‘That’s as may be,’ said Shahr-Azad, ‘but I think I may wait and see this TALENT TV competition.’
‘No,’ said the Dream Master and Cy together.
‘You must return to your own TimeSpace,’ said the Dream Master.
Shahr-Azad gave them both a steely look.
‘Beat. It,’ she said.
‘NO,’ SAID THE Dream Master. ‘No. No. No. No. No. No. No.’
Shahr-Azad flapped her hand at him and turned her head away.
‘Princess, please listen to me. I am concerned for your welfare.’
At that moment an ear-shattering roar of sound vibrated through the wall from Lauren’s room.
‘Yah, yah. Yah, yah.
We are the girls who say . . . YES!
Yah, yah. Yah, yah.
We are the girls who say . . . GUESS!
Guess what?
Guess why?
Guess who?
Who . . . Oooo . . . Oooo . . . Oooo . . . Oooooooo!!!!!’
The Dream Master winced. ‘This place is dangerous.’
‘But interesting,’ said Shahr-Azad.
‘Princess,’ said the Dream Master, ‘“interesting” is not always pleasant.’
Shahr-Azad laughed, a low gentle sound. ‘You are advising me as to the meaning of words?’
The Dream Master bowed. ‘I would not presume to. You are the Single One who knows the power that words command, their substance, their force, and their subtlety.’
‘This is true,’ murmured Shahr-Azad.
‘Nevertheless,’ the Dream Master continued, ‘there are people here who, if they found you, might do you harm.’
‘I,’ replied Shahr-Azad, ‘have fought off wicked genies, flame-spitting dragons, and the terrifying deadly roc.’
‘What’s a roc?’ asked Cy.
Shahr-Azad turned her gaze upon him. Her eyes grew wide. She drew in her breath. ‘A roc is an enormous powerful bird, with eyes that can see all things: the snake in the sand, and the ant on the anthill. With strength enough to carry off an elephant, it devours those it captures by ripping their flesh asunder.’
Her voice wrapped itself around Cy’s mind and in his imagination he saw the mythical creature with its cruel claws and vicious tearing beak.
‘Its great wings beat the air,’ Shahr-Azad’s voice trembled as she continued, ‘as it searches for its prey. Ayeee!’ she cried out. ‘It spies its victim! It swoops . . . to snatch a child from its cradle, a man walking on the shore, a woman sitting by a window.’ Shahr-Azad lowered her voice to a sibilant hiss. ‘No one is safe,’ she whispered fearfully. Then she gasped, covered her mouth with her hand, and stared in terror beyond Cy’s shoulder.
Cy jumped and looked behind him. There was nothing there. When he turned back Shahr-Azad was smiling and had wandered over to browse through the books on his bookshelf.
Cy glanced at his Dream Master. ‘I see what you mean about the storytelling.’
The Dream Master cleared his throat. ‘In addition to your safety, O mighty Princess, there is the question of responsibility. Your very name, Shahr-Azad, means “Saviour of the City”. And, by telling your stories and preventing the King executing all the young girls in his kingdom, you will rightly earn your title. Therefore you must return.’
‘I have done my duty,’ Shahr-Azad replied sweetly. ‘I have told the King his story for tonight. He is more than pleased with me.’
The Dream Master wrung his hands. ‘You cannot remain here.’
‘Oh but I can,’ said Shahr-Azad. ‘And I will.’
‘Why would you want to stay here?’ asked Cy, ‘when you can fly a magic carpet in a fantastic place like Arabia?’
‘I peeked through the cupboard door. I saw how your sister is dressed, how her hair is styled. I hear how she speaks, what she says she can do. I want to be like her.’
Cy’s mouth fell open. ‘You want to be like Lauren?’
There was another rattle of sound from the adjoining wall.
‘Go, girls, go.
Girls. Go. Go.
Go . . . O. O. O. O. O . . . Ooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!’
‘She comes and goes as she wishes,’ said Shahr-Azad. ‘She makes music which,’ she paused, ‘although it may not be entirely pleasing to all ears, is her own to make.’
‘But a princess of Ancient Arabia has much more than anyone like Lauren or me,’ said Cy.
‘I do not have these.’ Shahr-Azad lifted one of Cy’s comics from his floor and began to leaf through it. ‘K-E-R-P-O-W,’ she spelled out a word. ‘What does that mean?’
‘It doesn’t mean anything, exactly,’ said Cy. ‘It’s just . . . em, it shows that action has taken place.’ He glanced over her shoulder at the comic strip she was reading. ‘You can tell what is happening by the illustrations. In this scene one person has punched the other person.’
Shahr-Azad frowned in concentration. ‘K-E-R-P-O-W,’ she repeated softly to herself, ‘is a punch. Like this.’ She swung her fist through the air. ‘Ker-pow. Ker-pow. Kerpow!’
Cy took the comic from Shahr-Azad’s fingers and said, ‘We need to sort out what is happening here.’
Shahr-Azad ignored him and went and picked up one of the long high-heeled boots from Cy’s bed. Her fingers played with the zip. ‘This is an extremely useful device,’ she said.
‘You’ll have to wait at least another five hundred years before they get around to inventing it,’ the Dream Master said irritably.
Cy could see that despite Shahr-Azad’s charm, the Dream Master was beginning to lose patience with her. He recalled how awkward it had been when in one of their previous Dreamworld adventures he had brought Aten, the boy from Ancient Egypt, into the twenty-first century. And then in another, how much trouble the medieval Viking invaders had caused charging about the present-day city of York.
‘You could always return here another Time,’ said Cy, ignoring the Dream Master’s hard stare, ‘when the house is quieter. I really want you to, because I’d like to try out your magic carpet again. But today is inconvenient. It’s Sunday afternoon, all my family are here, and I’ve got friends coming over.’
Shahr-Azad was now sitting on the edge of Cy’s bed, struggling to pull on the leather boot. She shook her head.
‘Princess,’ the Dream Master began again in a more determined voice, when suddenly there was a sharp rap on Cy’s bedroom.
‘Go away, Lauren!’ shouted Cy.
‘Cy,’ a voice called out. ‘It’s Dad. May I come in?’
SHAHR-AZAD LOOKED FROM the Dream Master to Cy. She was still wearing one boot and one silver slipper.
‘Omigosh,’ said Cy. ‘Omigollygosh!’
Cy yanked open the cupboard door and Shahr-Azad hobbled across the room and disappeared inside. The Dream Master flattened himself against the wall behind the bedroom door as Cy’s dad walked into the room.
‘Everything OK?’ Cy’s dad asked. ‘You’re hanging on to that cupboard door as though your life depended on it.’
‘Fine, Dad, fine.’ Cy tried to rest himself nonchalantly against the door of his bedroom cupboard while keeping a watchful eye that his bedroom door remained open. ‘Everything’s cool. No worries. Great. Terrific.’
‘Phew!’ Cy’s dad sniffed the air. ‘That’s some strong aftershave you’ve got there, old son. Better to be a bit sparing with it, especially as you’re not even shaving yet.’
‘Have you never heard of perfume for men?’ Cy asked, trying to sound indignant.
‘Uh. Right. OK. Sorry, Cy, I didn’t realize . . . Er . . .’ He inspected Cy more closely. ‘Should I have a talk with you about, er, things . . .’
‘Like what?’ Cy stared at his dad in bewilderment.
‘Er, like . . . growing up. You know. Becoming a man. That sort of thing.’
‘Good grief! No!’ said Cy in horror. And as his dad still looked uncertain he added, ‘You told me all those things years ago.’
‘Oh, that’s right,’ Cy’s dad said with relief.
‘Well, anyway, I came to ask you a favour. As you can no doubt hear, Lauren and her team are rehearsing their act for this TALENT TV competition. So, for the sake of peace in the Peters household, could you stay out of their way and possibly use the garage to practise whatever show you and your mates are planning?’ He surveyed the collection of things cascading from Cy’s bed onto the floor. ‘What have you and your friends decided to do anyway?’
‘Vicky and Basra and Innis and I are preparing a variety show,’ said Cy. ‘I was thinking of doing a few magic tricks. Everyone is into magic in a big way at the moment.’
Cy’s dad lifted the little enamel teapot. ‘I used to be quite good at conjuring. I haven’t shown you my old coin-coming-out-your-ear trick for absolutely ages.’
Cy set his face in a fixed smile. The old ‘coin-coming-out-your-ear trick’ was one his dad had been doing since Cy was very small. And, even when he was small, Cy could plainly see that his dad had the coin in his hand all the time. ‘I remember,’ he said politely.
‘If you need any advice. If you want any tips about sleight of hand . . .’ Cy’s dad made a few passes with his palms across the top of the enamel teapot, ‘then I’m your man. Anything at all, you can always ask me.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’
‘I hope you get through to the finals next Sunday at least,’ Cy’s dad went on. ‘Just think, if you were the overall winner, the world would be queuing up outside for your autograph. People love new talent. You might become incredibly rich. Fame and fortune would be yours.’ He laughed. ‘When you become a millionaire, don’t forget your old dad, will you?’
‘Yes,’ said Cy. ‘I mean, no, I won’t. Forget you, that is.’
Cy’s dad picked up the pair of the boot that Shahr-Azad had put on. ‘Oh my!’ he exclaimed. ‘I remember the first time your mother wore these boots. You know this style is fashionable again.’
‘Yes, Dad,’ said Cy.
‘Most styles do come back, you know,’ said Cy’s dad. ‘If you wait long enough.’
‘Yes, Dad,’ said Cy.
‘You young ones think you are so modern, but we’ve seen it all already.’
‘Yes, Dad,’ said Cy.
‘Where could the other one have got to?’ Cy’s dad began to search around among the clothes on Cy’s bed.
Cy wondered what his dad would say if he told him that it was on the foot of an Arabian princess called Shahr-Azad, at present concealed in his bedroom cupboard.
‘I hope it hasn’t been thrown out. Oh, what’s this?’
Cy’s heart flipped over.
His dad held Princess Shahr-Azad’s silver sequinned slipper in his hand.
‘Search me,’ said Cy. ‘Must be another one of Mum’s shoes. Dad,’ he went on, quickly taking the slipper, ‘I don’t mind practising in the garage, but I need time to gather some things together before my friends arrive.’
‘Right-ho. I’ll leave you to it.’ Cy’s dad grinned at him. ‘You might want to go easy when you’re spraying on the male scent. It smells like the Arabian nights in here.’
Cy closed the door quietly after his father left and leaned against it. ‘This is exhausting me,’ he said to the Dream Master. ‘We have to get Princess Shahr-Azad to her own TimeSpace before I’m worn to a frazzle.’
The Dream Master unfolded himself once more from the wall. He opened the cupboard door and ushered Shahr-Azad into the room.
‘Now,’ the Dream Master told her firmly, ‘we will make arrangements for you to leave.’
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ said Shahr-Azad. ‘I heard what Cy’s father said. He said that the world would welcome a new talent. That people would queue for many days to speak to the winner. He too mentioned Fame and Fortune.’ Shahr-Azad folded her arms. ‘I am staying right here. I intend to take part in the TALENT TV competition.’
‘BUT, BUT, YOU can’t,’ said Cy.
‘Why not?’ said Shahr-Azad.
As Cy opened his mouth to reply he heard his name being called once more from outside his room.
‘This house is beginning to resemble Piccadilly Circus!’ Cy turned around and opened his bedroom door as the Dream Master and Shahr-Azad took cover.
‘It’s only me again,’ said Cy’s dad. ‘Your friends have arrived and I’ve asked them to wait for you in the garage. Please don’t gorge yourself on sweets and crisps all afternoon,’ he added. ‘Your mum has gone out and I said I’d make tonight’s dinner. If you don’t eat it she’ll think it’s because of my cooking and not the fact that you’ve over-loaded with E numbers.’
‘Tell them I’ll be down in a minute, Dad, will you?’ said Cy.
He closed the door and, going over to his bed, lifted Shahr-Azad’s silver slipper and handed it to the Dream Master. ‘Here, take this and give it to the Princess. I have to go and see my friends, otherwise they’ll come up here looking for me. Please use your dreamcloak to return Shahr-Azad to her own Time before I get back. And,’ he lowered his voice, so that from her hiding place in his cupboard Shahr-Azad could not hear him, ‘don’t let her take the magic carpet with her. I want to try it out tonight. We’ll return it to her later.’
Vicky, Basra and Innis were already in the garage when Cy arrived carrying his bundle of things from the house.
‘Yesterday the TALENT TV Company began to set up tents in the big field near the wood on the edge of town,’ said Basra. ‘It’s right opposite my house. My brothers and I went over this morning to speak to them.’
‘When does the site open so that we can go and sign up?’ Cy asked him. ‘We need to get a slot for Saturday because we’ve got school during the week.’
‘They told us that they need at least two days to install the power cables,’ said Basra. ‘So probably tomorrow night.’
‘They are holding performance trials from Tuesday onwards. I read that on one of the posters,’ said Vicky.
‘Lots and lots of prizes at every stage of the competition,’ said Basra.
‘And the finals for going through to the regional heats are next Sunday,’ said Innis.
Vicky counted on her fingers. ‘That means, including today, we’ve only got six days to practise our act.’
‘We need to have thought up a name by then,’ said Innis.
‘How about “The Mad Magicians”?’ suggested Vicky. ‘That might be a good name for our group.’
‘How about “Magical and Mysterious”?’ said Basra.
‘I don’t like a name that’s got the letter “M” twice,’ said Cy. ‘It reminds me of Eddie and Chloe.’
‘What? The Mean Machines?’ asked Basra, referring to the name that their two classmates, Eddie and Chloe, were known by because they went about picking on people.
‘I think of them as “The Gruesome Twosome”,’ joked Vicky.
Cy and Innis and Basra fell about laughing.
‘Let’s get on with it,’ said Cy.
He showed his friends what he had plundered from his own house and they began to discuss ideas for their show. Vicky had been given a one-wheeled trick cycle for her last birthday and, although she wasn’t very good yet, she promised to practise for several hours every day until Saturday. Innis had decided on juggling. He was an expert basketball player and reckoned he could keep a few soft juggling balls in the air for several minutes. Basra was going to concentrate on special effects to give the act some colour and excitement, using sparklers, creating lightning flashes and setting off smoke bombs. Also Basra’s dad had a friend who could obtain a cannon that would shower confetti into the audience.
Cy held up his dad’s old dinner jacket. ‘I was thinking of trying some magic tricks,’ he said.
There was a silence and his friends glanced at each other. Cy knew why. He was famous in school for being clumsy not skilful.
‘Give it a go anyway,’ said Basra. ‘We’ll rehearse during break-times at school and we can see how it works out.’
‘Yeah,’ said Innis. ‘We can always change things around.’
&n
bsp; ‘I’ve already looked up a few magic sites on the Internet and borrowed books from the library,’ said Cy. ‘There’s a really good trick with a balloon that seems easy to do, and I can hide things inside the sleeves of this dinner jacket.’
They cleared a space on the floor of the garage and rehearsed in turns for about an hour or so.
‘If we are to be as good as the other kids from our school who are entering then we need lots more practice,’ said Vicky after falling off her bike for the ninth time. ‘But I’ve got to get home now.’
Basra checked his watch. ‘I can only stay for another ten minutes or so.’
‘And me,’ said Innis. ‘My parents do that “all members turn up for family dinner” on a Sunday evening.’
In Cy’s house, too, family dinner on a Sunday night was a must. On weekdays everyone ate at odd times as both Cy’s parents had full-time jobs with extra commitments. Cy’s mum worked as a modern languages teacher in a school nearby, and frequently stayed after hours to catch up with paperwork, or had parents’ evenings. Cy’s dad was a computer software consultant who worked away from time to time, and Cy and Lauren both did after-school activities. So Cy’s parents insisted that on one day of the week they all sat down and ate together ‘As a Family’.
As soon as his dad served dinner Cy began to bolt his food. He was keen to go upstairs and make sure all traces of Shahr-Azad’s presence were gone. He hoped that she hadn’t taken his mum’s pair of old boots to Ancient Arabia with her. It would be hard to explain their disappearance, especially as his dad had seen one boot lying on his bed earlier. Cy forked a heap of rice into his mouth and started to chew. His dad wasn’t the best cook in the world, despite the many gifts of cookbooks Cy’s mum gave him.
‘I thought I’d try a new recipe today,’ Cy’s dad said. ‘Taste good?’
Cy’s mum, Lauren and Cy all nodded, although Cy noted that nobody actually said anything. Cy reached for some water to help wash his food down.
‘I’ve missed out on what’s been happening today,’ Cy heard his mum say. ‘I was taking Grampa to do his weekly shop. So, what kind of day did you two have?’ Cy’s mum beamed a bright smile at Cy and Lauren.
Dream Master: Arabian Nights Page 3