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Authors: Pip Ballantine, Tee Morris
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that nickname.”
“Your choice,” he said with a shrug. “Call me Harry, and we can drop this whole nickname nonsense.”
Scarlett puckered her lips, took a moment to look out over the Channel, then took a sip of her wine. “Thanks, Hemsworth, for being there. I don’t know if I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Harry took a seat next to her, and gently nudged her. “You were the one who shot down the Big Bad Wolf. You were fine. I just made a promise to you I would offer support. I did, as I said I would, and I would do it again. But as for the thought, think nothing of it,” and he touched his glass with hers, “Little Red.”
Aladdin and His Wonderfully Infernal Device
by Tee Morris
One
Perhaps the marketplace at noon was not the best place to be—at least when you were poor. Since you had no goods to trade, no money for food, nothing more than your wits and the clothes upon your back, you tended to notice the more unpleasant smells, sounds, and sights of the bazaar. Instead of succulent smoked meats or the brilliance of silks both catching the hot Arabian breeze, you tended to notice the smell of goat shit and the pleas of blind beggars.
For Aladdin, however, while hunger roiled in his belly, his senses were trained upon one shop, one keeper, and one essential item. As if it were the Tear of Allah itself the polished wheel sat before the workbench, amidst the other parts of the desk clock. Obviously the artisan felt this morning a need to attract attention to his skills and his business, as he had elected to work in the sunshine. Aladdin had anticipated this, thus he waited in the coolness of the shadows, watching for the moment that would appear. As the sun rose and set, as stars winked to life in the night, and as people bustled about in between these natural regimens, so would Opportunity—the friend and ally of a thief—present itself.
What was important—as an exceptional thief such as Aladdin would say—was to recognize the right opening. Too many times, Opportunity would try to lure him out of hiding to play an unkind trick and threaten his capture. Capture would mean the end of his wicked ways, and—provided he survived—a life reliant on generosity. He saw many beggars in the streets, sentenced to one-handed servitude.
Perhaps his fellow vagrants would scoff, “Serves them right. They were too slow” , but Aladdin knew the truth. They had been too quick . Too quick to judge. Quick to think that Opportunity was beckoning, when in fact it was merely a deceptive shade. Already Aladdin had seen two such false openings, so in the darkness of his favorite hiding place he remained.
There. A customer, fascinated with the clockmaker’s work. A conversation struck.
Aladdin’s eyes returned to the palm-sized wheel; its cogs glinting in the light of a Persian sun. The merchant’s attention was preoccupied, but the timing—and that made Aladdin smile a bit—remained off. He needed to wait. Just a few more seconds…
Then came applause, followed shortly by a small crush of people. Aladdin slipped deftly between children, mothers, and men, all chattering pleasantly about the magician’s talents, and how his reputation had more than been upheld. Most impressive; even from as far as Africa, the Great and Powerful Jaha had found such devoted followers.
Aladdin emerged on the other side of the corporeal flow, and soon his palm was bathed in the sun-baked warmth of a polished brass gear.
He saw no shadow or swath of linen stir, he felt no vice grip around his arm; there was nothing but the throng of people, and the movement reminding him of the Karun after a heavy rain.
However, the rushing river never made a sound like this: “Stop! Thief!”
Time to run, whispered Opportunity’s deceptive twin.
The gear’s teeth bit into his hand as his fingers tightened around it. His shoulder pressed against the mass of flesh around him. Women called out, and children cried as they
“Your choice,” he said with a shrug. “Call me Harry, and we can drop this whole nickname nonsense.”
Scarlett puckered her lips, took a moment to look out over the Channel, then took a sip of her wine. “Thanks, Hemsworth, for being there. I don’t know if I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Harry took a seat next to her, and gently nudged her. “You were the one who shot down the Big Bad Wolf. You were fine. I just made a promise to you I would offer support. I did, as I said I would, and I would do it again. But as for the thought, think nothing of it,” and he touched his glass with hers, “Little Red.”
Aladdin and His Wonderfully Infernal Device
by Tee Morris
One
Perhaps the marketplace at noon was not the best place to be—at least when you were poor. Since you had no goods to trade, no money for food, nothing more than your wits and the clothes upon your back, you tended to notice the more unpleasant smells, sounds, and sights of the bazaar. Instead of succulent smoked meats or the brilliance of silks both catching the hot Arabian breeze, you tended to notice the smell of goat shit and the pleas of blind beggars.
For Aladdin, however, while hunger roiled in his belly, his senses were trained upon one shop, one keeper, and one essential item. As if it were the Tear of Allah itself the polished wheel sat before the workbench, amidst the other parts of the desk clock. Obviously the artisan felt this morning a need to attract attention to his skills and his business, as he had elected to work in the sunshine. Aladdin had anticipated this, thus he waited in the coolness of the shadows, watching for the moment that would appear. As the sun rose and set, as stars winked to life in the night, and as people bustled about in between these natural regimens, so would Opportunity—the friend and ally of a thief—present itself.
What was important—as an exceptional thief such as Aladdin would say—was to recognize the right opening. Too many times, Opportunity would try to lure him out of hiding to play an unkind trick and threaten his capture. Capture would mean the end of his wicked ways, and—provided he survived—a life reliant on generosity. He saw many beggars in the streets, sentenced to one-handed servitude.
Perhaps his fellow vagrants would scoff, “Serves them right. They were too slow” , but Aladdin knew the truth. They had been too quick . Too quick to judge. Quick to think that Opportunity was beckoning, when in fact it was merely a deceptive shade. Already Aladdin had seen two such false openings, so in the darkness of his favorite hiding place he remained.
There. A customer, fascinated with the clockmaker’s work. A conversation struck.
Aladdin’s eyes returned to the palm-sized wheel; its cogs glinting in the light of a Persian sun. The merchant’s attention was preoccupied, but the timing—and that made Aladdin smile a bit—remained off. He needed to wait. Just a few more seconds…
Then came applause, followed shortly by a small crush of people. Aladdin slipped deftly between children, mothers, and men, all chattering pleasantly about the magician’s talents, and how his reputation had more than been upheld. Most impressive; even from as far as Africa, the Great and Powerful Jaha had found such devoted followers.
Aladdin emerged on the other side of the corporeal flow, and soon his palm was bathed in the sun-baked warmth of a polished brass gear.
He saw no shadow or swath of linen stir, he felt no vice grip around his arm; there was nothing but the throng of people, and the movement reminding him of the Karun after a heavy rain.
However, the rushing river never made a sound like this: “Stop! Thief!”
Time to run, whispered Opportunity’s deceptive twin.
The gear’s teeth bit into his hand as his fingers tightened around it. His shoulder pressed against the mass of flesh around him. Women called out, and children cried as they
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