I thanked her for her time and dismissed her. And as I sat alone in my chamber, silently brooding on this usual turn of events, I came to a decision.
Allah, help me, but I came to a decision.
Chapter Three
“Are you out of what little mind you have?” Jewel demanded. “Only an utter idiot with a brain clot would pull a stunt like that!”
I merely looked at her.
She had to smile. “I walked into that one, didn’t I? I described you all too well. Well, if I can’t stop you, I might as well wish you well. At least you’ll have Faddy along to guide you. It will give Duban some practice learning how to run a kingdom.”
“I freed Faddy. I’m taking Duban with me. It will be a coming-of-age experience for him.”
Her prior blowout had been like a fierce wind storm. Now it was as if a volcano erupted in the palace, trying to blow the roof off. I waited, trusting that it would pass in time. Finally she vented most of her steam, and a certain dark canniness manifested. That made me nervous. She was up to something.
“Well, let’s see what my son has to say about this,” she said with faux calm.
“Duban,” I said, just loudly enough for him to hear me in the adjacent chamber. He had of course been near, and stayed clear; he knew his mother as well as I did.
He came to join me. “I want to do it, Mother.”
“I can’t possibly let you risk your royal posterior on such a mad venture. It’s too dangerous.”
“I have encountered danger before, Mother.” That was the understatement of the year. An evil demon had sought to make him a human sacrifice, and nearly succeeded.
“Well, not this time. I forbid it.”
“I answer to the king.”
She stared at him, astonished. “Are you defying me, Duban?”
Duban made a placating gesture. “Why Mother, I would never do that. But someone needs to help see to the safety of the king, who as we know is an utter idiot with a brain clot, and perhaps I can serve. It will also enable me to practice my independence and my magic.”
The emotions of fury and pride warred openly on her face: anger at me, pride in her son, who was showing some gumption. She could say no to me, having little or no respect for my status as king of Agrabah, but not to her son. She knew, on some deep secret level, that a mother’s boy would not make the best king.
She tried another tack. “I wonder what Myrrh thinks of this?”
Myrrh appeared as if summoned, as she surely had been, mentally. She was an increasingly pretty girl of eleven, with dark eyes and lustrous long dark hair, on the verge of nubility. She could make Duban do anything she wanted, but had the grace not to show it in public. “I think they’re both crazy. A seer predicted that it would be a disaster.”
“You have some sighting ability yourself,” I said to Myrrh. Now for the clincher. Phrasing was everything. “Tell us: which way is disaster more likely: if I go alone, or with Duban?” Not whether I went or stayed home, which would have wiped out my prospects.
She had to answer, however reluctantly. “If you go alone, sire.”
“Traitor,” Jewel muttered. But her heart was no longer in it; she realized she had been outmaneuvered. “We’d better roust up some seasick medicine for our heroes. A cartload of ginger should do.”
And so we won the seeming approval of the ladies, and made plans for our voyage of adventure. As a safety precaution we assumed aliases: Niddala for me, Nabud for him, our names backwards. There would be no announcement of the king’s departure; as far as the kingdom knew, the king and crown prince remained in Samarkand, issuing orders the queen dutifully relayed. Were truth known, Jewel rather liked the prospect of ruling the kingdom for a while without having to handle the middleman. What had that middleman accomplished, after all, other than getting her pregnant?
Meanwhile Sinbad, granted a half-share of the enterprise by royal dispensation, soon lined up several minor local merchants to finance the other half. Among these was Niddala and his twelve year old nephew. Our interest was in ambergris, and we accepted Sinbad’s assurance that he knew where to find it. It would be the ship’s very first call.
First we had to get to the coast. We got fit horses and rode south with a caravan several days. That gave Duban nice travel experience, which he liked. He was becoming an accomplished rider. Sinbad and I just wanted to get there, but Duban enjoyed the ride itself.
The ship was a small old merchanter named the Stout Prospect, more familiarly by the crew as Fat Chance. She was a distinctly unassuming vessel, a single-masted lateen-rigged dhow, obviously nothing a king would board. But she was tight, her hold was capacious, and her small crew was competent. It really wasn’t her fault that newer, larger ships had absconded with most of the trade, leaving her to have to resort to renting out for less desirable missions.
Our cabin was tiny; there was barely room for the two of us under the high poop deck. I gulped down some of the seasick glop the moment we boarded, but still felt green under the chin. Duban, fortunately, did not have a problem.
We set sail at dawn. The captain shouted orders, the yardarm lifted, and the triangular sail was hauled into place. They angled it to catch the wind and we were off. I managed not to throw up too often. I could see that the other merchants held me in contempt, so I did not try to socialize with them at meals. I wasn’t hungry anyway. What kind of a merchant got seasick? Surely a poor one.
Then a merchant approached me. He was portly and evinced no sign of sickness, cursed be his solid posterior. “Niddala, eh? I have heard that name before.”
Oh, no! Had he caught on to my identity as the king? “I’ve been around,” I said cautiously.
“Now I’ve got it! A spook-for-hire in the western region. I wondered what happened to him.”
What a relief! “Now I am a merchant,” I said.
“I heard some fancy beautiful woman hired him, and they disappeared.”
“I’m still working for her,” I said.
“That figures. I’d risk sickness too, for a creature like that.”
“She wants ambergris.”
He shook his head. “It’s a fool’s mission.”
“She’s even prettier nude.”
“Ah. Of course.” He moved on, understanding. Any man was a fool for a lovely woman. Especially one who adorned her demands with favors.
Duban had the wit to make no comment.
A century or two later, or so it seemed, we furled the sail beside a small island. Duban and I went to see what was going on. Why were we not proceeding toward our destination?
“Do not set foot on that isle,” Sinbad said with a smile. “It will not remain there long.”
Then there was a plume of vapor from one end of the isle, and it sank under the water. It was a whale! We had arrived!
I had of course boned up on ambergris. It was black waxy stuff with a bad smell. It was formed in the intestines of sperm whales, probably a product of their indigestion. There was a rarer harder gray variant that was far more precious, but was generally locked inside the whale, almost impossible to get out. Naturally women liked to put the stuff on their faces. “There will be blobs of it floating in the water,” I said with authority. “Or washed ashore. We have merely to find them.”
But there were no blobs. An old mariner knew why: “The natives have discovered its value. They patrol constantly and salvage any they find. You will need to purchase it from them. Unfortunately they know they have a captive market; perfumeries and medicant makers are desperate for ambergris. They charge high.”
That annoyed Sinbad. “We’ll not do business with legalized robbers. We’ll find our own.”
“I wish you success,” the mariner said with heavy irony.
“Let’s go ashore and ask around,” I suggested to Duban. “We might learn something.”
“Of course, Uncle,” he agreed. He knew that I just wanted to get off the pitching ship for a while, to settle my roiling stomach.
Sinbad obligingly
furnished a lifeboat and joined us in the tiny craft. He and I rowed while Duban steered.
Ashore we soon learned what we were up against. The locals garnered only about half the ambergris. The rest was sucked away by a whirlpool that formed when the tide went out. All manner of floating refuse entered it, including much ambergris, and sometimes even a whale, but none came out. The whirlpool led to some subterranean chamber that did not like to disgorge its acquisitions.
“There is surely a fortune in ambergris in that underwater cave,” Sinbad said. “If only we could get it out.”
“We can probably reach it,” I said. “All we need is to guide our little craft into the whirlpool when it forms, and it will take us there.”
Both Sinbad and Duban looked at me, not sharing the joke. If we rode the whirlpool down, we would come to look much like blobs of ambergris ourselves.
“Maybe if we build a capsule,” I suggested. “That would float on the water, and be drawn in by the whirlpool. We could ride in it, buffered by pillows, and open it when it comes to rest. That’s bound to be where the ambergris is.”
“Assuming we make it safely in,” Sinbad said. “How do we get out again? The whirlpool is one-way.”
I pondered. “I’m working on the details,” I said.
We rowed back to the ship. “You know, Nabud, a little magic here might help,” I said. “How are you at reversing whirlpools?”
“I have no idea.”
“Well, work on it. You need to get your magic in shape anyway.”
“When it’s a life and death matter, my magic comes unbidden. But at other times I can’t seem to evoke it.”
“Well, you need to learn to evoke it at will.”
“Yes I do,” he agreed. “I will keep trying.”
“Let me get some more advice.” I rubbed my brass ring before remembering that Faddy no longer worked for me.
To my surprise, the ifrit appeared. Rather, his voice sounded in my ear. “Master.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked quietly. “I freed you. Did you forget?
“Maybe I miss your company, mortal. You get into such entertaining scrapes.”
He probably wouldn’t help, but as long as he was here, why not try? “We need to get safely into and out of a whirlpool. Got any ideas?”
“Many.”
I bit off my irritation; the ifrit was toying with me. “Will you vouchsafe one to me?”
“Maybe.”
“What are you after, you solidified cloud of smoke?”
“I no longer have to do your bidding, mortal. It behooves you to ask me politely.”
Oh. He wanted respect. That griped me, but I bit the metal and made an effort. “Please, El Fadl sir, honor me with your informed opinion.”
“That’s better,” Faddy agreed. “I will scout about and see what I come up with.” His presence faded.
“Thank you,” I murmured, knowing he could still hear me. Then, to the others: “I should have a notion soon.”
Assuming Faddy played along.
Chapter Four
I consumed more of the ginger seasickness glop, making a face and wondering what was worse: the glop going down, or the upchuck coming up.
Sinbad, Duban and myself were sitting together in my cramped cabin. Above deck I could hear the workers laughing and drinking and enjoying the downtime as Sinbad and I decided our next move. Duban was with me, as I wanted the lad to learn the matters of men, and how we hash out courses of action. That is, with thought and foresight, and not with fists and yelling. The way of a ruler is not how loud one can raise his voice, but how well one can control his emotions.
Not to mention, I didn’t want to expose the lad to the rascals above deck; after all, it was coming on evening and the drinking would soon give way to gambling or worse. Perhaps talk of loose women and exploits I would rather my son not be exposed to. At least, not yet. Besides, his mother would skin me alive if her son came back talking like a sailor.
“So how do you propose we build this vessel, my lord?” asked Sinbad. So far on this trip, Sinbad had mostly kept to himself, lost in his worry and grief. I had some inkling to what the man was going through, having lost my own wife and child years ago to a nefarious plot. And if the old seer had been even half correct, the same evil creature who had taken so much from me, had now embroiled Sinbad in a similar plot, one that threatened his own wife and that of my kingdom.
But despite his obvious pain and concern for his wife, Sinbad had a spirited sparkle to his eye that promised adventure, mischief and rare cunning. He made for a fine companion.
Now music broke out from above, string instruments and flutes, followed by whoops and claps and the pounding boots. My son’s waning attention shifted from us to the raucous sounds above, as his own booted foot kept beat to the music. My stepson, I knew, had an ear for music. In fact, the best musicians in all of Samarkand had given him private lessons to the point where there was nothing left for him to learn.
Before I could answer Sinbad’s question, my stepson spoke, “Father, may I go topside to...view the stars?”
“Just the stars and no more?”
He looked away. “Yes, father.”
“And you do not wish to stay here and take part in our discussions?”
“I would like some fresh air, father.”
“I see, and the music above has nothing to do with this decision?”
“Please, father.”
“Begone, lad, and if I find you gambling you will answer to your mother.”
He turned momentarily green, and not from seasickness. The threat of his mother’s wrath was enough to turn anyone’s insides into water. He nodded to myself and Sinbad and dashed up the short ladder and out of sight.
“Your son is a special boy,” said Sinbad.
“You have no idea.”
“Ah, but I do know. He has the gift.”
“What gift is that, sailor?”
“I can see the magic around him, sire. It is like a soft light, glowing around him like a halo, sometimes flaring and sparking when he is excited, like it did just now.”
“How do you know this?”
“Because I have it, too. But just a hint of it, truth be known, but certainly enough to recognize another, and your son...your son has rare gifts, of that you can be sure.”
“You are full of surprises, sailor,” I said.
“My surprises are what keep me alive. Like I said, I have enough gifts to get by. Perhaps a small distraction here, or a minor illusion there. Just enough for me to escape or attack or buy some time. The magic is not strong in me, but it has proven invaluable at times, although I rarely speak of it.”
“And you speak of it now because of my son?”
“Your son, as I’m sure you are well aware, has a rare gift. The magic that surrounds him, should he learn to harness it, could move mountains. Literally. But for now, I suspect you have a different problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“His love for music is greater than his love for magic...or even ruling kingdoms.”
“No son of mine will be a musician,” I barked.
Sinbad simply shrugged, and there was a spark in his eye. Merriment, perhaps, suggesting that he knew best. I was about to bark another retort when Faddy appeared by my side.
“Master,” said the whispery voice.
Sinbad suddenly sat upright, pointing to me from across the small cabin. “You have an ifrit.”
“You can see him?” I asked, surprised.
“Most certainly. It is one of my gifts, to see into the spirit world, including that of the djinn.”
“Well, sailor, you are only half right. I had an ifrit.” I turned my attention to Faddy. “You might as well show yourself, Smoke Face, there are no secrets here.”
Bowing slightly, the ifrit appeared by my side, partially wedged between a cushion and the slanted cabin wall. In fact, part of him was inside the wall, a disconcerting sight at best.
“
Honorable Sinbad, your exploits have reached even me.”
Sinbad grinned broadly, his first real grin since our voyage began. “It is a pleasure, my ifrit friend.”
Next to me, Faddy veritably beamed, which rankled me to no end. Had I not had my own adventures that would rival any of Sinbad’s? I pushed aside the childish feeling. “What have you discovered, ifrit?”
“Discovered? What do you mean?” asked Sinbad, sitting forward.
“I gave my ex-ifrit an assignment, one that he certainly was not compelled to undertake, but which he chose to undertake anyway, for reasons that I still do not understand.”
“You amuse me, Master, as I have said.”
His reasoning still did not add up to me. Unless compelled, I have never heard of a case where a djinn willingly helped his human counterpart. I let it go for now.
Sinbad took all of this in with a jovial smile. His thick beard and mustache seemed particularly expressive, rising and falling easily with the smallest of grins. “And what is this assignment, if I may ask?”
The boat rocked gently in the currents. Above, I heard a change in music. One that seemed particularly skilled and melodious. I frowned at that. I said, “He was given the task to figure out how we might escape the whirlpool.”
“I see!” said Sinbad, clapping. “And pray tell, my good djinn, what have you come up with?”
Above, the music picked up in tempo. There were more hoots and hollering, whistles and stomping of the feet. I think men were dancing. I frowned some more, knowing my son was up there.
“I’m afraid your king, the venerable Aladdin, has not been entirely forthcoming with you,” said Faddy. “He has yet another djinn, one far more powerful than I. In fact, some claim perhaps the most powerful of all.”
“Prince Zeyn might have something to say about that,” I said, mentioning the cruel djinn who had destroyed my family so long ago, and who might also be behind Sinbad’s own troubles.
“And where is this djinn that you speak of?” asked Sinbad.
“The djinn that I speak of is in a safe place,” I said, frowning at Faddy. Lamprey, my nickname for the powerful djinn who had been in my care all these years, was my closely guarded secret. Or, had been my secret. “What’s gotten into you, ifrit?”
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