Page 8 of A Wish For Wilma
Sweat trickled down Sam’s back as he tried to keep pace with the man. He reckoned his guide had a good thirty years on him, but his speed befitted an Olympic athlete.
Finally they reached their destination: a simple building, pinkish and with slits instead of windows. The man rapped on the door, waited a moment, then pushed it open.
Sam peered at the gloomy interior. He could make out very little but random cushions scattered across the floor and a cat — or was it a dog? — curled up in slumber. Blinking away the dust motes, he made out two shadowy figures entwined next to the animal. As he drew closer, Sam gasped.
The man stepped aside, giving Sam an uninterrupted view of the couple. Dhassim and Aaliyah, wearing outfits identical to his. A jilbab? Sam had no idea, and clothing choices weren’t really relevant right now.
‘Welcome, oh mighty one.’ Dhassim stood up and gave an ostentatious bow. Less enthusiastically, Aaliyah rose and inclined her head a fraction. The cat — clearer now that Sam’s escort had lit a lamp — stretched and mewled.
‘We are honoured to have you here,’ said Dhassim. ‘Aren’t we, Mustapha?’
Mustapha snorted, spat on the ground and ground the spittle into the floor with a slippered foot. He didn’t seem particularly honoured.
‘Erm, thank you,’ said Sam, addressing the genie duo rather than their unsavoury sidekick, ‘but I’m not sure where hereis, or why I’m here.’
Aaliyah bent down to stroke the cat, a fly zapping around its crooked ears. She shooed the fly away before facing Sam. ‘Here is where it all began, centuries ago. With your great-great-great-great-great-grandfather.’
‘I think you mean his great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather,’ retorted Dhassim, counting on his fingers.
Sam’s brain whirred and clicked, unable to process the information and not interested in how many ancestors might have been involved in getting him to this point. Although… Were they seriously suggesting that he came from a long line of genie masters? Sam’s dad had been an ordinary chap, never happier than when fishing or doingThe Timescrossword. Likewise, his grandad had been a landscape gardener with a passion for home brew and collecting lamps— Hang on, how had he forgotten that?
‘This makes no sense. One minute I was at home, the next I’m in this place with you two and whoever Mustapha is.’
Mustapha gave another snort, although thankfully he refrained from spitting again. ‘I am merely a servant to Dhassim and Aaliyah. Their every wish is my command, although Aaliyah’s demands can be taxing. Sourcing wax for leg-hair removal is challenging.’
‘I told you that melting a bunch of candles wasn’t what I had in mind,’ grumbled Aaliyah. ‘I’ve been to the year 2022, and it’s alotmore advanced than this boring, camel-infested backwater.’
At the word ‘advanced’, Sam fumbled in his robe, hoping to find his mobile phone. Nope, not there. Although firing off a text to Jinnie explaining his current whereabouts…
‘Pah! May the fleas of a thousand camels infest your armpits!’ hissed Mustapha.
‘I shave those,’ retorted Aaliyah. ‘And you mind your manners, Musty. We have a visitor to look after, so how about fixing some drinks?’
Following Dhassim’s lead, Sam squatted cross-legged on the floor. It appeared he’d been transported back in time to where it all began. Not with him, but some long-forgotten antecedent who’d started this whole bizarre chain of events. He thought again of Grandpa Omar — a strange name, come to think of it — and his lamp collection. As a boy, Sam had taken little interest. He had, however, sampled some home brew at the tender age of eleven and paid for it with a night of vomiting and being grounded for a week.
‘We have a small problem,’ said Dhassim, as Mustapha swept in carrying a copper tray. It was laden with ornate glasses, filled with something dark and steaming.
‘Small in more than one sense of the word,’ added Aaliyah.
‘But perfectly formed.’ Dhassim beamed and took a proffered glass and a tiny spoon. He placed it in the glass and it remained resolutely upright.
Sam followed suit, sniffing the liquid. Coffee, with a sickly-sweet aroma. He took a sip and grimaced.
‘I’m not following,’ he said, wishing he had water to wash away the taste. And that what he was about to hear wasn’t what hesuspectedwas on the cards.
CHAPTER8
‘We have a baby!’declared Dhassim, puffing out his narrow chest with pride. ‘The treasured fruit of my loins, the apple of my eye, the firstborn of a new genie dynasty—’
‘Excuse me, but you didn’t do it single-handed!’ huffed Aaliyah. ‘Gorka’s genie genes owe much to my intelligence and good looks.’
‘Dhassim Junior,’ grumbled Dhassim, earning a ferocious glare from his partner.
Sam looked from one to the other in disbelief. ‘Congratulations,’ he stammered, at a loss for what to say. ‘Erm, where is he?’
‘At your home with our lamps. Hidden in the cupboard where you saw fit to place us, when we should take centre stage.’ Aaliyah swung her inky-black pigtail over her shoulder with all the haughtiness of a thoroughbred mare.
A bubble of confusion swelled in Sam’s chest. ‘But the last time I looked, there were only two lamps. Yours!’ Panic grabbed him by the throat. What if Jinnie found the lamp, rubbed it, and out popped a mini version of the gruesome twosome? The shock might put her into early labour.
