by P. B. Kerr
While Iblis preened himself in front of his prisoners, Rudyard Teer kept an eye on the instrumentation panel in front of him. Both men continued to wear their jade suits of armor that rendered them immune to Nimrod’s djinn power.
“Critical mass in eight minutes,” Rudyard told his father.
“Capital,” said Iblis. “In less than eight minutes,” Iblis told Nimrod, “the energy in that tank will cause the pyramid to invert. And, all over the world, fate and luck will also turn upside down. I can hardly wait to see the results. Whatever that’s wished for will achieve its opposite result.” Iblis chuckled his insane laugh. “For the rest of time, humankind will look like the face of some pathetic kid on Christmas morning when you’ve handed him a nicely wrapped package that turns out to be empty.”
This was an image that seemed to delight Rudyard, who laughed like a drain. He and Iblis then executed a high five, which wasn’t easy because of the heavy jade suits they were wearing.
“Does it really give you pleasure, Iblis?” asked Nimrod. “To do evil for the sake of doing evil?”
Iblis looked surprised at the question. “Yes,” he said. “Of course.”
“Seven minutes and counting,” said Rudyard Teer.
“Just in case you were thinking of how you might turn things around, so to speak,” said Iblis. “How you might turn the pyramid the right way up again. You can’t. What I’m doing here is quite irreversible. For one thing, humans like your butler, Mr. Groanin, would have to start wishing the very opposite of what they really wanted. Which, I’m sure you’ll agree, is quite impossible. After all, it’s hard enough to get humans to know what they really want, let alone the very opposite.
“And, for another thing, you’d never be able to harness as much life-force energy as I have done with the spirits of all these kids. No, Nimrod, once this pyramid is inverted, that’s it for the world.” He laughed. “I mean, forget breaking a mirror and seven years of bad luck. This is like seven billion years of bad luck ahead of us. Marvelous!”
“Wonderful,” said Rudyard.
“Very clever,” said Nimrod. “I have to admit, yours was a complex but ingenious plan. Loaning terra-cotta warriors you had commandeered for your own purposes to the world’s major museums. Tell me, Iblis, the devil warrior at the Metropolitan Museum in New York. Is it still there?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because it absorbed my friend Mr. Rakshasas.”
“That is good news,” said Iblis. “Sadly, however, I won’t be able to find him and torture him myself. That would take too long. The warrior sent to the Metropolitan Museum in New York is now back here in Xian. One of eighty thousand at my command. It would take forever to find him now, mixed up with all the rest.” He chuckled cruelly. “I mean, have you ever tried counting to ninety billion?”
“Stealing jade, flushing out the spirit world, using poor Dybbuk to focus all of human attention on one event to create a Negentropy,” said Nimrod. “Ingenious and quite the most obscene thing I’ve ever heard of.”
“Thank you, Nimrod. I take that as a great compliment from someone like you.”
“But your own son,” said Nimrod. “Your own son.” He nodded at Rudyard. “Oh, I don’t mean this booby here. I mean Dybbuk. Don’t you feel the least bit of regret for having used your own flesh and blood so ruthlessly?”
“Six minutes and counting,” said Rudyard, ignoring Nimrod’s insult. “The spirit level has reached maximum power, Dad. Final countdown sequence initiated.”
“A little, yes,” admitted Iblis. “The boy was not without talent. But then again he was not without a conscience, either, and no Ifrit that’s worthy of the name could ever have much use for one of those.”
“The boy was not without talent,” repeated John. “You used the past tense, Iblis. Is Dybbuk all right?”
“He’ll live,” said Iblis. “If you can call it living.”
“What did you do to him?”
“Nothing,” said Iblis. “I didn’t have to. He did it to himself. Through his profligate overuse of djinn power in the performance of cheap tricks, sleight of hand, and cabaret-style illusions, the power has deserted the boy forever. Quite simply, he exhausted all of his power trying to be the great magician. As if that was a proper ambition for a djinn of his talents. I’m afraid now he’s no better than some miserable mundane.”
“Five minutes and counting.”
“You mean that he won’t be able to grant three wishes, transubstantiate, or make something disappear ever again?” asked John.
Iblis shrugged carelessly and then nodded.
“What a terrible thing to do to your own son,” said Nimrod. “Your youngest son. To lose his power. It is the greatest tragedy that can affect any djinn, but especially tragic when it affects a young one.”
“Do stop going on about him being my own son,” said Iblis. “You’re being a bore, Nimrod.”
“Is there something else we can call him?” asked Nimrod.
“Does it matter?”
“I think it might matter to you,” observed Nimrod. “Sons are important to us djinn. Even, dare I say, to the Ifrit.”
“All right, all right,” snarled Iblis. “I’m sorry for what happened to the boy. Are you satisfied? It wasn’t something I expected to happen. He must have been using a lot more power to do those tricks than I imagined. But it can’t be helped.”
“And what about his career as an entertainer?” asked Groanin. “As Jonathan Tarot?”
“You’re joking, aren’t you?” said Iblis. “After what happened to all those stupid kids, he’s finished as an entertainer. In the ears of half the people in the world, the name of Jonathan Tarot is now mud. You should see what the newspapers have been writing about him.”
“Poor Dybbuk,” whispered John.
“To use your own son like that, Iblis,” said Nimrod. “What a crime that was.”
“He’s still alive, isn’t he?” snarled Iblis.
“Three minutes and counting.”
“Perhaps that’s the greatest of your crimes,” said Nimrod, who was trying to needle Iblis into making some kind of mistake. A mistake he might yet take advantage of. “To use your own son like that.”
“You think that’s a crime?” yelled Iblis. “Believe me, Marid, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” Iblis took hold of a lever. “In less than three minutes, when I throw this lever, every one of those little life-force energies I’ve got stored up in here will be used up forever. And won’t their mommies and daddies be sad? Millions of them. Now that’s a crime, mate!”
“Two minutes and counting.”
“Think about what you’re doing, Iblis,” said Nimrod. “If everything is about to start going your way, forever, where will be the pleasure in defeating me? There won’t be any. Even if their wishes remain unfulfilled, people still need to be able to wish for good things to happen to them in the future, just to make life interesting. And it’s the same for you. Don’t you understand, Iblis? It’s the hope of things, good or evil, that makes life interesting. That makes it worth living.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Iblis scornfully.
But Nimrod could see he had the evil djinn’s attention now. “All these years you’ve been a djinn, Iblis, and still you don’t understand. It’s like my friend Mr. Rakshasas used to say: ‘A wish is a dish that’s a lot like a fish — once you’ve eaten it, you can hardly throw it back.’ Sometimes it’s not good to get exactly what you want. Sometimes the hope or expectation of something is better than the reality. Be careful what you wish for. That’s true for evil as much as it’s true for good.”
“One minute and counting,” said Rudyard. “Don’t listen to him, Dad. He sounds like some awful self-help book.”
“I’m not listening,” insisted Iblis. “Your philosophy, Nimrod, is not without merit, I’ll grant you. But it does not command my respect. It’s too woolly. Too vague. Too wishy-washy. Only pure evil commands my respect.”
&nbs
p; “Then perhaps this will command your respect,” said a voice. “But if not your respect, then perhaps your obedience.”
“Thank goodness for that,” said Groanin. “I say, thank goodness for that. The cavalry’s here at last.”
In the doorway of the operations room in the jade pyramid stood Philippa, and in her hands was the golden tablet of command. Beside her stood Finlay McCreeby and Mr. Blunt, the British vice consul.
“You think you can thwart my plans with that bauble?” sneered Iblis. “Well, your golden tablet won’t work on us. That’s why we’re wearing these jade suits of armor.” He turned to the warrior devils and shouted several commands in Chinese which set them in motion again.
“Saat taa mun!” he shouted. “Caan can taa mun! Wai taa mun!”
The warriors advanced on the newly arrived trio with menacing intent.
“Listen to me, Philippa,” shouted Nimrod. “Forget Iblis and Rudyard. Because of their jade suits, they can’t harm you. Djinn power won’t travel through jade. Nor will the power of the golden tablet. It will only work on the warrior devils. The Chinese words to turn the Dong Xi against their Ifrit masters are —”
“Silence him!” shouted Iblis, and straightaway one of the warrior devils put a big terra-cotta hand over Nimrod’s mouth.
Coolly, Philippa took hold of Mr. Blunt’s hand, so that the power of the golden tablet would enter his body, too. “Tell the warriors to stop,” she told the vice consul. “Tell them to obey me. Tell them in Chinese, or we’ll all be killed.”
But to her surprise and alarm Mr. Blunt remained silent.
“Thirty seconds and counting,” shouted Rudyard.
Philippa repeated the command but still, Mr. Blunt looked blankly at her and said nothing.
“Why doesn’t he obey me?”
The warrior devils moved slowly toward Philippa and Mr. Blunt like zombies, but by now they were only a few feet away.
“Your last command to Mr. Blunt,” said Finlay. “That must be interfering with your new command. It’s the only possible explanation.”
Philippa racked her brains. “I said not another word unless I say SO!” Philippa shouted the last word in triumph as she guessed that until she uttered it, Mr. Blunt would continue to remain silent.
Mr. Blunt blinked several times, as if waking up. “What’s that?” he said.
A second before Philippa found herself grabbed painfully by two of the terra-cotta warriors, she shouted a series of commands for Mr. Blunt to translate into Chinese. “Tell the Dong Xi to obey!”
“Dong Xi! Teng ting ting,” said Mr. Blunt in faultless Chinese.
“Tell them to stop!”
“Zi,” shouted Mr. Blunt. “Zi!”
“Twenty seconds and counting,” said Rudyard Teer.
The warrior devils stopped in their tracks.
From inside Mr. Groanin, John shouted out to his twin sister. “Philippa, you have to stop Iblis from pulling that lever. Millions of children’s lives are depending on it.”
“Ten seconds and counting!”
“Mr. Blunt,” yelled Philippa, “tell the warrior devils to arrest those two men in the jade suits of armor. At all costs, they must be stopped, do you hear? Don’t let him pull that lever!”
Mr. Blunt was simultaneously translating what Philippa was saying. His Chinese was as fluent and fluting and elegant as his English. And as soon as the first words were out of his fastidious little mouth, the warrior devils released him and Philippa and turned slowly, on their former masters.
“Five seconds and counting.” Through his jade helmet they could see Rudyard Teer grinning wildly. But Iblis was looking altogether more determined and perhaps only he could see how much danger they both were in now from the warrior devils.
“Four!”
One of the warriors took hold of Rudyard. There were dozens of them now. Hundreds. They seemed to be streaming into the pyramid from some underground source.
“Three!” yelled Rudyard.
Another warrior laid both hands on Iblis, who tried to shrug him off and failed.
“Two!” yelled Rudyard, and the next second found himself thrown violently to the ground.
Iblis started to pull on the lever that would turn the jade pyramid upside down. The next second he was felled by a blow from two of the warriors.
“Turn off the machinery!” said John. “It’s the big jade switch.”
Finlay sprinted to throw the switch that would halt and then reverse the flow of life-force energy in the jade pyramid.
Struggling to pick himself up off the floor, inside the weight of his armor, Iblis stuck out a foot and tripped Finlay, who collapsed on top of him. Iblis pushed Finlay’s winded body to one side and slowly got to his feet only to find himself hit again by a huge terra-cotta forearm.
This time he fell and stayed still.
Letting go of Mr. Blunt’s hand, Philippa ran to the other side of the operations room and threw the switch to reverse the flow of life energy. The machinery that had been humming loudly now stopped.
“You did it, Phil!” yelled John. “You did it!”
“I did, didn’t I?” said Philippa.
“Next to the big lever that Iblis was holding,” said John, “there’s another switch that opens the apex of the pyramid. It will release the millions of children whose spirits were kidnapped by Iblis.”
Hardly hesitating, Philippa threw the switch. For a moment nothing happened. Then there was a juddering sound as the diamond apex opened up. A second later it was as if the very gates of the largest school in the universe had opened and the spirits of millions of children went rushing home. Of course, the noise was deafening. What large number of children ever travels in silence? It was the sound of several million poltergeists. But it was also the sound of happiness and relief and hope — the loud and boisterous sound of life itself. So loud that it sent a powerful vibration that was like an earth tremor through the entire pyramid, and causing everyone who wasn’t chained to a wall to fall onto the floor.
Philippa picked herself up and looked around for the golden tablet of command that she had dropped during the commotion of spirits that her throwing the switch had caused. But it wasn’t on the jade floor anymore. Someone had picked it up.
Iblis was holding it.
CHAPTER 31
THE GREAT KHAN
That’s torn it,” said Groanin. “I said, that’s torn it, you handless young pup.”
“Torn?” said Iblis. “Torn to pieces. I like the sound of that, Jeevesey old bean. Excellent idea. Yes, I really think that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to have the Dong Xi tear you all into little pieces. It’ll be a variation on what the Chinese call lingchi. Death by a thousand cuts. Only this will be death by a thousand tears. My warrior devils will tear off ten fingernails, followed by ten toenails, ten fingers, and then toes. Ears, eyelids, hanks of hair. You’re really going to regret messing up my plans, you bunch of meddling slugs.”
“I’m regretting it already,” groaned Groanin.
“Well done, Mr. Groanin.” Finlay’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. “Well done for giving him the idea.”
Someone cleared his throat politely. It was Mr. Blunt.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “Look here, if you don’t mind, I’ll be leaving now. This was nothing to do with me. I was acting under coercion as I’m sure you understand, given the nature of this golden tablet thingy. As a member of Her Majesty’s Diplomatic Corps, it’s not my job ever to interfere in the affairs of another sovereign power. So I’ll bid you good day and —”
“Stay where you are,” said Iblis. And of course, because Iblis was holding the golden tablet of command, that’s exactly what Mr. Blunt was obliged to do.
Iblis turned to Nimrod. “What’s the matter, Nimrod? Cat got your tongue?” He laughed. “It’ll have it soon, I can assure you of that.”
But Nimrod wasn’t saying anything because one of the warrior devils still had a terra-cotta hand over his
mouth.
“Let him go,” said Iblis. “I want to hear you beg for your life, Nimrod. And put your back into it. Beg me like you really mean it.”
“What a tiresome fellow you are,” said Nimrod.
“Didn’t you hear my dad?” Rudyard came up to Nimrod and twisted his nose. “Beg him.”
“You’re even more of a booby than he is,” said Nimrod. “Can’t you see it’s over? Quit while you still have your lives. And don’t issue any more orders. If you two don’t change direction you may end up where you are heading. That’s my advice.”
“End up where we’re heading?” sneered Rudyard. “What does that mean?”
“You’re in no position to offer me advice, Nimrod,” said Iblis. He waved one of the warrior devils toward him and then pointed to Nimrod. “Tear this one to pieces, first.”
When nothing happened, Iblis looked puzzled. Then he glanced at the golden tablet of command he was holding in his hands and, seeing that it had started to glow like an ember from a very hot fire, he dropped it instinctively. “What on earth?” he said. “What’s wrong with it? That shouldn’t be happening. Should it?”
“I think we’re about to find out,” said Nimrod.
Black smoke began to billow off the glowing golden tablet. But it was not the smoke of combustion or from a chemical reaction. To everyone except Mr. Blunt, who had never before seen one, this looked more like the smoke from a djinn transubstantiation.
After a few more seconds had elapsed, there could be no doubt about it: A djinn was taking on a human shape inside the operations room of the jade pyramid. And gradually, as the smoke cleared, they saw it was the figure of a hugely tall, bearded, slightly fat Chinese man, wearing white silken robes and a black cap that covered his massive neck. His sandals were little wooden platforms about six inches off the mercury. Which might have explained how his djinn power remained unaffected. But what was strangest of all about him were his fingernails, which were at least six or seven inches long. One of these was now pointed at Iblis.