Down in The Bottomlands

by Harry Turtledove

  Waipaljkoon needed no urging to steer wide of the battlefield. As the airwain was approaching from the southeast, he chose to fly more nearly due north, saying, "We'll cross the line in a quieter place, then swing west to Mavaka." That sounded good to Park, who had no desire to catch antiaircraft fire from either side in a war not his own.

  Unfortunately, though, airwains rushing up to the front to add their pinpricks to the fighting spotted the intruder. Two peeled off to give the strange aircraft a once-over. In a quavering voice, Eric Dunedin said, "They have the star and sickle moon on their tails."

  Waipaljkoon turned west with everything his airwain had. That was not nearly enough. The Emirate's fighters would have been sitting ducks for a Messerschmitt or Spitfire, but they were like sharks against a fat ocean sunfish compared to the slow, lumbering transport the Tawantiinsuujan was flying.

  One zipped past the airwain, so close that Park could see the pilot's grinning, bearded face in the cockpit. The other came alongside, fired a burst from its air-powered machine gun. That fighter's pilot made a come-with-me gesture, then fired his gun again. What he meant was depressingly obvious.

  "Slavery," Waipaljkoon groaned as he followed the fighter eastward. The other one stayed on his tail, to make sure he didn't try anything tricky. "They'll sell us into slavery if they don't kill us on the spot for following Patjakamak. That's all we are to the stinking Muslims, fair game."

  "They won't kill us, and they won't sell us either," Park said confidently. "Remember, you're with Judge Ib Scoglund of the International Court of the Continent of Skrelleland. If they harm me, they have an international incident on their hands."

  "Let's hope they bother to find that out," Ankowaljuu said. "Or that they care."

  "They'll find out," Park promised. He left the other half of Ankowaljuu's worry alone; he didn't much want to think about that himself.

  The fighter in front of them landed on a strip hacked out of the jungle. Waipaljkoon followed it down. Moors who had been standing around or working on other airwains came trotting over at the sight of the unfamiliar craft bouncing to a stop.

  "Some of them have pipes, Judge Scoglund," Dunedin said. He didn't mean the kind from which tobacco was smoked.

  "Of course they have pipes, Eric. They're warriors, for God's sake." Hoping he sounded braver than he felt, Park unbuckled his safety harness. "I have to get out first," he said. Shrugging, Waipaljkoon opened the door. Park ducked through it and scrambled onto the wing.

  The bearded fighter pilot was already out of his airwain and running toward the craft he had forced down. "These are my captives!" he yelled, brandishing a large knife. "They're mine to keep and sell as the pagan dogs they are!"

  Park did not follow all of that, but he caught enough. He hoped the Moors would be able to understand his self-taught Arabic—Ketjwa, at least, he'd been able to practice over the past weeks. "Not captives!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Not pagans either!"

  The pilot understood, all right. "What do you mean, you're not a captive? You're here, lying fool, at our base, the Emirate's base, at Siimaranja. And that's a Tawantiinsuujan airwain, so you're a filthy Patjakamak-worshiping pagan!"

  "I'm no Tawantiinsuujan," Park said. His fair skin, sandy hair, and light eyes told the truth of that better than any words.

  "Well, who in Shaitan's name are you, then?" someone called from the ground.

  Park sternly suppressed a sigh of relief. If nobody asked that question, he would have had to plunge in cold. As it was, he had the perfect chance to give them his name and impressive title. Then, into abrupt silence, he went on, "I am a citizen of the Bretwaldate of Vinland, and a Christian by religion. You will treat me as Muslim law requires you to treat a Person of the Book."

  The Moors started arguing among themselves. That was as much as Park had expected. The pilot's voice rose above the babble, loud with outrage: "Well, what if he does belong to the Ahl al-Kitab, the People of the Book? Those other three I see in there don't. They're pagan Skrellings, and they're mine!" When no one argued with him, he started toward the downed airwain again, still clutching that knife.

  "One is my servant from Vinland, and a Christian like me," Park said. The pilot shook a fist at him. He continued, "The other two men are of Tawantiinsuuju, yes. But they fly me—I ask them to fly me—to help make peace between the Son of the Sun and your Emir. You should let us go on our way, free from harm."

  He didn't expect that to happen. He figured, though, that if he only asked for what he wanted, he'd end up with less. One thing he'd never been short on was gall. He stood on the wing, trying to look as impressive as possible, while the Moors kept on arguing. Finally, when they seemed about to come to blows, one of them said, "Let's take it to the qadi."

  "Yes," Park said at once. "Take us to the qadi. He will judge the truth."

  "They're mine, curse it!" the frustrated fighter pilot said again, but most of the Moors on the airstrip shouted him down.

  "Come down," one of them said to Park. "By Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful, you will all stay free and unhurt till the qadi lays down his judgment."

  "Agreed." Park stuck his head back into the airwain. "Come on out. One of their judges is going to figure out what to do with us."

  Despite the Moor's promise, men crowded close to Park and his companions to make sure they did not break and run. He wondered where they could run to, but on second thought was just as glad to have a lot of bodies around—the pilot never had put away that knife.

  The qadi's tent was at the edge of the jungle, close by several dozen man-sized rugs spread on the ground: the airfield crew's worship area, Park realized. "Excellency!" a Moor said.

  Everyone bowed when the qadi came out. Park was slower than the Muslims, but quicker than Dunedin, Ankowaljuu, or Waipaljkoon. When he straightened, he got his first good look at the Muslim judge; all he'd noticed before was the Arab-style robes the man wore.

  The qadi was no Arab, though. With his round, copper-skinned face, he was plainly of jungle Skrelling stock. Park knew he shouldn't have been surprised. Just as Vinland's Skrellings were Christian, so naturally those of the Emirate would follow Islam. He needed a moment to adjust all the same.

  The qadi said, "Who are these strangers? Why do you bring them before me?"

  Park spoke up before anyone else had a chance: "Excellency, I am qadi myself—a judge of the International Court of the Continent of Skrelleland. Your pilot made my airwain land by mistake."

  "They are my prisoners, my battlefield booty!" the fighter pilot cried. "Even this Christian who calls himself a qadi admits that these"—he pointed at the two Tawantlinsuujans—"are but pagans, deserving only death or slavery."

  The qadi frowned. "This is too complicated to decide at once. Come into my tent, Muawiyah" (that was evidently the pilot) "and you foreign folk as well. And, to keep anyone from getting ideas perhaps he should not have, you come too, Harun, and you, Walid, with your weapons."

  The tent was crowded with so many people inside, but it held them. The Muslims with pipes sat behind Park and his companions. The qadi also found a place on the rug. He picked up a book—a Qu'ran, Park guessed.

  "Now we may begin," he said, then added, "I suppose I should tell you and yours, O qadi of the Christians, that I am called Muhammad ibn Nizam. Do you all speak Arabic?"

  "I do, qadi Muhammad," Ankowaljuu said at once. Waipaljkoon and Dunedin did not understand the question, which was answer in itself.

  "Translate as you need," Muhammad ibn Nizam told Park and the tukuuii riikook. "We shall allow the time. `Allah's judgment surely will come to pass: do not try to hurry it along,' as Allah says in the chapter called The Bee. Now, unfold me your tale."

  Park again spoke first, describing how he had been chosen to arbitrate the dispute between Tawantiinsuuju and the Emirate of the Dar al-Harb, and how, in spite of his efforts, war had broken out between them. He told how Ankowaljuu still had hopes for peace, and had arranged to have him fl
y to meet the Son of the Sun—and all the trouble he'd had since. "I also hope for peace now," he finished, "but not for the same reasons."

  "I had heard of your mission," Muhammad said. "Beyond your Frankish look, can you prove who and what you are?"

  "Yes, Excellency. My papers are in the trunk inside our airwain. Other important papers, too."

  Muhammad nodded to the Moors behind Park. "Have this trunk fetched here." One of the men hurried away. The qadi went on, "While we wait, I will hear what Muawiyah has to say."

  Park half-listened as the pilot told how he had intercepted the Tawantiinsuujan airwain and forced it to land. "The pagans, at least, are mine," he insisted, "and their airwain, as booty won in our righteous jihad."

  Just then, two men lugged the trunk into the tent. Park opened it and extracted his credentials. He had three sets: English, Ketjwa, and Arabic, all gaudily scaled and beribboned. Muhammad ibn Nizam carefully read the Arabic version. He kept his face still until he was through. Then he nodded.

  "It is as the Christian qadi says," he declared. "Both the Emir, Allah grant him long years and prosperity, and the pagan king have agreed to harken to his judgment. May it be wise." He bowed to Park.

  "Then we are free?" Park asked, bowing back in delight. That was better than he'd dared imagine.

  "You and your servant, yes. Not only are you an honored judge, but, as you said, a Person of the Book, even if your Christian Gospel has only in corrupted form the truth of the glorious Qu'ran. Still, by Allah's holy law, you may not be wantonly enslaved. That is not the case, however, for the Tawantiinsuujans with you."

  "What? Why not?" Park said. "They are with me, they fly me to try to make peace—"

  "There can be no peace between Islam and paganism," the qadi said. "In the words of the Qu'ran, `Kill those who give God partners wherever you find them; seize them, encompass them, and ambush them.' " He turned to Ankowaljuu. "You, pagan who knows the Arab speech, will you and your comrade yield yourselves to the truth of Islam?"

  The tukuuii riikook spoke briefly with Waipaljkoon, then shook his head. "No, qadi, we will not. We have our faith, just as you have yours."

  "Then you know what must become of you. You are the pilot Muawiyah's to slay or to sell into slavery, as he alone shall decide. You men"—he nodded to the armed Moors in back of Park and his party—"help the good pilot take them away."

  "No! Wait!" Park said.

  Muhammad ibn Nizam shook his head. "I understand your concern, qadi of the Christians. I even have some sympathy for it. But under the shari'a, the law of Islam, this thing must be. I am sorry."

  "Wait," Park said again. He was not about to let his friends go to a fate he thought worse than death, certainly not over a dispute where, as far as he was concerned, no sure right answer existed. And so he trotted out for a qadi of no particular importance the argument he'd intended to use on the Emir or his envoy to Tawantiinsuuju: "These men are not pagans. They too are People of the Book, for they have the truths of their religion set down in writing."

  "Do you see what a liar this Christian is, qadi?" Muawiyah the pilot said. "We have been fighting these pagans since our ancestors crossed the sea to bring Islam to this newer land, and never yet have we seen one sign of a scripture among them. Now he invents it out of his own head. Let him show it to us, if it is there."

  "With pleasure." Park dug into the trunk. He pulled out the sheets Ankowaljuu had written as they'd traveled down the Amazon, presented them with a flourish to Muhammad ibn Nizam. "I'll read this if you like, and translate into Arabic."

  "No," Muawiyah burst out. "I've already said the man is a liar, ready for anything. Who knows what these papers say, and whether he translates them truly?"

  "Yes, that is so," the qadi said thoughtfully, "the more so as lying would be to his advantage. Have we any other man here who knows the pagans' tongue as well as our own?"

  One of the armed guards, a thin, grizzled man somewhere in his fifties, spoke up: "I do, excellent qadi. I was raised not too far from here, before Tawantiinsuuju stole this province from us, and learned to read and write the language so I could better deal with the folk who knew it but no Arabic."

  "Good," Muhammad said. "Read, then, Walid, and translate for us. By Allah, I charge you to translate the words here as they are written."

  "By Allah, I will, Excellency." Walid took the papers from the qadi, studied them. "They do speak of Patjakamak, the Tawantiinsuujans' false god," he said grudgingly. "I begin: `How Patjakamak made the sun and the world and the stars . . .' "

  "Enough," Muhammad said, some time later.

  "More than enough," Muawiyah said loudly. "I will take these two now, as the excellent qadi has justly agreed is my right. They are not Muslims; what we just heard proves that. Therefore their religion must be false."

  "In essence, the pilot is right," Muhammad said. "The Qu'ran recognizes but three faiths as failing under the status of Peoples of the Book: those of the Christians, Jews, and Sabians. All others are pagans. Truly, I admit there is more that approaches truth in the religion of Tawantiinsuuju than I had thought, but under the shari'a that has no bearing."

  "What of those who follow Zoroaster?" Park said. Not for nothing had he spent his time on the steamboat immersed in books. On this point of Islamic law, if on no other, he was ready to do battle with the subtlest of sages.

  The qadi frowned. "They are not specifically mentioned in the Qu'ran either. What of them indeed?"

  "No, not in the Qu'ran," Park agreed. "But when Arabs conquer Persia, Zoroastrians write down their holy book, their Avesta. Till then it had only been recited"—he used the word on purpose, for the literal Arabic meaning of Qu'ran was recitation—"just like faith of Patjakamak now. And Arabs recognize Zoroastrians as People of the Book. Do you see, excellent qadi? Precedent for what I say." Precedent was one Arabic legal term he'd made sure he knew.

  Of course, all his research would go down the drain if Muhammad ibn Nizam was the kind of judge who used the law only to justify what he had already decided. Park had known enough judges like that, in New York and New Belfast both. Not all of them were, though. He waited for the qadi to reply.

  What the Muslim judge said was: "Are you sure you are a Christian? You should be made to convert to Islam, for you argue like one of us."

  "La ikraha fi'l-din," Park answered: " `There is no compulsion in religion.' "

  "You even quote the holy Qu'ran at me." Muhammad shook his head. "I find that your precedent has some validity." Muawiyah let out a howl of outrage; Ankowaljuu, and a moment later Waipaljkoon, cheered. "Be still, all of you," the qadi said sternly. "More learned men than I must make the final decision in this case. Until they do, I declare these two Tawantiinsuujans People of the Book, under the protection of the Christian qadi here. If I am overruled, however, they shall become the property of the airwain pilot Muawiyah. I have spoken."

  "Now what?" Park asked him.

  "Now I send you on to my more learned colleagues, which means, in the end, on toward the court of the Emir, Allah's blessings upon him." The qadi's eyes were shrewd. "Which, no doubt, is what you had in mind."

  "Who, me?" Park grinned at Muhammad ibn Nizam. It was always easier to do business with someone who understood him.

  * * *

  "You did that aforethockly," Ankowaljuu said the next day as they jounced along in one of the Emirate's military goodwains toward its ruler's headquarters.

  "Did what aforethockly?" Park asked. They used English for privacy's sake; had Park been in Muhammad ibn Nizam's shoes, he knew he would have salted away a Ketjwa-speaker or two among the guards who made sure nobody tried diving out over the rear gate. Park had no intention of escaping but, since he'd fallen into the Emirate's hands in the company of two enemy citizens, was certain the Moors would not believe that.

  "Had me make that faithly writing," Ankowaljuu said. "You never planned to change to Patjakamak—you wanted the writing to show the Muslims we Tawantiinsuujans are People
of the Book."

  "Who, me?" Park said, just as he had to the qadi.

  "Aye, you, and don't naysay it, either. You made me so hopeful of the ghostly good coming to you that I forgot to think straight through, as a tukuuii riikook ock. But tell me this, Thane Ready-for-Aught: how were you thinking of getting the writing to the Muslims had we gone on to the Son of the Sun as we reckoned we would?"

  "I'd have had you take me over the lines," Park answered calmly.

  "I'd nay do that!"

  "Oh yes, you would, if you're as hot for peace as you say you are. The best chance to get it is to show the Muslims you're no heathen country, but earnful of being treated like other folk with a godshown faith. I'd have talked you into getting me over there, all right, never fear."

  "You just might have," Ankowaljuu said after a pause in which he seemed to be examining his own feelings. "I thock I was good at fingertwisting men into doing what I want, Judge Scoglund, but I own I've met my thane in you."

  "That's sooth," Eric Dunedin put in. "He even got me to learn Ketjwa. He's the slyest man I ken for—"

  Park never did find out why Monkey-face thought he was so sly. Just then, a beetle almost the size of a kitten flew into the goodwain's passenger compartment. Christians, Patjakamak-worshipers, and Muslims spent a couple of frantic minutes knocking it down and squashing it. By the time the remains were finally scraped off the floor and tossed out, the conversational thread was broken.

  When they arrived at the base from which the Emir was directing his war, Park did not find the Arabian Nights-style encampment he had half expected. Instead, the neat rows of mass-produced shelter tents reminded him only of the Vinlandish camps he'd seen the year before. The Industrial Revolution, even this world's less complete one, inevitably brought industrialized warfare with it.

  He had hoped he and his companions would be whisked straight to the Emir, but that did not happen. Muhammad ibn Nizam led them to a qadi he knew, one of hardly higher reputation than himself. That judge listened with the same skepticism Muhammad had shown, and only slowly came round to reluctant acceptance of the possibility that the Tawantiinsuujans might have had some long-ago share of divine revelation, however much their current doctrine distorted it. Ankowaljuu bristled at that; Park could not even kick him under the table, as they were sitting on rugs again instead.