“I’ve got an idea.” said Tony. “It doesn’t make sense, but nothing makes much sense any more. I’m going to take advantage of what I think is a generally occurring allergic reaction among djinns. ” The words “allergic reaction” had no Arabic equivalent, so he had to use the English ones, and to Ghail and the Queen of Barkut they sounded remarkably learned and mysterious. “And just to make sure, I’d appreciate it enormously if you’d draw me a picture of the leaf of the lasf plant.”
He unscrewed the seal of the cigarette-lighter tank. It was bone-dry of fluid, of course. It hadn’t been filled since Suakim. And while confined in his later cell it had been extremely annoying to have to get a light for an occasional cigarette, rolled from local tobacco, from a brazier kept burning by the guards outside his gate. Now the lighter was a godsend. If he was right about lasf, a cigarette lighter was the ideal weapon in which to use it.
He extracted the stopper of the small glass phial. With not especially steady fingers he poured the liquid into the tank. It soaked up and soaked up. Its odor was noticeable. Presently the wick was moist. He re-sealed the tank and snapped down the lighter’s cover. He re-stoppered the phial and put it away.
“Now I’d like to wash my hands,” he said unhappily, “and—is that the picture of the lasf leaf?”
The Queen had stooped and traced an outline on the clay floor of her dwelling. She said:
“I’m quite sure. Yes.”
Tony stared at it and sighed in enormous relief. Ghail brought a bowl of water. He washed his hands with meticulous care. He dried them on a cloth she handed him.
“If you keep pet djinns around,” he observed, “better burn that cloth. Right away. And I’d empty the water on soft earth and throw more earth on top of it. No use revealing that you’ve got lasf around, until you need it. The faintest whiff would give it away to them.”
Ghail said again:
“But wh-what are you going to do?”