Some of them went back to their assigned positions in the structure after it was all over, but some did not. In consequence, from the official lodging of the Queen of Barkut, the all-encircling palace looked ragged. Here an art gallery was exposed to the blazing sunshine. There the more intimate arrangements of the djinn monarch’s seraglio were in plain view. And the dusty, thinly grassed meadow within the palace looked like a country fairground on opening day. Some thousands of djinn milled about, in all the diverse shapes and forms their personal preferences dictated. Some talked. Some argued. A few—even at such a moment—made such romantic overtures to other members of the race of opposite gender as might have been expected. But on the whole, the several-thousand-odd djinn gathered beyond the Queen’s vegetable gardens were there to see Tony.
He made his report to the Queen, drinking coffee in her cottage. Ghail moved about, ostensibly assisting the Queen in serving him, but actually listening avidly and looking at him from time to time with widely varying expressions.
“The devil of it is,” said Tony querulously, “that instead of making me unpopular, killing Es-Souk seems to have made me something of a hero!”
The Queen nodded.
“They’re like children,” she said sagely. “Just like children—or apes. Much like horses, too. Djinns are great fun! They make lovely pets when you understand them!”
Tony’s expression lacked something of full sympathy.
“Somehow,” he admitted, “just personally, you understand, I can’t imagine wanting to pet a quarter-ton of fissionable material, whether it was in the form of a chimaera or a cute little moth’s egg hiding in a crack until the time was ripe for conversation.”
“I still don’t see,” said the Queen, brightly, “just how you set him off—this Es-Souk, that is. Is it a secret of the royal family of your nation?”
Tony shrugged helplessly.
“I didn’t intend to set him off,” he admitted. “I did think I might pin his ears back, and with him, the king’s, but I didn’t anticipate an atomic explosion. But it does make sense, after a fashion. After all, when anything’s put into an atomic pile it becomes radioactive, and a radioactive substance isn’t immune to ordinary chemical effects. It works just like ordinary matter except for its radioactivity. So it’s reasonable enough that perfectly normal, perfectly stable compounds like lasf would act chemically on djinns. The results, though—”
“Chemically?” queried the Queen. Ghail stood still, looking strangely at Tony.
“Of course,” said Tony. “I had you draw me a picture of the lasf-leaf. Remember? And I recognized it. We have that plant in my country. We call it hogweed, or ragweed. It’s a pest to some humans.”
The Queen listened. Tony drank more coffee.
“Ragweed,” he said. “Sneezing. You anoint your weapons with it. The djinns run away. Sometimes they sneeze. And I’d drunk some of the stuff the other day and that night Es-Souk tried to strangle me, and I coughed. And he sneezed. That’s ragweed, all right! The pollen is worst of all. It hits some human people too. You see?”
The Queen said brightly: “I fear not, Lord Toni.”
“Ragweed; sneezing; hay fever,” explained Tony. “The djinns are subject to hay fever. It’s an allergy. A racial trait. Ragweed, which doesn’t bother most humans, is deadly poison to them. Like DDT to bugs. It’s so strong a poison that merely its odor sets them crazy. You people have been wasting the stuff. You’ve swabbed guns and bullets with it. It dried, and by the time you got to where you were going to fight the djinn, most of it was gone. They ran away from the dried, dusty remains that by pure accident stuck to your weapons. You see? That night in my bedroom I had the stuff on my breath. When I coughed, Es-Souk got a whiff of it. And I figured that if so little of it would chase him, the real stuff tossed down his throat would really go to town. And it did!”
He looked hopefully at them. But he knew no Arabic word for “allergy” or “hay fever” or “pollen,” or for “radioactive” or “fissionable” or “atomic.” Even the English word “ragweed” in an Arabic context did not seem to mean lasf to the Queen or Ghail. To the two of them, he seemed to be speaking quite sincerely about matters so erudite as to be beyond their understanding. And at that it would have taken him a week to clarify the word “allergy.” They would never have understood DDT. The Queen dismissed the explanation.
“Doubtless it is clear to you, Lord Toni,” she observed, “but we poor women find it too involved. You speak of the magics and arts of your own nation. What shall you do now?”
Tony blinked. Then he remembered his anger.
“I’m going to see the king,” he said indignantly. “He arranged that business of Es-Souk’s escape, dammit! He expected to get me killed, with himself in the clear! I’m going to give him the devil! And if he acts up,” he added truculently, “I’ll blow on my cigarette lighter! That will hardly set him off, but it’ll scare him green!”
The Queen looked hard at Tony. Then she exchanged an astonished glance with Ghail.
“Have you looked out the door?” she asked softly.
Tony looked, and grew uncomfortable. “Do they have autograph hunters here, too?”
Ghail said firmly, “I do not know whether you are as stupid as you pretend, but certainly you had better go out and speak to those djinns! They are impressed enough now!”
“Impressed?”
Ghail said exasperatedly, “Get up! Go out! Let them bow down to you! Then, if you wish, you can go to see the king!” But as he stood up with a bewildered expression, she said softly, “You are very wonderful!”
“What?” He looked incredulous, and then turned swiftly to the Queen. “Oh, yes! Ghail tells me, Majesty, that she is your personal slave and can’t be sold or given without your consent. I’d—er—like to have a business conversation with you sooner or later.”
Ghail stamped her foot. “Get—out!”
Tony looked incredulous again. He went reluctantly out of the door.
A bull elephant charged toward him from fifty feet away. Tony took one look and reached for his cigarette case. Then the elephant changed smoothly into some thousands of billiard balls in red, green, blue, black and pink, which swept onward in a clacking tide of bewildering intricate motions upon and against each other. The balls shrank as they rolled. Then, suddenly, they jerked to a halt and into the rotund, turbaned, swaggering form of Abdul in one instant.
“Majesty!” said Abdul, beaming. “Your people are gladdened by the sight of you! Will you deign to accept their allegiance now, or will you make a more formal ceremony?”
Tony said:
“Don’t talk nonsense! Look here! I was invited to this place to see the king! He tried to get me killed! I’m not pleased with him! If I’ve got to have an interview with him, I want to get it over with! Then I’ll go back to Barkut so the truce will be ended, and come back and start tearing things up. I’ve a sort of obligation—”
“Majesty!” protested Abdul. “You would endanger your so-precious life by entering his presence? What would become of me if by treachery—”
Tony scowled. “I’d like to see him try something!” he said sourly. “How about showing me the way?”
He wasn’t bluffing. The event of an hour or so ago, plus innumerable other oddities, had created in him a sort of fanatic disbelief in common sense. It suddenly occurred to him that his conscience hadn’t said one word to him since the fight with Es-Souk. It did not seem possible that his maiden aunt’s acid creation had ceased to exist—but still—
He winced.
His conscience was snarling bitingly that it was still on deck; but that his activities were so illimitably remote from sanity that they had no moral aspect at all. But, said his conscience—and it seemed to raise its voice—when it came to trying to make a business deal for the ownership of a poor slave girl whose morals were demonstrably so much superior to his own—
Tony straightened up. He felt better with his conscience nagging at hi
m. More natural.
* * *
He marched toward the palace. Abdul scuttled around before him and swaggered, waving his arms imperiously for the clearing of a way. There was a swarming of djinns to be close to the point of his passage. It was a singular experience for Tony to walk through the mob in a lane cleared for him as if by magic, and to feel upon himself the respectful, avid starings of so many eyes. There were animals’ faces and human faces and faces that were far from either. There were birds and reptiles and quaint assemblages of unrelated parts into forms which—like Abdul’s chimaera—had probably been dreamed up by their wearers of the moment. There were also three djinnees, side by side, still in the same female human forms they had worn the night before. They were an odd illustration of the female fondness of fashion, because the night before their forms had included the gauzy draperies of Arab dancing girls. Now that was changed. Nasim’s part in the victory over Es-Souk had been seen and noted. The three djinnees paid her tribute as a leader of fashion. Beaming at Tony as he passed, they displayed the new style Nasim had set among the lady djinn: They were, exclusively, pink skin.
Tony and Abdul walked through the palace. There were places where there was no longer a roof. The roof-members were out in the prison-meadow where they had waited for Tony to speak to them. There were places where there were no walls. There was one spot where even all flooring had vanished, and Tony saw with some astonishment that beneath the very fabric of the royal palace of the djinn, there was sparse grass and sandy soil, as if this particular part of the palace had not even been in existence for very many days.
Abdul made a dignified flourish before the chasm. He leaped agilely outward into emptiness in what might have been a graceful swan dive—and unfolded himself as a portable suspension bridge that neatly spanned the gap. Tony walked across. He did not quite turn in time to see the process by which Abdul returned to his more normal form.
“Majesty,” said Abdul blandly, “have you made your plans as yet?”
“Eh? Plans? Hm—not yet,” said Tony.
“I am the first of your servants and subjects, Majesty,” Abdul told him piously. “I beg you to trust in me for a time—at least until you find a better!”
Tony said impatiently:
“All right. But why do you call me Maj—”
He stopped. As he spoke, he had passed through a doorway. It was but one of dozens he had allowed Abdul to lead him through. But this was different. He had come unannounced and unwittingly into the audience hall of the King of the Djinns. It was a colossal hall, some sixty feet high and perhaps six hundred feet long. Its walls blazed with all the phony grandeur the djinn assigned to wall-duty could imagine. It was very magnificent indeed.
The group of djinns at its far end was less magnificent. There were but half a dozen of them. They were gathered timorously about one of their number, who was patently their king. And he fumbled with what Tony suddenly realized was the only actual artifact he had seen in any djinn’s hands. It was the only accessory he had noted which was not a part of the djinn who wore or carried it.
This object was distinctly non-djinnian. The ancient djinn who clutched it jealously was plainly bewildered by it. To judge by the crown on his head and various other royal insignia, he could be none but the djinn king in person. And he was the first and only djinn Tony had ever seen who really looked old. A djinn looked always as old as he thought, but the King of the Djinns was no longer even able to think of himself as young. He was very ancient indeed, and he was hideously ugly—Tony heard later that there was a trace of efreet blood in him—and he fumbled querulously with an object which surely no djinn had ever conceived or made.
It was a device of glass and corroded bronze and other metals. The glass part of it was remarkably familiar. It was exactly the shape of one of those fluorescent-ended tubes on whose larger, coated surface an image appears in a television set. The rest of it was completely cryptic to Tony. There were coils, and there was something that could be a condenser, and there were objects which could even be batteries, in age-blackened bronze cases. But the whole was old. Unspeakably old. And, of course, batteries could not be expected to hold a charge after as many centuries as the patina on the bronze implied.
“Greeting!” said Tony sternly. He had his cigarette lighter handy.
The djinn king looked up with an elderly start. Then he scowled portentously.
“Hah! The human Lord Toni,” he rumbled. “You have betrayed my hospitality, human! It is well for you that I am merciful! But you are my guest! Therefore I take no vengeance on you in my own house. But your camel will return you to Barkut within the hour! The truce between me and Barkut ends! I shall destroy the city and the people. I shall blot out the memory of the nation! I shall—”
Tony found his eyes hot and angry.
“Interesting! You invited me here to have me murdered because you learned that my nation isn’t troubled with djinn! You were afraid I might lead Barkut to security! But your planned murder backfired, so now you’ll try the same thing openly!” Then he bluffed. “And how do you propose to destroy Barkut? You have seen what I can do!”
The djinn king glowered at Tony. With somehow the air of one changing costume to a more appropriate garb, he swelled to a greater size. Tusks appeared between his lips. His complexion became a ghastly blue. Horns showed on his head. The armor which appeared at the same time was tastefully decorated with human skulls. But he still looked old. And Tony felt that he was uneasy.
“Human!” he roared. “See you this thing in my hands? It is the great treasure of the djinn crown! With this have my djinns been kept subject! With this will I destroy Barkut and the sniveling traitors who bow to you! Know you what this is?”
Tony had a hunch amounting to conviction that the djinn king had been puzzling over the device when he entered. He had plainly no great knowledge either of machinery or electronics. Tony had not much more. But he simply could not believe that any device of such great age could still be in working order. He bluffed again.
“Of course I know what it is!” he said scornfully. “Every low drinking-place in my nation has one! You look in the large end of the tube!”
Speaking of the device as a television set, Tony spoke with strict truthfulness. But he felt the jerking tension in the djinns about the king grow suddenly less. The king himself relaxed visibly.
“Ho!” rumbled the king zestfully. “That was a matter I knew! I knew that! Ha! I but tested you to see if you truly know this device. Then you know that with it pointed at a rebellious djinn or a human city, at any distance I may create explosions beside which the destruction of Es-Souk is as the glow of a firefly!”
The other elderly djinns about him laughed uproariously. Their mirth was almost hysterically relieved. It sounded as if the djinn king had not known which was the business end of the gadget. He had been trying helplessly to figure out how to aim it. And Tony had told them.
“Go you back to Barkut,” bellowed the king gleefully. “Tell the humans there that from my palace I shall destroy them all!”
Tony knitted his brows. He felt cold prickles up and down his spine. He couldn’t believe the thing would work, as old as it was. But the djinn ought to know! So he said distastefully:
“From your palace? With its walls of djinns?” He remembered Abdul’s weeping gratitude out on the sand, after the duel was over, because only Es-Souk had perished. “Remember what will happen if by accident you destroy a djinn nearby! I do not advise you to use that device. Besides, consider how much more deadly is mine!”
He snapped open the cigarette lighter. He blew gently on the wick. The faint fragrance of lasf…
There was instant, howling panic. Abdul flashed out the door by which he and Tony had entered. The king and his councilors fled in tumult. Even the floor of the audience hall heaved and melted away, and Tony tumbled some four or five feet to the ground. He was abruptly in the open air with the palace dissolving all about him and whirlwinds darting
away in crazy flight in every direction.
Farthest, and fleeing fastest, seemed to be the king.
But the djinn king had not dropped his gadget. Tony hunted anxiously all around. He didn’t believe it could work, but still—
He worried about it as he walked gloomily back toward the mud cottage where the Queen and Ghail were quartered.
It shouldn’t work. It positively was too old to work! But if it did—
Chapter 17
They started back for Barkut in a state wholly unlike the fashion of their arrival at the djinn palace. Abdul arranged the march. He seemed to delight in devising elaborate ceremonies. The parade began with dragons, sixty feet long and breathing fire. After them marched a troop of giants carrying very knobbly maces seemingly of iron, which should have weighed tons. Then a vast, long column of djinn camels, each camel the customary twenty feet tall and with an impressive pack load of unstable djinn riches, the whole draped with cloth-of-gold and similar stuff. Then djinn soldiers, looking remarkably ferocious. Tony and Ghail and the Queen rode in a colossal litter carried between two elephants. It was extremely luxurious, and the only incongruous note was that the Queen had packed a picnic lunch for the journey in crude earthen pots. They were covered over with seed-pearl brocades, however, and did not show.
Such ostentation had not been Tony’s own idea. Abdul had presented himself fearfully at the Queen’s cottage, almost half an hour after the use of lasf in the audience chamber.
“Majesty!” said Abdul reproachfully. “If you detonate me, who am the most abject of your subjects, how will the government go on?”
“Government?” Tony stared. “What government?”
“Of the djinn,” said Abdul, more reproachfully still. “You are my king, Majesty. You are also king of these others who wait to swear allegiance. And there must be government!”
“Hold on!” Tony cried. “What’s this? What have I got to do with government? How’d I get to be a king?”
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