Are you snuggled in nice and tight, my sleepy one? Pillow soft? Blanket warm? Good. Because tonight — our very last night with Aladdin — everything is going to come right. But it takes courage. And it takes cleverness. And it takes teamwork. So let's begin.
Pop! Aladdin landed on soft green grass under a sky full of shining stars.
He blinked. He rubbed his eyes. He was in a strange land — with strange trees, strange smells, and a warm little wind that was not the wind of Agrabah.
But right in front of him, on a hilltop, glowed — oh, glowed! — his own beautiful golden palace, exactly as it had been at home. The domes shone. The fountain sparkled with sherbet. And in a high window, he could see the soft light of a lamp.
"Yasmin," he whispered.
The tiny ring-Djinn floated by his shoulder. "Careful, master. The sorcerer sleeps inside now — with the magic lamp under his pillow. If he wakes and rubs it, the big Djinn must obey. What is your plan?"
Aladdin thought. He thought hard. His heart went bump-thump. And then, quiet as a mouse, he crept up the hill and tapped — tick, tick, tick — on the little side window that led to Yasmin's bedroom.
The curtain moved.
The window opened.
And there — oh, my sleepy one, there — stood Princess Yasmin, in her nightgown, her long dark hair unbrushed, her eyes red from crying. When she saw Aladdin's face, she made a sound so happy it was almost a squeak, and she hugged him so hard through the window that he nearly toppled backwards down the hill.
"Yasmin! Are you all right? Has he hurt you?"
"No, no," she whispered, "but he wants me to marry him! I said no, and no, and NO, and stamped my foot, and threw a cushion at his head. So now he leaves me alone in this room, but he watches me all the time."
Aladdin quickly told her everything — the peddler, the lamp, the sneaky trick, the flying palace, the forty days, and the little copper ring.
Yasmin listened with wide, bright eyes. And then — and this is why I love Yasmin, little one — her lips curved into the slyest, cleverest smile.
"Aladdin," she whispered, "I have an idea. But it needs you to hide, and me to be very, very brave. Can we?"
"Yes," said Aladdin. "Together we can do anything."
So they made a plan.
Yasmin ran to her dressing table and put on her prettiest silk robe — the pink one with silver stars. She brushed her hair and pinned in a fresh rose. She put on the little golden earrings the Sultan had given her when she was small. And then she sent her maid to tell the sorcerer that — hmm, well, maybe — she was ready to be his wife, after all. And that she wished to invite him to a fine dinner, that very night, just the two of them.
The sorcerer clapped his hands with wicked joy. Oh, he had won! He was sure of it!
He put on his finest black cloak. He combed his silver beard. He polished all nine of his horrible rings.
Meanwhile, deep in a store cupboard, Aladdin was pouring a tiny, tiny bottle of sleeping medicine — a soft pinch of the herb his mother once used when he had bad dreams — into a beautiful jewelled goblet of red pomegranate juice. He tucked himself deep behind a heavy curtain, and Yasmin brought the goblet out to the dining table.
The sorcerer swept into the room. He kissed Yasmin's hand. He sat down at the table and — oh, my! — he ate three whole helpings of dinner and told long, boring stories about how important he was. Yasmin smiled sweetly. She refilled his cup with pomegranate juice again and again.
At last, she raised her own goblet — filled with plain water — and said, in her sweetest voice, "To our happy new life together!"
"To our happy new life!" boomed the sorcerer, and he drank the whole goblet down in one big gulp.
Glug. Glug. Glug.
Two seconds later, his eyelids drooped. His head wobbled. His nose landed THUNK right in his plate of rice.
He was fast asleep.
Yasmin sprang up and pulled the curtain back. "Now, Aladdin! Quickly!"
Aladdin ran to the snoring sorcerer, gently — very gently — slipped his hand under the sorcerer's cloak, and pulled out the dusty old magic lamp.
He didn't wait a single second. Rubba-rubba-rub!
BWOOOOOOOM!
The great Djinn burst out, filling the room. "HO-HO-HO! Small master! You're back! I have MISSED you so!"
Aladdin laughed with joy. "Djinn, my dear Djinn — please carry our whole palace — princess, cook, cat and all — back home to Agrabah! Put it down gently in exactly the place it stood before, across from the Sultan's palace!"
"HO-HO! With the greatest pleasure of my life, small master!"
The Djinn clapped his enormous hands — WHOOSH! The palace rose up into the sky, sailed like a shining golden ship across the black night, over deserts, over rivers, over sleeping villages, all the way back to Agrabah — and settled down, gentle as a leaf, exactly in its old spot.
The sorcerer? He kept snoring, right there in the middle of the flying dining room, and did not wake up until the palace guards were lifting him up by his boots and marching him off to a very deep, very dark dungeon, where the Sultan promised he could stay for a very long time.
Well! Imagine the scene the next morning, my little dreamer.
The Sultan stepped out onto his balcony for his morning tea, still puffy-eyed and sad. He looked up — and the golden palace was back! Just there! Domes glowing in the sunshine! And on the roof, waving with both arms, stood Yasmin.
The Sultan spilled his tea. He shouted for joy. He ran across the courtyard in his slippers.
There were hugs. There were tears. There was Aladdin, holding Yasmin's hand and grinning from ear to ear. There was Aladdin's mother, laughing and hugging the sleepy little grey cat. There were even trays of honey sweets, appearing from nowhere, because that Djinn just could not resist showing off.
The Sultan hugged Aladdin and said, "My boy — no, my son — forgive me. I should have trusted you."
Aladdin bowed. "You were only worried for your daughter, Your Majesty. Any good father would be."
And the sneaky Grand Vizier? Well, he tried to sneak away that very morning — but the little grey cat sat right on his foot and mewed so loudly that the guards caught him. And that was that for him.
And so, my sleepy one, Aladdin and Yasmin lived long, kind, happy lives in their palace of golden domes. They raised children who played fair. They looked after Aladdin's mother in her comfy cushion room. They fed every stray dog and every stray cat in Agrabah. And once a month, on quiet nights, Aladdin would take out the dusty old lamp and let the great Djinn come out just to laugh and dance and boom "HO-HO-HO!" around the palace gardens, because a Djinn who is only ever asked for wishes is a lonely Djinn indeed.
And do you know what Aladdin never, ever forgot?
That once upon a time, he had been just a cheeky, poor market boy with holes in his sandals, who was kind to a stray dog. And that even the smallest, kindest heart in a big busy town can grow up to do wonderful, brave, magical things.
Sweet dreams, my brave little dreamer. Close your eyes now. Tonight, you can fly across the desert on a shining palace, if you like. Or you can just curl up warm and safe, knowing that in every good story — even the ones with sorcerers and roaring caves and lost princesses — the brave and the kind always, always find their way home.
Goodnight.