“Don’t you dare try to stop us!” Sophie said to it. “We’re only coming to get my baby.”

The huge eyes blinked. Evidently the angel was not used to being spoken to so sharply. Cloudy white wings began to spread from its sides.

Hastily Abdullah stood up on the carpet and bowed. “Greetings, most noble messenger of the heavens,” he said. “What the lady says so bluntly is the truth. Pray forgive her. She is from the north. But she, like me, comes in peace. The djinns are minding her child, and we do but come to collect him and render them our most humble and devout thanks.”

This seemed to placate the angel. Its wings melted back into its cloudy sides, and though its strange head turned to watch them as the carpet slunk on, it did not try to stop them. But by now the angel across the way had its eyes open, too, and the two next were turned to stare as well. Abdullah did not dare sit down again. He braced his feet for balance and bowed to each pair of angels as they came to it. This was not easy to do. The carpet knew how dangerous the angels could be as well as Abdullah did, and it was moving faster and faster.

Even Sophie realized that a little politeness would help. She nodded to each angel as they whipped past. “Evening,” she said. “Lovely sunset today. Evening.” She had not time for more because the carpet was fairly scuttling up the last stretch of avenue. When it reached the castle gates, which were shut, it dived through like a rat up a drainpipe. Abdullah and Sophie were suffused with foggy damp and then out into calm goldish light. They found they were in a garden. Here the carpet fell to the floor, limp as a dishrag, where it stayed. It had little shivers running through the length of it, as a carpet might that was shaking with fear, or panting with effort, or both.

Since the ground in the garden was solid and did not seem to be made of cloud, Sophie and Abdullah cautiously stepped onto it. It was firm turf, growing silver-green grass. In the distance, among formal hedges, a marble fountain played. Sophie looked at this, and looked around, and began to frown.

Abdullah stooped and considerately rolled the carpet up, patting it and speaking soothingly. “Bravely done, most daring of damasks,” he told it. “There, there. Never fear. I will not allow any djinn, however mighty, to harm so much as a thread of your treasured fabric or a fringe from your border.”

“You sound like that soldier making a fuss of Morgan when he was Whippersnapper,” Sophie said. “The castle’s over there.”

They set off toward it, Sophie staring alertly around and uttering one or two snorts, Abdullah with the carpet tenderly over his shoulder. He patted it from time to time and felt the quivers die out of it as they went. They walked for some time, for the garden, although it was not made of cloud, changed and enlarged around them. The hedges became artistic banks of pale pink flowers, and the fountain, which they could see clearly in the distance all the time, now appeared to be crystal or possibly chrysolite. A few steps more, and everything was in jeweled pots, and frondy, with creepers trained up lacquered pillars. Sophie’s snorts became louder. The fountain, as far as they could tell, was of silver inset with sapphires.

“That djinn has taken liberties with a person’s castle,” Sophie said. “Unless I’m entirely turned around, this used to be our bathroom.”

Abdullah felt his face heat up. Sophie’s bathroom or not, these were the gardens out of his daydreams. Hasruel was mocking him, as he had mocked Abdullah all along. When the fountain ahead turned to gold, glinting wine dark with rubies, Abdullah became as annoyed as Sophie was.

“This is not the way a garden should be, even if we disregard the confusing changes,” he said angrily. “A garden should be natural-seeming, with wild sections, including a large area of bluebells.”

“Quite right,” said Sophie. “Look at that fountain now! What a way to treat a bathroom!”

The fountain was platinum, with emeralds. “Ridiculously flashy!” said Abdullah. “When I design my garden—”

He was interrupted by a child’s screaming. Both of them began to run.

The child’s screams rose. There was no doubt about the direction. As Sophie and Abdullah ran that way, along a pillared cloister, Sophie panted, “It’s not Morgan; it’s an older child!”

Abdullah thought she was right. He could hear words in the screams, although he could not pick out what they were. And surely Morgan, even howling his loudest, did not possess big enough lungs to make this kind of noise. After getting almost too loud to bear, the screams became grating sobs. Those sank to a steady, nagging “Wah-wah-wah!” and just as that sound became truly intolerable, the child raised his or her voice into hysterical screams again.

Sophie and Abdullah followed the noise to the end of the cloister and out into a huge cloudy hall. There they stopped prudently behind a pillar, and Sophie said, “Our main room. They must have blown it up like a balloon!”

It was a very big hall. The screaming child was in the middle of it. She was about four years old, with fair curls and wearing a white nightdress. Her face was red, her mouth was a black square, and she was alternately throwing herself down on the green porphyry floor and standing up in order to throw herself down again. If ever there was a child in a temper, it was this one. The echoes in the huge hall yelled with it.

“It’s Princess Valeria,” Sophie murmured to Abdullah. “I thought it might be.”

Hovering over the howling princess was the huge dark shape of Hasruel. Another djinn, much smaller and paler, was dodging about behind him. “Do something!” this small djinn shouted. Only the fact that he had a voice like silver trumpets made him audible. “She’s driving me insane!”

Hasruel bent his great visage down to Valeria’s screaming face. “Little princess,” he boomingly cooed, “stop crying. You will not be hurt.”

Princess Valeria’s answer was first to stand up and scream in Hasruel’s face, then to throw herself flat on the floor and roll and kick there. “Wah-wah-wah!” she vociferated. “I want home! I want my dad! I want my nurse! I want my Uncle Ju-ustin! WaaaAH!”

“Little princess!” Hasruel cooed desperately.

“Don’t just coo at her!” trumpeted the other djinn, who was clearly Dalzel. “Work some magic! Sweet dreams, a spell of silence, a thousand teddies, a ton of toffee! Anything!”

Hasruel turned around on his brother. His spread wings fanned agitated gales, which flapped Valeria’s hair and fluttered her nightdress. Sophie and Abdullah had to cling to the pillar, or the force of the wind would have blown them backward. But it made no difference to Princess Valeria’s tantrum. If anything, she screamed harder.

“I have tried all that, brother of mine!” Hasruel boomed.

Princess Valeria was now producing steady yells of “MOTHER! MOTHER! THEY’RE BEING HORRID TO ME!”

Hasruel had to raise his voice to a perfect thunder. “Don’t you know,” he thundered, “that there is almost no magic that will stop a child in this kind of temper?”

Dalzel clapped his pale hands across his ears—pointed ears, with a look of fungus to them. “Well, I can’t stand it!” he shrilled. “Put her to sleep for a hundred years!”

Hasruel nodded. He turned back to Princess Valeria as she screamed and thrashed upon the floor and spread his huge hand above her.

“Oh, dear!” said Sophie to Abdullah. “Do something!”

Since Abdullah had no idea what to do, and since he privately felt that anything that stopped this horrible noise was a good idea, he did nothing but edge uncertainly away from the pillar. And fortunately, before Hasruel’s magic had any noticeable effect on Princess Valeria, a crowd of other people arrived. A loud, rather rasping voice cut through the din.