Aladdin and the Flying Dutchman

by Piers Anthony

  Well, he had delivered. Idrin knew she was stuck for it. “Now you may kiss me,” she said, nerving herself for the ordeal. She had never kissed a boy before.

  The bully gazed at her. Then he shook his head. “Those are no longer the features I love. I don’t want the kiss any more.” And he turned about and walked away.

  Idrin stared after him, relieved but also, if truth be told, just a bit annoyed. She had been rejected because of her beauty?

  Idris Ifrit re-formed as the doll. “My spell made him love you exactly as you were at that moment,” she explained. “He still loves that face, but you no longer have it. If you want him back, you will have to wipe off the cream quickly before it sets.”

  But the girl hesitated. “Let’s not be hasty,” she said. She realized that if she left the cream on, and it set, she would be lovely for the rest of her life. She would be able to attract any man she wanted. That counted for something.

  So she walked on to her home village, carrying the doll. Soon another boy spied her. He was handsome, one she liked. “Who are you, fair miss?” he inquired.

  “He does not recognize you, because of the change,” Idris murmured.

  “I am—visiting my friend Idrin,” Idrin said.

  “Let me show you the way,” the boy said. “In exchange for a kiss.”

  Oops. Idrin liked the attention, but she remained too young for what she suspected a kiss would lead to, and wanted to take it slowly. So she temporized. “Maybe after you do me a significant service.”

  “And what is that?” the boy asked eagerly.

  “Uh—” She stalled.

  Idris had to rescue her. “Make him fetch you a wonderful ship upon which you can travel the world in luxury and leisure.”

  Flustered, Idrin repeated the request almost verbatim. Had she had time to think about it, she would have pared it down closer to a rowboat.

  “Immediately,” the boy said. “But where can I find such a ship?”

  Idrin listened to Idris’ whisper. “Well, Noah’s Ark might be nice. I understand it still sits stranded in the Mountain of Ararat, not far north of Baghdad. It might need a few repairs, but it is the world’s premium ship.”

  “Immediately,” the boy agreed, and set off forthwith. Little did he know what he was undertaking. Boys were like that.

  “I think I won’t be needing the doll after all,” Idrin said. “You have given me more than enough, Idris, and I thank you.”

  “In that case, I’ll go help the boy with the Ark,” Idris said, regretting that she had sent him on what might be an impossible mission. “That should prove to be an interesting quest, regardless of the outcome.”

  * * *

  “Thus concludes the tale of Idris and Idrin,” Jewel said. “Idrin was destined to grow up, marry, and live happily the rest of her life. But the tale of the boy’s quest for the lost Ark is even more wonderful, filled with rare adventure, foul tragedy, and fair maidens. But I am tired, and must rest until the morrow.”

  “This is a cheat!” Captain Figurehead said angrily. “You are starting another tale without giving me a chance to digest the first one.”

  “And you don’t know the outcome. What a pity,” Jewel said without pity. “Carry on, Captain.”

  I saw that she had the figurehead snared. She would keep telling tales until we got where we were going and did what we were doing.

  Now all we had to do was get to the Hinterland in time to accomplish our mission, assuming that we’d be able to do it despite the somewhat surly cooperation of the figurehead. I feared the boy of the tale would have an easier time finding and renovating the Ark.

  Chapter Eleven

  As the days passed, as we headed deeper and deeper into an empty wasteland filled with endless rolling sand dunes, Jewel regaled the ship and crew with her tale of the boy’s epic search for Noah’s Ark.

  I marveled again at my wife’s cleverness. After all, a search for one great ship as told to another ship of equal greatness was sheer genius, although I questioned the wisdom of her need to constantly remind the accursed captain that Noah’s Ark was, indeed, the greatest of all ships. But my wife spared no fools, least of all me. The ship, although knowledgeable of all things, seemed predisposed to surliness and haughtiness, proving again that great knowledge did not equate to great wisdom.

  Lucky for us, Captain Figurehead seemed enraptured by the tale of the boy and his search for Noah’s Ark, and so for now we continued sailing over desert dunes, the occasional oasis, and the even rarer caravan.

  On this evening of the third day of our journey, as we ate cheeses and breads and fruits and nuts, Jewel cut short the latest installment of her tale, this time leaving the boy stranded in a catacomb of tunnels deep within Mount Ararat. The captain was clearly frustrated. Even I felt mildly annoyed at having to wait another day to hear of the boy’s fate. I sensed we were reaching the end of the captain’s patience. What would happen after that, I didn’t know. But it might be a battle of wills.

  Others on board listened to the story; in particular, Dea the slave girl, who seemed particularly enchanted by the tale.

  Now, as the sun began to set, Duban brought out his lyre and struck up a somber tune. Although he was now the heir to my throne, I doubted that he would take the job. He was more minstrel than monarch, despite being one of the more powerful conjurers of magic I had ever seen.

  He is the last of his kind, said Queen Nylon in my ear, no doubt following the trail of my thoughts.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, sub-vocalizing my words.

  The prophecy, my lord. Your stepson was prophesied to be the last of the great magicians, following a long line of great magicians. With him, the bloodline will die. It is why Prince Zeyn was so determined to hurry the process up.

  “You make it seem like he won’t see his next birthday,” I said, perhaps a little louder than I had intended. Jewel shot me a curious look, raising her eyebrows, but I did not elaborate. Already Jewel was getting used to me speaking seemingly random gibberish to my nymph counsel.

  Queen Nylon, however, had grown curiously silent, and I did not feel the need to press the matter. Instead, I watched the boy play on happily, tapping his foot, smiling at the others who had joined him. I had grown found of him, and the thought of him dying prematurely was a devastating one. I could only hope Queen Nylon was wrong.

  * * *

  I had been dozing lightly on deck as Duban played on, when I felt a small tug on my sleeve. It was Jewel. “Look,” she said, pointing. “It appears the slave has made a new friend.”

  I followed her pointing finger and, although it was now late evening, could easily make out the form of Dea speaking urgently to the Captain Figurehead. The captain tilted its massive head toward her, clearly listening.

  I sat up, curiously alarmed. “How long have they been talking?”

  “I don’t know. I only just noticed them.”

  What business did a slave girl have with speaking to the accursed captain? I didn’t know, but I called Duban and Myrrh over. He quit playing and they came over together. I spoke telepathically to Myrrh to shield my thoughts, asking her to relay them to Duban, which she did.

  Can you fashion a listening device? I asked my son.

  Duban nodded once the message had been relayed. Of course, father.

  I explained further what I needed, and he nodded again and slipped his lyre inside his robe where it promptly disappeared. He next held both hands over his ears and closed his eyes. Jewel gasped first, followed by me. After all, a hairy, wolf-shaped ear now appeared where the boy’s once roundish ear had been. The wolf-ear perked up and promptly pointed toward the figurehead and slave girl.

  Duban listened a moment, then reported: They’re striking a deal, father.

  What kind of deal?

  He listened some more. It’s an exchange of some sort. His services for...he trailed off, listening again. His services for freedom from the curse.

  That surprised me. I had
been expecting to hear something else. “Sylvie,” I said, sub-vocalizing the word.

  Yes, sire?

  “I thought you said only a god could reverse his curse.”

  Indeed. His was one of the most powerful, placed upon him by yet another god. You were given power over the ship, by one with equivalent power, so if you did it you would be acting on a god's authority.

  “Then how could a simple slave girl free him of it?”

  A good question, sire. Perhaps she’s more than a simple slave girl.

  I thought about that as Dea nodded toward the figurehead, and slipped back into the shadows.

  * * *

  Curiously, the next evening, after spending the whole day speeding along at a much faster clip, the accursed ship captain did not request Jewel’s presence to continue the story. Clearly, the captain had abandoned his desire to see Allah. His deal with Dea had something to do with that.

  Jewel and Myrrh came to my side, where I stood with Sinbad at the ship’s helm. Jewel was sweating profusely and holding her stomach.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, coming to her.

  “She needs rest, sire,” said Myrrh, looking at my wife with obvious concern. “I’m worried for her.”

  “It’s nothing, really—” but her words were cut short with a gasp of pain.

  Surely, a journey to the Gates of Hades was no trip for a pregnant woman—or any person with an ounce of sanity. Now, as my wife did her best to push through the pain, I came to a decision. I rounded up the remaining passengers—all those who had so willingly volunteered to help. I explained to them that I could no longer risk their lives and, despite their protests, ordered them to board the smaller dhows.

  Once all were aboard, I kissed my wife and rubbed her growing belly—luckily, her pain was subsiding. Duban hugged Myrrh tightly, and Sinbad held Nydea. Shortly, the smaller boats peeled away and shot down through the sky. We would remain in contact through Nydea, who was always magically connected to Queen Nylon. A good thing, since we would have had no other way of finding them.

  Now the three of us watched as the two dhows, filled with the remaining crew, raced downward until they finally disappeared from view.

  Now it was just myself, Sinbad, Duban and the two nymphs on my hand. A motley crew, but a battle-tested one. Whatever the hell was going on here, we would find out. And whoever sought to open the Gates of Hades, we would stop.

  One way or another.

  Sinbad suddenly pointed across the bow. “The Hinterlands, Aladdin.”

  I turned my head and saw them, too. Great, rocky crags jutting up from the desert floor, rising high into the sky. Buzzards circled above, wings outstretched. The ship seemingly picked up speed.

  “And what of the Gates of Hades?” I asked.

  “It is rumored to be deep within a cave, beyond a fiendish underground river.”

  The River Styx, my lord, said Queen Nylon. Or the river of hate. It separates the world of the living from the world of the dead and is guarded by the dog-beast, Cerberus.

  “And ferried by Charon,” I sub-vocalized. “Yes, I know my Greek mythology.”

  Sinbad turned to me. “Things are about to get very interesting.”

  Chapter Twelve

  We sailed slowly beside the mountain range, looking for caves. The curvature of the Hinterland terrain was intricate and bleak, with many false avenues. Beyond it was nothing but trackless burning desert. “I wonder how anyone gets here,” Sinbad said, “without a flying ship?”

  “I suspect most of them are dead,” I said. “So they can navigate the desert without suffering ills of the flesh.”

  “Or they are magically drawn in by Hades and don’t need to look,” Duban said. “We are approaching by an alternate route that should be rarely used.”

  Good point; there were not too many flying ships in these parts. If all dead folk had to go to Hades, why would it be made difficult for them to find? It was living folk like us it wanted to discourage.

  “There,” the figurehead said, nosing the prow toward the forbidding recess of a dark cave that resembled nothing so much as a cavity in one of the tooth-like mountains.

  We looked. He was surely correct. We would have to verify it.

  That brought something else to my mind. What about the Flying Dutchman? Could we afford to leave the ship while we explored the cave? I did not trust that, but did not want to discuss it aloud with the figurehead listening. He had behaved okay recently, but that might be a pose to get us to depart peacefully. I did not trust him. The ship was bound to me, but Figurehead was the ship and might be able to override the binding and go his own way. If I were not there to tell him no. Magical strictures can be devious.

  Sinbad seemed to read my thought. “Let’s draw lots for the privilege of rear-guard duty,” he suggested. “In case something unkind is on our trail.”

  Instead of lots, we cast dice, which were more convenient. High throw would stay on the ship. Sinbad won it, and no, I’m pretty sure the dice weren’t loaded. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I am familiar with loaded dice. I wasn’t certain whether Sinbad was disappointed or relieved to be left behind, but concluded that he felt more at home on the ship. Besides, I thought Duban and I were the best team to handle this particular chore, partly because I carried the ringed nymphs.

  Yes, we make you halfway competent, Nylon agreed.

  No man is sufficient without the guidance of a woman, Sylvie added.

  That was not precisely the way I would have put it, but I decided not to argue the case. They were probably teasing me anyway.

  And you like being teased by pretty women, Nylon thought smugly. She had me there, though the type of teasing I preferred related to “accidental” exposure of private parts rather than disparagement of my nature.

  We’ll keep that in mind, Sylvie thought. As if she hadn’t been well aware of it all along.

  “I’ll circle around and keep an eye on the area,” Sinbad said.

  Duban and I took a dhow and glided down to the cave. The Dutchman moved on, but we knew it would return when needed.

  It was a black hole. I was nervous about entering it blind, but Duban came to my rescue by snapping his fingers. Then a glow appeared, emanating from the walls and floor, making the path clear enough for us to proceed.

  The back of the cave narrowed into a passage just about big enough for me to walk comfortably. It twisted on into the mountain, until the light of the entrance was no longer visible. So far, so good.

  Then I heard a weird howl. It sounded like a trio of sick wolves. “What’s in there?” I asked nervously.

  “Cerberus,” Duban said succinctly.

  Now I remembered: the dog with three heads. “Um, I wonder,” I said. “Do we really have to face that?”

  “We do if we want to reach Hades.”

  “Do we actually have to reach Hades? There’s nothing in there that we want. What we want is to see that the Thief of Baghdad, or whoever else has the Key, doesn’t get there. We can intercept him out here.”

  “Maybe, father,” Duban agreed. “But suppose there is more than one access to the Gates?”

  He’s got a point, Nylon thought.

  Smart lad, Sylvie agreed. I’ll be his mistress some day.

  “Oh, fudge,” I said, borrowing one of Jewel’s expressions. “There could be a dozen routes. We can’t guard them all. We’ll have to guard the Gates themselves.”

  “That was my thought,” Duban said.

  “Which means we have to deal with that dog.”

  “I can stun him, and you can cut off the heads one by one.”

  I had another thought. “If I do, won’t that alert the proprietors of Hades that something is amiss? They might not take kindly to someone mistreating their guard dog. I prefer this mission to be quiet.”

  I can do it, Nylon thought. She unwrapped from my finger and dropped to the floor. “I will need to see Cerberus, and for him to see me,” she said.

  I had co
nfidence in her ability. We moved on toward the sound. Soon we came to the cavern where the monster canine lurked. He was the size of a pony, and each head was uglier than the others, with sharper canines and more lather. The noise of their howling was horrendous, this close. The smell was worse.

  Cerberus spied us and charged, all three heads slavering hungrily as sparks flaked off their gnashing teeth. I couldn’t help quailing. Fight this monster? Without Duban’s stasis spell I’d be lucky to lop off one head before the others chomped me to mush.

  Nylon formed into a three-headed female dog. She howled in her bitchiest harmony. Since her nature was to perfectly emulate any male’s fondest desire, she got Cerberus’ attention immediately. He changed course to orient on her. But she immediately moved into a side passage, one head looking back coyly. He followed eagerly. She was a pro, all right. But I couldn’t help wondering whether she led me on similarly, and for similar reason: to distract me from whatever else I might have on my limited mind.

  Of course she does, Sylvie reassured me. Men have to be managed, for their own good.

  I let that pass. What else could I do?

  We were alone. We moved on.

  We came to the River Styx. It was a dark thread of water coursing through the cavern, broad and sinister. There was a musky odor to it, not unpleasant.

  “Charon must be around somewhere,” Duban said. “I think the river entirely circles Hades, or at least the entrance to it. Charon could be anywhere in that loop.”

  “Do we really need Charon?” I asked. “I don’t see why he would ferry us across, considering we’re not dead. Maybe we’d be better off swimming across it on our own.”

  “Don’t do that!” a voice called.

  We turned. There was a cloaked figure approaching us from the tunnel we had just left. Then she threw the cloak open. It was the slave-girl Dea! “What are you doing here?” I demanded. “I sent you away for your own safety.”