Tony shrugged.
“Unless,” he said skeptically, “this is more of your king’s conniving!”
“I swear by the beard of the Prophet!” panted Abdul. “Truly, lord, I can be most useful! Protect me, lord, and you will have the fleetest horse, the swiftest hound… I will carry you to the place of combat! I will bring you the fairest women! I will steal chickens—”
“Hm…” said Tony. “I suspect I did talk too fast. Where is this place of combat, anyhow?”
“I know, lord! I will take you there—”
“Then,” said Tony, “let’s get started.”
“This way, lord!” panted Abdul. “I beg you, lord, protect me until we are free of the palace—and after. Indeed I spoke too soon. Here—the window, lord…”
He raised the window. With an imploring gesture for Tony to follow, he jumped out. Tony walked to the window and looked out. There was no sign whatever of Abdul—but a wide stairway led to the ground from the windowsill. Tony swung up and tested it with his foot. It held. He went down. Instantly he touched the earth, the stairway collapsed into a cloud of dust which coalesced and was Abdul again. He wrung his hands.
“I should have waited,” he said miserably. “Indeed, the king will call me a traitor. But if you are truly the most powerful—I am your steed, lord!”
He was. There was a rippling, a shifting, a bewildering alteration of plane surfaces and colors, and he was a highly suitable horse, fully saddled and caparisoned. The horse came trotting to Tony’s side and waited for him to mount. He put his foot on the stirrup and heaved his leg over.