“Thanks. Have you some for yourself?”
“Of course! And some for the Queen, to protect her when you lead our armies to her rescue—when you are ready to destroy the djinn. Now you had better talk, since you have begun!”
He leaned back, as well as he could considering the violent and erratic movements of the djinn camel’s gait. He suddenly began to feel better. After all, qualified privacy on a djinn ’s back might have its points.
“Hm…” he said aloud. “In my country the djinn have been subdued so long—they’re kept on reservations—that humans don’t bother about them any more. I’ve even forgotten the stuff one learns about them in first grade at school. It seems extraordinary to me that they can change their size so much. Their shape, yes. In my country even human women can do remarkable things to their shapes with girdles and falsies. You’d hardly believe! And of course they change their coloring. But size, absolute size, no…”
Ghail stirred uneasily. But she spoke as primly as before.
“Djinns are elastic,” she said. “With the same amount of substance they can be as large as a whirlwind. Or as small as a grain of sand, though no one could possibly pick them up—for always they weigh the same.”
“You mean,” asked Tony, with interest, “that a djinn in the shape of a bug or—hm—a moth’s egg, weighs as much as when he or she is a camel and that sort of thing?”
Ghail caught hold of his right hand, and held it firmly. “That is it, yes,” she said shortly.
“Then that,” said Tony blithely, “explains why the bench in the courtyard turned over. A djinn beetle was climbing on it. It explains a lot of things.”
Ghail held his left hand. She ground her teeth. “Thanks,” said Tony. “Since we don’t get thrown around so much this ride is much more fun, isn’t it?”