Nine

 

When Amani woke, he was afraid someone had stuffed him into a chest and closed the lid. Or a coffin. They'd neglected to tie his hands, though, so it would be but the work of a moment to take off his gag, and cast a spell to make them rue the day they'd been born.

He tried to lift his arms, but they were squeezed so tightly between his body and the walls of his prison, he could not get even one hand free.

Wait...did he smell lamp oil? They couldn't burn him alive. Only barbarians did that.

He tried shouting through his gag, floundering in his coffin – it had to be a coffin, if they were going to burn him – but no one answered.

He heard the scrape of something rasping along the outside of his prison.

Amani tried shouting again.

It felt like a giant hand seized him, feet first, dragging him through a narrow opening that wasn't wide enough for his body. Tighter...tighter...crushing him...squeezing him into an impossibly narrow space where he couldn't breathe, couldn't feel anything but pain and pressure, couldn't even scream...

And then he was out, exploding into a cloud as the pressure was gone.

It took a moment before feeling returned to his arms and legs, and he was surprised to find his ribs didn't hurt despite definitely being crushed only moments before. Magic. It had to be.

But his hands were free now, free to untie his gag so he could spit out the foul-tasting cloth. The cloud around him cleared and he saw a man.

Not just any man. The Sultan, Briska's husband.

With a snarl, Amani opened his mouth to hurl every insult he knew at the man.

But what came out of his mouth was: "How may I serve you, Master?"

Amani tried to curse, but he only repeated the same words again. Furious beyond reason, he tried to strike the man, only to feel his body bow in deep respect for the man he hated.

He fought it, but his back bent anyway. The only bit of him he managed to keep from bowing was his head. He met the Sultan's gaze with all the fury he could muster.

"I don't want you to serve me at all. I never want to see your face again. Not after you stole her from me," the Sultan said.

"She was never yours!" Amani gasped out, before his own lips silenced him.

"But if not for you, she might have been, in time," the Sultan said. "Which is why I can't bear the sight of you."

Only now did Amani see that the Sultan held a lamp in his hands, a common thing of tarnished brass.

"So you may serve me by returning to the prison from whence you came, and sinking to the bottom of the ocean, where I will never have to look upon your traitorous face again," the Sultan said. He lifted the lamp high, then dropped it into the well. "I said go, servant of the lamp, and trouble me no more."

Amani didn't understand.

And then...he did.

His body crossed the paving stones in three strides, then dived into the well, head first, following the lamp. Amani hit the water, his strangled shout turning to bubbles in the blackness as he sought the lamp, compelled to follow. It glowed blue in the darkness, floating along in the current instead of sinking, calling for him to follow.

Not knowing why, he swam to catch up, stretching his hand out to grab the lamp. Only...his hand shrank, slipping inside the spout of the lamp, followed by his arm, until the narrow hole swallowed him up, scream and all.