The Curse of Zohreh

by Sophie Masson

  The car stopped. They had arrived at the Carpet Bazaar. Husam and Khaled got out, leaving Omar with the car.

  The bazaar was a huge market under a great arched roof whose ceiling was covered in gold and glass tiles, and whose walls were painted cream, picked out in crimson and purple and gold. Graceful galleries lined the walls right up to the ceiling, and the floors were of beautiful white and blue mosaics. A winding mahogany staircase led to each gallery in turn, with its multitude of carpet shops. There were large shops and small ones, selling carpets from every corner of the el ’Jisal world, and even beyond: carpets in every gradation of colour, beauty, style and price, made from silk and wool and goat-hair and cotton, ranging from simple tribal mats to magnificent rarities fit for the audience chamber of a king. Some shops specialised in carpets with abstract designs, others in story-carpets richly depicting scenes from legend or history. Some of the shops had importunate middlemen outside them, harassing them to come in and try, look, buy! Others had haughty guards standing outside, as if the premises were some kind of lord’s chamber you needed permission to enter.

  Of course, Khaled was recognised by several of the sellers. Many curious eyes followed the two as they made their way up the galleries, Husam carrying the flying carpet, carefully wrapped up, under his arm.

  The Mesomian’s shop was at the far end of the top gallery, tucked away behind a pillar. It was a small but smart shop, with the name ‘Harir and Sons’ – the name Farasha had referred to – painted in discreet golden letters on the door. It appeared closed, however, for the light was not on, and the door was locked. Khaled and Husam were looking at each other, bitterly disappointed, when a soft voice hailed them. ‘Psst!’

  They looked around but could see nobody. ‘Psst!’ said the voice again, and a crooked finger emerged from the other side of the furthest pillar, in the dusty shadows of the stairwell, beckoning. ‘Come here, friends.’ The voice spoke in Aksaran, with a strong Alhindi accent. They looked at each other, then Husam said bluntly, ‘Who are we speaking to?’

  ‘You seek Harir, do you not?’

  ‘Yes, but –’

  ‘Come over here, sir, please, you will not regret it,’ said the voice. ‘I am a friend, who can help you. I know you seek a carpet repairer. And I know you have a magic carpet, a carpet that is essential to your task.’

  Husam looked at Khaled. Grimly, he clapped a hand to his side. ‘I’m armed,’ he whispered. ‘If he tries any funny business, he’ll regret it.’

  Khaled remembered that this man had been the Sultan’s Chief Executioner. ‘Let’s go and see who he is, and what he wants, then.’

  Twelve

  In the shadows, a strange little man was crouching. He was almost a dwarf, with a large head on a thin neck and a short, squat body. He had weathered skin the colour and consistency of old leather, and the biggest, thickest pepper-and-salt moustache they’d ever seen, which ate up half his face. He wore a dirty brown turban on his head; his trousers and shirt had clearly seen better days; and his dusty feet were thrust into clumsy rubber sandals of the kind only the poor wore. In one gnarled hand, he clutched a hessian bag. He beckoned to them. In his singsong Alhindi voice, he whispered, ‘Come closer, come closer. There is something you must hear. You must not go to Mr Harir’s shop.’

  They stared at him. Khaled was the first to recover. ‘Who are you? Why do you tell us this?’

  For answer, the Alhindi grinned and rolled up the right sleeve of his shirt. On his arm was strapped a dozen or so watches, of the cheap kind that imitate famous brands; he rolled up his other sleeve, and there, tied on with little ribbons, were an equal number of cheap sunglasses. He then held out his bag, and dived a hand into it, pulling out three or four mobile phones, made of cheap coloured plastic. ‘You see, my friends?’

  ‘Are you telling me you lured us here just to sell us your cheap rubbish?’ said Khaled, with great scorn.

  ‘Don’t be hasty, master,’ said the old dwarf, smiling. ‘These are not what they seem. I am a Jinn master from Alhind, and house my Jinns in these trinkets. My name is Sharib.’

  Khaled stared at him, baffled, but Husam’s face cleared. ‘I have heard of people like you. I have never met one, though.’ He turned to Khaled. ‘The people of Alhind have some unusual magic. Jinn masters are only found there.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Do you enslave Jinns to do your bidding?’ frowned Khaled.

  The Alhindi sighed. ‘No, no. I am not a sorcerer, enslaving afreets and the like. I tame and teach minor Jinns. Your friend is right; it is a calling peculiar to my country. You see, long ago, one of my ancestors married a Jinn woman and this has given us a special place, and special powers. We do not deal in black magic. We do not try to enslave the powerful old Jinns, the free spirits, whether good or bad – that is far too dangerous, dark work. But there are others, less important, less powerful, not terribly bright, but still useful, who can be taught and persuaded to help human beings, each in their limited way.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Khaled, ‘I had never heard of such a thing.’

  ‘Well, now you have,’ said Sharib tartly. ‘My young friend, there is a niche for every Jinn, somewhere. But changing times means new skills need to be learnt, if they are to continue to be useful to their human hosts. I have found ways of training some of the lesser Jinns to function in our modern world. And I am here to help you now because, well, that is how I earn my living, besides selling trumpery rubbish. And I think you need help such as mine?’ He looked up at Husam. ‘I can see that you, sir, have walked closely with Jinns and other spirits, and I can see that you, sir,’ he went on, turning to Khaled, ‘are in great trouble of mind. You are facing a great test. You are in danger. And you need help.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ said Khaled.

  ‘I will show you how in a little while,’ said Sharib, grinning. ‘And you will see how I can help you, too. Now, whom do I have the honour of addressing?’

  It was a salesman’s quick and easy patter, but there was something fascinating and convincing about the cheerful dwarf. Khaled smiled. ‘My name is Khaled bin Abdullah al-Farouk; this is my father’s friend and now mine, Husam al-Din, who is visiting us from Jayangan.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you both,’ said Sharib, bowing rather comically. ‘Al-Farouk, eh! I have heard of your family. Your father’s on the Ameeratan Governing Council, eh, that right? Thought so. A great lord then, close to the Prince. I am honoured to meet you, sir, and your friend.’ He was all but rubbing his hands in glee. If he earnt his living as a Jinn master then he must think he’d fallen on worthwhile customers indeed in the al-Farouks. ‘Now, then,’ he went on, ‘to show you my qualifications.’ He rummaged in his bag and triumphantly held up a phone. ‘As you no doubt know, tame Jinn can be summoned through a ring of power or a lamp. But these days, other objects can help to summon a useful Jinn, unnoticed by all.’ He waggled the phone around. ‘Behold the Jinn of distant hearing. No matter where you might be, in the desert or at the bottom of the sea, this Jinn will let you hear even the quietest conversation.’ He pressed a button and the phone’s panel lit up. A thin voice wailed, ‘I am the Jinn of the Phone, Master, and your humble apprentice. Whose words do you desire to hear?’

  Sharib grinned, took a quick look over the balcony and said, ‘The fat lady with the blue veil near the shop of that Parsarian crook Massoud, what is she saying, oh Jinn of the Phone?’

  The panel flashed, then the voice took on a different tone, the tone of a woman used to commanding people: ‘I want a better price than that. You told me yesterday you were keeping a special one for me. What is this nonsense, boy? Get me your master at once, I demand to speak with him!’

  Smiling at Husam’s and Khaled’s wide eyes, Sharib turned off the phone. He carefully untied one of the pairs of sunglasses he wore on his arm. He held them up and touched the sides of the glasses. ‘Behold the Jinn of far-seeing.’ The glass clouded, and a whispery, breathy voice said, ‘I am the Jinn of the Glasses, Ma
ster, and your humble apprentice. What is it you wish to see?’

  ‘If you put on these glasses and ask the Jinn a question about an object,’ said Sharib, ‘it will tell you what you need to know.’ He folded the sunglasses away. ‘I was intrigued by that big parcel you carry under your arm, Husam al-Din. I asked the Jinn of the Glasses a question. And I learnt you have there a flying carpet, made in the Marshlands of Mesomia. I knew too it had malfunctioned in some way. I knew it was important to you. Thus I knew you were headed to Harir’s shop.’

  ‘Now this,’ went on the dwarf, unstrapping a rather shabby plastic watch from his right arm, ‘is something else. Behold the Jinn of time.’ He pressed the knob on the side of the watch. Instantly a deep voice whispered, ‘I am the Jinn of the Watch, Master, and your humble apprentice. Where in time do you wish to go?’

  Khaled and Husam stared at Sharib. ‘Can it really take you back in time?’ whispered Khaled.

  ‘Well,’ said Sharib, ‘it doesn’t actually take you bodily there, you understand. But it will show you what happened at a particular time.’ He pressed the knob of the watch again and said, ‘Jinn of the Watch, show me what was happening here today, on this spot, at the precise time of nine am.’

  ‘I obey,’ said the Jinn, and instantly, the face of the watch clouded, then cleared again. Crowding around it, they saw that the numbers and hands of the watch face had disappeared; instead it had become like a tiny television screen. And in the screen, they could see the spot where they were standing. It was quite empty of people.

  ‘Nothing happening then,’ said Sharib, deftly flicking the knob. The screen went blank again; then the face of the watch, with its numbers and hands, returned. ‘I have to confess I haven’t sorted out everything with this one,’ said the dwarf. ‘It can only reach up to two or three hours back in time, and in a narrow location. Still, it’s a good start.’

  ‘Are all those phones and glasses and watches you carry actually Jinn?’ said Khaled, open-mouthed.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Sharib, ‘they’re not actually Jinn, in themselves. They just provide habitation for certain sorts of Jinns – ones who cannot manifest with a body of their own but must be contained within some material thing. And only those three items I showed you are House-Jinns. The others are cheap rubbishy objects, merely there to hide the real ones.’ He grinned. ‘And also to sell – they do earn me a little pocket money when I cannot find appropriate clients for my Jinn skills.

  ‘For more than a year now, due to certain – er – unfortunate adventures when one of my Jinns didn’t quite do what it was supposed to do, and caused me grief with a mighty patron, I have been living here, having thought it prudent to leave a little distance between myself and Alhind for a while, till things died down.’ He gave an engaging grin. ‘Now then. You wanted to speak to Harir, about your malfunctioning flying carpet, yes?’ His bright gaze was on the parcel under Husam’s arm.

  They looked at each other then nodded.

  ‘Harir is dead,’ said Sharib. ‘As you know, he was a Mesomian refugee. He was murdered last night, betrayed to The Vampire’s spies by one of his associates. He was known to have links to the resistance against The Vampire, and to be skilled in the repair of Mesomian flying carpets. The Vampire means to control the production of flying carpets as well as wiping out any resistance to his rule. He both fears and is obsessed with any form of magic. He has gangs of sorcerers and practitioners of black magic living in his palaces, working for him. Anyone who practises good magic has been killed, exiled, or in the case of the Carpet Enchantresses of the Marshlands, has fled to remote places. The Vampire’s spies will be watching Harir’s shop now. Anyone who comes to the shop bearing a genuine carpet from the Enchantresses will be in big trouble. We should probably leave right away.’

  He cocked his head to one side and made a sudden grab for the parcel under Husam’s arm. Husam stumbled back and dropped the carpet, with a shout.

  ‘Shush, shush,’ said Sharib, a finger to his lips. ‘You brought a spy with you.’ He began to hum – a strange, tuneless, soft yet metallic-sounding hum for all the world like a mosquito’s whine. With one hand, he described a little circle in the air in front of the parcel, as if he were scribbling. And suddenly, in the middle of this circle, appeared, as if it were suddenly pulled out of a bottle, a small, plump moth-like creature with a cross human face.

  Khaled gasped, ‘The Light preserve us, it’s Farasha!’

  ‘Farasha,’ repeated Sharib, a stern expression in his eyes. ‘You have brought your own pet Jinn with you. Why?’

  ‘He most certainly has not,’ piped a thin, indignant voice. Farasha’s expression would have been most forbidding if it hadn’t been comical.

  ‘He’s not my pet,’ Khaled said in a resigned voice. ‘You’re offending him, Sharib.’

  ‘That he is,’ said Farasha. ‘I have never been so offended in my life. I, Farasha of the great clan of Yakabikaj, am the guardian Jinn of the Repository of Highly Important Books at the House of Al-Farouk.’

  ‘Oh, is that what you are?’ said Sharib, suddenly grinning. ‘A member of a cosy House-Jinn clan, eh? Well, mind out I don’t grab you and put you to work for me, my little friend. Highly Important Books, eh? I doubt it. You come from some forgotten storeroom somewhere, yes? If you were so important in the House-Jinn caste I think you’d have stayed at home and sent a minion in your place. So you’re the minion, right?’

  ‘Most assuredly not!’ said Farasha, even more indignantly. ‘I came of my own accord, to see what these people were doing, in case they were meddling with things that would bring disgrace on our house. It was I who told them about Harir the carpet repairer; it was my important information that got them here in the first place, Alhindi Jinn master.’

  Sharib laughed. ‘I don’t believe it! A House-Jinn, and a minion at that, with his own initiative. What is the world coming to? Very well, Farasha the Spy, you may stay, but no funny tricks, you understand, or it’s into a bottle with you. I could use another tame Jinn, you know.’

  ‘I’d like to see you try,’ said Farasha, with great dignity but a certain unsteadiness in his voice. It was apparent that he was not altogether sure of his ground with the dwarf.

  ‘Don’t tempt me,’ said Sharib, eyes twinkling. ‘Now then, let us go. There is someone you must meet – a friend of mine who is also a very good carpet repairer. He does not work here, but at the Gold Market. Come on,’ he said, seeing their hesitation, ‘you really need to get that carpet fixed, it is important to your task. My Jinns have told me so.’

  Thirteen

  It was not very far from the Carpet Bazaar to the Gold Market. As soon as the car stopped, Sharib jumped out with great alacrity. ‘I had better get on ahead of you,’ he said. ‘You see, my friend can be a trifle unpredictable at times, and doesn’t like to be taken unawares. I will meet you in the Ali Baba Emporium in five minutes. Okay?’ And without waiting for an answer, he scurried off as fast as his short legs would allow him.

  Husam and Khaled looked at each other. ‘I’m not sure I like this at all,’ said Husam, slowly. ‘Perhaps you had better stay here with Omar, Khaled.’

  ‘I think that might be wise,’ said the driver. ‘Street sellers are often rogues.’

  ‘I am going,’ said Khaled haughtily. ‘He said it was important to our task.’

  Husam met his eyes, and sighed. ‘Very well. But you must not hesitate if I tell you to run, Khaled. Do you understand?’

  ‘Take my gun,’ said Omar, pulling his weapon out of the glove-box. ‘If all else fails …’

  ‘We can’t start shooting in the middle of the Gold Market,’ said Husam, shaking his head. ‘Don’t worry, Omar. I have a good sword, and a swift hand. If anyone tries anything …’ He smiled, and made a cutting gesture across his throat.

  The Gold Market was not quite as big as the Carpet Bazaar, but every bit as extraordinary. A wide, mosaic-floored aisle ran between two rows of small shops, behind whose large windows sparkled,
glittered, glowed and shone hundreds, thousands, of pieces of jewellery, mostly of heavy yellow gold, set with bright gemstones. There were also shops selling statues and carvings, in pure gold and rock crystal and marble and ebony and ivory; shops selling gold and silver and platinum watches, some set with diamonds and rubies and emeralds; and discreet banking shops where you could trade suitcases full of paper money for gold bars.

  The Ali Baba Emporium, despite its grand name, was a narrow, rather shabby shop at the far end of the market. There was only one shop assistant in it, and no customers. The shop assistant, a neat young Alhindi in a dark suit, beckoned them in rather nervously. ‘Please, you are to come this way,’ he said, ushering them rapidly to the back of the shop. He pulled aside a long curtain on the back wall, revealing a heavy-looking wooden door. With an anxious smile, he opened the door. ‘Please, you come in here.’

  His hand on his sword, Husam growled, ‘Now wait a moment. What is in there?’

  The shop assistant whispered, ‘You go in there.’

  ‘Stop repeating yourself,’ said Husam. Drawing his sword, he stepped cautiously through the doorway, Khaled hot on his heels.

  They were in a dim, dusty storage room, with another door at one end. Sharib was standing by that door, looking rather impatient. ‘Come on. Shut the door.’

  ‘What’s all the mystery?’ said Husam, advancing on him, his sword still drawn. He scanned the room, but it was empty of anything except for Sharib and a few boxes. ‘Who are we going to meet?’

  ‘You’ll see. I’m sorry,’ said the Jinn master, smiling placatingly, ‘but it’s got to be this way. My friend is very wary. There is a price on his head, in Mesomia. The Vampire’s agents have been looking for him for a long time. And he has certain other – er – problems.’ He looked earnestly at Husam and Khaled and went on, ‘I tell you, he is important to you because he is now the only one in Jumana who can repair your carpet. And it must be repaired, or Khaled may be in the very gravest danger.’