The Dragon and the Djinn Page 19

  "One of my judges?" said Jim.

  "Quite naturally," said Abu al-Qusayr. "Naturally, I know this region, and I've had a few contacts with demons myself—just in passing, you understand. However, they would still have to call me as an expert witness because of my local knowledge; and what I can tell them should clear you completely. Not, actually, that you need my testimony. The facts are plain enough."

  "You were looking at what happened a couple of days ago? At the castle of Sir Mortimor Breugel?" asked Jim.

  "Yes," answered Abu al-Qusayr. "As I hope you know, scrying is usually limited to events happening at the present or possibly in the near future; but under special circumstances, of which a capital accusation is one—"

  "Capital!" echoed Jim. Capital crimes even in the first part of his twentieth century normally called for a death sentence. "What would happen to me if I was convicted of actually having violated the demon kingdom?"

  "We'd have to turn you over to the demons, of course," said Abu al-Qusayr. "Just as you would have had to have been turned over to the King and Queen of the Dead, if that earlier charge of willful trespass upon their kingdom had been proven against you. Of course, it wasn't. The guilt in that case actually lay with Malvinne, the French AAA magickian—and you saw what happened to him, I believe."

  "I did," said Jim. He would never forget the sight—Malvinne being drawn up into dark clouds sculpted into the forms of the King and Queen of the Dead on their thrones; pulled up as if he had been a drowned rat at the end of a string.

  "Well, as I say, it doesn't matter," said Abu al-Qusayr. "As I just told you, even without my expert testimony, the facts are indisputable. You made it very clear, for the record, in speaking to Sir Mortimor, that you would not turn yourself into a demon. You only said you would produce one. You lied to him, of course, which is perfectly justifiable under circumstances where the magickian needs defense, but wishes to do no harm. You merely let him think you had produced a demon, which is not a violation of demon sovereignty in any way. The fact that Sir Mortimor, Sir Mortimor's men and those who were attacking his castle believed you to be a demon was their mistake, and their responsibility. You fulfilled the magickian's command to defend himself without harming anyone else. You did no harm."

  "No harm," echoed Jim, in a low voice. In his mind's eye he saw the bodies of the Moroccans scattered all over the beach, being searched and even cut into by Sir Mortimor's men, to see if they had swallowed anything small but valuable to protect it from being stolen.

  "Don't let it disturb you," said Abu al-Qusayr, as if he had read Jim's mind. "If it hadn't been the Moroccans who were killed, it would have been Sir Mortimor's men, Sir Mortimor—and possibly you three as well. But come now, let's have something to eat and drink and talk about more interesting things."

  Jim felt a sudden breath of air on the back of his neck; and a moment later a green-clad servant set down on the table top a tray of cakes and three tiny cups of what looked like very black coffee, one each in front of himself and Brian; and the third in front of Abu al-Qusayr. He also put down a bowl of milk before Hob—who lapped it up like a cat. The bowl of clear water and the other apparatus on the table had vanished a second before the servant appeared.

  Abu al-Qusayr immediately sipped from his coffee cup and nibbled at one of the cakes. Jim vaguely remembered from his reading that such was good manners in this part of the world. The host would eat and drink before his guests, to show that neither food nor drink were poisoned.

  Jim lifted his own cup to his lips; and, sure enough, it was very strong coffee, very heavily sugared. He saw Brian tasting his; and a look of astonishment coming over his friend's face before he set the cup down. Brian, surrounded by transplanted Europeans, had obviously so far not been offered anything but wine and water until this moment. Still, Brian's manners were enough to keep him from making any comment on this hot, bittersweet brew.

  "I am sorry I can't offer you wine," said Abu al-Qusayr. "There is none in this house. The Koran, as you know, forbids it to true Muslims, of which I am one. As I understand it, Brian, you are in search of the father of your beloved, so arrangements may be made that she be given you in matrimony; and James, here, has out of friendship come with you on this trip—albeit a little behind you, catching up with you in Cyprus."

  "That is so," said Brian. He had only taken a couple more sips of coffee, but he had already eaten five of the little cakes. Jim noticed that they were magically replenishing themselves on the tray, as fast as those that were there were devoured. "My lady's father went off on a crusade, though few would do so, nowadays; but he hoped that good fortune would attend him, if he did. We had lost track of him until just lately. Then a knight returning from this part of the world gave her word that her father had been seen in Palmyra, which we understand is inland from this city of Tripoli."

  "It is indeed inland," said Abu al-Qusayr, "on the other side of the mountains and then a distance. But it is still on the caravan routes and it is a city of merchants. Perhaps her father has become a merchant and that is the reason for his staying there. If he is doing well he may have chosen not to return home."

  "How do we get there?" asked Brian.

  "I would say," answered Abu al-Qusayr, "the only sensible way for you will be to join a caravan taking goods shipped from Tripoli to that city and others beyond. The route lies through the mountains, which are now dangerous because of a nest of Assassins that have flourished there in the Kasr al-Abiyadh, or the White Palace, in the last few years."

  "Assassins?" asked Jim, beating Brian to the question by seconds.

  "Yes," said Abu al-Qusayr, "at least they claim to be Hashasheen; and I would not risk doubting it. They are not, of course, of the original Assassins, which began with Hassan ibn al-Sabbah, who was the first 'Old Man of the Mountain.' He seized the castle of Alamut, in a valley near Kazvin, nearly three hundred years ago; and Alamut was their headquarters for many years, until the Mongols took them, one by one. Finally, Alamut itself fell to the Mongols; and the last of the Assassins' castles in Syria, Kahf, was conquered less than a hundred years ago. But still the brotherhood crops up from time to time. I do not know the name of the one who calls himself Grandmaster of this group in the mountains you will be passing through; but he was a Sufi, one of the Orthodox who worship Allah, but in their own strange ways. He felt called upon to become an Isma'ili and joined those Isma'ilis who are Hashasheen, or Assassins, as you would say. But the caravan itself will be armed and ready; and if you stay with the caravan, your chances should be good of getting to Palmyra."

  "That sounds not too difficult," said Brian. "Indeed a small bicker along the way would possibly be welcome, to break the tedium of the trip."

  "I'm glad to hear you so confident," said Abu al-Qusayr. "I suggest, however, you keep an eye out. Not only for Assassins, but for other enemies, most of them Naturals. There are actual demons among those rocks, as well as ghouls and spirits of various kinds. You might even encounter a griffin or a cockatrice; although these are rare nowadays and are not likely to approach something as large as a caravan."

  Jim noticed Brian's face had paled. Hob leaped from the top of the table to Jim's shoulder and clutched him around the neck.

  "Would they want me?" he cried at Abu al-Qusayr. "Would any of them want a hobgoblin like me?"

  "Never mind," said Jim, shortly. "I'll make sure that nothing from an Assassin to a cockatrice has anything to do with you."

  Hob sighed with relief, and sat down on Jim's shoulder. Jim noticed that Abu al-Qusayr was looking at him with a curious interest.

  "Do you," said Hob, addressing Abu al-Qusayr, then hesitating, "do you have a fireplace around here some place?"

  "I'm sorry, little friend," said Abu al-Qusayr. "There are no fireplaces here. However, there are fires in places like the kitchens, Sir Brian, I must speak privily with Sir James, here. Would you be good enough to allow yourself to be shown your quarters, now? On the way, then, you could be taken past
the kitchen, and Hob could be shown what we have by way of fire and smoke in this building."

  "I would be glad to do so," said Brian, rising smoothly and athletically from his pillow without even putting a hand to the ground. "We will be staying with you, then?"

  "Just overnight, I believe," said Abu al-Qusayr. "I have arranged for you to join the caravan to leave tomorrow."

  Behind him, Jim felt another puff of air, and the voice of Majid spoke behind them.

  "What is your will, master?" said the voice of the silver-haired man.

  "Show Sir Brian to the room set aside for him and Sir James," said Abu al-Qusayr. "On the way, go past the kitchen; so that our small friend, now on Jim's shoulder, can see the cooking fires there. Perhaps Hob would like to ride on Sir Brian's shoulder?"

  Hob immediately leaped over to land on Brian's shoulder. Brian looked a little startled, but did not object as Hob took a firm grip around his neck. Jim turned his head to watch them go out through the door, which closed noiselessly behind them, then looked back at Abu al-Qusayr.

  "You don't even want Hob listening to what you have to say?" he asked Abu al-Qusayr.

  "In this case, I think it's just as well," said the older magician. "I'm glad you sounded so confident now about dealing with these other creatures that might threaten you in the caravan. Actually, the threat is small. Most of them like to find their victims alone. On the other hand, if you see the Mongols at all, they may come in such force that the caravan will be helpless before them. In that case, I suggest you not resist them. Just explain why you're going to Palmyra. I've arranged for some wine, and a certain amount also of cooked wine—I believe in the north you call it brandy, as well as other names—to use as a bribe on the Mongols. You might promise them whatever you think it might take to give you safe passage. Also, it might be wise if you made the cooked wine appear as if by magick, whether you actually use magick or not—I understand you're limiting your use of it at the present, and I applaud that. But magicking the cooked wine into existence would keep them from thinking there's more of it hidden around the caravan, someplace; in which case they would tear everything apart. The Mongols are known to be fond of alcohol."

  "I've heard that," said Jim; and, indeed, he had, although he had not remembered it until just this moment. It was another tag of knowledge from the twentieth-century world he and Angie had left behind.

  "What about my using magic?" he said. "How do you suppose the Mongols would react to that?"

  "I think it would serve you very well," said Abu al-Qusayr. "It may even gain you some respect among them. They will class you with their shamans, who indeed are magickians of a sort, although they are other things as well, including being religious figures among the Mongols."

  "Speaking of magic," said Jim, "I've been enjoying the control of temperature you have in this house of yours. That will be magic, of course?"

  "It is my one indulgence," said Abu al-Qusayr, with something very like a sigh, "as your Master, Carolinus, indulges himself with flowers and green turf through the year, around his small cottage. When you reach A level, my son, experience will have made you clever in knowing how you can achieve your ends without magick; and consequently you will have magickal energy to spend on an indulgence or two."

  He sighed again.

  "I say an indulgence or two," he went on, "because the architecture of this home of mine reflects an ancient memory, an ancient, fond memory, of the time when ours was a great civilization here to the south of the Mediterranean Sea. We had builders and scholars and wise men of many kinds. But then Genghis Khan's Mongols came and the cities were conquered or destroyed; and with them went much of the ways of thought and wisdom. Now I live alone and quietly; and seldom do I have a chance for discourse with one who thinks and ponders what he thinks and looks at the world to try and understand what he sees in it."

  He paused, and then almost visibly shook himself out of what seemed to be a sort of half-dream.

  "But I talk too much about myself," he said. "More to the point is that, speaking of wise men and scholars, there are still a few thinkers wandering the world. You'll encounter one in the caravan. He's a young man still—no more than thirty years of age I would say—his name is ibn-Tariq and you may find his conversation a boon to you on the long ride to Palmyra. Have you ever ridden a camel before?"

  "No," said Jim.

  "You will find it interesting," said Abu al-Qusayr.

  Chapter Seventeen

  "Interesting" was not the word Jim would have chosen for the experience of riding a camel.

  The caravan with which he, along with Brian and Hob, had left was five days out of Tripoli on the route that would take it eventually through Palmyra, climbing the steep path into the mountains, and Jim had yet to get any real control over the beast he rode.

  It had to be made to kneel in order for him to get on the saddle because of the enormous height of its legs; and anyone else in the caravan, except Brian who was having the same sort of trouble, could make it do so simply by tapping its neck with a thin stick. Jim could tap away lightly or strongly or any way he wanted; and the camel simply ignored him. What the trick was, he had yet to learn. Also, the camel was equipped with reins, with which he should be able to guide it like a horse. But it ignored Jim's attempt to do any such thing.

  What it would do, entirely on its own, was plod along in line with the other camels as long as they kept moving. When the other camels stopped, it stopped. It smelled, it made noisy bubbling sounds, and it was as indifferent to Jim on its back as if he had been a piece of baggage.

  The one welcome thing about it was its pace, after the familiar jolting of a trotting horse. The camel traveled by moving both legs on one side forward at the same time. The result was joltless, and gave an almost soothing, rocking motion to the saddle. It occurred to Jim that it would be almost easy to sleep on the move in such a saddle—even more easy than in the Tuareg saddle with its high cross before the rider on which he could sleep, resting his arms on the crossbar and putting his head down on them.

  In fact, Jim had already seen one of his fellow travelers sleeping hunched in his ordinary camel saddle.

  This was a small, black-haired, bullet-headed man, with a short, curved sword and a couple of knives stuck into his belt, who rode with his legs crossed on the camel's neck before him, and who, it turned out, was a Mongol.

  His name was Baiju; and he was apparently one of a Mongol tribe or group that was in disagreement with the Mongols they might meet along the way. It was difficult to learn much from him; but there was a strangely dangerous air about him, and Jim noticed that the population of the caravan in general either avoided him or were careful about doing anything that might offend him.

  But another traveler was indeed a blessing. He was ibn-Tariq, the wandering scholar and thinker that Abu al-Qusayr had mentioned to Jim.

  He was obviously a man of means. His clothes, his baggage, his voice and actions and even the way he sat his camel proclaimed the educated aristocrat. In any case, whether he actually was an aristocrat or not, he was most certainly educated.

  Jim could not make his camel go to this man; but ibn-Tariq had no trouble bringing his alongside Jim, and telling him much about the country as they went through it, about caravans, trade, and the history of the land. He was a camel-portable encyclopedia.

  Often, during their conversations, Brian would either manage to urge his camel up to join them, or else he would get the help of someone else to do it for him; for ibn-Tariq was interesting to listen to.

  Baiju the Mongol, however, never came over to speak with Jim when ibn-Tariq was there; and came seldom enough when Jim was alone. It seemed to Jim that Baiju looked at him, and his inability to manage the beast he rode, with a certain amount of contempt. But it was a tolerant contempt, mixed with a remarkable amount of respect. Somehow, he had learned that Jim was a magician.

  Jim wondered if ibn-Tariq also knew; but if so, he was having trouble thinking of a way t
o ask about this politely. Ibn-Tariq himself was a model of politeness.

  "About the ghouls and demons and such in these mountains," Jim ventured finally during a conversation between them on the fifth day. "How likely are we to run into them?"

  "I have no doubt they are all about us now, and will continue to be so for the length of our journey," said ibn-Tariq. Like Brian, he sat very straight-backed in his saddle so that he seemed taller than his actual height, which was actually slightly shorter than Jim's, but not by much. He had a high bridge to his nose, but otherwise his face was handsome in a lean sort of way, and remarkably relaxed. His brown eyes seemed to see beyond anything he looked at, as if he was aware of all the forces that moved it or caused it to be. "To say nothing of Djinn and the lesser devils, as well as Assassins, Mongols and wild tribesmen who would rob us if they could."

  "Shouldn't we be taking more care to protect ourselves against them, then?" Jim asked.

  "I think we have relatively little to fear," said ibn-Tariq. "The ghouls prefer a single man, lost in the wastes. To him they appear as beautiful women—only when they open their mouths, it will be seen that the insides of those mouths are green. As you undoubtedly know, they devour mainly the dead, but will not hesitate to devour the living who are helpless to keep them off. The demons prefer for their prey those who have transgressed against the laws of God as laid down in the Koran. You are a nasraney, of course; and as an infidel would not be of great interest to them. I understand there are demons in your part of the world who would be, however; and of course against those you would have the protection of your faith, such as it is. Here, of course, it would not protect you against one of our demons, who know that there is no God but Allah. But I am interested. In what way would you protect yourself against one of your northern infidel demons?"