Ja’far stood at his scrying orb, manipulating the churning tan cloud within. His magical abilities were extremely limited and weak. Most people didn't even believe in magic anymore. It took immense concentration to muster up what little magial ability he had to use his scrying orb to see inside the orb, inside the churning cloud, at a pair of slanted eyes, the eyes of a beast. The cloud shifted direction, revealing Agrabah and the thousands of people who lived within. At this late hour, much of the city had retired for the night, and only the tea shops, bars, brothels, and opium dens appeared lively. He saw alleyways and rooftops, the river Tigris, and the bustling bazaar. He even searched the outskirts of the kingdom, but Aladdin was nowhere to be found.

He focused on the cloud. His eyes narrowed, searching abandoned homes, in attics, and among the reeds. Awnings flapped in the breeze as Ja’far went by. People protected their faces from the gusty force that whipped sand up into the air.

Then he found him. Aladdin. Shirtless, smoking from a hookah in a decrepit building with busted support beams, holes in the floor, and tattered cloth over the windows. He was good-looking. Very good looking, in fact. Ja’far noticed the slender curvature of his lean, bronzed body. There were smudges of dirt on the left side of his face and torso, like he had been lying down in the dirt like one of the drunks at the bazaar. There was something about Aladdin’s eyes that he liked. There was a kind of glow in them, like a playful sparkle. They were kind, and a bit cocky. He seemed so innocent, so boyish and harmless now, and casually leaned back, with his arms over his head and his ankles crossed. How could such a handsome, innocent-looking young man destroy Agrabah? He was no murderer, no rebel leader, just a lonely street rat. A handsome street rat, but a street rat nonetheless. He was neither wealthy, nor magical, which meant he had no influence or power. It didn't make sense to Ja'far. How could such a homeless nobody be such a danger?

Ja’far sighed, the weight of his relentless pursuit evident in the weary exhale. What a shame. Why were such handsome looks always wasted on thieving deviants?

Well, not all of them. There was one other.

The wide, swinging doors of his mystic chamber opened. Navid entered in a cloud of stringy incense from the next room. His naked muscular arms swung at his sides as he moved confidently toward Ja’far.

Even in the dim light, Navid’s eyes seemed to glow. They were a brilliant shade of pale gray, like diamonds, beneath dramatic cascading eyelashes. Navid’s serious gaze locked onto Ja’far.

Ja’far couldn’t help the smile that tempted his lips.

As Navid entered the room, a crucnh sounded from beneath his boot. They both looked down.

Under Navid's guard boots, mirror shards lay scattered among broken mystical trinkets. Long papyrus scrolls were unraveled and strewn about the ornate Persian rug. Navid looked up at Ja'far.

“What happened in here? Are you hurt?” Navid asked. His voice was deep and husky, and he could rumble the palace if he yelled loud enough.

Ja’far loved and appreciated Navid's concern for him, but there was no need for it now. Ja’far was the one who had smashed the mirrors and crushed the trinkets on the floor. No matter what spells he used or guards he ordered, Aladdin was always just out of reach. He was right there, right in the abandoned building, right now. Even if he alerted the guards to Aladdin’s location, Aladdin would be long gone before they made it across Agrabah.

“I thought I’d try a new tactic to find Aladdin,” Ja’far said.

“It went well, I take it?” Navid said.

Ja’far shrugged, defeated. “I’ve looked through every spell book and every potion I had.”

“Try a locater spell?”

Ja'far grunted in frustration. "For a locater spell to work, I need something that belongs to Aladdin. Everything he has he stole."

On Ja'far's desk was a glossy red orb with a meat-like texture and the color of blood. It was about the size of an orange and could’ve been mistaken for a child’s red ball or an exotic piece of fruit. “Oh, careful. I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” Ja'far warned.

But the red orb was already in his hand. Confused, Navid gave it another glance and slowly reached out to put it back on the desk. Before he could, it moved in his hand. The surface rippled and split open.

"Ohhh!" Navid let out a groan of disgust when he realized what it was — an eyeball, much larger than any human's. It had been closed as if it were asleep until Navid plucked it from the table, disturbing it. Now he could see the long lashes flutter as the thing blinked awake.

Ja’far quickly, gently took the eyeball from Navid, and slipped it into a drawer lined with padded silks.

“I’ve sent more men into the city with instructions not to return until they have captured the street rat,” said Navid, wiping his hand on his trousers.

“Check every derelict edifice,” Ja’far instructed. “He is not far from the palace. He sees it now as we speak.”

Navid stood beside Ja’far and peered down into the scrying orb. “That’s him? That’s the emaciated little waif who’s evaded my men? I could break him as I could a twig.”

“Don’t underestimate him. There’s more to him than what we’re seeing. He’s the street rat the Seer warned me about.”

“Sir, how does Aladdin plan to attack Agrabah?”

Ja’far shook his head. “I don’t know. He has no family; he sleeps in a different building almost every night; and he has no army, no friends, no money, and no magic. The only other way I can think of is if he wields magic."

“He could become sultan.”

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

Ja’far laughed. “I doubt the sultan would be so willing to renounce his throne for a street rat like Aladdin.” Ja’far walked around his desk to another table and gathered parchment and a quill pen. “How is—?”

“He is asleep now,” Navid said. “The herbs you provided have aided him well.”

Ja’far nodded, quickly scribbled a note detailing his next move, and then strode purposefully across the stone room. Luxurious tapestries adorned the dark stone walls, illuminated by magical flickering sconces that required no fuel to burn. He reached the wide balcony, made of dark stone and brass. With his one good eye, Ja’far looked at the flamingoes bathing by moonlight in the palace gardens. Beyond the palace walls, in the distance, firelight from stoves and campfires glowed beneath the majestic starry sky. Agrabah, despite its history of brutality, was the most beautiful city he’d ever seen.

Rashid Street, named after the sultan on the day he was born, ran down the center of Agrabah to the bazaar from its westernmost point at the bank of the Tigris. Every day, thousands of traders and tourists traveled these roads from different lands.

The urban design baffled most travelers but served two distinct purposes. Agrabah’s blazing summers lasted seven months, and very few seasonal transitions in the weeks between. Edifices were built close to each other, separated by only the narrowest of dirt and stone roads to spare the people and their herds from the relentless winds that kicked up the abrasive sand, and provided shade from the scorching sun’s rays.

Evening pleasures in Agrabah were not confined to the illicit. Tea huts and Qalyan houses were frequented by families after the sun had set and the city breathed a sigh in the cooling late-night temperatures. In the bazaar, domestics and foreigners alike gathered for beautiful displays of dancing in fine, flowing garments to the sounds of Makam, the most influential genre of Arabic music dating back hundreds of years. The sounds of the hammered dulcimer and spike fiddles with drums could sometimes be heard across the entire kingdom. Standing on chairs with a sword in hand, poets and storytellers known as a kasakhoon or hakawati regaled eager ears with tales of sea-people who lived in castles beneath the ocean and wild man-eating beasts that lived in the haunted forests of other realms.

For those spiritualists, mosques could be found all over the city and were vibrantly, ornately decorated in white and dark stones, gold, brass, jewels, and tapestry-lined walls.

By noon, most of the shoppers would have drifted home while others, especially students, sought apprenticeships or gathered at coffee huts to meet and discuss writing and art as they puffed on shisha pipes.

Agrabah was also a fashionable city with extravagant clothing. Women wore glamorous dresses and men wore thobes, and for both, wearing one scarf was never enough, but two or three, each as colorful as the last. Ja’far had always loved fashion and the many creative ways women and men painted their flesh and eyes with gold and black ink. He had never been able to afford such things earlier in life, and now that he’d risen to the ranks of Royal Vizier he had been required to wear only a specific style of thobes and cloaks. On his he wore a large and beautifully decorated turban. While turbans were common among Agrabah men, Ja'far's indicated that he was the highest ranking man in Agrabah, save for the Sultan and his family. In Ja’far’s own chambers, and without the presence of anyone but his guards, he was allowed to wear anything he liked—or nothing at all should he prefer it.

Tonight he donned a comfortable and stylish set of black salwars and a light blue vest under his official robe, which he laced up the front using dark red and gold silk rope. Around his neck and wrists, matching jewelry made of beads, rubies, turqouis, gold, and onxy clicked together as he walked. The people of Agrabah loved their jewelry and wore them whenever and wherever they could, even if only going about their daily chores.

On this night, beneath the waxing moon, a warm breeze drifted from the eastern desert, a nice change of the blazing heat that had swallowed Agrabah for prior months. Ja’far was still gazing thoughtfully across the most beautiful city he had ever seen when Navid appeared behind his right shoulder.

“Sir, we will not let our beautiful city be razed. We will find Aladdin.”

Ja’far sighed. He felt the gentle, but sturdy, weight of Navid’s hand fall upon his shoulder.

“Sir?”

He turned to face Navid. His jewel-encrusted eyepatch glinted in the flickering light.

“How did it happen?” Navid asked.

“All magic requires a price.”

Navid nodded. “You sacrificed your eye to see Aladdin in that glass thing.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

Navid stared in disbelief. “You had a choice, you always have a choice. We would have found him on our own, sir. You didn’t need to do this.”

“Please, in the privacy of my own chamber, do not call me sir.”

Navid lowered his arms. He stood quiet for a moment. “In the privacy of your own chambers, might it be you who wishes to call me 'sir'? If it is the eyepatch that you are concerned of, do not waste another thought.”

“It is Aladdin that concerns me,” Ja’far snapped.

Navid winced and Ja’far quickly apologized.

“I wish nothing less than the best for Agrabah — that it should stand as a golden beacon to the world, a prosperous kingdom of intellect and artisans. I do not understand how a single street rat can bring a sturdy kingdom to ruin. He bears no authority over anyone but himself.”

“It is the Seer’s prophecy. You are the most powerful man in the kingdom, and in many ways more powerful than even the sultan. You possess a magic no one in Agrabah has ever known beyond the wild stories the hakawati speak of in the bazaar. Remember, it’s you the Sultan seeks counsel with. His decisions, in truth, are yours.”

Ja’far's thoughts halted abruptly as a sudden, swift movement in the palace garden seized his focus, sending a shiver down his spine.

“What is it that you see?” Navid said. His large muscles tightened, his legs grew tense, his hand close to his scimitar.

Ja’far couldn’t see. The sconces were too bright. With a gentle wave of his hand, the sconces dimmed.

Behind a veil of darkness, they watched the figure, dressed in a ragged cloak, dart from the palace through the shadow-streaked yard to the palace walls. One foot over the other, the figure climbed up the fig tree. Then he saw another shadow, a larger figure on all fours, moving beneath the other.

It was that temperamental beast! Ja’far recognized the gift he had given to the princess as a pet just after her thirteenth birthday. The tiger had been aggressive toward everyone, especially Ja’far and the sultan, but had taken a motherly protector role of the princess. May Allah help the poor soul who caught the tiger by surprise.

Ja'far shook his head and, with a sigh, turned to Navid and said, “Alert the Sultan that the princess is no longer on royal grounds, again.”

For the princess’ safety, she had not been allowed outside the palace walls, nor would she until she was married and accompanied by her husband, the future Sultan of Agrabah. Since the Seer’s prophetic warning of Agrabah’s destruction, Ja’far had made extra arrangements to ensure that the princess remained guarded, and like Aladdin, she too had given them the slip. This moment had been the moment Ja’far feared. Aladdin, a manipulative user of women, had no authority over the kingdom to cause such catastrophic damage on his own, but through the princess, he very well might. In a city of tens of thousands of people, the largest kingdom of all Arabia, Ja’far considered the unlikelihood of Aladdin Baba bumping into the Princess Jasmine Badroulbadour Zumurrud al-Rashid. But she was the most beautiful woman in all of Agrabah, conspicuous in a crowd, and Aladdin was a predator of the worst kind.