Jafar al-Sharif shivered with the sudden shock of wellness. Looking up at the Jann he said, “How did you…oh, magic, of course. Forgive me for doubting you, O mighty Jann. You are righteous indeed.”
The figure straightened up again. “Now, tell me where the urn is.”
“No,” Jafar said simply.
The woman looked at him, amazed. “Are you so ungrateful, then, after I have healed your wounds to deny me what I ask?”
“I’ll always be grateful for that,” Jafar told her. “But the urn is another matter entirely. It’s very valuable, isn’t it?”
The Jann was cautious with her reply. “People have said it is.”
“Of course it is,” Jafar said, “or the wali and your master, the wizard, wouldn’t go to so much trouble to get it. If I tell you where the urn is, you could go off and get it for yourself, leaving
