The Brass Bottle

by F. Anstey

  CHAPTER XIII

  A CHOICE OF EVILS

  Not even his morning tub could brace Ventimore's spirits to their usualcheerfulness. After sending away his breakfast almost untasted he stoodat his window, looking drearily out over the crude green turf of VincentSquare at the indigo masses of the Abbey and the Victoria Tower and thehuge gasometers to the right which loomed faintly through a dun-colouredhaze.

  He felt a positive loathing for his office, to which he had gone withsuch high hopes and enthusiasm of late. There was no work for him to dothere any longer, and the sight of his drawing-table and materialswould, he knew, be intolerable in their mute mockery.

  Nor could he with any decency present himself again at CottesmoreGardens while the situation still remained unchanged, as it must dountil he had seen Fakrash.

  When would the Jinnee return, or--horrible suspicion!--did he neverintend to return at all?

  "Fakrash!" he groaned aloud, "you _can't_ really mean to leave me insuch a regular deuce of a hole as this?"

  "At thy service!" said a well-known voice behind him, and he turned tosee the Jinnee standing smiling on the hearthrug--and at thisaccomplishment of his dearest desire all his indignation surged back.

  "Oh, _there_ you are!" he said irritably. "Where on earth have you beenall this time?"

  "Nowhere on earth," was the bland reply; "but in the regions of the air,seeking to promote thy welfare."

  "If you have been as brilliantly successful up there as you have downhere," retorted Horace, "I have much to thank you for."

  "I am more than repaid," answered the Jinnee, who, like many highlyestimable persons, was almost impervious to irony, "by such assurancesof thy gratitude."

  "I'm _not_ grateful," said Horace, fuming. "I'm devilish annoyed!"

  "Well hath it been written," replied the Jinnee:--

  "'Be disregardful of thine affairs, and commit them to the course of Fate, For often a thing that enrages thee may eventually be to thee pleasing.'"

  "I don't see the remotest chance of that, in my case," said Horace.

  "Why is thy countenance thus troubled, and what new complaint hast thouagainst me?"

  "What the devil do you mean by turning a distinguished and perfectlyinoffensive scholar into a wall-eyed mule?" Horace broke out. "If thatis your idea of a practical joke----!"

  "It is one of the easiest affairs possible," said the Jinnee,complacently running his fingers through the thin strands of his beard."I have accomplished such transformations on several occasions."

  "Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself, that's all. The question isnow--how do you propose to restore him again?"

  "Far from undoing be that which is accomplished!" was the sententiousanswer.

  "What?" cried Horace, hardly believing his ears; "you surely don't meanto allow that unhappy Professor to remain like that for ever, do you?"

  "None can alter what is predestined."

  "Very likely not. But it wasn't decreed that a learned man should besuddenly degraded to a beastly mule for the rest of his life. Destinywouldn't be such a fool!"

  "Despise not mules, for they are useful and valuable animals in thehousehold."

  "But, confound it all, have you no imagination? Can't you enterat all into the feelings of a man--a man of wide learning andreputation--suddenly plunged into such a humiliating condition?"

  "Upon his own head be it," said Fakrash, coldly. "For he hath broughtthis fate upon himself."

  "Well, how do you suppose that you have helped _me_ by this performance?Will it make him any the more disposed to consent to my marrying hisdaughter? Is that all you know of the world?"

  "It is not my intention that thou shouldst take his daughter to wife."

  "Whether you approve or not, it's my intention to marry her."

  "Assuredly she will not marry thee so long as her father remaineth amule."

  "There I agree with you. But is that your notion of doing me a goodturn?"

  "I did not consider thy interest in this matter."

  "Then will you be good enough to consider it now? I have pledged my wordthat he shall be restored to his original form. Not only my happiness isat stake, but my honour."

  "By failure to perform the impossible none can lose honour. And this isa thing that cannot be undone."

  "Cannot be undone?" repeated Horace, feeling a cold clutch at his heart."Why?"

  "Because," said the Jinnee, sullenly, "I have forgotten the way."

  "Nonsense!" retorted Horace; "I don't believe it. Why," he urged,descending to flattery, "you're such a clever old Johnny--I beg yourpardon, I meant such a clever old _Jinnee_--you can do anything, if youonly give your mind to it. Just look at the way you changed this houseback again to what it was. Marvellous!"

  "That was the veriest trifle," said Fakrash, though he was obviouslypleased by this tribute to his talent; "this would be a different affairaltogether."

  "But child's play to _you_!" insinuated Horace. "Come, you know verywell you can do it if you only choose."

  "It may be as thou sayest. But I do not choose."

  "Then I think," said Horace, "that, considering the obligation you admityourself you are under to me, I have a right to know the reason--the_real_ reason--why you refuse."

  "Thy claim is not without justice," answered the Jinnee, after a pause,"nor can I decline to gratify thee."

  "That's right," cried Horace; "I knew you'd see it in the proper lightwhen it was once put to you. Now, don't lose any more time, but restorethat unfortunate man at once, as you've promised."

  "Not so," said the Jinnee; "I promised thee a reason for my refusal--andthat thou shalt have. Know then, O my son, that this indiscreet one had,by some vile and unhallowed arts, divined the hidden meaning of what waswritten upon the seal of the bottle wherein I was confined, and waspreparing to reveal the same unto all men."

  "What would it matter to you if he did?"

  "Much--for the writing contained a false and lying record of myactions."

  "If it is all lies, it can't do you any harm. Why not treat them withthe contempt they deserve?"

  "They are not _all_ lies," the Jinnee admitted reluctantly.

  "Well, never mind. Whatever you've done, you've expiated it by thistime."

  "Now that Suleyman is no more, it is my desire to seek out my kinsmen ofthe Green Jinn, and live out my days in amity and honour. How can thatbe if they hear my name execrated by all mortals?"

  "Nobody would think of execrating you about an affair three thousandyears old. It's too stale a scandal."

  "Thou speakest without understanding. I tell thee that if men knew butthe half of my misdoings," said Fakrash, in a tone not altogether freefrom a kind of sombre complacency, "the noise of them would rise evenunto the uppermost regions, and scorn and loathing would be my portion."

  "Oh, it's not so bad as all that," said Horace, who had a privateimpression that the Jinnee's "past" would probably turn out to bechiefly made up of peccadilloes. "But, anyway, I'm sure the Professorwill readily agree to keep silence about it; and, as you have of course,got the seal in your own possession again----"

  "Nay; the seal is still in his possession, and it is naught to me whereit is deposited," said Fakrash, "since the only mortal who hathdeciphered it is now a dumb animal."

  "Not at all," said Horace. "There are several friends of his who coulddecipher that inscription quite as easily as he did."

  "Is this the truth?" said the Jinnee, in visible alarm.

  "Certainly," said Horace. "Within the last quarter of a centuryarchaeology has made great strides. Our learned men can now readBabylonian bricks and Chaldean tablets as easily as if they wereadvertisements on galvanised iron. You may think you've been extremelyclever in turning the Professor into an animal, but you'll probably findyou've only made another mistake."

  "How so?" inquired Fakrash.

  "Well," said Horace, seeing his advantage, and pushing itunscrupulously, "now, that, in your infinite wisdom, yo
u have ordainedthat he should be a mule, he naturally can't possess property. Thereforeall his effects will have to be sold, and amongst them will be that sealof yours, which, like many other things in his collection, will probablybe bought up by the British Museum, where it will be examined andcommented upon by every Orientalist in Europe. I suppose you've thoughtof all that?"

  "O young man of marvellous sagacity!" said the Jinnee; "truly I hadomitted to consider these things, and thou hast opened my eyes in time.For I will present myself unto this man-mule and adjure him to revealwhere he hath bestowed this seal, so that I may regain it."

  "He can't do that, you know, so long as he remains a mule."

  "I will endow him with speech for the purpose."

  "Let me tell you this," said Horace: "he's in a very nasty temper justnow, naturally enough, and you won't get anything out of him until youhave restored him to human form. If you do that, he'll agree toanything."

  "Whether I restore him or not will depend not on me, but on the damselwho is his daughter, and to whom thou art contracted in marriage. Forfirst of all I must speak with her."

  "So long as I am present and you promise not to play any tricks," saidHorace, "I've no objection, for I believe, if you once saw her and heardher plead for her poor father, you wouldn't have the heart to hold outany longer. But you must give me your word that you'll behave yourself."

  "Thou hast it," said the Jinnee; "I do but desire to see her on thineaccount."

  "Very well," agreed Horace; "but I really can't introduce you in thatturban--she'd be terrified. Couldn't you contrive to get yourself up incommonplace English clothes, just for once--something that wouldn'tattract so much attention?"

  "Will this satisfy thee?" inquired the Jinnee, as his green turban andflowing robes suddenly resolved themselves into the conventionalchimney-pot hat, frock-coat, and trousers of modern civilisation.

  He bore a painful resemblance in them to the kind of elderly gentlemanwho comes on in the harlequinade to be bonneted by the clown; but Horacewas in no mood to be critical just then.

  "That's better," he said encouragingly; "much better. Now," he added, ashe led the way to the hall and put on his own hat and overcoat, "we'llgo out and find a hansom and be at Kensington in less than twentyminutes."

  "We shall be there in less than twenty seconds," said the Jinnee,seizing him by the arm above the elbow; and Horace found himselfsuddenly carried up into the air and set down, gasping with surprise andwant of breath, on the pavement opposite the Futvoyes' door.

  "I should just like to observe," he said, as soon as he could speak,"that if we've been seen, we shall probably cause a sensation. Londonersare not accustomed to seeing people skimming over the chimney-pots likeamateur rooks."

  "Trouble not for that," said Fakrash, "for no mortal eyes are capable offollowing our flight."

  "I hope not," said Horace, "or I shall lose any reputation I have left.I think," he added, "I'd better go in alone first and prepare them, ifyou don't mind waiting outside. I'll come to the window and wave mypocket-handkerchief when they're ready. And _do_ come in by the doorlike an ordinary person, and ask the maidservant if you may see me."

  "I will bear it in mind," answered the Jinnee, and suddenly sank, orseemed to sink, through a chink in the pavement.

  Horace, after ringing at the Futvoyes' door, was admitted and shown intothe drawing-room, where Sylvia presently came to him, looking as lovelyas ever, in spite of the pallor due to sleeplessness and anxiety. "It iskind of you to call and inquire," she said, with the unnatural calm ofsuppressed hysteria. "Dad is much the same this morning. He had a fairlygood night, and was able to take part of a carrot for breakfast--butI'm afraid he has just remembered that he has to read a paper on'Oriental Occultism' before the Asiatic Society this evening, and it'sworrying him a little.... Oh, Horace," she broke out, unexpectedly, "howperfectly awful all this is! How _are_ we to bear it?"

  "Don't give way, darling!" said Horace; "you will not have to bear itmuch longer."

  "It's all very well, Horace, but unless something is done _soon_ it willbe too late. We can't go _on_ keeping a mule in the study without theservants suspecting something, and where are we to put poor, dear papa?It's too ghastly to think of his having to be sent away to--to a Home ofRest for Horses--and yet what _is_ to be done with him?... Why do youcome if you can't do anything?"

  "I shouldn't be here unless I could bring you good news. You rememberwhat I told you about the Jinnee?"

  "Remember!" cried Sylvia. "As if I could forget! Has he really comeback, Horace?"

  "Yes. I think I have brought him to see that he has made a foolishmistake in enchanting your unfortunate father, and he seems willing toundo it on certain conditions. He is somewhere within call at thismoment, and will come in whenever I give the signal. But he wishes tospeak to you first."

  "To _me_? Oh, no, Horace!" exclaimed Sylvia, recoiling. "I'd so muchrather not. I don't like things that have come out of brass bottles. Ishouldn't know what to say, and it would frighten me horribly."

  "You must be brave, darling!" said Horace. "Remember that it depends onyou whether the Professor is to be restored or not. And there's nothingalarming about old Fakrash, either, I've got him to put on ordinarythings, and he really doesn't look so bad in them. He's quite a mild,amiable old noodle, and he'll do anything for you, if you'll only strokehim down the right way. You _will_ see him, won't you, for your father'ssake?"

  "If I must," said Sylvia, with a shudder, "I--I'll be as nice to him asI can."

  Horace went to the window and gave the signal, though there was no onein sight. However, it was evidently seen, for the next moment there wasa resounding blow at the front door, and a little later Jessie, theparlour-maid, announced "Mr. Fatrasher Larmash--to see Mr. Ventimore,"and the Jinnee stalked gravely in, with his tall hat on his head.

  "You are probably not aware of it, sir," said Horace, "but it is thecustom here to uncover in the presence of a lady." The Jinnee removedhis hat with both hands, and stood silent and impassive.

  "Let me present you to Miss Sylvia Futvoye," Ventimore continued, "thelady whose name you have already heard."

  There was a momentary gleam in Fakrash's odd, slanting eyes as theylighted on Sylvia's shrinking figure, but he made no acknowledgment ofthe introduction.

  "The damsel is not without comeliness," he remarked to Horace; "butthere are lovelier far than she."

  "I didn't ask you for either criticisms or comparisons," said Ventimore,sharply; "there is nobody in the world equal to Miss Futvoye, in myopinion, and you will be good enough to remember that fact. She isexceedingly distressed (as any dutiful daughter would be) by the crueland senseless trick you have played her father, and she begs that youwill rectify it at once. Don't you, Sylvia?"

  "Yes, indeed!" said Sylvia, almost in a whisper, "if--if it isn'ttroubling you too much!"

  "I have been turning over thy words in my mind," said Fakrash to Horace,still ignoring Sylvia, "and I am convinced that thou art right. Even ifthe contents of the seal were known of all men, they would raise noclamour about affairs that concern them not. Therefore it is nothing tome in whose hands the seal may be. Dost thou not agree with me in this?"

  "Of course I do," said Horace. "And it naturally follows that----"

  "It naturally follows, as thou sayest," said the Jinnee, with a cunningassumption of indifference, "that I have naught to gain by demandingback the seal as the price of restoring this damsel's father to hisoriginal form. Wherefore, so far as I am concerned, let him remain amule for ever; unless, indeed, thou art ready to comply with myconditions."

  "Conditions!" cried Horace, utterly unprepared for this conclusion."What can you possibly want from me? But state them. I'll agree toanything, in reason!"

  "I demand that thou shouldst renounce the hand of this damsel."

  "That's out of all reason," said Horace, "and you know it. I will nevergive her up, so long as she is willing to keep me."

  "Maiden," said the Jinnee, ad
dressing Sylvia for the first time, "thematter rests with thee. Wilt thou release this my son from his contract,since thou art no fit wife for such as he?"

  "How can I," cried Sylvia, "when I love him and he loves me? What awicked tyrannical old thing you must be to expect it! I _can't_ give himup."

  "It is but giving up what can never be thine," said Fakrash. "And be notanxious for him, for I will reward and console him a thousandfold forthe loss of thy society. A little while, and he shall remember thee nomore."

  "Don't believe him, darling," said Horace; "you know me better thanthat."

  "Remember," said the Jinnee, "that by thy refusal thou wilt condemn thyparent to remain a mule throughout all his days. Art thou so unnaturaland hard-hearted a daughter as to do this thing?"

  "Oh, I couldn't!" cried Sylvia. "I can't let poor father remain a muleall his life when one word--and yet what _am_ I to do? Horace, whatshall I say? Advise me.... Advise me!"

  "Heaven help us both!" groaned Ventimore. "If I could only see theright thing to do. Look here, Mr. Fakrash," he added, "this is a matterthat requires consideration. Will you relieve us of your presence for ashort time, while we talk it over?"

  "With all my heart," said the Jinnee, in the most obliging manner in theworld, and vanished instantly.

  "Now, darling," began Horace, after he had gone, "if that unspeakableold scoundrel is really in earnest, there's no denying that he's got usin an extremely tight place. But I can't bring myself to believe that he_does_ mean it. I fancy he's only trying us. And what I want you to dois not to consider me in the matter at all."

  "How can I help it?" said poor Sylvia. "Horace, you--you don't _want_ tobe released, do you?"

  "I?" said Horace, "when you are all I have in the world! That's solikely, Sylvia! But we are bound to look facts in the face. To beginwith, even if this hadn't happened, your people wouldn't let ourengagement continue. For my prospects have changed again, dearest. I'meven worse off than when we first met, for that confounded Jinnee hascontrived to lose my first and only client for me--the one thing worthhaving he ever gave me." And he told her the story of the mushroompalace and Mr. Wackerbath's withdrawal. "So you see, darling," heconcluded, "I haven't even a home to offer you; and if I had, it wouldbe miserably uncomfortable for you with that old Marplot continuallydropping in on us--especially if, as I'm afraid he has, he's taken someunreasonable dislike to you."

  "But surely you can talk him over?" said Sylvia; "you said you could doanything you liked with him."

  "I'm beginning to find," he replied, ruefully enough, "that he's not soeasily managed as I thought. And for the present, I'm afraid, if we areto get the Professor out of this, that there's nothing for it but tohumour old Fakrash."

  "Then you actually advise me to--to break it off?" she cried; "I neverthought you would do that!"

  "For your own sake," said Horace; "for your father's sake. If _you_won't, Sylvia, I _must_. And you will spare me that? Let us both agreeto part and--and trust that we shall be united some day."

  "Don't try to deceive me or yourself, Horace," she said; "if we partnow, it will be for ever."

  He had a dismal conviction that she was right. "We must hope for thebest," he said drearily; "Fakrash may have some motive in all this wedon't understand. Or he may relent. But part we must, for the present."

  "Very well," she said. "If he restores dad, I will give you up. But notunless."

  "Hath the damsel decided?" asked the Jinnee, suddenly re-appearing; "forthe period of deliberation is past."

  "Miss Futvoye and I," Horace answered for her, "are willing to considerour engagement at an end, until you approve of its renewal, on conditionthat you restore her father at once."

  "Agreed!" said Fakrash. "Conduct me to him, and we will arrange thematter without delay."

  Outside they met Mrs. Futvoye on her way from the study. "You here,Horace?" she exclaimed. "And who is this--gentleman?"

  "This," said Horace, "is the--er--author of the Professor's misfortunes,and he had come here at my request to undo his work."

  "It _would_ be so kind of him!" exclaimed the distressed lady, who wasby this time far beyond either surprise or resentment. "I'm sure, if heknew all we have gone through----!" and she led the way to her husband'sroom.

  As soon as the door was opened the Professor seemed to recognise histormentor in spite of his changed raiment, and was so powerfullyagitated that he actually reeled on his four legs, and "stood over" ina lamentable fashion.

  "O man of distinguished attainments!" began the Jinnee, "whom I havecaused, for reasons that are known unto thee, to assume the shape of amule, speak, I adjure thee, and tell me where thou hast deposited theinscribed seal which is in thy possession."

  The Professor spoke; and the effect of articulate speech proceeding fromthe mouth of what was to all outward seeming an ordinary mule wasstrange beyond description. "I'll see you damned first," he saidsullenly. "You can't do worse to me than you've done already!"

  "As thou wilt," said Fakrash; "but unless I regain it, I will notrestore thee to what thou wast."

  "Well, then," said the mule, savagely, "you'll find it in the topright-hand drawer of my writing-table: the key is in that diorite bowlon the mantelpiece."

  The Jinnee unlocked the drawer, and took out the metal cap, which heplaced in the breast pocket of his incongruous frock-coat. "So far,well," he said; "next thou must deliver up to me the transcription thouhast made, and swear to preserve an inviolable secrecy regarding themeaning thereof."

  "Do you know what you're asking, sir?" said the mule, laying back hisears viciously. "Do you think that to oblige you I'm going to suppressone of the most remarkable discoveries of my whole scientific career?Never, sir--never!"

  "Since if thou refusest I shall assuredly deprive thee of speech oncemore and leave thee a mule, as thou art now, of hideous appearance,"said the Jinnee, "thou art like to gain little by a discovery which thouwilt be unable to impart. However, the choice rests with thee."

  The mule rolled his one eye, and showed all his teeth in a vicioussnarl. "You've got the whip-hand of me," he said, "and I may as wellgive in. There's a transcript inside my blotting-case--it's the onlycopy I've made."

  Fakrash found the paper, which he rubbed into invisibility between hispalms, as any ordinary conjurer might do.

  "Now raise thy right forefoot," he said, "and swear by all thou holdestsacred never to divulge what thou hast learnt"--which oath theProfessor, in the vilest of tempers, took, clumsily enough.

  "Good," said the Jinnee, with a grim smile. "Now let one of thy womenbring me a cup of fair water."

  Sylvia went out, and came back with a cup of water. "It's filtered," shesaid anxiously; "I don't know if that will do?"

  "It will suffice," said Fakrash. "Let both the women withdraw."

  "Surely," remonstrated Mrs. Futvoye, "you don't mean to turn his wifeand daughter out of the room at such a moment as this? We shall beperfectly quiet, and we may even be of some help."

  "Do as you're told, my dear!" snapped the ungrateful mule; "do as you'retold. You'll only be in the way here. Do you suppose he doesn't know hisown beastly business?"

  They left accordingly; whereupon Fakrash took the cup--an ordinarybreakfast cup with a Greek key-border pattern in pale blue round thetop--and, drenching the mule with the contents, exclaimed, "Quit thisform and return to the form in which thou wast!"

  For a dreadful moment or two it seemed as if no effect was to beproduced; the animal simply stood and shivered, and Ventimore began tofeel an agonising suspicion that the Jinnee really had, as he had firstasserted, forgotten how to perform this particular incantation.

  All at once the mule reared, and began to beat the air frantically withhis fore-hoofs; after which he fell heavily backward into the nearestarmchair (which was, fortunately, a solid and capacious piece offurniture) with his fore-legs hanging limply at his side, in asemi-human fashion. There was a brief convulsion, and then, by somegradual process unspeakably impressive to
witness, the man seemed tobreak through the mule, the mule became merged in the man--and ProfessorFutvoye, restored to his own natural form and habit, sat gasping andtrembling in the chair before them.