Three

 

The final stage of the journey home seemed to take hardly any time at all, or perhaps that was because Philemon spent most of it wondering what he would call his new oasis. After all, it was his – created at his command – so he should have the pleasure of naming it.

His first thought was the most obvious name for the place, but calling it Lake Philemon wasn't enduring enough. Philemon was hardly a rare name, even for a prince, and he wanted no confusion in anyone's mind that the oasis belonged to the Prince of Tasnim.

But to call it Tasnim Oasis implied that it belonged to the whole city, instead of its ruler. It was true that the wealth of water it contained would belong to the people of the city who travelled outside the city walls, for it was within his territory, but...the Lake of the People took away from the magic of making water appear in the desert.

Well, the djinn had performed the magic, but no one wanted the place named after a slave. Even if Philemon had known the slave's name, which of course he did not. There were far more important people for him to remember.

Including Fadi, his vizier, who was waiting for him in his apartments when Philemon arrived back in Tasnim.

Philemon sighed. He would have preferred his concubines to be waiting for him, but they would have to wait. The city came first, before Philemon's desires.

"I trust the city continued to prosper under your care?" Philemon asked, beckoning for a servant to bring refreshments for himself and the vizier.

Fadi bowed. "I do my best, as always, Your Highness. The city has endured under your family's rule and enjoyed good fortune for many years as a result. But a strange thing happened this morning..." He accepted a cup of wine and sipped from it.

Philemon paused to savour the first taste of a particularly fine vintage, before he replied, "Ah, this is Tasnim. Did a cat chase a dog? Did my jewelled garden grow? Or did a bird fly out of a well?"

Fadi managed a smile, but it did not reach his eyes. "I fear it is nothing so small as a bird, Your Highness."

Philemon felt the first twinge of unease in his belly. "Then spit it out. Tell me what has befallen my city, so that I may set things to rights."

"It's the wells, my prince. Yesterday, they were fine, but this morning, none of the buckets would reach the water."

"Then they need more rope! I am certain there is plenty in the storerooms. Have someone fetch it and the wells will soon be set to rights. Perhaps the ladies of Tasnim have bathed more often of late, or this summer has been a thirstier season than most." Philemon forced himself to smile, even as a chill crept around his heart. Water was life, and the lifeblood of Tasnim. If something happened to their water supply...

"I already have, Your Highness. It took a dozen yards of rope, but we struck water again." Fadi swallowed, as if he hesitated to say more.

Philemon knew his vizier, for the man had loyally served his father for longer than Philemon could remember. He waited in silence.

Finally, Fadi continued, "I set my clerks to search the records, looking for reports of this ever happening before. So far...they have found nothing. The waters of Tasnim have never dropped by so much. Ever. I fear...magic, or some sort of curse. Forgive me, my prince, but have you somehow angered someone powerful in your trip to the capital? Through some small act, insignificant to you...aroused the enmity of some sorcerer?"

Philemon burst out laughing. "Fadi, I visited the Sultan for one purpose alone: to secure a wife from among his daughters. His matchmaker assured me that the Sultan finds favour with my proposal, and will send an appropriate girl as soon as I send word we are ready for her. Unless some sorcerer has set his heart on the same girl the Sultan intends to give me – chosen by the Sultan, not me, for surely he knows his daughters best – I cannot imagine what offence I have given anyone. And if I have...why, let them come! They may bring an army to Tasnim's gates, and we shall stand, as we always have, undefeated."

Fadi returned his smile. "Perhaps you are right, my prince. Maybe the earthquake we felt last night is the reason for it. It shook dust from the ceilings, and spilled soup from my bowl, but little else. Perhaps the water beneath the city spilled out of its vessel, too."

"That's the spirit. Tasnim will not fall while men like us rule her!"

Fadi left soon after, and Philemon headed to the garden, where his favourite concubines waited among the jewelled trees. The sound of soft music and feminine laughter lifted his spirits like nothing else.

Yet later, when both he and his concubines were sated, he dismissed them back to the harem, and lay alone in the darkness with his thoughts.

Tasnim would not fall, he swore to himself. He was the prince of this city, and he would defend it to his dying breath.

He padded out to where his bags had been brought in, and dug out the dented lamp. When the djinn appeared, Philemon didn't give him time to ask for orders. "I command you to fill the wells of Tasnim to where they were before I left the city," he said.

The djinn eyed him. "You want me to bring the water back?"

Philemon swore. "You stole the water from our wells? Then yes, I do want you to bring it back! Immediately!"

"I hear and obey," the djinn said, and vanished.

Satisfied, Philemon headed back to bed, and a peaceful night's sleep.

It would be the last peace he would know for a long, long time.