptly.  Perhaps it was when Mahdi insisted on taking responsibility for all results of any order he gave to Jadir.  Something that the genii had only caught the merest glimpse of before in the man showed itself then, almost long enough to be identified.  For the first time, Jadir realized that this mortal, courteous and unimposing as he might be, was a force to be reckoned with in himself, lamp or no, and the thought felt odd in his mind, unfamiliar.

Calling Mahdi by his name now seemed not only disrespectful and less than honest, but too intimate for comfort.  Not that there was any chance he would explain this other half of his reasoning to the mortal, even if he understood it himself.

Cool brown eyes fixed steadily out the window, Mahdi was clearly displeased with him.  Jadir knew he could’ve stopped his explanation at his inability to help and his master would still feel kindly towards him, and he wasn’t sure what had made him continue on, giving reasoning that in truth had barely entered into his thoughts. 

Of course it was unsafe for a genii spell-bound as Jadir was to have his master angry with him, but surely far less so with this particular master than any other he could imagine.  He found himself not afraid in the least, but was greatly unnerved at the feeling that crept through him instead.

Mahdi was less angry than disgusted – the mortal’s scorn filled the air like whirling, abrasive sand – and Jadir found himself unhappy that this should be the case.  Unhappy, that a common mortal should think less of him than he did before!  Even if Mahdi now believed Jadir to be an honorless creature only bound from harm by the spell on him, why should it rankle in the djinn as it did?

A long silence rested between them, although Mahdi smiled and spoke with his customers as readily as ever.  Finally the noon flurry faded into midafternoon and died off in the hottest part of the day, when everyone went home to sleep.  The wineseller was absorbed in watching some interaction in the street outside, sipping steadily at his nearly-empty jug, when Jadir finally steeled himself to speak.

“Master…”

At the hesitant address, Mahdi looked up at him with a small smile, brown eyes weary but no longer unkind, which so startled the djinn that he found himself saying something entirely different and less consequential than what he had meant.

“I can feel a small magic here.  What is its purpose?”  The faint scent of it filled the room, but curiosity is not typically one of a genii’s faults, and he had not intended or cared to ask before.

“Heat is bad for wine,” Mahdi replied easily, his thin face surprised and mildly pleased.  “My Uncle Yasir paid a magician to enspell this room and the back one to keep the wine cool and good.  It doesn’t work so much on the rooms themselves, but does leak over just enough to make it more comfortable for customers than the street.”

Frowning faintly, Jadir nodded and looked around.  “Your uncle seems to possess a good deal of business acumen.  He must have been unaware that the spell would gradually weaken.”

Mahdi’s mouth fell open and he jerked upright on the stool, glancing wide-eyed around the room.  “Blessed Suhail, it’s weakened?  The wine!  I’ve been selling it all day with no idea – is the wine still good?”  He glanced down with sudden doubt at the jug beside his stool, as if trying to recall its flavor.  “I’ve tasted no difference… It can’t be entirely broken yet, surely today was unusually hot as well – tell me the spell is still there a little?”

Jadir nodded, eyebrows raised at the sudden flood of worry – but then, it was this man’s livelihood, however small and paltry it seemed to a djinn.

“Ah, thanks be,” Mahdi sighed, lean body slumping on the tall stool.  “Yasir would kill me if I lost half his stock without even noticing.  Prophet’s Name, he’s not going to be pleased about this.  What can I tell him?”  One hand twining into the ragged black locks beside his face, the mortal tugged gently, chewing on one side of his mouth.  “Perhaps I should take the money out of profits, pay for a magician to redo it before I tell him…”

Infallible as a djinn’s senses are, Jadir was having trouble believing his ears.  “Master, you have a genii,” he pointed out.  “Such a spell as this I could make last for five hundred years and your uncle would never know.  It would cost you no money, no trouble or worry, and no waste even of time.”

Solid black brows pulled together and Mahdi’s full lips pressed tight, determined and slightly annoyed.  “No,” he said.  “My uncle may have guessed the spell would not last forever, in which case I can take enough from profits to pay the magician.  If he is displeased, I’ll take the price from my wages instead.  It’s no great hardship and nothing that needs a genii.”  His tone was polite but absolute, gaze steady on Jadir’s face.

Almost without his volition, Jadir’s own gaze flickered to Mahdi’s worn caftan, the much-mended hems and the inconspicuous patches on his dust-colored pants, and he felt his expression alter, mouth twisting slightly as one eyebrow twitched upwards.  Mahdi’s nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

Nearly dizzy at the sensation that the basis of his existance was fading away – mortals would do anything to save themselves trouble, hated spending money and working hard; mortals were lazy and greedy and everyone knew this! – Jadir questioned his master, disturbed enough to dare his anger again.

“Master, why do you resist making use of me?  It is my purpose, to carry out mortal commands and obey your every desire – why do you – ”

“Jadir!”  Mahdi cut him off sharply, brown eyes flashing and hard.  Taking a deep breath, the wineseller closed his eyes and waited a moment before saying quietly, “I have no wishes I need a genii for, and I will no longer use you for simple things that could be done as easily without a genii.  I will hold your lamp for the moment, keep it safe from those who would misuse its power, but as soon as I find someone who would use it better, I intend to give it to him.”

This was not possible.  Amongst the many he had served, Jadir had had one or two masters before who had spoken of passing on the lamp, but somehow when it came to that, the talk always came to nothing as they found reasons to keep it.  He could hear in Mahdi’s voice, see in his eyes what Jadir already knew; that this mortal was different.  This was no idle threat.

“Master,” he said in desperate confusion, hunting for some way to change Mahdi’s mind, “have I displeased you?”  Had he made this decision after finding out how bound by the spell Jadir was, how cowardly it made him?  “Have I failed to obey you in some detail?  I am forbidden from reading your mind, but if you will tell me or only hold it in your surface thoughts, I can rectify the – ”

“No,” Mahdi said again, angular face still and calm.  “You have not failed me.  There is nothing I need.”

Although his features were relaxed and friendly, there was a wall behind his eyes, a cool distance that told Jadir plainly that Mahdi well knew how empty his words sounded to the djinn, who knew better, and that pursuing the matter farther would be most unwise.

Speechless, all recourse sealed from him, Jadir finally closed his mouth and bowed his head, not knowing how to argue about any of it without angering his master.  His head still rang with perplexity, and he badly needed time to set his thoughts in order and consider his situation.

Still, he remembered, there was one more matter to be dealt with before he could retreat to his lamp.  “Master,” he began hesitantly, low-voiced, “my enemy will not cease sending men for the lamp.  Are you satisfied to have it so, or would you place some safeguards in their way?”

After only a moment of hesitation, Mahdi nodded.  “Make it that anyone looking for your lamp will be unable to find it.  Or me, or this place.  Will that do?”

Jadir nodded slowly, feeling the power flow out of him in tiny flickering strands of light and breath, creating the fabric that would hold the wish true.  He knew with a stony certainty that even this would not stop Asad from his scheming; that if the djinn lord was truly set on tormenting him, no measures a mere genii could carry out would stop him, simply because Jadir’s powers were tied up in the lamp and Asad was free, even if their powers had been equal in the first place.

It occurred to him that Mahdi would make wishes to get himself out of trouble the lamp brought on him, and to keep the lamp itself safe, yet he wouldn’t loosen his will even enough to ask for a meatroll and a handful of dates.  Truly the mortal was unfathomable.  And very stubborn.  One never would’ve guessed, to look at him.

“I have obeyed, Master,” he said quietly.

Perhaps the wineseller heard some echo of hypocrisy, its suspicion, or simply puzzlement in Jadir’s words, because he looked uncomfortable, shoulders pulling forward for a moment.  “Thank you.  You – ah… I have no more need of you at the moment, Jadir,” he said a bit stiffly, pulling up the near-empty wine-jug absently and balancing it on one knee.  “If you wish, you may return to your lamp.”

Pressing his palms together, the djinn bowed low and changed to his other form, flowing through the ceiling in a cloud of bright mist.  Blessed peace surrounded him as he poured into the haven of the lamp sitting serenely in Mahdi’s room above.  Relaxing, he quickly fell into the still trance that his folk used instead of sleep, and settled to sort through the confused thoughts chasing through him.  Most persistantly rising above the others were images and questions of his new master, and thinking it only reasonable, he turned to consider these.  Fragments of speech and memory began to shift into a more coherent pattern as he fell deeper.

Mahdi Ayasha, shop-keeper of his uncle’s wineshop… Why was he so averse to using a genii’s lamp to get what he wanted?  Power corrupts… fortunate that I have no use for it, and don’t want it…

He showed no interest in women, and yet, that look Jadir had seen in his eyes the evening before, when he’d been so very drunk, staring at Jadir… He had refused to make any wishes relating to his mysterious lost love – what if there had been something else to make that love nearly impossible to live, and his lover had given up, realizing this?  …the unspoken taboo that kept men from showing more than brotherly affection for each other, lest they be stoned out of their homes …

The swirling thoughts shifted, that train sinking deeper as the former emerged again. 

Mahdi refused to use the lamp’s powers for anything… apparently afraid that should he lessen the grip of his stubborn will, he would give in to the seduction of limitless power, his will once weakened no longer up to the task of holding him back from abusing it.  Given the rest of the man’s personality, Jadir wonderingly suspected that the wineseller was one of the few mortals he’d come in contact with who wouldn’t be seduced by the lamp – but then, genii were uninterested in power because they handled it constantly, controling and affecting everything except themselves, so Jadir wouldn’t know.

One of the advantages mere mortals had over the entire genii rank of djinn, that.  Through whatever trials and difficulties a mortal had to suffer, his choices would always be his to make, however choiceless his situation looked to himself.  Genii had no such power over themselves or their lives.  Once confined and bound by the lamp, the ring, the bottle, whatever vessel was chosen to house them, they were trapped and powerless to direct their power or allegiances, unless a free djinn should trade places with them, being wound in the magic and rules of the lamp and leaving the genii shed of the rank and a free djinn once more.  It had happened a few times, a djinn becoming bored or tired, willing to shoulder a friend’s burden for a while when it seemed lighter than his own life… but Jadir had no such friends.

His thoughts had become sidetracked, but getting them back on subject was difficult.  Finally he found himself considering the quality he thought he’d caught a glimpse of in Mahdi, and his mind reeled.

If the wineseller gave his word to do something, Jadir knew instinctively that Mahdi would go to the last reach of strength in his body to see it done.  If he thought using the lamp for his own convenience would weaken the strength of his will to resist temptation, he wouldn’t touch it until the sky fell and the desert rose to smother the sun, and probably not then.

Struggling for a word to define the strange trait, the genii finally tried “honor,” and felt a kind of awe when it fit well.

Djinn were strange about the idea of honor in general.  As a society, they agreed that it was a dangerous quality to possess, since it made one predictable and tied one down to acting in a certain way in situations, which was bad for survival in a slippery bunch like the djinn.  Instead of a society based on and bound by honor, the djinn’s was based around their rules and laws, which were definite and precise, because any djinn, however low, would have been adept at searching out loop-holes ever since he first opened his eyes.  Not-exactly-illegal was a djinn’s way of life, not-what-you-meant-but-you-said-it was his joy.

And yet, while their society disallowed the existance of any such thing, while practicing honor in earnest could be lethal, playing at it had become something of a sport among them, and watching mortals who practiced it was a pastime some djinn were fanatical about.  Admiring the danger of it, they were caught between respect and incredulity that mortals could really be so stupid – so brave… Like watching someone tempt a basilisk, it was engrossing for them to watch a man promise his wife he would be home by evening, then turn down his friends’ offers of free drinks and the entreaties from beauties by the tavern to stay, merely to keep his promise and be home by the appointed hour.  Fascinating to see a woman stop haggling for a pot long before she reached a low enough price, merely because she knew the seller needed the money.  Impossible, amazing, when a wealthy man agreed to be in a particular place at a precise time, and appeared there just as he’d said – how could he be certain he wouldn’t be ambushed or stood up?  Because he trusted the man he’d agreed with to be similarly honorable.

The pageant played out again and again before their astounded, avid eyes, and the djinn were rivited, although their responses varied.  Some thought such mortals fools beyond telling, and spoke of them with derision, while others said they stood above the entire race of djinn in worth and deserved to be worshipped.  Clashes between the two extremes occurred often, although always in a fiercely quiet, half-sheepish kind of way because no matter how obsessed with mortals any djinn was, the idea of holding them in respect enough to fight over was difficult to admit to in public.

Jadir himself had played the little games at honorable nobility with the rest of his kin, tempting each other to see how far they could go, how close they could stick to the meaning behind the words of a promise and not get hurt.  Most only dared as far as to show up within fifteen minutes if they promised for pride to be somewhere at a particular time.  To show up within five minutes of the appointed time was silently felt to be pushing it close to the edge of safety, and few would try it.

And here was Mahdi, a puzzle of a mortal who held to his honor and what he felt to be right without even thinking about it.  He insisted on taking responsibility even for the result of words said in panic and without thought, when the victim was a man who’d caused Mahdi pain and tried to steal from him.  Honor demanded that he set things straight, he believed, and so he did, where most mortals – and any djinn – would consider Kaliq to have gotten only what he deserved.

Jadir thought about all this, and finally took note of the unfamiliar small, warm sensation curling inside him.  Fitting words around it was difficult, and when he found some that seemed to work he found he rather wanted to deny it.

Some djinn might’ve admired mortals in the abstract, respected certain qualities in their kind in general, but they did not give that respect and admiration to any one particular mortal.  After all, mortals in general were a far inferior race, and while you may admire the determination and work-ethic of a hill of ants, you do not pick out a particularly hard-working ant and idolize it.  Or at least, if you do, you’d best not admit it to your peers.

But – Jadir hadn’t intended to become interested in the mortal.  His newest master simply had taken Jadir by surprise by the strength and purity of those certain traits worthy of admiration, yet which were mixed in his personality with far less admirable qualities in a way that seemed impossible to a logically-minded genii.  Mahdi was unwary, pacific, anything but a warrior, yet could be snappish and short-tempered when pushed the wrong way.  He was so lacking in ambition as to seem apathetic – spent his days sitting in the dim wineshop flirting with women purely for business reasons and his nights drinking far too much in taverns, apparently desiring nothing more in life, while any other man would be striving to increase his standing in the business and searching for a wife.  Yet his will was strong enough that if he ever wanted things to be different, Jadir knew he would move heaven and earth without benefit of a genii’s lamp.

Mahdi needed the lamp no less than any other mortal and more than many, as proved by his dependence on his wine in order to perform simple daily activities.  Yet, Jadir had never met a man less likely to use his services, and the irony was a niggling puzzle to the logical djinn.

He pondered it for hours as he rested deep in trance, following his thoughts in coiled, trailing loops and trying to understand the conundrum of a mortal who needed his power, and used it wisely, and refused to partake of it.