Aladdin and the Flying Dutchman (The Aladdin Trilogy Book 3)

by J. R. Rain

  We swam on to the tree and checked through the foliage. It had only one fruit on it, of an unfamiliar type, but it looked absolutely delicious. Yet I knew we couldn’t eat it; we needed it for the ship. I swam up and plucked it with my flippers, and put it in my backpack with the spare air. Then we swam hastily away, uncertain just how long Nylon could distract the serpent.

  The return was routine. We simply swam to the surface and waved to the ship. The Flying Dutchman sailed to us, and in moments we were hauled back on deck. Soon Sylvie and Nylon reappeared, having completed their diversions, and I wrapped them around my fingers. Best of all, the swim had washed off the stink of the cursed perfume and we were approachable again.

  Next question: how did we feed this fruit to the ship, since it didn’t eat? It was amazing how such an obvious challenge had never occurred to us beforehand.

  “Feed the figurehead,” Jewel suggested.

  Maybe that was it. The figurehead was the bust of a merman with a noble brow and piercing gaze, surely a Dutchman, whatever that was.

  We squeezed the fruit and caught the juice in a cup. Then I held on to the prow of the ship, swung around before the figurehead, and put the cup to the Dutchman’s mouth. I tipped it. Much of it spilled down off his chin, but some soaked into the cracks around the mouth. Then the mouth opened, and more went in. The figurehead was animating!

  “Well done, King Aladdin!” the head said. “Now get out of my face.”

  I was so surprised I almost fell into the sea. I scrambled back to the deck. How had this wooden thing not only come to life, but known my name?

  The figure turned his head around and gazed at all of us. “What’s this I see arrayed before me? Several idiotic oafs and some fair maidens, so at least it’s not a total loss.”

  “Now wait a minute!” I protested stupidly. “We’re not idiots!”

  The figure focused on me. “Oh yes you are,” he said with infinite scorn. “And fools to boot. You wasted your entire effort.”

  That began to get to me. “How can you say that? You’re just an old wooden carving. What do you know?”

  “I know everything,” he replied. “Because I have just tasted of the forbidden fruit of the Tree of Knowledge.”

  “The tree of—?” I began, stunned.

  “Yes, you utter dope! You sought the Tree of Life, but you got the wrong tree! You were too dull to get the hint when you encountered the Serpent associated with it. Instead of recharging your ship, you bequeathed the knowledge of the universe to its figurehead. You are simply too stupid to live.”

  I exchanged a glance of sheer dismay with the others. I was indeed an idiot.

  Chapter Seven

  Jewel came to my rescue. “Knowledge or not, Aladdin is still the master of this ship, and you must do his bidding.”

  The figurehead, once a wooden statue but now animated supernaturally, laughed. He tried to throw back his head, but was limited in his range. He settled for a curt nod. “Foolish woman. I know everything, including the nature of the curse that binds this ship and those who serve upon it.” It now closed its eyes and mumbled something incomprehensible. “There. The curse has been properly reversed. I am my own captain and I have freed those who were forced to serve on board.”

  Indeed, before our very eyes, the many ghostly sailors that populated the ship began disappearing.

  “Then how will you steer your ship without a crew?” demanded Sinbad, stepping forward.

  “Fool! I am the ship.”

  And with that, the main sails sprang open. I saw the ship’s wheel turn rapidly on its own volition, and the great ship began moving with the wind.

  “And thanks to your foolish king, I have been revivified, too. As they say, two birds with one stone.”

  “Where are you taking us?” I asked, as the ship began picking up speed, cutting across the wide lake.

  “Here is a riddle for you, King Aladdin: if one possesses all of the knowledge of the universe, what is left to learn?”

  I blinked, stumped, aware that, in my haste to procure the sacred fruit, I might have inadvertently doomed the entire earth. As the hot desert air blasted over me, as the distant shore sped rapidly past, I could think of no answer other than, “Nothing is left to learn.”

  “Precisely.”

  “But that does not answer my question: where are you taking us?”

  “He’s taking us to the one being who can still teach us something,” said Duban, stepping forward.

  I blinked at the lad, always surprised to hear the deep wisdom that came from his innocent face.

  “He is right, of course. From the mouths of babes and all that,” said the figurehead, grinning. “The earth no longer holds much interest for me. And certainly there is nothing left to gain from humans.” He suddenly raised his once-wooden arms, and as he did so the ship lifted from the lake and took to the air.

  “But I don’t understand,” I said. “What being? Where are we going?”

  And then it hit me as we rapidly rose into the sky, higher than we ever had before.

  “Allah,” I said.

  “Allah, God, the Creator, the Source, whatever you want to call him, for he goes by many names,” said the figurehead, shouting above the wind. “We’re going to Him, and I know just where he resides.”

  * * *

  We moved away from the figurehead and gathered near the bow as the ship continued steering itself. Booms swung and sails trimmed. All on their own accord. Somehow, I found this more frightening than when the ghosts had performed the same duties. Below, the hot desert sand quickly fell away. Now whole mountain ranges came into view. We were higher than we had ever been before, and only going higher. The air up here seemed far more difficult to breathe. Indeed, I saw Sinbad taking deep, futile breaths.

  Queen Nylon and Sylvie Siren both sprang from my fingers, transformed in mid-air, and landed deftly on bare feet.

  “The air is indeed thinner up here, Aladdin,” said Queen Nylon, responding to my thoughts. “Soon, none of us will be able to breathe. Although Sylvie and I are immortal, we cannot survive long without the elements of earth. In this case, what is known as oxygen.”

  “Where is it taking us?” said Jewel. Her neck was beginning to strain with the effort of breathing.

  “I read its mind,” said Myrrh. “A scary mind. Full of wild notions. But one notion stood out above the others. He’s taking us to a hole in the sky. He calls it a wormhole. He believes it will take us to another dimension, as he calls the place where Allah resides.”

  “We are familiar with such portals,” said Sylvie Siren. “And I assure you, that humans aboard a flying ship will not survive. In fact, it is doubtful that Queen Nylon, Nydea and I will survive.”

  The air was getting noticeably colder—and stronger. And even as the wind thundered over us, it seemed deprived of this crucial oxygen, of which Queen Nylon spoke. Apparently, this element was necessary for thinking straight, because my brain seemed even more stubborn than normal.

  But one thought did surface and I turned to my son immediately. “Duban, can you fashion more breathing devices?”

  The boy nodded and tried—but apparently his magic also needed this precious oxygen. My mind raced, and seemed only to be growing foggier and foggier. Wind and clothing billowed as we all began shivering. Below, the mountain range looked like nothing more than a crack in the dirt. The desert itself was just great swatches of yellows and browns. On the far horizon, I could see the great sea appearing.

  How much time did we have before all the oxygen in the air was gone, or before we all froze to death? I didn’t know, but I gathered it would be soon. My brain seemed to be shutting down.

  “I have a suggestion,” said my blessed wife suddenly.

  “Hurry!” I gasped.

  “The ship claims to have all knowledge of the universe...” she paused, gasping for air. “And now seeks the presence of Allah, the source of all knowledge.”

  “Go on,” I urged.


  “Then let’s tell him a story,” she said, and I could see the cords standing out on her neck as she struggled for air. “A story in which he does not know the ending.”

  “I don’t understand—”

  “Yes!” shouted Myrrh, catching on immediately. “He might be all-knowing but he cannot possibly know how our story would end.”

  “And to hear the ending, he must abandon his journey to Allah,” said Duban.

  Perhaps I was the dullest and thickest of them all, but it surely seemed like all had caught on to the idea faster than I. But when my wife’s wisdom finally blossomed in my oxygen-deprived brain, I saw the beauty of it.

  “A story without end!” I shouted. “But who among us is the greatest storyteller?”

  “I will do it,” said Jewel. “I’ve been telling Duban stories since the day he was born.”

  With that settled we all appeared at the ship’s figurehead, who turned and looked at us scornfully. “Enjoy your precious few minutes alive, humans and nymphs. One way or another, you will meet your maker.” It faced forward again and closed it eyes.

  “Perhaps,” I said.

  “There is no perhaps,” said the figurehead, this time not even bothering to turn toward me. “You have nothing that I want, and there’s nothing that you know, that I don’t know.”

  “Except one thing,” I said.

  Now I had its attention. It turned toward me and seemed amused. “And what is that, King Aladdin?”

  “The conclusion to our story.”

  “I know all stories,” it said dismissively.

  “But not this story,” said Jewel, stepping forward.

  Chapter Eight

  I wondered what kind of story Jewel would tell. She was a woman of many qualities, but I had not heard her do this before. I hoped it would not be some soft, dull femalish narrative.

  “Once upon a time, there was a sweet girl named Idris,” she began.

  Oh, Hades! But we were stuck with it. All we could do was listen, and hope the arrogant figurehead found it interesting. Because otherwise we were all doomed.

  * * *

  Idris Ifrit was one of the djinn kind, of which there were many in the old days. She was a carefree creature, floating about the landscape, a playful adventurous spirit with more than a hint of mischief. Since she could assume any likeness she chose, she was outstandingly pretty when in human form. She especially liked to tease mortal men by pretending to be one of their kind until they tried to hold her and kiss her; then she dissipated in smoke and laughter, leaving them aroused without satisfaction. What a joke on them!

  One day she happened upon a mortal king as he went his way, traveling from one city to another with his retinue. She had heard of him; he was Solomon, reputed to be very wise. She could not resist testing that; was he smart enough to handle an alert air spirit? She assumed solid form, bypassed his guards, entered his tent, and flashed him with her outstanding young body.

  “And who are you, fair maiden?” he inquired, interested. Mortal men of any age were interested; it was their nature, just as it was her nature to tease them.

  “I am Idris,” she said, letting her garment slide down to reveal an increasing amount of her ripe torso. “Idris Ifrit.”

  He did not seem surprised. “So you are one of the djinn kind.”

  “What of it?” she asked, dropping her garment to her waist. In a moment he would be under her spell, as any mortal man would be.

  “You are banned from my kingdom.”

  “Really?” She let it drop the rest of the way. “And what are you going to do about it?” She took a breath that was likely to make his mortal eyes pop out. She so loved teasing pompous men!

  “This,” he said, catching her arm with his hand. Then, before she could dissipate into smoke, he crammed her into a tiny green bottle. She had not known he could do that; no other mortal could. By the time she turned around inside it, he had put in the stopper and sealed it with his royal seal. She was unable to push out; the seal was powerful magic. She was caught.

  This was a lesson she would not soon forget. This king had the power to enforce his edicts. “All right,” she said. “I will leave your kingdom. Now let me out.”

  But she discovered to her horror that he was not even paying attention to her. He simply tossed the bottle into a bin with hundreds of other bottles and went to sleep. No amount of hammering against the green glass sufficed; he didn’t care.

  The bottles contained other djinni, male and female, no more able to escape than she was. She could see them struggling with growing despair. What a monster this Solomon was! He certainly had no sense of humor about a little innocent teasing.

  In a few days the bin of bottles was unceremoniously carried in a wagon to a ship in the harbor. The ship took the collection out to sea. There, far from land, it was dumped into the choppy waters. The bottles were all made of heavy glass; they slowly sank. Some were swallowed by fish; some disappeared into the gloom below. Hers was caught by a wayward current and borne swiftly away from any possible land.

  She was helpless. She prayed to Allah, the glorious, the beneficent, the compassionate creator of the three worlds to free her, but there was no response. All she could do was settle down for a long nap. Until, somehow, Allah grant that she be released.

  Between sleeps she pondered, and it occurred to her that she had been somewhat irresponsible in her treatment of mortal men, and perhaps deserved a rebuke. She resolved to mend her ways, and to treat all people, even mortals, as fairly and kindly as she could. That did not win her a release, but she held on to that resolution, for it seemed apt.

  She had no notion of how much time had passed when her bottle washed up on a distant foreign beach, but suspected it was many centuries. She was of course immortal; time hardly mattered, except that she was bored. She peered out through the glass, hoping for the best.

  And there came walking along the beach a Daughter of Eve, a living girl, maybe thirteen mortal years of age. Hope flared; would she see the bottle? Would she pick it up? Would she break the seal and uncork it?

  The girl paused. Idris signaled wildly inside the bottle, trying to catch her attention. And it worked! The girl spied the bottle and picked it up. She peered into the glass and saw Idris. She smiled.

  That was awkward, because now Idris saw that though the girl’s body was typical of her kind and age, on the verge of nubile, her face was not. It was misformed, with the features present but in the wrong proportions. In fact she was ugly.

  Then the girl applied her teeth to the cork and pulled it and the seal off the bottle. Idris poured out, puffing into smoke, then forming into her natural shape. Oh, it was good to stretch, after all this time confined!

  But business before pleasure. There was a protocol. “Young miss, I thank you for releasing me,” she said. Of course she spoke in the girl’s tongue, because ifrits could do that without even trying. “I am Idris Ifrit, cruelly imprisoned by King Solomon long ago. In return for the favor you have done me, I must do you a similarly significant favor. What do you ask of me?”

  Surprisingly, the girl did not demand a mountain of gold or the man of her dreams or a kingdom to rule. All she said was: “I am Idrin. I’d like a doll.”

  “Idrin? That’s close to my name!” Idris realized then that there could have been a magic tow, drawing her bottle close to one who almost matched her name, so that it was not coincidence. But that hardly mattered. “A doll? You’re too old for a doll.”

  Idrin sighed. “I will never attract a nice man, or any man. I’m too ugly. So I might as well remain a child forever. I’d like to have a doll as pretty as you. Then I could love her forever.”

  Idris opened her mouth to protest again, but realized that the girl was being realistic. Mortal men were notoriously fickle; about the only thing they valued more than a pretty face was a pretty bosom or bottom. Still, a doll?

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Idris said at last.

  “Don’t steal it!”
Idrin said quickly. “I’m not a thief.”

  “I will find it or make it myself,” Idris agreed. Then she dissipated and searched the area for a lost doll. But there turned out to be nothing suitable; the only thrown-away dolls were broken or malformed. She returned empty-handed.

  “I have not found a doll,” she said. “So I will make you one.” She shrank into a doll-sized image of herself. “Will this do?”

  “But that’s you!” Idrin said. “I didn’t mean to imprison you again. You need to be free.”

  Idris had never cared much about any mortal person, but there was something about this girl that appealed to her. “I can stay this way until we find a real doll for you. I was in the bottle hundreds of years; I can be a doll for a few days.”

  “Oh thank you!” Idrin exclaimed. She picked up the doll and hugged and kissed her.

  Idris found that she liked that attention. The girl’s feeling encompassed her. Mortals had more intense emotions than immortals. Idris was satisfied to remain near her, bathing in that joy.

  Idrin walked toward her home, carrying the doll, singing a little song of joy. It was amazing how little it took to make her happy.

  Then a boy crossed her path. “Oh, that’s Bull,” Idrin muttered. “He’s trouble.”

  That was another accurate assessment. “Hey, foulface!” Bull called. “What you got there? I bet you stole it.”

  “Did not,” Idrin responded, trying to avoid him.

  “Yeah? Give it here!” he snatched it out of her grasp.

  “Don’t hurt him!” Idrin said. That set Idris back. She had been about to stun the bully with an electric eel charge.

  Bull laughed coarsely, misunderstanding. “This here’s a girl doll, not a boy doll, and I’ll hurt her if I want.” He put a hand on each of the doll’s arms and made as if to pull her apart.

  Oh? Idris got ready to turn into flame and scorch his hands.

  “No!” Idrin cried. She was just too much of a pacifist!