by Tom Holt
However, he rationalised, all sea-going craft have certain things in common. Not that he could think of anything offhand that might be of use to him; but he felt sure he was somewhere on the right lines, pursuing this…
The ship moved.
More than that; it seemed to jump up in the air. Leaping about is, of course, something that ships as a rule simply don’t do (ask any fisherman); but since this was probably an illusion anyway, Asaf wasn’t prepared to be dogmatic about anything. Right now, he’d have settled for an illusion that wasn’t showering articles of displaced cargo on his head.
He was just struggling out from under a crate of some description which had fallen on him, soliloquising eloquently as he did so, when he noticed the light. A lovely great shaft of sunlight, slanting in through a now open hatch.
Told you, he muttered to himself. Told you it’d be a piece of cake.
“Now then,” Jane said, treading water, “the first thing I’d like you to do is kick with your feet.”
“Aaaaaaagh!”
“It’s all right, I’ve got hold of your neck, you can’t — oh, bother.” She kicked hard and managed to get Justin’s chin clear of the water. “Now if you’d have done what I told you—”
“Help!” Justin screamed. “Help help help heblublublublub…”
“You’re not trying, are you?” Jane said wearily. “Look, it’s really very simple, any child can do it. You just paddle with your feet, and let your body sort of float…”
Jane suddenly realised that she was in shadow, and glanced upwards. There, directly over her head, was the carpet.
“Your wish,” it said politely, “is my command.”
Jane scowled. “I thought I’d told you to clear off,” she said.
“I wasn’t,” the carpet replied, “talking to you.”
“What? Oh. Oh you mean him.”
“Help!”
“Yes,” said the carpet. “His wish, my command. So if you’d just shift over a bit, I can—”
“What about me?”
“What about you?”
Jane spluttered as a wave flipped a cupful of salt water into her open mouth. “You’ve changed your tune a bit, haven’t you?” she observed. “Not long ago it was all ‘Our state-of-the-art micro circuitry, designed to make life easy for you’.”
“That was different,” the carpet replied severely. “I was in user-friendly mode then. Now I can please myself.”
“Charming.”
“You’re welcome. Now, are you going to shift so that I can rescue my client, or are we going to hang about here all day chatting?”
“You’re just going to ignore me, then?”
The carpet shrugged; that is to say, it undulated from its front hem backwards. “That’s what you told me to do, remember? Do you people understand the concept of consistency?”
“Help help heglugluglug…”
Jane bit her tongue. “Tell you what I’ll do,” she said. “I’ll let you rescue him if you agree to rescue me too. Now you can’t say fairer than that, can you?”
The carpet hovered for a moment, thinking.
“I also,” Jane added, as casually as she could, “happen to know a Force Twelve genie, and I was thinking, if he got hold of one of those carpet-beater things, you know, the ones shaped like a tennis racket…”
“All right then, all aboard that’s coming aboard. I can take you as far as the ship.”
“Ship? What ship?” Then Jane remembered. “Oh,” she said. “That ship.”
That ship. The quaint old-fashioned one with the big square sails which they ought by rights to have crashed straight down on top of, if it hadn’t somehow moved a hundred yards sideways at the very last moment. She’d forgotten all about it.
“Well?”
“That,” Jane said, “will be just fine.”
ELEVEN
The reason why Kiss hadn’t shown up yet was that he’d bumped into an old friend.
“Why the hell,” said Philly Nine, picking himself up off a bank of low cloud, “don’t you look where you’re damn well… oh, it’s you.”
“Hello there,” Kiss replied. “How’s you?”
“Oh, mustn’t grumble. And you?”
“Persevering. Keeping busy?”
“Mooching about, you know. Nothing terribly exciting, but enough to keep me off the streets.”
“Ah, well. Is that a war I can see starting away down there?”
Philly turned and peered over his shoulder through the thin layer of cumulo-nimbus. “Where?” he asked.
“Sort of south-east. Look, you see that mountain range to your immediate right? Well, follow that down till you meet the river, and…”
“Got it,” Philly said. “Gosh, yes, it does look a bit like a war, doesn’t it? Tanks and planes and things.”
Kiss gave him a long, hard look. “One of yours, Philly?” he asked quietly.
“Gosh, what is it today, Thursday… Oh, that war. Yes, well, I may have had something to do with it.”
“You and your obsessive modesty.”
Philly shrugged. Far below, in the vast deserts of Mesopotamia, fleets of armoured personnel carriers speeding across the dunes threw up clouds of dust that blotted out the sun. “It’s only a little war,” Philly said.
“Small but perfectly formed?”
“One likes to keep one’s hand in.”
Kiss frowned. “Like I said, Philly, you’re too modest. Why do you do it exactly?”
“Why do I do what?”
“Start wars. I mean, is there some sort of annual award for the best war, like the Oscars or whatever? First of all I’d like to thank my megalomaniac fascist dictator, that sort of thing?”
Philly smiled, a little sadly. “It’s what I do,” he replied.
“You’re very good at it. Have they started shooting yet?”
Philly glanced at his watch and shook his head. “Two abortive peace initiatives to go yet,” he answered. “Give it another couple of hours, we might be in business. Things are so damn slow these days.”
Kiss fingered his chin thoughtfully. “This war,” he said. “Going to lead to anything, is it?”
“I do my best,” Philly replied. “If you don’t do your best, why bother to do anything at all?”
“I see. So it might be the start of something, well, big?”
“Fingers crossed.”
“Civilisation as we know it? Goodbye, Planet Earth?” Philly smiled. “Great oaks and little acorns, old son,” he said cheerfully. “You never know.”
“Fine.” Kiss took a step forward. “I hate to have to say this, but—”
“But you can’t allow it?” Philly grinned at him. “If I were you, I’d consider all aspects of the matter rather than relying on a snap judgement.”
“All aspects of global thermonuclear war are easily considered, Philly, and I don’t hold with them. Cut it out, now.”
“Think,” Philly replied. “Supposing the world is destroyed, right?”
“With you so far.”
“Well.” Philly Nine folded his arms. “In that case, there’s no way you’d have to marry that girl. Off the hook, you’d be, and absolutely nothing anybody could do about it. Just consider that for a moment, will you?”
There was a long moment of silence.
“Now you’ll tell me,” Philly went on, “that I’m contemplating something of a hammer-and-nut situation here. On the other hand, I can think of one hell of a lot of married men who’d say this was a classic case of omelettes and eggs. No disrespect intended, Kiss, old son, and I’m sure she’s a charming girl, but when you actually stop and think it through…”
Kiss froze, his lips parted to speak in contradiction. Deep inside him, in the cubby-hole in his soul where his true identity lived (knee-deep in washing up and dirty laundry, overflowing ashtrays and discarded styrofoam pizza trays) a little voice piped up and said, You know, he’s got a point there, over.
Balls, replied the rest of him. T
his is the temptation of the foul fiend. Rule One, don’t listen to foul fiends. Any pillock knows that, over.
Yes, but think about it, will you? Not having to stop being a genie. To thine own self be true. Love means not being allowed to take your socks off in the living room. You would do well to consider all the pertinent aspects of the matter before committing yourself to any course of action, over.
Bugger off, over.
Yes, well, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Over and out.
“I hear what you say,” Kiss said, “But no thanks, all the same. I reckon that if I can’t sort out my domestic problems without conniving at Armageddon it’d be a pretty poor show — and besides, I live here. And you know what a drag it is finding somewhere decent to live these days. Carbon-based life forms don’t grow on trees, you know.”
“Suit yourself, then,” Philly replied, and hit him with a thunderbolt.
“G’day.”
Asaf spun on his heel, missed his footing on the wet deck and sprawled against the mast, barking his shin.
“You again,” he snapped. “I thought I’d seen the last of you.”
The Dragon King, hovering in a cloud of purple smoke, looked offended. “Lighten up, cobber,” he replied. “I’m a dragon, remember? And dragons don’t bludge on their mates. She’ll be right, you’ll see.”
“What the hell are you talking about, you insufferable reptile?”
“Look, mate.” The Dragon King contracted his formidable eyebrows, until he looked for all the world like a bejewelled privet hedge. “No offence, but I reckon I’ve had about enough of your whingeing for one adventure, thank you very much.” He nodded towards the sky. “That sheila,” he continued. “She’s on her way.”
Asaf blinked. “The rich one?” he asked.
The King nodded. “Too right,” he replied. “In fact, she should be along any minute now. So let’s have a bit less of The complaints, right?”
“Right.” Asaf frowned. “You’re sure about that?” he queried. “I mean, we are in the middle of the sea. I don’t really see where she’s going to…
WHOOSH.
The carpet zagged down like a turbocharged pigeon, braked in mid-air and hovered. God knows how it managed it, but it somehow gave the impression that it had an invisible meter, and that it was running.
Jane opened her eyes. If the truth be told, she wasn’t one hundred per cent taken with what she saw.
She appeared to have come to rest half-way through a dragon; in fact she was wearing the bloody thing round her neck, like a horse collar.
Now that, she said to herself, really is uncalled for. God knows, I’ve tried to be reasonable throughout this whole nightmarish business, nobody can say I haven’t given it my best shot, but this really is…
The dragon was floating about ten feet above the deck of the ship; as was the carpet, which appeared to have come to rest half in and half out of the dragon’s right shoulder. Seen close to, the dragon looked as solid as a Welsh full-back, but Jane couldn’t feel anything there. Probably, she decided, just as well.
The dragon’s head pivoted slowly on its long, elegant neck and turned towards her.
“G’day,” it said. “Asaf, this is Jane. Jane, Asaf.”
Jane glanced down and saw that there was indeed a human being on the deck of the ship — a youngish man with a mop of black hair and a prominent nose, wearing a green anorak. He seemed to be staring at her in, well, disbelief.
“You’re joking,” he said.
The dragon appeared disconcerted at this. “No, mate, straight up. Get stuck in.” It winked a round blue eye.
“No way,” the man said angrily. “If you think I’ve come all this way…”
“Don’t you come the raw prawn with me, mate,” the dragon replied irritably. “Jeez, what’s a bloke got to do before you’re satisfied?” He scowled, and mouthed the words Loads of money… The man shook his head.
“Money,” he said firmly, “isn’t everything. Look, is there some sort of ombudsman I can take this up with, because—”
“Excuse me,” said Jane.
“Ombudsman!” growled the dragon. “You take the flamin’ biscuit, you do. When I think of some of the stringy old dogs—”
“Yes, but just look, will you? There’s absolutely no way—”
“Excuse me.”
“Scheherezade,” continued the dragon, “had a face on her that’d curdle milk. You don’t know when you’re well-off, mate.”
“I am definitely going to complain to someone and when I’ve finished with you, you’ll be lucky to get a job swimming round and round in a small glass bowl—”
“Excuse me,” said Jane, “but I think your ship is sinking.”
“You keep out of this,” snapped Asaf. “Now then, I don’t propose wasting any more breath on you. I shall be seeking legal advice on this, and—”
“Stone the crows, mate, she’s right. Hey, there’s water coming up through the—”
“Don’t change the subject. My brother happens to be an accountant and I reckon we’re looking at breach of contract, breach of statutory duty, trespass to the person and a bloody great claim in respect of pain, suffering, inconvenience, loss of earnings…”
“Bugger me, she’s about to split. You want to get out of there quick, I’m telling you…”
“…false imprisonment, failure to report an accident, fraud, dangerous flying…”
“Look…”
The ship sank.
Funny, the way some ships just go under all of a sudden. Others hang around for days, leaning over on one side and allowing the survivors plenty of time to choose their eight gramophone records from the ship’s library. This one, however, just went glop! and fell through the surface of the water like a lead weight.
Sinbad the Sailor watched her go down from the comfort of the one lifeboat, and shrugged. On the one hand she had been his ship, in which he had crossed all the oceans of the world, and inevitably a part of his soul went down with her. On the other hand, he had just renewed his insurance.
The cramped living quarters, he thought. The smell of stale bilge water. The rats. The ship’s biscuits, some of which were hard enough to polish diamonds with. The crew.
As he watched the last few bubbles rise and fade, therefore, his feelings were mixed. About 40 per cent happiness, and the remaining 60 per cent pure unalloyed pleasure.
Kiss picked himself up off the clouds and snarled.
To every cloud, the wiseacres say, a silver lining. Be that as it may; this one, as far as Kiss could judge, was lined with big lumpy chunks of rock, half-bricks and the like. In his list of My All-Time Favourite Things To Land On, it didn’t score highly compared with, say, feather mattresses or trampoline cushions. It was also soggy and full of water vapour.
All in all he was working up a pretty good head of aggression. And the healthiest way to vent off the perfectly natural and wholesome aggression which lies buried in all of us is, of course, to thump somebody. Ask any psychiatrist.
Fortunately, he didn’t have far to look for someone to thump. Not far, and upwards.
Philly Nine looked down nervously. There was something about Kiss’s demeanour, and the way the cloud he was lying on was turning into fizzing steam, that made him feel uncomfortable and uncertain about his immediate future. He decided to try diplomacy.
“Now then,” he said pleasantly, “you don’t want to be late for your date, do you?”
“Yes.”
“But think,” Philly reasoned, “of that sweet little girl of yours, counting every second before you come swooping down to rescue her. Think of the grateful smile on her face, the words of praise, the—”
“Are we thinking of the same person?”
“What about your honour as a genie? Her wish is your command, remember.”
“When I catch you,” Kiss replied calmly, “I’m going to rip your lungs out.”
“If you catch me,” Philly replied, and fled.
“Excus
e me,” said Jane.
Asaf glanced up from the piece of driftwood he was clinging to and frowned. “What?” he said.
“I said excuse me.”
The sea, fishermen say, is a cruel playfellow. Actually they tend to express themselves in earthier, more basic terms, but that’s the gist of it. For his part, Asaf had never really come to terms with the being-surrounded-on-all-sides-by-water aspect of fishing, despite his best endeavours, and consequently wasn’t really in the mood to make new friends. His tone, therefore, was abrupt.
“Piss off,” he said.
“Be like that,” Jane replied equably. “All I was going to say was, if you wanted a lift to dry land, I can take you as far as the coast. Probably,” she added, for she was a realist.
Asaf glowered up at the carpet, hovering about three feet over the waves. “I don’t believe in you,” he growled. “Go away.”
“Don’t believe in me?”
“You heard me. You’re some sort of fatuous mythical practical joke, like everything else that’s been happening to me lately. On the other hand, I do believe in this piece of driftwood. It’s not much, but right now it’s all I’ve got. Sling your hook.”
“HELP!” observed Justin.
Asaf lifted his head; suddenly, he was interested. By force of circumstance he was rapidly becoming attuned to the finer nuances of adventures, and it occurred to him that not many false visions of magic carpets have shit-scared young men clinging to them yelling “HELP!” A nice touch, he had to admit. Either that, or it wasn’t a mirage after all.
“Your friend,” he said.
Jane looked round. “Oh, him,” she said. “Yes?”
“Is he real?”
“I think so.”
“Ask him.”
Jane shrugged. “Excuse me,” she said.
“HELP!”
“Yes, but are you real? I mean, do you exist? Only the gentleman down there in the water…
“HELP HELP HELP!”
Jane nodded and turned back again. “I would take that as a Yes,” she said.