Alhazred

by Donald Tyson

  One of the men on the ship jumped down from the rail to the dock as I approached and waited for me. The crew that worked with ropes the stone counterweight on the heel of the long boom of the wooden crane gave me curious glances, but there was no horror in their eyes, as there surely would have been had they gazed upon my true face. I wondered what my mask of glamour resembled, and with a certain vanity hoped that I was handsome. The man who waited wore a skirt of white linen trimmed with blue that covered his knees, and over it a vest of striped red and gold silk that left his muscular arms free. Its bright colors contrasted with the simple white skirts of the other men, most of whom labored bare to the waist. Like them, he wore a turban but went barefoot, and he carried in its scabbard at his leather belt a short sword with a blade as broad as my hand.

  The weathered lines of his sun-browned face gave an initial impression of harshness, but his gaze as he watched me approach was direct and neutral. I saw as I drew nearer that his head reached only as high as my shoulder.

  “I am called Alhazred,” I said, stopping to face him. “Will you give me passage aboard your ship?”

  He smiled at my directness, and at once his expression became less intimidating.

  “You don’t even know where we are going.”

  I spread my arms and turned in a circle.

  “Wherever you sail, it is surely more hospitable than this coast.”

  He gazed up the shore, upon which nothing but a scattering of sea birds moved, and grunted his agreement.

  “We sail north, to the port of Suez. Will that suit you?”

  “I can wish for no finer destination.”

  He dropped his glance to my tattered sandals and met my eyes.

  “How did you plan to pay for your passage?”

  Working from my finger the gold ring that I had worn since stealing it out of the grave of the Bedouin of the caravan that had abandoned me in the Empty Space, I handed it to him. He held it up to the sunlight and studied its plain band, which was thin enough. With a shrug, he tried it on his third finger, and finding it too tight, transferred it to his smallest.

  “Have you got anything else?”

  I felt through the breast slit of my thawb to an inner pocket, and drew out the silver medallion I had taken from the dead girl wrapped in honey. He made a sound of appreciation and squinted to read its Arabic text, then tucked it in his belt so that its neck chain dangled. His eyes rested on Gor’s polished white skull at my waist.

  “A keepsake I found in the desert.”

  He grunted.

  “My name is Jabir ibn Abdullah. This is my ship, the Eye of Mecca.” He waved a negligent finger at the crew on the dock. “These are the laziest and most worthless fools I’ve ever had the misfortune to sail with.”

  His words aroused a sullen chuckle from an old man with a white beard, who did not pause in his work. Another turned and spat onto the sand.

  The captain clapped me on the back in a friendly fashion.

  “Come into my cabin. We will share a flask of wine while these malingerers finish their work.”

  He spoke a few short words of instruction to a large man who labored with the rest, and the man nodded. He looked at me for a moment before bending to jerk tight the rope around the bale of wool he was about to load, and I saw worry in his expression. Jabir noticed my eye upon him.

  “That’s Ulik, my first mate. The only thing that keeps this scum from robbing me and slinking off into the night is the fear that he would bash their heads together. And he would.”

  The Eye of Mecca was broad in her beam and low in the water. Her bottom must have been completely flat, or she would never have been able to load her hold in so shallow a mooring. Painted on the starboard side of her curving bow was a large eye. Though I could not see the opposite side, I assumed a similar eye adorned it. Her square sail was furled on its angled cross arm at the base of the mast. Along the side, shuttered ports showed where oars could be lowered into the water in times of calm, though to move such an ungainly craft by oars alone would be an agonizing labor. Stacks of cargo rested everywhere, making it awkward to move across the deck to the small cabin at the stern of the ship. The roof of this cabin was an elevated deck where would stand the steersman who held the great oar that acted as the rudder of the ship. At present it was not occupied.

  Ducking my head and following the captain into the shadowed interior of the cabin, I saw him pull the cork from a leather-covered bottle and pour its contents into two brass cups he had set on a small table. He dropped the bottle on the table unsealed and passed me a cup, then sank into a chair. I took the only other chair on the opposite side of the table and sampled my drink. In the months since my expulsion from the palace I had nearly forgotten the taste of good wine, and this swill did nothing to remind me. It had a woody flavor and a slight sourness. I drank deep and smiled my appreciation to my companion, who must have been well accustomed to the taste since he could drink the wine without grimacing.

  “Alhazred? That’s a strange name.”

  “My father was a fanciful man,” I lied. “He named me after a djinn.”

  Jabir raised his glossy black brows over the rim of his cup.

  “Better if you don’t say that to the men. They are a superstitious lot. They won’t like me taking a passenger as it is.”

  “Why would they object to a passenger?”

  “Not just a passenger, a man from the desert. You gave them quite a scare when you appeared on the beach. Ulik thought you were a djinn when first he looked at you—said you had the face of a monster.”

  I laughed to cover my discomfort. The first mate had keen eyesight.

  “In the twenty or more years we’ve been coming here, no one has ever appeared alone from the desert. No one lives here for many leagues in all directions.”

  It was plain he wanted my story, so I told it to him.

  “I was in a caravan, making my way to Sana’a, when we were attacked by bandits, who intended to hold me and others for ransom. They took us with them when they fled into the Empty Space to avoid the soldiers of the king of Yemen, and I managed to escape on a camel. The poor beast died of thirst. My own water ran out just today.”

  I patted my empty water skin at my waist to lend credence to my tale.

  “I’ve been walking along the coast, hoping to see a ship. It was fortunate I found you.”

  “Very fortunate. Allah be praised.”

  He drained the last of his wine and refilled his cup from the bottle.

  “You said you were traveling to Sana’a? Don’t you want to go there?”

  “Can you take me to Sana’a?”

  He laughed.

  “Sana’a is an inland city. My ship doesn’t sail over sand. Nor can I take you to the ports of Qizan or Maida, which are not far from Sana’a, because they lie down the coast to the south, and I must sail north at once. I can let you off as we pass the port of Jidda, which isn’t too far from Mecca. You could make your way back to Yemen overland, if you have money for the journey, or friends who will lend you money.”

  I spread my hands and put on a look of sorrow.

  “My family was killed in the bandit raid on the caravan. I have no family or friends in Mecca. However, I do have an uncle living in Alexandria who I am sure would be happy to see me, and would lend me the money to make my way home.”

  “Egypt it is, then,” he said with a tone of finality.

  When the cargo had filled the hold and been tied down to every available open space on the deck, we waited for the turning of the tide. As the sun settled into the western sea, we cast off and began to sail north on a favorable wind. The captain offered me space beside him in his bunk, but I declined, saying that I preferred to sleep under the stars. The truth was that I did not wish to reinfest myself with fleas after so soon cleaning
them from my hair and thawb.

  Before our sailing, I filled my water skin with a wooden dipper at the ship’s water barrel, and had a chance to gaze upon my altered features. The magic of the dark man had restored my lost face. It stared back at me from the still surface of the water, a little more tanned and lined than it had looked in the mirror that, in another life, Dodee was accustomed to hold up for me each morning, but otherwise unchanged. So great was my longing for that face, my tears fell into the barrel like rain, and I took myself to the private place I had managed to find near the bow of the ship between two high piles of horsehides, where I sat squinting at the setting sun until it disappeared beneath the horizon.

  The night was mild. The constant breeze drove away flies. I fell asleep on the deck, listening to the shouts of the seamen, who labored unseen behind the piles of cargo. The rocking of the ship did not trouble me. I slept longer and more deeply than I had in months, with my right hand not closed around the hilt of my dagger.

  A scream woke me. I sat up and squinted through the morning light in the direction of the sound. An old man with a bald head and long white beard stood between the piles of skins, staring at me with his mouth agape. His scalp looked pale where it was usually protected from the sun by his turban, which he clutched in both his hands in front of his chest. I saw that he had no teeth, and it reminded me of I’thakuah. I grimaced. The old man screamed again, then turned and stumbled away between the bales and barrels.

  As the sleep left my head, I realized that the dark man’s glamour had ended. It endured only a single day, and must be renewed daily. He had spoken a term of hours in the dream. Searching my memory, his words came back to me. Twelve hours. Less than the span from sun to sun, at this season of late summer. I made the gestures and uttered the word of the spell under my breath, as a babble of frightened voices approached the place I sat. Quickly, I lay down on my side with my head on my arm, my back turned to the sounds.

  “You! Stand up,” a deep voice ordered.

  I waited for the man to repeat his words before slowly rolling over and pushing myself erect. As I turned to show my face, I let it express puzzlement mingled with annoyance.

  The five seamen, among them the old man and the first mate, Ulik, stared at me in silence, their bodies tense with fear. The first mate shook himself from his paralysis and cuffed the old man on his bald head with an open hand.

  “What are you playing at, Kabassa, you old fool? There’s nothing wrong with his face.”

  “It was the face of a djinn, I tell you,” the old man babbled as he rubbed his crown. “It was horrible, Ulik, the face of a monster.”

  The first mate glared at me. I met his gaze calmly with just the right amount of bemusement.

  “Back to work,” he roared at the others, who cleared a passage for him when he turned and stalked away without another glance. The other three seamen looked at me and at each other uncertainly, then backed away. The old man scowled in anger, but he was too fearful to remain alone and shrank back with the rest.

  “I know what I saw,” he said fiercely, staring at me with defiance.

  When I was once more unobserved, I turned to the open sea and urinated over the rail.

  I am puzzled, Alhazred.

  “Why is that, Sashi?” I murmured, wondering what the outcome of this little drama would be.

  He said you look like a djinn. You look nothing like a djinn.

  I laughed in spite of my misgivings.

  “These men have never seen a djinn. To them, djinn is just another word for monster.”

  After a while, the boy who helped the black cook prepare the meals poked his head around the edge of one of the piles of skins and nervously told me that the captain wished me to share his morning meal. He was kneeling on his prayer rug on the deck above his cabin when I approached. I waited in silence for him to finish. He rolled up the rug and we entered the cabin together without exchanging a word. Laid out on his table were plates of dried figs and apricots, a hard biscuit with the texture of wood, smoked goat meat simmered in oil, and brass cups of the same sour wine we had shared the previous day. I relished the dried fruit, but the smoked meat was not to my liking, so accustomed I had become to the raw flesh of rats. I pretended to enjoy it.

  “My first mate still claims that you are a djinn,” Jabir said, smacking his lips with enjoyment as he drank his wine.

  “Has he ever seen a djinn?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “There, you see?” I said to Sashi.

  I spread my hands and smiled, as though I had been talking to the captain, and he nodded.

  “I perceive your point. Still, probably best if you avoid the crew for the rest of the voyage. I’ve given orders that you are not to be bothered.”

  I kept to myself, and when I could not avoid a seaman, I smiled pleasantly and nodded, even though my smile was never answered with anything other than a glare. They were afraid of me, that much was obvious. On a ship, it is nearly impossible to avoid human contact, but I found myself able to be alone most of the day and night. Each morning and each evening I renewed the spell of glamour to conceal my true features. The trouble might have ended had not the wind died. For three days we lay in the middle of the sea, becalmed, the water as flat as a polished marble table. I heard it muttered among the crew that the captain had sailed too far from land and had lost the wind. Some of them cursed me and swore I was the cause of the error.

  When the sail was hoisted in a futile effort to take advantage of the passing ghost of a breeze, and one of its supporting ropes snapped, the discontent swelled into open discord. All morning, the anger of the crew had gathered strength, and when the rope broke, their patience snapped along with it. The captain sent the cook’s boy to call me to his cabin. He stood in the open doorway, his sword naked in his hand and a grim expression on his face.

  “Get inside,” he snapped, his distaste at seeing me obvious.

  Silently, I slid around him and entered the cabin.

  “Shut the door and bolt it. Whatever happens, don’t come out.”

  “I have a dagger,” I said. “You may need me beside you.”

  “No. If you stab one of the crew, they will fall on you and tear you to pieces. They are close enough to doing that as it is.”

  It was not my place to argue with his judgment. I took a moment to admire both his principles and his courage, then shut the door and bolted it while he continued to stand guard on the outside of the portal. Through the carved wooden lattice of the door I was able to look over his shoulder and saw the crew approach in one mass, murder in their eyes. The first mate went before them with his arms outspread and tried to slow their progress, but they ignored his gruff words and pushed him onward with the tide of their bodies.

  “Stand, you dogs!” he roared. “Show some respect.”

  “No, let them approach,” Jabir said in a steady voice that carried across the deck. “If my crew is troubled, I will hear their complaint.”

  This moderated the anger of the seamen. They milled around, uncertain who to send forward to speak to the captain. At last they shoved the unwilling Kabassa in front of them until he stood alone. He eyed the sword and licked his lips.

  “Have you a grievance, Kabassa?” Jabir asked.

  “Not against you, Captain,” the old man stuttered.

  “What is it, then? Speak your mind, if you have one.”

  The insult seemed to annoy the old man, and stiffened his nerve. He pointed over the captain’s shoulder directly at my face.

  “That’s not a man, it’s a djinn. We have to cast it over the side or this ship is doomed.”

  The rest of the assembled crew murmured their agreement. I saw the flash of a knife blade between their tightly pressed bodies as they shifted and surged forward. Jabir raised his sword.

 
“Hold! There’ll be no murder on this ship as long as I command.”

  He lowered his sword and swung his finger in an arc to point at each of the seamen.

  “You’ve had your say, now it’s my turn. I say this man is not a djinn. I say he is a passenger who has paid his way to Suez.”

  He showed the ring on his hand to indicate the payment.

  “We are bound by honor to take him to Suez, as was agreed.”

  Another man whose name I did not know stepped forward in anger.

  “He’s a monster. Kabassa saw his face. So did Ulik. We have to get him off the ship or we’re all dead men.”

  The captain looked at his first mate.

  “Ulik, tell them you didn’t see any monster.”

  The big man remained silent with a stubborn expression. The captain waited. At last Ulik shook his head.

  “I did see a djinn. Kabassa is right, we have to get it off the ship.”

  The body of the captain sagged as he realized that the first mate would not stand with him against the crew. He was alone.

  I had seen and heard enough. I stepped back from the door into the shadows of the cabin and dug into my thawb, drawing forth the rag that held the jewels. With care I took out one jewel at random and tied up the rag, putting it back in its pocket. I placed the stone into my mouth and held it under my tongue.

  “Sashi, I want you to leave my body,” I murmured under my breath. “Stay close to me, and go where I point. Do you understand?”

  I will do as you ask, my love.

  The familiar pulling sensation on the surface of my chest informed me when the djinn vacated my flesh. Even though I could not see her, I knew she remained near at hand.