in the head by clean laundry and getting rope burns as he slowed his descent. When it grew too painful to bear, he let go and landed with a bruising, bony crash on the dusty street.
There was no time to reflect on his safety, his luck, or any injuries that would have to be looked at later. He had to plan his next move immediately, to stay one step ahead of the guards who would be hurrying back down to see what had happened to him.
The Widow Gulbahar’s robes were tangled around him. It occurred to Aladdin that if no one saw, he could easily wrap himself up in them and disguise himself as a pious—albeit ugly—girl and sneak out through one of the harems.
He paused as loud feminine laughter erupted above him.
He looked up to see the widow herself leaning out a window and smiling not unkindly at him. Two other women stood nearby, where they’d been enjoying a good gossip before his exciting arrival. That would be their only pleasure today before the task of finding food, and work, began.
“Isn’t it a little early for you to be in trouble already, Aladdin?” Gulbahar teased.
“You’re…ouch…only in trouble…ouch…if you get caught,” Aladdin protested, trying not to show pain as he rose and joined them. He hoped they’d gotten the hint as he swirled a cloth around his head and neck. He leaned on the wall in what he hoped was a feminine way, throwing his hips out and keeping his back to the end of the alley where the guards would enter.
Gulbahar rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“Aladdin, you gotta settle down,” she sighed. “Get a nice girl. She’ll fix you up.”
The other women nodded in agreement. They knew about nice girls—being far removed from the definition. But they had to eat, and often in Agrabah nice girls didn’t.
“There he is!” Rasoul suddenly called out. He and a whole squad of guards stomped down the alley, closing off Aladdin’s exit.
“Now I’m in trouble,” Aladdin said.
He turned to go, but Rasoul must have put all his remaining anger and energy into one furious lunge. He managed to grab Aladdin’s arm and spun him around.
“This time, Street Rat, I’ll—”
But before he could finish his threat, a screaming little monkey leapt onto his head and tore at his eyes with sharp claws.
“Perfect timing, Abu,” Aladdin said dramatically for the benefit of the women watching.
Then he ran.
He scooted around Rasoul and managed to duck past the rest of the guards as they grabbed at him ineptly. Ten of them weren’t worth one Rasoul—thank goodness. He was the only one Aladdin needed to worry about—and he knew the streets almost as well as the boy did.
Aladdin ducked into what looked like a crack in the city itself, where two buildings crumbled and tilted into each other, leaning on each other like old men. Aladdin ran under them and wound up in a badly kept courtyard. A dry and useless fountain stood in the center. Once, long ago, it had worked, maybe, when some sultan cared about things being nice for the poorer residents of Agrabah.
Rasoul appeared at the opposite side of the courtyard, scimitar raised.
“Do not think you can escape back to the maze of the Eastern Streets, Aladdin,” he said sternly. He almost smiled when he saw the surprised look on Aladdin’s face. “Oh yes, I know your plan. But you have broken the law. You must accept your punishment.”
“You’re really going to chop my hand off for stealing one…loaf…of…bread,” Aladdin said, trying to buy time as he bounced lightly on his toes, circling around, keeping the fountain between them.
“The law is the law.”
Aladdin feinted to the left and then tried to lunge to the right. Rasoul wasn’t fooled at all; his scimitar lashed out to the right. Aladdin ducked, sucking his stomach in. But he didn’t come away unscathed: a tiny ribbon of scarlet unfurled across his skin. Aladdin hissed at the pain.
Rasoul paused.
“Perhaps, if you explain to the judge, he will be lenient. He will…weigh your circumstances. But that is his job. Mine is to bring you in.”
“Really? I thought your job was to eat baklava. You’re slowing down, old man,” Aladdin taunted. With a howl of rage Rasoul brought his scimitar down as hard as he could.
Aladdin dropped into a ball and rolled out of the way. Sparks flew when the point of the scimitar hit the cobbled pavement.
He scrambled up rickety old scaffolding that barely held his weight. It