by P. B. Kerr
“You mean the chap in the Bible?” asked the professor.
Nimrod nodded.
“What’s a vizier?” asked John. “No, wait, I think I know. It’s a high-ranking minister or advisor to an Arab king, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” said Nimrod. “When Solomon died, Mr. Barkhiya’s ancestors inherited the king’s famous flying carpet. Originally, this was an enormous carpet, sixty miles long and sixty miles wide, and when it flew, it was shaded from the sun by a canopy of birds. Thousands of djinn and people could ride upon it at any one time. On one occasion, so the story goes, the wind became jealous of King Solomon and shook the carpet, and over forty thousand people fell to their deaths.”
“More than just a touch of wind, then,” quipped John.
“Over the years, the carpet has been cut up many times,” continued Nimrod, ignoring his young nephew. “Today all flying carpets are smaller pieces of that much larger one once owned by Solomon. Of course, in more recent times, flying on a carpet was deemed most unfashionable by us djinn. And over the last few decades, business has been slow for Mr. Barkhiya. But all of that is different now that we can no longer risk going anywhere by whirlwind. Which means that it may be hard to negotiate a fair price. So it would be better if you said as little as possible while I’m bargaining with him. Because it’s certain that Asaf will want something more than just money. Is that clear?”
The twins nodded. “Clear,” they said in unison.
“Clear,” added Axel and the professor for whom, in truth, nothing was clear at all. Each of them still half expected to wake up in his bed at home in Iceland thinking he’d just had a most peculiar dream.
The rug emporium was more like a church inside — a huge, echoing, dark Byzantine church with a circular marble floor and many brass lamps hanging from a very high ceiling. The vast floor was surrounded with a series of enormous pillars that were unusual in that they appeared to be made out of giant rolls of carpet: a blue silk carpet with a gold weft.
Nimrod clapped his hands loudly, and lifted a hand in salute as a man wearing a plain, white turban and silken white robes, who was seated cross-legged on a little square of blue carpet, floated across the floor toward them like a cloud in a little bit of sky.
“Peace be with you,” said Nimrod.
“And with you,” said the man. Dismounting the carpet, which stayed floating several inches above the ground, the man bowed gravely and said: “Let tall mountains and vast deserts tremble. Let great cities shudder and turn in fear of the mighty Nimrod. Welcome, esteemed sir. Since I last saw you, great djinn, I have often thought of you and wondered how long it would be before you would grace my humble establishment with your august presence once more. And I bless this day, since we now meet again.”
Philippa shuddered to look at the carpet seller. Mr. Barkhiya had the nose and eyes of an eagle, a large gap between his very white front teeth, and a long, shiny, black beard that was divided into two sharp points, like a pitchfork. He was not very tall but he carried himself like a man of enormous height, and his voice was as deep and almost as dramatic as that of a great actor.
“Permit me to introduce my nephew, John, and my niece, Philippa,” said Nimrod.
“I am and always will be your most humble servant,” said Mr. Barkhiya and bowed again. “May both of you continue to live happily until the very distant hour of your death.”
“You too,” said Philippa.
“Ditto,” said John.
“May I also present Professor Snorri Sturloson and Dr. Axel Heimskringla,” said Nimrod.
“The honor is all mine,” said Mr. Barkhiya.
“We’ve come about a carpet,” said Nimrod.
Mr. Barkhiya smiled as if such a thing was obvious. He bowed again and then lifted his arms to the ceiling as if someone up there was listening. “And when Solomon sat upon the carpet, he was caught up by the wind and sailed through the air so quickly that he breakfasted at Damascus and dined in Medina,” said Mr. Barkhiya. “And the wind followed Solomon’s commands.” The carpet seller grinned happily. “Of course you have come about carpets, my dear Nimrod. Why else would you be here? Just the one carpet, is it? I could perhaps let you have a discount for three. A very special price.”
While he talked, Mr. Barkhiya stroked one of the great blue carpet pillars, which rippled and undulated under his touch like a hide of some great beast. He nodded at John and Philippa. “Come, children, touch it.”
John and Philippa glanced at their uncle, who nodded his assent, and the twins stepped forward to rub their not particularly clean hands up and down the smooth surface of the carpet pillar.
“Is it not smooth?” Mr. Barkhiya asked John. “Is it not silky?” he asked Philippa. “Is it not marvelous?”
The twins nodded.
“Very,” said Philippa.
“It’s like something alive,” observed John.
“There’s a vibration in every fiber,” added Philippa. “I can feel the djinn power present in every fiber of the carpet.”
“Then truly you are both djinn,” said Mr. Barkhiya. “For only djinn like yourselves can feel this special vibration. I have never felt this sensation myself. I am merely the great carpet’s custodian. Not its master.”
“I suppose it’s handmade,” said the professor. “On one of those old carpet looms.”
“Oh, yes.” Mr. Barkhiya grinned his gap-toothed grin. “Handwoven by a thousand djinn. With one thread that was as long as eternity. Each knot of the carpet contains an uttered word of djinn power. What the djinn themselves call a focus word. Is it not so, Nimrod?”
“Quite so,” affirmed Nimrod.
“And this is where the power of flying comes from. From the djinn power over mathematics and physics and the great Golden Ratio and the secret meaning of 1.61803.”
“And is it easy to control?” asked Axel who, being an accomplished hang glider, thought he knew a thing or two about flying.
Mr. Barkhiya smiled his gap-toothed smile again. “I regret to inform you, Dr. Heinzkrinkle —”
“Heimskringla,” said Axel. “My name is Heimskringla.”
Mr. Barkhiya bowed politely. “I regret to inform you, Dr. Heimskringla, that no human being can fly one of these carpets. Many have perished in the attempt. Which is to say, they are dead. Only a djinn like Nimrod and, in time, these greatly gifted children may control such a carpet as this. The tiny fragment of rug you saw me appear on earlier is as much as I am able to safely control myself. And even that is only because I was granted three wishes by another grateful customer.”
“You mean three wishes,” said Axel, “like in children’s stories?”
“Are they children’s stories?” Mr. Barkhiya looked at Nimrod and frowned. “Surely not. To have three wishes is surely more than any child would know what to do with.”
“Axel’s right,” explained Nimrod. “In places like Europe and America, it’s only children who believe in the idea of three wishes.”
“In Morocco,” said Mr. Barkhiya, “everyone believes in three wishes. Everyone dreams of releasing a djinn trapped for a thousand years inside a lamp or bottle and being handsomely rewarded for this humble service.”
Nimrod shivered. “Please,” he said. “Don’t mention that kind of thing. It gives me claustrophobia just thinking about it.” He rubbed his hands. “Talking of which. You haven’t yet mentioned your price, Asaf.”
“I will make a very special price for you, O great one. But for how many carpets? You have not said.”
“I think an extra large one for me,” said Nimrod, “and two juniors, one each for my nephew and my niece.”
“Three wishes,” said Mr. Barkhiya.
“That is fair.”
“From each of you.”
Nimrod shook his head. “No. That is too much.”
“Nevertheless, that is my price. Three for the large one. And three for each of the two smaller ones. One wish for me and one wish for each of my eight sons.”
“But nine wishes, Asaf,” said Nimrod. “We’ll be here all day.”
“It’s been a tough year what with the downturn in the economy and prices — don’t talk to me about prices. It’s not just carpets that are going up, it’s everything. Besides, these carpets are works of art and art has no price.”
Nimrod shook his head. “I tell you what I’ll do. We’ll take the large one now. In exchange for three wishes. But we’ll defer the collection of the two juniors. My niece and nephew can return on another occasion. And we can haggle about a proper price then.”
Mr. Barkhiya looked uncomfortable. “The thing is, Nimrod,” he said. “It’s not just European airspace that’s closed. North American and Central African airspace have also closed because of volcanic ash. And Southeast Asian airspace looks like it’s going to close as well. Very soon my carpets will be the only things flying. Which makes them more valuable.”
“But only djinn know how to fly them,” objected Nimrod.
“True,” admitted Mr. Barkhiya. “However, I now anticipate a much greater demand for my carpets than of old. I am informed that already there are others like you traveling from the four corners of the earth, to my humble shop here in Fez, in order to purchase one of these rare and inestimable carpets. You wouldn’t want these children of the lamp to be less than the birds of the air, would you?”
“Three wishes for the large size,” said Nimrod. “And three wishes in total for the two juniors. And that’s my last offer. After all, there’s a limit to how many people you can get on a junior.”
“Agreed. One wish now for me and one wish now for two of my eight sons.”
“And you will reserve two junior-sized carpets and my young relatives will return here to collect and pay for them when we are less pressed for time as we are now.”
“This is also agreed.”
Nimrod spat in his hand and shook hands with Mr. Barkhiya.
“One more thing,” said Nimrod. “I know you to be a religious man, Asaf. And a man of your word. So, you and the two sons who are to be granted a wish today must all state these wishes in advance and confine yourselves to wishing for them and only them, by all that’s holy to you. Is that agreed, also?”
Asaf grinned. “Don’t you trust me, O great one?”
Nimrod shook his head. “You’re only human, my friend. It’s been my experience that wishing for whatever your heart desires is more than any mundane can cope with. For we djinn are compelled to grant exactly what has been requested. And it is always wise to remember to be careful what you wish for just in case you get it.”
“True,” said Mr. Barkhiya. “For power of such greatness as yours, O mighty djinn, it is wise that you counsel caution. I am a simple man of the desert and I know how a wish can turn like the head of cobra and bite a man who wishes foolishly. One time I was about to wish that I was ‘dead rich,’ as you English sometimes say. And it was my good fortune that I had explained this wish in advance to one of your tribe, Nimrod. A Marid. And not to an Ifrit or to a Ghul. Otherwise, my wish might easily have rendered me dead before I was rich.”
“You were indeed fortunate,” said Nimrod.
“So then. Let us find my two eldest sons. And we shall explain our wishes to you.”
Mr. Barkhiya took Nimrod and the others up to the rug emporium rooftop where his sons had spread out Nimrod’s flying carpet in the morning sunshine. The emporium’s rooftop was castellated like a fortress and the highest in all of the old city so that local people might not be alarmed at the sight of a carpet ascending into the sky. The carpet itself was about a thousand square feet and as blue as a sapphire. Under the hot Moroccan sun, the gold thread woven into the carpet seemed to glow like it was molten metal.
“If the carpet has not flown for a while,” explained one of the sons, “then you should always leave the carpet in the sun for a few minutes to warm the fibers up. Djinn power relies on heat, yes? Especially the heat of the sun?”
“Er, yes,” said Philippa. “That’s quite correct.”
He handed her a hat pin and bowed.
John knelt and ran a finger along the edge. “It sure doesn’t look like it’s been cut.”
“If the carpet is cut with a knife,” said the other son, “the knife must always first draw the blood of the djinn who owns it.”
“I see,” said John. “A bit like a samurai sword. I’ll remember that.”
Professor Sturloson and Axel sat close to the center of the carpet and patiently awaited takeoff.
Meanwhile, Mr. Barkhiya and his two eldest sons debated their three wishes among themselves.
“What’s the hat pin for?” asked John.
“I don’t know,” Philippa said. “One of Mr. Barkhiya’s sons just handed it to me.”
“I’ll take that,” said Nimrod. “It’s so that I can personalize the carpet, and make it so that only I can fly it. You certainly wouldn’t want another djinn to steal your carpet. Only, this requires the spilling of blood on the carpet. So my djinn blood will become part of the carpet. And the words of power that were used in its weaving will be mine to command.”
Hesitating, he pulled a face. “Oh, Lord, I’ve always hated needles.”
“Me, too,” said John.
“Oh, here,” said Philippa. “Give it to me.” She took the pin back from her uncle. “Don’t be such a wuss.”
She grabbed her uncle’s thumb and pricked it for him before he could protest.
“Ouch,” said Nimrod. “That hurt.”
Philippa squeezed his thumb hard and let a ruby of blood drop on the shining blue silk of the carpet.
Watching more closely, John noticed that the fibers seemed to emit a small cloud of smoke before the blood was completely absorbed, without so much as a stain.
“Er, thank you,” said Nimrod, and sucked his thumb. “Very kind of you, Philippa, I think.”
Mr. Barkhiya returned with his two eldest sons. “This is my eldest son, Hanif,” he said. “And this is my son Salman.”
“Have you decided what you’re going to wish for?” asked Nimrod.
“Yes, O great one,” said Mr. Barkhiya. He looked at Hanif and nodded urgently.
“Oh, right. It’s me first, huh?”
“You’re the eldest.” Hanif’s father looked at Nimrod and shrugged. “Educated in America,” he said by way of explanation for Hanif’s accent. “Like all my sons.”
“Um.”
“Hanif,” said Nimrod. “Just spit it out.”
“This is gonna sound kind of strange,” said Hanif. “But I always wanted to play the horn. I mean the trumpet. Like Miles Davis. I play already but I’m not nearly as good as he was. Yeah, that’s what I wish. To play the horn as well as him.”
“That’s nice.” Nimrod nodded and then looked at Salman. “And you?”
Salman grinned and looked at his brother. “The sax,” he said. “I wanna play sax like John Coltrane. All I ever wanted to do, man, was play the sax like John Coltrane. All my life that’s been my wish. You might say it was a love supreme. Yeah.”
Nimrod smiled and looked at Mr. Barkhiya. “And I suppose you want to play the double bass like Marcus Miller.”
“Drums,” said Mr. Barkhiya. “Like Philly Joe Jones or Billy Cobham.”
“I certainly can’t fault your taste,” said Nimrod. “Any of you. However, before I grant your wishes and give each of you a little bit of talent, which is important, it’s worth mentioning that most of their ability to play was the result of practice. Practice makes perfect.”
As soon as Nimrod had granted these three wishes, he stepped onto the huge blue square of silk carpet, alongside the twins, Professor Sturloson, and Axel; sat down cross-legged; and then muttered his focus word.
A second or two later the carpet started silently to rise into the air like a very well-behaved helicopter.
“Otrúlegt,” said Axel. “Unbelievable.” He rolled to the edge of the carpet and looked down at the retreating medina. “I fee
l like Sinbad. I never thought that I would fly on a real magic carpet.”
“Don’t say that word,” said Philippa. “Magic. It irritates my uncle.”
“Oh, right,” said Axel. “Sorry. But this is very exciting. And it certainly feels like magic to a boy from Reykjavik. I used to think that a carpet was something for covering floors with. Or vacuuming. Not flying on.”
“I agree.” The professor grinned. He smoothed the carpet with the flat palm of his hand and thought it smoother than the velvet curtains at the White House in Washington where, once, he’d been invited to a dinner given in honor of the Icelandic ambassador by the U.S. president. “I’m afraid it’s bound to feel very magical to us.”
“Frábœr,” said Axel. “Fantastic.” He rolled into a crouching position. “Is it safe?” he asked. “To stand? To walk around?”
“Isn’t that a question you should have asked before you got on?” Philippa smiled at the big Icelander. With his blue eyes, light blond hair, peppermint-white teeth, and chiseled cheekbones, she considered him the most marvelous-looking man she had ever seen.
“I suppose it is,” Axel said ruefully.
“Yes, it’s safe,” said Nimrod, and set a course east-northeast. “Only don’t go too near the edge, Axel. As we pick up speed and altitude the most comfortable place to sit will be in the center of the carpet.”
Axel grinned at Philippa. “I just wish I had my camera,” he said.
And because Philippa liked Axel and wanted him to like her, she whispered her focus word and, of course, Axel’s camera — a fine old Hasselblad — appeared in his big, strong hands.
“Did you do this?” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “For me?”
“Yes,” she confessed, and blushed as he kissed her on the cheek.
CHAPTER 12
PIG MALE AEON
Groanin surveyed the mountainous pile of dirty dishes in the kitchen sink and uttered a profound sigh. “Disaster,” he muttered. “What a disaster.” For once Groanin did not overstate the matter.