The Waters of Eternity (8 page)

Mukhtar lived in a rambling old home near the river. From its balconies one could look out onto three fountained courtyards, and from one tower it was possible to look over the city wall and onto the dark shimmering length of the Tigris, on which boats plied their long way to Baghdad. Bright was the sinking sun and brighter still was the bronze pillar of its reflection in the water. The high bluffs across the river, rich with lines of brown and crimson rock, threw long shadows onto the quays.

Muhktar toured us through his home with pride. The household servants and his wives were curious, but Muhktar sent all away save his favored daughter.

“It pleases me to introduce you to my eldest unmarried daughter, Durrah.”

Durrah wore a veil, but I saw her smile beneath it. Hers were the eyes of an houri, wide and dark, and her skin was fine and clear. She had no curves upon her though, and I might have encompassed her in one arm. She was probably fifteen years of age.

“She is fit for marrying, noble one,” Mukhtar told Dabir, “but I have not dared to part with the only one of wit in the whole of my household.”

“I am honored that you would introduce me,” Dabir said to Mukhtar, then inclined his head toward the girl. “Your father speaks highly of your mind—he did not also say that you were fair.”

Durrah blushed, but looked at my friend through her lashes in an ungirlish way as Dabir turned again to Mukhtar.

Dabir and Mukhtar resumed walking through the home, my friend asking various questions, and I followed, the girl at my side.

“Are you going to fight the efreet?” Durrah asked me.

“Probably.”

“Aren’t you frightened?”

“I will know when I see it.”

“Other warriors saw it, and they ran.”

“I do not run from my enemies,” I responded, thinking that this was usually the case, if not always true. Only a madman stood against the whole of an army.

“You have not seen the efreet.”

“You have?”

She nodded swiftly as we turned up a stair. “It has the head of a lion, with two great horns.” Her shoulders shivered.

“Do not fear, girl. Dabir and I have faced nether creatures. Yet we live, and they do not.”

“Can you really stop it?”

Suddenly I realized the girl’s true aim, and I cursed myself for a fool. She was frightened of the message the thing had left. “Fear not, child. I shall let no servant of Iblis carry you away. This I swear.”

Her cheeks reddened and she looked down, but she was silent only for a moment. “Is your master as clever as they say?”

I thought of telling her that Dabir was not my master, but in truth I tired sometimes of the constant misperception and did not always deem to correct it. I answered instead in a way I thought would have pleased Dabir: “How clever do they say he is?”

“They say that he is so wise that the caliph’s hakims are jealous. They say some imams whisper that he is a sorcerer, or a djinn, for no man could be so wise.”

“He is no sorcerer,” I said. “Nor is he a djinn. But he is the wisest man in Mosul, or the caliphate.”

“Wiser even than the caliph?”

I hesitated only a moment. “Yes.”

“Wiser than you?” The girl’s eyes sparkled.

I grunted. “My wisdom is here.” I patted my sword arm.

“In your sleeve? Is there a monkey hidden inside?”

I chuckled. “If wit were a kingdom, you might rule it, girl.”

At last we passed through an archway and down three wide steps and so came to the courtyard where the efreet had directed Mukhtar to place the amulet. Dabir spent long moments peering at the walls and poking about in the bushes, which were overgrown. He also walked about the circular pool where the water fell. It was some four paces wide from its edge to its center, which itself was three paces in circumference. From the pool’s middle rose a cylindrical pillar where delicate geometric patterns were carved, worn down by the water that sprayed from the pillar’s height.

Dabir was walking back to us when the call of muezzins echoed through the city for evening prayers, and thus we washed and prayed with Mukhtar and his male servants. It was then we finally met his paunchy nephew, a fellow of brooding mien with but a wisp of a beard. He mouthed a few sullen words of greeting.

After prayers, Dabir pulled Mukhtar aside and told him that he would look now at the amulet. The rug merchant sent off his nephew, directed his servants to their quarters and his daughter to the harem, then bade us wait outside his offices.

We heard him shuffling around inside, and likewise the sounds of doors and cabinets opening.

Dabir was little more than a silhouette in the dark corridor, but I knew by the sound of his voice that he smiled. “Mukhtar walks first this way, then that, opening something here, then there, so that we might not guess the item’s hiding place.”

“He is not altogether a fool,” I agreed.

At last Mukhtar’s voice bade us enter, and so we did. Four candles burned on a wooden table, upon which rested a gleaming disc set on red silk. Dabir approached it slowly, and I walked at his side, mindful of the hawklike scrutiny of the merchant.

I judged the amulet valuable, though I had seen richer things. A cat with pointed ears was etched into the gold face of the amulet, its ruby eyes winking at us. Tiny, blocky shapes and pictures were written to the right and left of its whiskers.

“May I lift it?” Dabir asked.

“Certainly, Honored One.”

Dabir turned the precious thing in his hand. Its back side was inscribed with even more picture writing.

My friend studied it, blinking little, then turned it again to its front side.

“Can you read it?” Mukhtar prompted.

Dabir’s answer was distracted. “Yes.” He did not look up. Once more he reversed the coin to study its back. Finally he returned it to the silk. The tiny eyes flashed and for a moment seemed to search our own. I swiftly made the sign against the evil eye.

“What does it say?” Mukhtar asked.

“It promises protection to the person to whom it is given,” Dabir said. “Now. Here is what you must do. May I have this silk?”

A short time later Mukhtar made his way to the courtyard and placed a silk-wrapped bundle on the top stair. He retired to his chambers. Dabir and I waited until the stars gleamed, then slid out into the darkened courtyard. As I have said before, Dabir was stealthy, and together we made almost no sound before we reached the shrubbery along one wall and sat down amidst the gloom. Music from some distant tavern reached us, and occasional laughter, but the fountain’s spray drove out most other noise.

Some time passed. Dabir sat cross-legged beside the bush, content enough. My eyes, though, roved constantly. Dabir took note of my shifting and touched my arm.

“Watch the fountain, Asim,” he said simply.

I did as he bade, but soon regretted it. The constant, soothing trickle of water lulled me almost into a stupor and the star patterns of the Swan and the Dragon flew higher and higher in the dark sky. The wind was cool, bearing hints of winter, but it was not chilling. I began to reflect that it would be very comfortable to stretch out across the ground and let sleep overtake me.

Of a sudden I saw lantern light at the height of the tower to which we had earlier climbed. My eyesight was keen, and I knew he who carried it after a moment’s scrutiny. “The nephew,” I said.

“Hmm,” said Dabir, almost as though he had expected this.

The nephew crouched low, and then, after a very short time, rose and blew out the lantern. I thought I perceived him descending the stairs once more.

“We shall soon see this efreet, I think. Be ready, Asim.”

I loosed my sword in its scabbard but did not yet draw it. Long moments passed, and then the water ceased its fall. There came faint soft clanging of metal, as though some invisible being were lightly banging a weapon against a sheath. The hairs on my arms rose, and I stood, hand to hilt, but Dabir touched my sleeve and I crouched.

The back section of the fountain swung open and a horror stepped out. The efreet was much as the girl had described. It was man-shaped and covered with shaggy fur. Two ram horns projected from atop its lionlike head.

It paused on the threshold, listening, I thought, or perhaps sniffing the air. Finally it stepped out onto a stone set in the fountain’s water, balancing precariously for a long moment before it lumbered to the lip of the pool and stepped out. Its feet were huge, its stride ungainly.

The creature turned its back and walked for the stairs.

“Now,” Dabir whispered fiercely.

I sprinted across the courtyard, my sword a dark sliver of moonlight. The efreet had reached the bottom stair when I struck. My blade sank deep into its head, and into bone. There was little blood and no outcry.

The efreet toppled and its head rolled away to the side.

I stepped back in wonder, for where its head had been, another was revealed, a man’s head. I stood watching to counter whatever trick it planned, but the thing did not move. I saw that the man’s head was sliced deep and leaking brains.

“Interesting,” Dabir said. He bent down by the efreet’s head and lifted it up. He examined it for a moment, turning it this way and that, and then dropped it over his own. Instantly he was transformed into a creature of evil, but I knew then that the head was only a mask. He removed it.

“It is merely a man in a costume,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Did you already know that?”

“I knew that it was not an efreet,” Dabir said. “Efreet are notoriously difficult to control. An efreet would not patiently leave messages, or steal monkeys. At best it would have dismembered half the household as a warning.”

Dabir rolled the costumed man over and we stared down at a pockmarked face with a shabby black and gray beard.

“Who is he?” I asked.

“A lackey, I think. Sometimes I wish you were less lethal, Asim.”

“You might have mentioned you wanted him alive,” I said.

“I thought you would know.”

“I thought it was an efreet,” I pointed out.

He stared down at the body a moment longer. “The mastermind behind this scheme still awaits this one’s return. I do not plan to disappoint him.”

The metal ladder inside the pillar was old. My boots clanged against the rusting metal as I descended, and I knew then what had caused the noise that had so unnerved me. A lantern sat on the old stone at its foot, near a coil of rope and some rotted timber.

I picked up the lantern and shined it into the gloom while Dabir descended, still clutching the efreet head. Moisture saturated the air. We stood in a small stone chamber, and worn stairs stretched farther down, out under the wall and toward the Tigris. From somewhere in the darkness ahead came the steady plunk of dripping water.

Dabir put his hand on a rusted iron wheel set in the wall beside the ladder. “This must turn the fountain on and off.”

“How did you know,” I whispered, “that the efreet would come from the fountain?”

“I saw the pattern of the door in its side,” Dabir said, as though it were obvious.

I did not wish to be distracted by another of his “looking but not seeing” discussions, so said nothing.

We descended some twenty broad steps and found ourselves in a square tunnel, supported by sagging, rotting timbers. Moisture beaded on the walls, and here and there water dripped from the ceiling into pools on the pitted stone floor.

“We are beneath the river,” Dabir said quietly. Even so, his voice echoed. We said not another word as we walked along what must have been an escape tunnel crafted by the Persians who’d originally built Mukhtar’s ancient home.

At long last the lantern light showed ascending stairs, and Dabir bid me hand him my sword—which I did only reluctantly, because the man I impersonated did not carry one—and put the mask over my face. Like the efreet costume I’d donned, it reeked of sweat and dead skins. It had been designed so that one could see by looking out two slits cut into the lion’s forehead, but my peripheral vision was middling. I had cut the feet from the costume, for I did not want my movements hindered.

Lantern in one hand, the silk-wrapped medallion in another, I trudged up the stairs. These climbed higher than those on the other side of the river, and curved gradually south. After some fifty steps I saw light ahead, and heard the chattering of a monkey. As I turned the bend I beheld a small cavern beyond an archway at the top of the stairs. A figure backlit by another lantern paced within it, and he stopped to stare at me as I neared.

“Do you have it?” he asked. His voice was crisp, commanding.

I lifted the medallion in my palm, snugly wrapped in silk, and the man’s eyes lit greedily.

He was clearly a Persian—he had light skin, and his handsome face was adorned only with a short beard. His head was bare, but the rest of his clothing was finely wrought. The scent of his perfumes reached me even before I closed on him.

“Excellent,” he said. “Was there trouble from the new guards?”

I stepped into the room and shook my shaggy head. I dropped the medallion into his outstretched palm.

A fine gold rug hid the cavern floor, and hangings concealed much of the walls. There were green and gold cushions, and even a small brazier in one corner. A small monkey hung in a cage on the chamber’s far side, near the mouth of another tunnel or cave. Likely it led to the outside, where this one or his servant had no doubt been posted to watch for the nephew’s signal lantern.

The man quickly unwrapped the amulet, stepping near the lantern on the table, then stopped. His dark eyes glittered dangerously as he looked up at me.

“You fool! This is not the right amulet!”

“Indeed,” Dabir said, stepping from behind me. “It is mine.”

The man scowled. I lifted the efreet’s head from my own and took my sword from Dabir.

The man straightened, but his hands did not drift. He looked again at the amulet. “You are well favored, scholar,” he said, sounding irritated. “I had heard that Dabir ibn Khalil was wise, but I had anticipated the usual hyperbole. I see now that I was wrong. You too must desire the amulet.”

“I am at a loss,” Dabir said. “You know my name, but I do not know yours.”

“I am Amaharaziad, descendant of great Darius. Like you, my blood is Persian. And like you, I am governed by my wits.”

“Indeed,” said Dabir, “your ruse was very clever.”

“How did you see through it?”

“Your scheme was too subtle. An efreet is not an instrument of subtlety. Furthermore, an efreet could not come within ten paces of a charm that is essentially a blessing.”

Amaharaziad nodded. “You are wise. And doubtless you now wear the amulet for yourself, and I must relinquish my hopes for it forever.”

“Nay,” said Dabir. “It is not mine, nor yours, but the merchant’s.”

Amaharaziad sneered. “He is unworthy.” He stared hard at Dabir. “You disappoint me, scholar. Did you, then, take on Mukhtar’s trouble only for gold?”

“Only for curiosity. Which prods me to ask what you offered Mukhtar’s nephew? And how did you learn of this passage?”

“In the days before the coming of the prophet,” Amaharaziad said darkly, “the fool merchant’s dwelling was once my family’s. And the nephew, pfah. Some are easy to buy with gold.” His eyes fell on me. “Your servant has not yet struck, Dabir.”

“I would take you prisoner,” my friend said. “The governor will decide your fate.”

Amaharaziad nodded slowly. “Well,” he said, “this, then, will do me no good.” He lifted the medallion. “Here.” With startling speed he flung it at my friend’s head. Dabir ducked, and I instinctively moved to intercept it with my sword.

I missed. The medallion clanged as it fell into the stair beyond Dabir. I whirled back to Amaharaziad, who smirked. Smoke boiled from a small brass bottle he held in one hand. The fingers of the other toyed with a stopper.

I raised my arm to strike, but in less time than it takes to draw breath, a shaggy-headed creature formed in the smoke between the two of us. It, too, had horns, and great clawed feet, but its torso was red and scaly, and its breath was foul. Its eyes burned like red coals.

Amaharaziad stepped back. “Had you worn the amulet, this true efreet could not harm you. It is, as you said, not a subtle being, but can obey simple commands.” His voice became almost a purr.
“Kill them.”

“Run, Asim!” Dabir called. “The sword cannot slay it!”

I kicked the costumed head at the real efreet and raced after my friend, thinking of what I’d boasted to the girl. It would be folly not to run from this foe. I heard the stone searing under its great feet as it followed. Amaharaziad’s mocking laughter rang off the stone walls.

Dabir was fleet, and I too was swift, but I could feel the stinking breath of the efreet on my back, and took the final three stairs in a great leap, ducking my head so that I did not strike the ceiling.

I stumbled on landing, gained my feet in time to hear the frying stone as the efreet reached for me.

It drew back one clawed hand, howling, for I had swung. Two of its fingers twitched upon the ground.

This was a far better result than I had expected, but I took the brief respite to run. Dabir was far ahead at this point, his lantern a bobbing spot of light in the gloom. At least, I thought, he might escape.

But the light stopped.

Behind me I heard the efreet, gradually gaining on us. Now I recognized words among its low grumbles. “I will rip your heart from your living body!”

I reached Dabir’s side. We were near the other stairs, but my friend had stopped to press both hands against one of the ceiling joists. I understood his aim immediately, though I was sure he had misjudged the danger. “Go!”

“Hold the final push ’til my return!” He clapped my shoulder, leaving the lantern, and dashed away. I thought it a poor plan; clearly there was little time for him to go anywhere, for a glance back down the tunnel showed me another lantern, drawing ever closer, doubtless in the hand of Amaharaziad. Before him came a moving mass of darkness in which two red spots glowed.

I strained with all my might, grateful that Dabir at least would live. Above me the timber groaned and shifted, but did not give.

The efreet was almost upon me. There was no time to push against the timber, but I might yet buy Dabir a few precious moments if I took up my sword.

The thing swiped at me with its good hand, and I ducked back. Then came a thought worthy of my friend. I advanced with a flurry of strikes, and even that monstrous thing of Iblis retreated before my onslaught.

It howled its rage and slashed at me once, twice. I backed toward the wall, ducked, and when it swiped again it clove clean through the timber.

The ceiling joist swung down and smashed into my shoulder, knocking me backward. A cascade of stone fell between us, and the cold, dark Tigris roared in.

“Asim!”

Dabir cried out from just behind me, and a human arm clasped my waist, but then all was darkness, and I was under the chill water. Even still I could hear a distant boiling as the water poured onto the efreet.

I was angry with Dabir, for I knew then that it was he who held me. My sacrifice would be in vain, for we both would perish.

But Dabir’s hands guided mine to his waist, about which I found a rope, and suddenly we were moving through the cold, wet darkness. I realized that he was somehow pulling us forward and wished I’d had more time to gather breath.

The water gushed in, pushing us with it, but still we did not reach our destination soon enough. When Dabir pulled me from the water I sat on my knees on a stair in the darkness, vomiting water back into the Tigris.

A beam of moonlight shone down through the fountain’s open door to sketch the ladder and the wheel about which Dabir had affixed his rope.

“You should not have come back,” I said, and coughed again. I was weak and my shoulder ached horribly.

The surprise in his voice touched me. “I would not abandon you, Asim,” he said simply. I was blessed indeed to have such a friend.

I could not help coughing again, but moved away from the water with the sudden thought that the efreet might step forth. “You might have been killed.”

“It was not written,” he said, and though I could not see his face, I knew that he smiled.

When we emerged to consult with Mukhtar, he banished his nephew from the house that very night, amidst many curses. He had effusive words of praise for us. “How,” he finished, “can I ever repay you?”

“When the time comes,” Dabir answered, “give your daughter the amulet—it shall profit her as it has always profited your family. Her sex matters not.”

“Indeed?!” The merchant’s voice rang with pleasure.

“Also, there is an honest, capable man I know who would be a fine manager for you. Hassan ibn Musa is trustworthy. Hire him.”

“It shall be as you say,” Mukhtar said, though his voice betrayed doubt. “Does he have a head for numbers?”

“Nay, but your daughter does. Use
your
head, Mukhtar, and place your daughter in charge. This man shall front the business, and your daughter will run it.”

Mukhtar nodded, slowly at first, then with growing admiration. “Verily, you have the wisdom of Suleiman!”

“Nay, Suleiman knew when to hold his tongue.”

I did not guess his meaning then, and later asked what he had meant.

He frowned as a man does when tasting a sour melon. “I endangered us both when I told Amaharaziad that we did not have the amulet.”

It was ever his way to be critical of his own abilities, despite much evidence to the contrary. As it happened, the pairing of Hassan with Durrah worked so well that the business prospered and the two were happily married. When last I heard, they had opened up a second and even more prosperous store, in Baghdad itself.

The next morning we searched the cliffs across the river, recovering the monkey and several sinister books and scrolls and other belongings that interested Dabir overmuch. Also we took the head of the false efreet and the brass bottle from which the true efreet had come, and they sat for long years on the shelves of the receiving room.

Of the efreet and his master there was no sign, but I was still wary even as we climbed from the caves and into the sunlight. “Do you think the efreet will return for us?”

Dabir shielded his eyes and looked back at me. He gestured to the waters lapping against the cliff. “Creatures of fire do not mix well with water. It is perished or returned to Iblis.”

“And took the Persian with him.”

“Perhaps. Certainly, Amaharaziad was no fish.”

“He might feed them well enough.”

Dabir chuckled. “I have always heard it said that we Persians have delicate tastes. The fish may know the truth of the matter.”