“Maybe you’re right,” Aladdin conceded. “I want it to be as good as it can be, then. And if there have to be problems in my kingdom, I want to be the kind of royal who will try to help fix those problems.” He shook his head, realizing he’d gotten caught up in the fantasy of it all. “What do you think?” he asked a little self-consciously.
“That sounds nice, kid.” Genie smiled. “Sure, Al, I can do all that. And for what it’s worth, I think you’d make a fine prince.” Genie jotted down some more notes before he closed his eyes and rested a hand atop Aladdin’s head.
“What are you doing?” Aladdin asked.
“Checking out your memories for a little inspiration.” He rested his hand for a few more moments and mumbled some words under his breath, and then—“Voilà!” He lifted his hand from Aladdin’s head and opened his eyes. “There it is!” He snapped his finger and then folded his arms.
“There’s what?”
“Well, not here.” Genie rolled his eyes. “You’re very literal, you know that? The kingdom. Your kingdom of Ababwa. It’s done. A whole brand-spanking-new kingdom for you to rule. I’ve got to say, I’ve really outdone myself this time. You’ll love it. Just fly over the country up ahead, take a left at the string of islands and atolls, and bam! You won’t miss it, what with the towering minarets you asked for.”
“That sounds amazing! Thank you so much, Genie,” Aladdin said.
“Amazing is what I do.” Genie grinned.
“And it will look completely real?”
“As real as you and me. Won’t be able to tell the difference.”
“How long will it stay a real kingdom?”
“Don’t worry,” Genie reassured him. “I’ve designed it so that it’ll be around as long as you both are there.”
“So, we can stay a few hours?”
“Longer if you want. Time will work differently while you’re there. Feel free to take as long as you’d like. When you’re ready to fly away, Ababwa will vanish and go back to how it was before.”
“I don’t know how to begin to thank you. I really appreciate it.”
Just then, they were interrupted by the sound of Jasmine’s voice.
“Ali?”
Aladdin nearly yelped. Turning, he spotted her approaching him from the other side of the palm trees. He swallowed. How could he begin to explain away the big blue man standing just on the other side of him?
“Oh, I can explain,” Aladdin began.
“Took me a minute to find where you’d gone off to. Who were you talking to?”
He met her gaze but then realized she wasn’t looking at Genie. She was looking at something on his shoulder.
“Is that a spider?” she asked.
Aladdin blinked. Sure enough, there was no blue man anywhere in sight. Instead, a big black glittering spider was perched on Aladdin’s shoulder like a parrot.
“I heard you talking just now. You appreciate…the spider?”
The spider raised one black spindly leg and waved.
“Um, yes,” Aladdin said, improvising. “This is Bitsy. My…um…pet spider. He was flying right behind us, hanging from a tassel like he always does. A bit of a daredevil.”
“I didn’t notice him before.”
“No? Well, he likes to keep to himself.”
Jasmine raised an eyebrow and stared at Aladdin.
“You have a pet spider. Really? You know those big black ones can be dangerous, right?”
“Well, you have a pet tiger,” Aladdin countered. “Heard those can be a bit temperamental as well, can’t they?”
“That’s not the same at all….” Jasmine shook her head, but then she laughed. “Okay, fair point.”
“So,” Aladdin said. “About Ababwa.”
“Yes?” Her eyes lit up.
“Let’s go.”
ZAYN THE TENTH, ruler of the Omani Empire, enjoyed the finest of things. He ate the most expensive chocolates. His gardens—for he had several—were carefully tended and filled with the rarest of plants, and his reflecting pool contained only the most exotic fish from around the world. Sultan Zayn also enjoyed hosting parties—they were grand affairs, and royalty around the world waited eagerly each season to see if they would receive the trademark scroll embossed with the formal invitation. No one had ever declined. On the evenings of the parties, townspeople lined the roads for miles waving to passing carriages—everyone inside dressed in their finest suits, tunics, and gowns to match the theme of the season. One summer, the aesthetic had famously been floral, so men wore pink and pastel suits and the ladies wove roses and daisies into their hair. This winter, however, was a frosty theme, so everyone turned up in dazzling silvers and whites with diamonds dripping from fingers, necks, and ears.
And it was during that wintry evening ball, as the music flowed and the people danced, that a young man knocked on Sultan Zayn’s palace door.
Prince Haris of Girad, a guest, looked on curiously as the butler opened the door, wondering which royal or dignitary might be arriving, but seeing a teenage boy with a face coated in grime, dirty matted hair, and clothes so flimsy from disrepair they looked as though they’d fall apart at the slightest touch, he wrinkled his nose in disgust.
“No beggars today, boy,” the butler said firmly as he closed the door.
