The sultan gazed intently at the white-bearded Master of Illusion. Then he laughed softly at the simple answer to an insoluble riddle. For a dream, this girl was surprizingly human and reasonable....
"It seems," began the sultan, "that this ancient Lord of the World endowed me with a touch of his own folly. For I have become the plaything of this mad kingdom which the Old Tiger and I dreamed twenty years ago as we sharpened our blades and rode out of the mountains. But not being a god, I may escape my doom."
"And how might that be?" queried the girl.
Her left eyebrow rose ever so slightly. She nodded approvingly at Schamas ad Din.
"You might," suggested the sultan, "whisper into his ear a thought I might whisper into yours."
"In a word, saidi," said the girl, "you wish that mad kingdom of yours made a bit more habitable for its ruler? You came seeking vengeance, and end by wanting to recast your entire fate? But that would be unreasonable; for then, in your own way, you would be greater than this very Lord of the World, since even he is subject to me, his dream."
"Wrong!" exclaimed the sultan. "By my beard, you are wrong! I seek but a jest and a vengeance, and let dreams go where they will. Such a vengeance as until a moment ago I had not contemplated or imagined."
"Even as I sought a vengeance and found a jest when I chanted this Dreamer to sleep. Saidi, you are a man after my own heart; and your fancy appeals to me. You please me exceedingly. And I think it could be arranged. Yet listen well: in the end you must leave me, and take your place among those who sit motionless in the courtyard above us. The hour is at hand; for there is one here of whom I have for some time been weary, and who will soon occupy the twelfth pedestal."
The girl paused, flung into a censer at the Dreamer's feet a handful of incense, and resumed as she turned to face Schamas ad Din, "But think well, Son of the Old Tiger. A lesser vengeance, and one such as you contemplated when you sought me, could be bought much more cheaply.... So back to the courtyard and ponder with clear sky over your head. For only that old rogue of an Ismeddin ever escaped the penalty...."
The girl smiled reminiscently and fondly, then continued, "And it is no jesting matter, this sitting cross-legged on a pedestal when I have tired of you. Nor would Maksoud find a cheaper vengeance at all pleasant."