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downstairs to the first floor—the Renaissance rooms are on the second—then traced my way down to the basement. I heard a guard adjusting his chair beside the main entrance, but I didn’t see him and he didn’t see me. There were little stand-up lights left on here and there, so I could see my way. I judged about where I was and began to look for a window. The one I found was pretty high up, and I had to drag a chair over—very quietly!—to reach it. I was praying it would have an inside lock, and it did. But the bolt was huge, and every tug sounded just like a thunderbolt.
    I got it open at last and lifted the window. Then I whistled softly and called, “Sam—”
    In a minute I heard him sniffling and shuffling, and there he was! I was so glad to see him that I kissed him and stroked his head even before I lifted him in. Then came another crisis, because he’s so heavy I was certain I’d drop him.
    But I landed him all right. “Now be quiet, Sam. And really be quiet!” I ordered. “This is serious.”
    We made our way upstairs, Sam padding close behind me. It was easy to avoid the guards who were still awake, because now that the museum was empty, they were laughing and cracking jokes and talking very loud to each other. But it sounded as if there were two of them up in the Renaissance rooms, so we took the back staircase.
    Which meant that we had to go through the Egyptian wing. I wasn’t too happy about that. There’s this enormous statue of the god Thoth—the God of Wisdom and Magic—the one with a falcon’s head on top of a human body. His stone eyes seemed to be looking at us. They followed us all the way across the room.
    We went past a seated Buddha in the staircase, too. I couldn’t figure out his smile. It might have been encouragement—it might have been some secret that he knew of in advance. He wasn’t telling, though.
    There was no secret about the frowning bronze Roman gladiator at the top of the stairs. He was telling me to turn back.
    But I didn’t … I went into the Al-Hazred rooms.
    There was one of those little stand-up lights the guards put around in the first room. But none in the second. I could barely make out the tapestry. But what I saw was enough to make me wish I’d never even found that spell.
    There was a genie up there on the wall, all right, inside the tapestry, and framed by this very elaborate border of curlicuing leaves and flowers. But what a genie! I was expecting some Hollywood type, with a smirk on his face and his arms crossed over a big bare chest. But this genie was fully clothed, from the turban on his head, with a red jewel in the center, right down through a white blouse and black pantaloons, to gray slippers on his feet. He was standing in front of a desert landscape woven into the tapestry. Very barren and awful—just sand and sand and sand. In the sky were a couple of stars, with a very thin crescent moon, like a little silver grin in the night. But the awful thing was his attitude. His arms were raised, as if he were lunging right out of the fabric, and his face was all twisted in a terrible rage. If ever I saw fury and hatred, I saw it in that tapestry.
    And those eyes!—just burning out at me, as if they were already alive. It’s a wonder his eyes didn’t set the whole thing on fire.
    Even Sam panicked. He took one look, and his tail slumped down between his legs, and he slunk away off in a corner, behind a big urn.
    I was all alone in front of the tapestry, carpet, whatever it was. I took out the spell, and by the little light I read it.
    I’m not going to put down the Arabic. I’m pretty sure it’s safe now. But I’m not going to put it down anyway.
    For a second there was nothing. And I have to admit I was almost relieved. I don’t honestly know what I was expecting. Thunder, maybe. And lightning. But it wasn’t like that at all.