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The three companions looked at one another. Twigleg shifted uneasily on Ben’s shoulder.
“Where can we find him?” asked Firedrake.
“The way there will take you off your direct route, but I think it could be worth it.” The professor unfolded another section of Gilbert Graytail’s map. “Here. You must go to the very end of the Arabian peninsula,” he said, putting his finger on the map. “If you follow the coastal road south along the Red Sea until it turns east here,” he added, pointing, “then sooner or later you’ll come to a gorge called the Wadi Jum A’Ah. It’s so steep and narrow that sunlight reaches the bottom of the ravine for only four hours a day. All the same, huge palm trees grow down there, and a river flows between the rocky walls, even when water has long since evaporated in the hot sun everywhere else in the region. That is the home of Asif, the djinn with the thousand eyes.”
“Have you ever seen him?” asked Ben.
Barnabas Greenbloom shook his head, smiling. “No, he’d never show himself to me. I’m not nearly interesting enough. But a dragon,” he said, looking at Firedrake, “a dragon would be a different matter. Firedrake must lure Asif to come out and show himself, and then you must ask the question, Ben.”
“Me?” asked Ben, surprised.
The professor nodded. “Yes, you. Asif answers questions only if three conditions are met. First, a human being has to ask the question. Second, the djinn must never have been asked that question before. If Asif has had the same question put to him before, then the questioner must serve the djinn for the rest of his life.” Ben and Firedrake exchanged glances of alarm. “And third,” the professor continued, “the question must be asked in exactly seven words, no more and no less.”
“Then it’s no!” Sorrel jumped up, scratching her furry coat. “No, no, and no again! This doesn’t sound good, not good in the least. My own coat itches at the mere idea of meeting this thousand-eyed djinn. I think we’d do better to follow the route that conceited rat recommended.”
Firedrake and Ben said nothing.
“Your rat, yes,” remarked the professor, collecting his bowls and cooking utensils and stowing them in his basket. “He knew about the djinn, too. He shaded in the Wadi Jum A’Ah Gorge with yellow as bright as a quince. I tell you what,” he said in the silence that followed. “Sorrel is probably right. Forget the djinn. He’s too dangerous.”
Firedrake still remained silent.
“Oh, come on, let’s go and see him,” said Ben. “I’m not afraid. And I’m the one who’ll be doing the asking, right?”
He knelt down again beside Barnabas Greenbloom and pored over the map. “Show me exactly where the ravine is, will you, Professor?”
Barnabas Greenbloom glanced inquiringly first at the boy, then at Firedrake and Sorrel. The brownie girl merely shrugged her shoulders.
“He’s right. He’ll be doing the asking, after all,” she said. “And if this djinn really does know the answer then we’ll save ourselves no end of time.”
The dragon stood there saying nothing, just flicking his tail uneasily back and forth.
“Oh, come on, Firedrake!” said Ben. “Don’t look like that.”
The dragon sighed. “Why can’t I ask the question myself?” he said fiercely.
“I know what!” cried Sorrel, jumping up. “We’ll get the homunculkiss to ask it. He’s a bit small, but otherwise he looks like a human being. This djinn with his thousand eyes must be terribly confused by all the things he sees with them. He’s sure to think Twigleg’s a real human being. And if anything goes wrong with the question-and-answer bit, then Twigleg will have a new master and we’ll be rid of him.”
“Stop it, Sorrel!” Ben looked around for Twigleg — and found that he had disappeared.
“Where is he?” he asked, sounding worried. “He was here only a moment ago.” Angrily he turned to Sorrel. “He ran away because you keep winding him up!”
“Nonsense!” the brownie girl snapped back. “That spindly creature is afraid of the blue-skinned djinn with the thousand eyes, that’s why he ran off. Well, all I can say is good riddance!”
“You’re so mean!” Ben shouted at her. He jumped up, ran to the mouth of the cave, and looked out. “Twigleg!” he called. “Twigleg, where are you?”
Barnabas Greenbloom laid a hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps Sorrel is right after all, and the prospect of your journey was too much for the little fellow,” he said. Then he looked up at the sky. “It’s getting dark, dear friends,” he pointed out. “If you really want to ask the djinn your question, you should set off soon. The way to his ravine leads mainly over desert country, which means hot days and cold nights.” He picked up his basket and smiled at Ben again. “You’re a brave boy, Ben. I’ll just hurry down to the camp and get you some provisions for the journey. And a bottle of sunscreen for you, Ben, and an Arab head-cloth wouldn’t be a bad idea. Don’t worry about the homunculus. Such creatures have wills of their own. Who knows, perhaps he simply feels drawn back to the man who made him.”
Then he pushed aside the tangle of thorns at the entrance of the cave and strode off through the evening twilight.
Sorrel went over to Ben and looked around. “All the same, I wish I knew where that manikin is,” she muttered.
Outside, a raven cawed among the palms.
15. Twigleg’s Second Report
Twigleg was hurrying away through the twilight. The sun was sinking red beyond the ruins, and the columns cast long shadows across the sand. The stone faces carved on the old walls looked even eerier at nightfall than by day, but the homunculus took no notice of them. He was used to ferocious stone heads grinning down at him in his master’s castle. Just now he had other concerns on his mind.
“Where, for heaven’s sake,” he muttered as the hot sand scorched his feet, “am I supposed to find water around here? There’s nothing but ground baked as hard as my master’s scales. The sun’s sucked up every last drop. Oh, dear, he’s going to be really furious with me for reporting back so late. Really, truly furious.”
