* * *
Tony went back into the city. It was very pleasant to have all the people smile at him joyously. It was not too uncomfortable to have the men bow to him, at once respectfully and with the joy of human beings who feel a share in the feat of another human who has become King of the Djinns. It wasn’t bad having large, lustrous eyes look warmly at him over traditional Moslem women’s veils. And there was a melancholy satisfaction in going back to his old quarters in the palace—though he had occupied them only one night—to find Esir and Esim waiting for him in the most incredible excitement. They kissed him soundly.
“Indeed, lord—Your Majesty,” said Esir, laughing, “you cannot protest, because by custom any slave may kiss her master when he performs a feat so that she gives thanks to Allah that she belongs to him and no other! King of the Djinns, no less! Tell me, are the djinnees beautiful?”
“Do you think you will prefer them to us?” asked Esim anxiously. “Indeed, lord—Your Majesty, we heard the news but an hour since, and we are fearful that you will not wish to keep us!”
Tony looked at them with a gloomy satisfaction.
“Things could be worse,” he said. “For a little while I cannot tell you my plans, but whatever they turn out to be, I will bear you in mind. Oh, definitely I will bear you in mind! Nil desperandum will be my motto.”
A tentative knock came at the door. They untangled themselves reluctantly from his embrace. It was a male slave.
“Majesty, the Queen of Barkut begs your attendance in the throne room.”
“Coming up,” said Tony with a sigh. To the two girls he said in comforting dejection, “I’m afraid I’ll be right back.”
He followed the slave to the great throne room he had seen once before, with the decrepit Council of Regency in session. The black marble floor was the same, and the brass zodiacal signs sunk into it. It occurred to Tony that life would be wearing in a house of which all interior and exterior features were subject to change without notice. There would be other disadvantages, too.