Wizard's Castle: Omnibus

by Диана Уинн Джонс

The garden seemed to swirl around Abdullah in a blur of gold and silver and dusky green. “I–I think that might not work,” he managed to say at last.

  “Why not?” she asked. “Are you married already?”

  “No, no,” he said. “It is not that. The law allows a man to have as many wives as he can afford, but—”

  The frown came back to Flower-in-the-Night’s forehead. “How many husbands are women allowed?” she asked.

  “Only one!” Abdullah said, rather shocked.

  “That is extremely unfair,” Flower-in-the-Night observed musingly. She sat on the bank and thought. “Would you say it is possible that the Prince in Ochinstan has some wives already?”

  Abdullah watched the frown grow on her forehead and the slender fingers of her right hand tapping almost irritably on the turf. He knew he had indeed started something. Flower-in-the-Night was discovering that her father had kept her ignorant of a number of important facts. “If he is a prince,” Abdullah said rather nervously, “I think it entirely possible that he has quite a number of wives. Yes.”

  “Then he is being greedy,” Flower-in-the-Night stated. “This takes a weight off my mind. Why did you say that my marrying you might not work? You mentioned yesterday that you are a prince as well.”

  Abdullah felt his face heating up, and he cursed himself for babbling out his daydream to her. Though he told himself that he had had every reason to believe he was dreaming when he told her, this did not make him feel any better. “True. But I also told you I was lost and far from my kingdom,” he said. “As you might conjecture, I am now forced to make my living by humble means. I sell carpets in the Bazaar of Zanzib. Your father is clearly a very rich man. This will not strike him as a fitting alliance.”

  Flower-in-the-Night’s fingers drummed quite angrily. “You speak as if it is my father who intends to marry you!” she said. “What is the matter? I love you. Do you not love me?”

  She looked into Abdullah’s face as she said this. He looked back into hers, into what seemed an eternity of big dark eyes. He found himself saying, “Yes.” Flower-in-the-Night smiled. Abdullah smiled. Several more moonlit eternities went by.

  “I shall come with you when you leave here,” Flower-in-the-Night said. “Since what you say about my father’s attitude to you could well be true, we must get married first and tell my father afterward. Then there is nothing he can say.”

  Abdullah, who had had some experience of rich men, wished he could be sure of that. “It may not be quite that simple,” he said. “In fact, now I think about it, I am certain our only prudent course is to leave Zanzib. This ought to be easy, because I do happen to own a magic carpet. There it is, up on the bank. It brought me here. Unfortunately it needs to be activated by a magic word which I seem only able to say in my sleep.”

  Flower-in-the-Night picked up a lamp and held it high so that she could inspect the carpet. Abdullah watched, admiring the grace with which she bent toward it. “It seems very old,” she said. “I have read about such carpets. The command word will probably be a fairly common word pronounced in an old way. My reading suggests these carpets were meant to be used quickly in an emergency, so the word will not be anything too out of the way. Why do you not tell me carefully everything you know about it? Between us we ought to be able to work it out.”

  From this Abdullah realized that Flower-in-the-Night—if you discounted the gaps in her knowledge—was both intelligent and very well educated. He admired her even more. He told her, as far as he knew them, every fact about the carpet, including the uproar at Jamal’s stall which had prevented him hearing the command word.

  Flower-in-the-Night listened and nodded at each new fact. “So,” she said, “let us leave aside the reason why someone should sell you a proven magic carpet and yet make sure you could not use it. That is such an odd thing to do that I feel sure we should think about it later. But let us first think about what the carpet does. You say it came down when you ordered it to. Did the stranger speak then?”

  She had a shrewd and logical mind. Truly he had found a pearl among women, Abdullah thought. “I am quite sure he said nothing,” he said.

  “Then,” said Flower-in-the-Night, “the command word is only needed to start the carpet flying. After that I see two possibilities: first, that the carpet will do as you say until it touches ground anywhere or, second, that it will in fact obey your command until it is back at the place where it first started—”

  “That is easily proved,” Abdullah said. He was dizzy with admiration for her logic. “I think the first possibility is the correct one.” He jumped on the carpet and cried experimentally, “Up, and back to my booth!”

  “No, no! Don’t! Wait!” Flower-in-the-Night cried out at the same instant.

  But it was too late. The carpet whipped up into the air and then away sideways with such speed and suddenness that Abdullah was first thrown over on his back, with all the breath knocked out of him, and then found himself hanging half off over its frayed edge at what seemed a terrifying height in the air. The wind of its movement took his breath away as soon as he did manage to breathe. All he could do was to claw frantically for a better grip on the fringe at one end. And before he could work his way back on top of it, let alone speak, the carpet plunged downward—leaving Abdullah’s newly gained breath high in the air above—barged its way through the curtains of the booth—half smothering Abdullah in the process—and landed smoothly—and very finally—on the floor inside.

  Abdullah lay on his face, gasping, with dizzy memories of turrets whirling past him against a starry sky. Everything had happened so quickly that at first all he could think of was that the distance between his booth and the night garden must be quite surprisingly short. Then, as his breath did at last come back, he wanted to kick himself. What a stupid thing to have done! He could at least have waited until Flower-in-the-Night had had time to step on the carpet, too. Now Flower-in-the-Night’s own logic told him that there was no way to get back to her but to fall asleep again and, once more, hope he chanced to say the command word in his sleep. But as he had already done it twice, he was fairly sure that he would. He was even more certain that Flower-in-the-Night would work this out for herself and wait in the garden for him. She was intelligence itself—a pearl among women. She would expect him back in an hour or so.

  After an hour of alternately blaming himself and praising Flower-in-the-Night, Abdullah did manage to fall asleep. But alas, when he woke he was still facedown on the carpet in the middle of his own booth. Jamal’s dog was barking outside, which was what had woken him up.

  “Abdullah!” shouted the voice of his father’s first wife’s brother’s son. “Are you awake in there?”

  Abdullah groaned. This was all he needed.

  Chapter 4: Which concerns marriage and prophecy

  Abdullah could not think what Hakim was doing there. His father’s first wife’s relatives usually only came near him once a month, and they had paid that visit to him two days ago. “What do you want, Hakim?” he shouted wearily.

  “To speak to you, of course!” Hakim shouted back. “Urgently!”

  “Then part the curtains and come in,” said Abdullah.

  Hakim inserted his plump body between the hangings. “I must say, if this is your vaunted security, son of my aunt’s husband,” he said, “I don’t think much of it. Anyone could come in here and surprise you as you slept.”

  “The dog outside warned me you were there,” Abdullah said.

  “What use is that?” asked Hakim. “What would you propose to do if I proved to be a thief? Strangle me with a carpet? No, I cannot approve the safety of your arrangements.”

  “What do you wish to say to me?” asked Abdullah. “Or did you only come here to find fault as usual?”

  Hakim seated himself portentously on a pile of carpets. “You lack your normal scrupulous politeness, cousin by marriage,” he said. “If my father’s uncle’s son were to hear you, he would not be pleased.”

&
nbsp; “I am not answerable to Assif for my behavior or for anything else!” Abdullah snapped. He was thoroughly miserable. His soul cried out for Flower-in-the-Night, and he could not get to her. He had no patience with anything else.

  “Then I shall not trouble you with my message,” Hakim said, getting up haughtily.

  “Good!” said Abdullah. He went to the back of his booth to wash.

  But it was clear that Hakim was not going away without delivering his message. When Abdullah turned around from washing, Hakim was still standing there. “You would do well to change clothes and visit a barber, cousin by marriage,” he told Abdullah. “At present you do not look a suitable person to visit our emporium.”

  “And why should I visit there?” Abdullah asked, somewhat surprised. “You all made it clear long ago that I am not welcome there.”

  “Because,” said Hakim, “the prophecy made at your birth has come to light in a box long thought to contain incense. If you care to present yourself at the emporium in proper apparel, this box will be handed over to you.”

  Abdullah had not the slightest interest in this prophecy. Nor did he see why he had to go himself to collect it when Hakim could just as easily have brought it with him. He was about to refuse when it occurred to him that if he succeeded in uttering the correct word in his sleep tonight (which he was confident he would, having done it twice before), then he and Flower-in-the-Night would in all probability be eloping together. A man should go to his wedding correctly clothed and washed and shaved. So since he would be going to baths and barber anyway, he might as well drop in and collect the silly prophecy on his way back.

  “Very well,” he said. “You may expect me two hours before sunset.”

  Hakim frowned. “Why so late?”

  “Because I have things to do, cousin by marriage,” Abdullah explained. The thought of his coming elopement so overjoyed him that he smiled at Hakim and bowed with extreme politeness. “Though I lead a busy life that has little time left in it for obeying your orders, I shall be there, never fear.”

  Hakim continued to frown and turned that frown on Abdullah back over his shoulder as he left. He was obviously both displeased and suspicious. Abdullah could not have cared less. As soon as Hakim was out of sight, he joyfully gave Jamal half his remaining money to guard his booth for the day. In return, he was forced to accept from the increasingly grateful Jamal a breakfast consisting of every delicacy on Jamal’s stall. Excitement had taken away Abdullah’s appetite. There was so much food that in order not to hurt Jamal’s feelings, Abdullah gave most of it secretly to Jamal’s dog; this he did warily, because the dog was a snapper as well as a biter. The dog, however, seemed to share its master’s gratitude. It thumped its tail politely, ate everything Abdullah offered, and then tried to lick Abdullah’s face.

  Abdullah dodged that piece of politeness. The dog’s breath was laden with the scent of elderly squid. He patted it gingerly on its gnarled head, thanked Jamal, and hurried off into the Bazaar. There he invested his remaining cash in the hire of a handcart. This cart he loaded carefully with his best and most unusual carpets—his floral Ochinstan, the glowing mat from Inhico, the golden Farqtans, the glorious patterned ones from the deep desert, and the matched pair from distant Thayack—and wheeled them along to the big booths in the center of the Bazaar where the richest merchants traded. For all his excitement, Abdullah was being practical. Flower-in-the-Night’s father was clearly very rich. None but the wealthiest of men could afford the dowry for marrying a prince. It was therefore clear to Abdullah that he and Flower-in-the-Night would have to go very far away, or her father could make things very unpleasant for them. But it was also clear to Abdullah that Flower-in-the-Night was used to having the best of everything. She would not be happy roughing it. So Abdullah had to have money. He bowed before the merchant in the richest of the rich booths and, having called him treasure among traders and most majestic of merchants, offered him the floral Ochinstan carpet for a truly tremendous sum.

  The merchant had been a friend of Abdullah’s father. “And why, son of the Bazaar’s most illustrious,” he asked, “should you wish to part with what is surely, by its price, the gem of your collection?”

  “I am diversifying my trade,” Abdullah told him. “As you may have heard, I have been buying pictures and other forms of artwork. In order to make room for these, I am forced to dispose of the least valuable of my carpets. And it occurred to me that a seller of celestial weavings like yourself might consider helping the son of his old friend by taking off my hands this miserable flowery thing, at a bargain price.”

  “The contents of your booth should in future be choice indeed,” the merchant said. “Let me offer you half what you ask.”

  “Ah, shrewdest of shrewd men,” Abdullah said. “Even a bargain costs money. But for you I will reduce my price by two coppers.”

  It was a long, hot day. But by the early evening Abdullah had sold all his best carpets for nearly twice as much as he had paid for them. He reckoned that he now had enough ready money to keep Flower-in-the-Night in reasonable luxury for three months or so. After that he hoped that either something else would turn up or that the sweetness of her nature would reconcile her to poverty. He went to the baths. He went to the barber. He called at the scent maker and had himself perfumed with oils. Then he went back to his booth and dressed in his best clothes. These clothes, like the clothes of most merchants, had various cunning insets, pieces of embroidery and ornamental twists of braid that were not ornaments at all, but cleverly concealed purses for money. Abdullah distributed his newly earned gold among these hiding places and was ready at last. He went, not very willingly, along to his father’s old emporium. He told himself that it would pass the time between now and his elopement.

  It was a curious feeling to go up the shallow cedar steps and enter the place where he had spent so much of his childhood. The smell of it, the cedarwood and the spices and the hairy, oily scent of carpets, was so familiar that if he shut his eyes, he could imagine he was ten years old again, playing behind a roll of carpet while his father bargained with a customer. But with his eyes open, Abdullah had no such illusion. His father’s first wife’s sister had a regrettable fondness for bright purple. The walls, the trellis screens, the chairs for customers, the cashier’s table, and even the cashbox had all been painted Fatima’s favorite color. Fatima came to meet him in a dress of the same color.

  “Why, Abdullah! How prompt you are and how smart you look!” she said, and her manner said she had expected him to arrive late and in rags.

  “He looks almost as if he were dressed for his wedding!” Assif said, advancing, too, with a smile on his thin, bad-tempered face.

  It was so rare to see Assif smiling that Abdullah thought for a moment that Assif had ricked his neck and was grimacing with pain. Then Hakim sniggered, which made Abdullah realize what Assif had just said. To his annoyance, he found he was blushing furiously. He was forced to bow politely in order to hide his face.

  “There’s no need to make the boy blush!” Fatima cried. That, of course, made Abdullah’s blush worse. “Abdullah, what is this rumor we hear that you are suddenly planning to deal in pictures?”

  “And selling the best of your stock to make room for the pictures,” added Hakim.

  Abdullah ceased to blush. He saw he had been summoned here to be criticized. He was sure of it when Assif added reproachfully, “Our feelings are somewhat hurt, son of my father’s niece’s husband, that you did not seem to think we could oblige you by taking a few carpets off your hands.”

  “Dear relatives,” said Abdullah. “I could not, of course, sell you my carpets. My aim was to make a profit, and I could hardly mulct you, whom my father loved.” He was so annoyed that he turned around to go away again, only to find that Hakim had quietly shut and barred the doors.

  “No need to stay open,” Hakim said. “Let us be just family here.”

  “The poor boy!” said Fatima. “Never has he had more need o
f a family to keep his mind in order!”

  “Yes, indeed,” said Assif. “Abdullah, some rumors in the Bazaar state that you have gone mad. We do not like this.”

  “He’s certainly been behaving oddly,” Hakim agreed. “We don’t like such talk connected to a respectable family like ours.”

  This was worse than usual. Abdullah said, “There is nothing wrong with my mind. I know just what I am doing. And my aim is to cease giving you any chance to criticize me, probably by tomorrow. Meanwhile, Hakim told me to come here because you have found the prophecy that was made at my birth. Is this correct, or was it merely an excuse?” He had never been so rude to his father’s first wife’s relations before, but he was angry enough to feel they deserved it.

  Oddly enough, instead of being angry with Abdullah in return, all three of his father’s first wife’s relations began hurrying excitedly around the emporium.

  “Now where is that box?” said Fatima.

  “Find it, find it!” said Assif. “It is the very words of the fortuneteller his poor father brought to the bedside of his second wife an hour after Abdullah’s birth. He must see it!”

  “Written in your own father’s hand,” Hakim said to Abdullah. “The greatest treasure for you.”

  “Here it is!” said Fatima, triumphantly pulling a carved wooden box off a high shelf. She gave the box to Assif, who thrust it into Abdullah’s hands.

  “Open it, open it!” they all three cried excitedly.

  Abdullah put the box down on the purple cashier’s table and sprang the catch. The lid went back, bringing a musty smell from inside, which was perfectly plain and empty apart from a folded yellowish paper.

  “Get it out! Read it!” said Fatima in even greater excitement.

  Abdullah could not see what the fuss was about, but he unfolded the paper. It had a few lines of writing on it, brown and faded and definitely his father’s. He turned toward the hanging lamp with it. Now that Hakim had shut the main doors, the general purpleness of the emporium made it hard to see in there.