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sailors. But none of them stopped glancing at the mist-shrouded city walls. The story of the ghostly hooded figure and the close escape of Sinbad, Hassan, and the Mate had gone the rounds of the crew.
    The ship coasted, moving silently through the oily morning waters toward the stone quay. Princess Farah came out of Sinbad’s cabin, one of his cloaks around her shoulders to ward off the morning chill, but her scanty clothing dry and redonned. She crossed the deck and stood at the rail with a troubled face. The ship drew next to the quay and two sailors, fore and aft, leaped lithely to the surface of the jetty and snugged strong ropes around stone bights, bringing the slow-moving ship to a graceful halt. It bobbed on its own wake, then settled down to the slow rise and fall of the tide.
    Sinbad fingered the hilt of his sword, his eyes straying from city gate to the low profiles of the Bedouin tents, dark and spreading to the left and right of the road from quay to gate. The burned, sagging mess that had been Rafi’s tent was still there, smoldering fitfully, its smoke mixing with the thinning mist. Beyond was the tumbled pile of timbers, but Sinbad could see no evidence of any ghouls.
    There was a creaking noise at the gate, carrying far over the still waters, and the massive gate of Charak swung open. Sinbad narrowed his eyes as he saw a troop of colorful horsemen ride out, each cavalryman armed with shield, sword, dagger, and lance. Then he smiled as he recognized the dignified old man at the head of the troop. Sinbad glanced down at Princess Farah and saw her hand raise in a wave to her father’s—and now her brother’s—trusted Vizier, Balsora.
    Sinbad’s eyes quickly went along the line of horsemen. Next to Balsora was Zabid, a tough old soldier with a scarred face. A black eye-patch covered an empty socket. Farther along the cavalcade Sinbad saw a litter carried by six large Nubian slaves. On the litter he could see a rather exotic collection of baggage—chests of inlaid wood, brass-bound boxes of cedar, woven baskets with hidden contents, and a strange, cage-shaped object completely covered in scarlet cloth.
    Sinbad walked to the head of the ladder to the deck and jumped down, using the ladder’s framing to slow his controlled fall. He walked lithely to stand by Princess Farah. She glanced up at him and gave him a shy smile, then her eyes returned to the Vizier.
    She saw him give a sign to Captain Zabid, then both their horses broke into a gallop, heading for the quayside. They left the escorting guards with the litter in their midst and galloped noisily down the twisting road between the encampment of tents and clattered out onto the stones of the wide quay.
    Zabid quickly jumped down and held the reins of the Regent’s horse. He ordered a slave to kneel on the ground for Balsora to use as a step when he dismounted. Sinbad hurried down the gangplank to greet the dignitary.
    Sinbad bowed. “Excellency.”
    Balsora spoke warmly. “Captain! Welcome again to Charak.” He started to speak, then caught a glimpse of Princess Farah at the ship’s rail. His white-bearded face broke into a wide smile. “I prayed that Princess Farah would reach you safely, Sinbad.” His voice shifted to a pious tone. “Allah’s name be exalted.”
    Sinbad looked around, catching only Zabid’s one good eye, which looked as fierce as a hawk. “Where is your nephew, Prince Kassim, Excellency?”
    Balsora’s manner changed. He looked around suspiciously, then took Sinbad’s elbow and turned him back toward the gangplank. “Let us go on board.”
    Puzzled, Sinbad helped the older man up the gangway as the armed guards took up defensive positions all along the quay, with Captain Zabid in a command position at the foot of the gangplank.
    Balsora embraced Farah warmly and his solemn face was creased with another wide smile. “O beloved child! Praise to Allah that you are safe.” He dropped his voice and almost whispered his next