The Librarians and the Lost Lamp (27 page)

“Make no mistake, all of you,”
Jenkins said, so gravely that you could practically hear him frowning over the phone.
“This Djinn is no cheerful cartoon character who sings show tunes while showering you with undeserved riches. He's a malevolent magical menace who has been stuck in solitary confinement inside a lamp for untold ages. Don't expect him to be in a good mood. He's been waiting a long time to get his revenge on the world … and the Library, in particular.”

“Thanks for the pep talk,” Baird said.

“You're welcome,”
he replied.
“Anytime.”

 

21

2016

The crystal scrying bowl had once belonged to the god-kings of ancient Persepolis. Seven rings of archaic cuneiform were inscribed along the outer surface of the bowl, which Jenkins had retrieved from the Divination wing of the Library. Now it rested on the conference table in the Annex, where he filled it with ordinary tap water, before proceeding with a streamlined version of a traditional Bronze Age summoning spell. There was a certain personage he needed to consult at once, and he had neither the time nor the patience to stand on ceremony.

“In the name of Enlil and Astarte and the Eternal Flame, yadda yadda yadda, so on and so forth, et cetera, I summon he who speaks for the Court of Smoke.” He waved a perfectly preserved green feather, plucked from the Bird of Paradise, over the bowl in a desultory fashion and blew upon the still, clear water. “Paging the Envoy, ASAP.”

To his annoyance, nothing happened at first. Sighing impatiently, he ran his index finger along the rim of the bowl, producing a high-pitched ringing tone that grated on his ears.

“I can keep this up for as long as I have to,” he warned the bowl. “Rely on it.”

That did the trick. A luminous aura traced the markings on the bowl. The water rippled and Jenkins's reflection was replaced by the visage of another, whose bristling black beard and mustache compensated for a hairless cranium. A single golden earring made the reflection look like that of a stereotypical pirate or, more accurately, a genie. The face on the water bore a distinctly aggrieved expression, just as Jenkins had anticipated.

“Galeas?” the water spoke, addressing Jenkins by a name he had not employed since the fall of Camelot. “How dare you disturb the repose of Dobra of the City of Bronze? Were I not in a merciful mood, I would drown the world in blood for such presumption!”

“Spare me the usual histrionics,” Jenkins replied, unimpressed. He knew from experience that this genie's bluster was usually just that. “I require information on a matter of some urgency.”

Dobra currently represented the Djinn when it came to dealing with the Library and other mystical realms and factions. Jenkins had last encountered him at a recent high-level Conclave regarding an incipient war between two rival clans of dragons. Dobra had been just as difficult and full of himself then.

“Am I a dog to speak at your command? You overstep yourself, mortal.”

“I am anything but mortal, as you well know. And I would not call upon you unless I had good reason to do so.”

“Easy for you to say, you monkish relic. I have seven wives to attend to, not to mention assorted concubines.”

“All of whom can certainly survive without your attentions for the time it takes to provide me with the answers I seek.”

Dobra scoffed. “And why should I comply with your request?”

“The Electrum Covenant. Article twelve, clause b-thirty-two, subsection five-hundred and sixty-seven.” Jenkins paused in his citation. “Need I go on?”

The reflection rippled in irritation, but was bound by the terms of the treaty.

“Very well. Make your inquiry, but be swift about it.”

Jenkins got straight to the point. “The Lamp of Aladdin. Is it in play again?”

“Oh, that.” Dobra suddenly looked more uncomfortable than irritated. He tugged nervously on his beard. “I'm afraid I can neither confirm nor deny anything regarding that topic.”

Jenkins was vexed by the evasion. “Come now, Dobra. If the Lamp is back, this is no time for diplomatic persiflage. We can't afford to waste time on games.”

Dobra winced at that inconvenient truth. Looking about cautiously, he lowered his voice and appeared to lean forward, so that his reflection in the water acquired a fisheye effect.

“Well, strictly off the record, even if, hypothetically, a certain lamp
were
once more abroad in your world, we of the Djinn would not readily acknowledge such a fact.”

“And why is that?” Jenkins asked. “One would think this would fall squarely under your jurisdiction, or have you no interest in policing your own?”

“It is not that simple. The Genie of the Lamp, whose very name none dare utter, has never bowed to the authority of the Court of Smoke. He is a rogue, an outlaw, and a most formidable one at that. We lack the power to constrain him … and can take no responsibility for his deeds.”

“I see,” Jenkins said, as a clearer picture emerged. “In other words, you're all scared to death of this particular black sheep and don't have the nerve to challenge him.” He didn't bother to keep the scorn out of his voice. “Have I got that right?”

Dobra got all defensive. “You don't grasp the delicacy of our position.”

“Oh, I think I grasp it just fine. I take it then that the Court is wiping its hands of the situation and that we can expect no assistance from you or your fellow Djinn when it comes to coping with your wayward kinsman?”

“Sadly not … hypothetically.” Dobra raised his voice in a pathetically transparent attempt to save face. “Let it be known, however, that were my hands not tied in this affair, the Nameless One would most assuredly feel the full force of my wrath. A thousand mighty blows would I rain down upon him, so that he would rue the day he crossed Dobra of the City of Bronze. He would plead for mercy, lest I snuff out his divine fire and cast his substance to the four winds. Greatly would he be punished for his transgressions, and well would he tremble before—”

“Oh, yes, I'm sure that's exactly how it would go down,” Jenkins said sarcastically. “Anyway, this has been
very
helpful, but I'm afraid that some of us have actual business to attend to.”

He poked the feather in the water and stirred Dobra's image away, brusquely dismissing the useless genie without any of the customary formalities. Carefully picking up the bowl, so as to avoid slopping the water onto the table, Jenkins carried it across the Library to the actual Black Hole of Calcutta, where he dumped the water into the abyss with a degree of satisfaction.

Still, he reflected, his aggravating tête–à–tête with Dobra had not been entirely a waste of time. He had managed to confirm two things: that the Genie's Lamp was no longer lost forever, and that the Librarians and their Guardian were on their own where the Forty—and the rogue Djinn—were concerned.

Same old, same old,
he thought.

*   *   *

The Pissaro Gallery of Art was one of the few attractions in Las Vegas that didn't come complete with slot machines. Too few tourists knew that the city was home to many fine art galleries and museums and not just to casinos, a regrettable fact that Stone nevertheless hoped to take advantage of. He and Dunphy practically had the gallery to themselves, not that Gus seemed to appreciate the outstanding collection of Neo-Impressionist paintings and drawings currently on display.

“I didn't even get to finish my steak,” Dunphy whined, oblivious to the stunning Matisse right in front of him. He squatted on a bench, wallowing in self-pity. “What did I do to deserve this? Ever since I lost my lucky penny, I can't get a break.”

“Yeah, about that.” Stone tore himself away from admiring an early charcoal study by Seurat to sit down beside Dunphy. “I may know something about that, but we both know that penny isn't really what this is all about. The Lamp is what matters. Aladdin's Lamp.”

“Aladdin…” Dunphy's jaw dropped “How do you know about … I mean, you're joking, right?”

“Not by a long shot,” Stone said. Jenkins had briefed him on his suspicions while he and Dunphy were en route to the art gallery. “Don't try to con me, Gus. You're in over your head here, with some seriously dangerous customers hot on your trail. I can't help you unless we level with each other.”

“Who are you anyway?” Dunphy stared at Stone in bewilderment. “That woman at the restaurant, she called you a librarian?”

“And she wasn't wrong,” Stone said. “I'm a Librarian all right, but not the kind you're thinking of. My colleagues and I track down dangerous magical items … like the Lamp.”

Gus started sweating, despite the air conditioning. “I swear to God, I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Give me a break, Gus. That didn't work back at the steakhouse, and it's not going to work now. The cat is out of the bag, man. You're not fooling anyone.”

Dunphy opened his mouth to issue another denial, but his heart wasn't in it. “You really know about all that?”

“Yep, and so does our new friend Marjanah and her friends. Seems they belong to a secret society that calls itself the Forty. By all accounts, they're a pretty cutthroat bunch, and they have been after the Lamp for a long, long time.”

Gus twitched nervously. “How long?”

“A thousand-plus years, give or take a few centuries, so they're not about to give up just because we got away from them once. You need our help, Gus, which means you need to tell us where you stowed the Lamp.”

He obviously didn't have the Lamp on him, so Stone had to assume that Dunphy had tucked it away somewhere, far from the trailer that the Forty had already ransacked.
At least we know now what they were looking for,
he thought.

“That's what that woman said, too, aside from the whole slicing me to ribbons thing. How do I know I can trust you?”

“'Cause I've already saved your butt twice now?” Stone backed off a little, not wanting to press Dunphy too hard just as he was trying to win his trust. “Look, forget about letting me in on where the Lamp is for the moment. Can you at least tell me how exactly you came into possession of it in the first place? To be honest, I'm still a little fuzzy on that point.”

“Pure dumb luck,” Gus said. “I was hiding out—I mean, vacationing—in Santa Barbara last week when it washed up on the beach, covered in seaweed. I wiped it off, thinking it might be worth something … and, poof, this king-sized genie appeared in a puff of smoke, like a magic act on the Strip but ten times bigger and more awesome.” He threw out his arms to try to convey how enormous the Djinn was. “I gotta tell you, Jake, I was positively petrified at first. Part of me was afraid I had gone loco, and another part was afraid I hadn't.”

“I hear you, man,” Stone said. “I've seen some pretty freaky stuff as a Librarian, let me tell you.”

“You have no idea.” Dunphy shuddered at the memory. “That genie dude is scary as all get-out, and big as a house to boot. I'm not ashamed to admit that I nearly dropped that Lamp right then and there and ran for the hills.”

Stone could believe it. “But you didn't.”

“Well, genies are all about granting wishes. Everyone knows that, right, so how could I pass up a chance like that? I was down to my last penny anyway, so what did I have to lose? I figured maybe I had finally hit the jackpot at last. A big, scary jackpot, but still…”

Stone understood where Gus was coming from. His dad had often lived from paycheck to paycheck, while squandering the family finances on booze and bad bets. Growing up, Stone had seen firsthand how reckless that could make a man—and how hungry for that one big break that would turn everything around.

“So what did you wish for?” he asked.

“For luck, naturally. What else?” Gus seemed genuinely surprised by the question. “Not enough to win every time, 'cause where would be the fun in that, but enough to beat the house and make me a real high roller at last.” He smiled wanly at the memory. “It's not like I was actually cheating or anything. I just wanted a bit of an edge, you know?”

“I get it,” Stone said. “But here's the thing, Gus. Magic like that is never free, not really. It always comes with a price, and usually a steep one. That's why my friends and I try to keep objects like that Lamp filed away where they can't do any harm … to you or anyone else.”

Dunphy didn't want to hear it. “But I wasn't hurting anyone.”

“Maybe,” Stone said, “but what about what the Forty might do if they get control of that Lamp? Do you really think that somebody like Marjanah cares about what her wishes might do to innocent people? And what if the Genie himself ever escapes from the Lamp and runs amok? You said yourself that he's scary as hell and nothing we can risk setting loose on the world. From what I hear, there's a reason he was bound to the Lamp centuries ago. He's not on your side, Gus. In the long run, he's not on anybody's side but his own.”

“I don't know,” Gus said, waffling. “He's done all right by me so far.”

“For now, maybe, but look at all the trouble he's already gotten you in. You really want to live like this, always looking over your shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop?” Stone reached out to Dunphy, man to man. “You strike me as a good guy at heart, Gus. Let us take the Lamp off your hands and put it somewhere safe.”

“Forget it.” Dunphy shook his head emphatically. “That Lamp changed everything for me. No way am I going back to being a loser again.”

“Even if it gets you killed?”

 

22

2016

A private elevator led from the lobby to the penthouse suites on the top floor of Ali Baba's Palace. As she and Ezekiel stepped into the empty elevator, Cassandra fretted that she wasn't dressed expensively enough to pull this off. She kept expecting someone to call her out as a trespasser.