by P. B. Kerr
Meanwhile, back in the physical world, quite a few parents thought their children had merely fainted, what with all the excitement of watching someone disappear for real. For there could be no doubting that this had indeed happened. Jonathan Tarot had disappeared. Others became angry as they accused their children of pretending to be in a trance or hypnotized. Most people didn’t know the difference. Some picked up their children and tried to shake them awake.
As the evening wore on, panic and pandemonium ensued. All around the world, mothers and fathers slowly began to grasp the reality of what had happened and that their children were not dead but unconscious, catatonic, comatose. Hospitals and clinics quickly filled with anxious parents and their own Sleeping Beauties. Psychiatrists, mediums, priests, rabbis, and imams were consulted. Presidents and prime ministers summoned their cabinets. A medical emergency was declared on a worldwide scale.
Doctors conducted examinations and agreed upon a single conclusion. A case of mass hysteria or hypnosis was diagnosed. Senior members of the medical profession went on television and assured mothers and fathers everywhere that in time the effects would wear off. That the children would awaken. Calm was urged upon those who were near hysterical with worry. Patience was prescribed.
The world held its breath and prayed.
Meanwhile, Jonathan Tarot was held partly responsible for what had happened, arrested, and taken into protective custody by New York City police. Naturally, he had viewed the arrival in his suite at the Cimento dell’ Armonia Hotel of New York’s Finest with a certain amount of amusement and disdain and had thought to use djinn power to escape but, to his horror, found that he could not. At first, he assumed it was because he was tired. Or even sick. And it would be several days before the true character of his terrible fate dawned on him.
CHAPTER 28
INTELLIGENCE GATHERING
Nimrod and Groanin should have been back by now, observed Finlay. I quite agree, thought John. Something must have happened to them.
That guy we heard using his cell phone, thought Finlay. The Ifrit.
Rudyard Teer.
Right. We were supposed to fall into his trap, too. Suppose he comes looking for us.
He doesn’t know you, Finlay. He’s never seen you before. It’s me he might recognize. Me, and my sister.
If she ever gets here.
Finlay had telephoned the Gravelli Hotel in Venice and they knew only that she and Marco Polo had checked out. But Philippa had not thought to leave a message as to where she was going. Or what she was doing.
She wouldn’t have checked out unless she’d solved the mystery in the painting, thought John.
So why isn’t she here?
My guess is that when she figured out the message, she and Marco had to go somewhere else to get their hands on the golden tablet. Probably the place where that stupid cardinal hid it.
If she does show up with the golden tablet —
She will, thought John. I’m certain of it. If this was my body I was in now, I bet I could feel it in my bones.
All right, when she does show up with it, thought Finlay, it might be nice if we already knew how we’re going to handle it. What to expect. That kind of thing.
Intelligence gathering.
Precisely, thought Finlay. That’s why we came here ahead of her in the first place, remember? And who could be better at gathering intelligence than an invisible spy?
You’re right. I could slip out of your body, go back into the exhibition hall in spirit form, and along that open sesame passageway. By the time I come back, maybe Philippa will have shown up here with the golden tablet of command.
By when, you’ll know just how to handle it, thought Finlay, pleased that John had agreed with his plan.
Makes a lot of sense, thought John. More sense than us both sitting around and waiting for her to show up.
Right, agreed Finlay. You don’t think you’ll get another attack of, what do you call it? Astral-sickness.
I’m not going to be gone for very long, thought John. I think it only comes on after you’ve been out of body for quite a while. Besides, I think we could both use a break from each other, don’t you?
I’m glad you think that, because I do, too. I’m beginning to feel like a whatsit? When someone has got two personalities.
A psycho?
Precisely.
Okay. Ready when you are, thought John.
Go for it.
I’ll be able to see and hear you, but you won’t be able to hear me, or see me, of course, thought John. Not until I’m back. And I hope you won’t mind if I step straight into your body. Just to save time.
Be my guest, thought Finlay. And John. Be careful.
Sure.
At last, John felt able to step out of Finlay’s body, experiencing a tremendous sense of liberation as he did so. It was like taking off a tuxedo or unbuttoning a very tight shirt collar. He felt as if he could breathe again and, if he had possessed any physical lungs, he might have let out a euphoric sort of sigh.
Finlay felt his djinn friend go and feeling a little faint, he was obliged to sit down on a chair to stop himself from falling over. It made him realize just how much he’d been leaning on John’s spirit to help him carry out his normal physical functions such as walking and picking things up.
After a while, he lay down and, unable to think of anything else to do, and quite at peace with himself — for a change — went to sleep.
John floated down the stairs, through the front door of the hotel — without opening it, of course — and headed back across Xian in the direction of the exhibition hall.
It being daytime now, the hall was full of tourists, many of them Americans, all loudly agog at the sheer number of clay figures that filled pit number one. John passed silently over their heads, floated across the barrier, and down through the silent ranks of terra-cotta warriors at the back of the pit. There he paused a little, watched the terra-cotta warrior nearest him for some sign that it might move off its plinth and try to absorb him, and then turned to face that part of the wall Nimrod had identified as a secret door.
He realized it was just as well that he could walk through walls and solid doors, as he could not remember the Chinese words Nimrod had uttered to make the entrance “open sesame” like in the Ali Baba story. It was careless of him, he told himself, not to have remembered something that could have been vital.
John went through the hidden door and into the passageway, which stretched ahead of him for several hundred yards, perhaps more. Being a spirit meant he had no need of a flashlight: All ghosts and spirits can see in the dark. Cautious now that he had actually entered the Ifrit trap — he might have been invisible to a human eye but he could hardly depend on that being enough to protect him from the Ifrit — he floated slowly along the passageway hoping against hope that he might find Nimrod and Groanin coming in the opposite direction. The passageway seemed to be empty, however. At least it was empty of anything that could be seen.
But it was not empty of sound. Far from it.
At first, John thought he was hearing the high-pitched, resonant sound of thousands, perhaps millions of birds in a big cavern ahead of him. But as he got nearer and the racket grew louder, it seemed that what he heard was more human. Like the sound of an enormous herd of children in a school playground at break time or recess, or whatever Chinese kids called it when they weren’t having lessons. Except that there was nothing carefree or happy about this clamorous noise. Nothing at all. This was the sound of despair.
John felt as if his hair should have been standing on end and probably it would have been if he’d had any. Certain he was approaching a terrible place where millions of lost souls were in torment, he slowed his progress. By now the sound was almost deafening and all of his instincts told him to go back. But John’s spirit was, as always, full of courage. Onward he floated, although he dreaded what he might see at the end of the passageway: people being pushed into bottomless pits with long sha
rp sticks; others with hugely long trumpets blown into their faces; rampaging demons and bird-headed monsters. Hieronymus Bosch. Hell.
So it was all the more surprising when, reaching the end of the passageway, he looked down into an enormous cavern and saw nobody at all. At least, not the millions of tormented souls he had expected to see. Nor any fiery pits. Just an enormous green pyramid surrounded by a silver lake and patrolled by several hundred of the warrior devils — the same as the living terra-cotta warrior he had seen back at the Temple of Dendur in New York.
Trying to block out the terrible noise in his ears, John floated out of the passage and across the unnatural-looking silver lake. This did not seem to be made of water for there was no depth to it and but for the odd tremor and ripple he saw on the surface he might even have said it was glass.
The pyramid at the center of the lake was easily as big as the Great Pyramid of Khufu in Egypt. But this one was in much better repair and made of a curious-looking greenish stone. But what was most curious about the pyramid was the realization that it was the source of the deafening noise that filled the cavern. Inside the pyramid were what sounded like millions of children, stuffed one on top of the other like a factory full of sardines. Once again, he felt a real sense of horror as, quite definitely, he heard one muffled voice from just inside the pyramid, one that was not speaking Chinese.
“Help me,” said the voice, which seemed to be that of an American girl. “Help me. I want to go home. Please let me go. Please, I don’t want to be in here. Something happened to me when I was watching TV! Help me!”
Try as he might, John could not pass through the super-smooth wall of the pyramid and do as the voice had asked. Whatever the pyramid was made of, it was quite impervious to spirit. He floated to the top of the pyramid and saw that the apex appeared to be made of diamond or something similar, and only just touching the rocky roof of the cavern. Curious, he inspected the points of contact more closely and saw that in fact there was a hair’s breadth gap between the two.
Experimentally, he thinned his spirit finger and slid it into the gap. This was not a good idea. A giant electrical spark escaped from the diamond apex, stunning John and blowing him into the air like a swatted fly down onto the surface of the silver lake. It was several minutes before he was able to collect himself. At first, he thought the electric shock he had received had muddled his senses. For what he saw was Groanin, standing a few yards away from him, surrounded by a circle of the warrior devils. These were quite motionless, dormant even, like the ones in the pit. But it was quite plain that any attempt to escape from their midst would have brought them to life again.
Groanin did not say anything. He did not move. His eyes were open, but they did not seem to see anything. Of Nimrod there was no sign. For a while, John wondered what, if anything, had happened to Groanin; it finally dawned on him that the best way of finding out what had happened was simply to enter the butler’s body and read his mind in the same way he had been reading Finlay’s mind.
Carefully, John slipped between the legs of one of the warrior devils and into Groanin’s mind and body.
Thank goodness for that, the cavalry’s here, thought Groanin. I’ve been stood here like this for I don’t know how long. Every time I try to move I get a smack from one of these stupid mud men. Did you bring that golden thingy of command to get us all out of this dreadful place?
Philippa hasn’t shown up with it yet, admitted John.
Marvelous, moaned Groanin. Some cavalry you are. I say, some cavalry you are, sunshine.
Despite Groanin’s continuing complaints, John was able to search the butler’s memories and understand just what had happened to him and to Nimrod after going through the open sesame in the burial pit, and, as a result, exactly why Groanin’s mind appeared to be in such a mess. This is what he found out:
Groanin followed Nimrod to the end of the passageway. “What’s a pyramid doing down here?” he muttered. “We’re a long way from Egypt. I say, we’re a long way from Egypt.”
“The use of burial pyramids has been important to many different civilizations,” said Nimrod. “Not just the Egyptians. The Mayans, the Aztecs, and the Cambodians all used pyramid designs for their important tombs and holy places. I imagine this pyramid is the tomb of the Emperor Qin. The one Marco Polo told us about in the story of Yen Yu. The emperor believed that he and his terra-cotta army would pass out through the apex of the pyramid and into the land of the immortals.” He shook his head with wonder. “Although I must say I’ve never seen a pyramid that’s made of jade before. It must be priceless. Curious stuff, jade. Djinn power can’t go through it, you know.”
They approached the edge of the lake surrounding the pyramid. Nimrod bent down and touched the surface with his finger.
“That’s awkward,” he said.
“What is?” asked Groanin.
“Groanin, I think it might be best if you were to return to the hotel,” he said.
“Why?” Groanin put the toe of his boot into the liquid and found that it remained quite dry. “This lake is not at all deep. And not at all wet, by the look of it. I’m in no danger of drowning, that’s for sure. What is this stuff, anyway? It’s certainly not water.”
“It’s mercury, Groanin. Sometimes called quicksilver. It’s excellent for conducting djinn power and is one of the reasons why medieval alchemists were so fascinated with the stuff. But it also gives off fumes that are slowly poisonous to humans. If you stay down here long enough, you’ll go mad. Or worse. This is why you ought to go back.”
“What about you?”
“Oh, I’ll be quite all right, I can assure you.”
“If it’s all the same, I’ll stay with you, sir,” said Groanin, who wasn’t nearly as cowardly as he sometimes liked to pretend he was. “Hopefully, we won’t be down here for very long. And in my experience a little bit of madness never hurt anyone.”
“Stout fellow,” said Nimrod.
They walked carefully across the silver lake.
“I suppose mercury is another thing that’s harmless to you lot,” said Groanin. “First prize in the lottery of life. That’s what being a djinn is, if you ask me. Once upon a time it was quite enough just to be English.”
“Yes,” admitted Nimrod. “Mercury’s quite harmless to a djinn like me.”
“I wouldn’t say harmless,” said a voice. “Not exactly. No, not by a long chalk.”
Nimrod and Groanin turned around to find themselves faced by a young man wearing a strange suit of armor that matched the jade pyramid. It was Rudyard Teer and he was accompanied by a dozen or two of the warrior devils. These looked similar to the inanimate warriors Nimrod and Groanin had seen in the burial pit, but different: Their bodies moved in a robotic, mechanical way and they were full of menace, although their faces remained quite expressionless.
“QWERTYUIOP!” Nimrod hardly hesitated, uttering his focus word loudly, and clearly he had intended to work some immediate and devastating effect on a young man who, as the son of Iblis, he knew to be his mortal enemy. But nothing happened. And seeing Nimrod’s surprise, Rudyard Teer laughed loudly.
“I’m immune to your power, Nimrod,” he said.
Seeing the warrior devils grab Groanin by his arms, Nimrod tried to direct another bolt of pure djinn power at them; but again, nothing happened. And the next second, they had grabbed him, too.
“So are my Dong Xi warriors,” added the son of Iblis.
Groanin tried to put his extra-strong arm into action against the warrior devils, but there were too many of them, and both Nimrod and Groanin were quickly held prisoner.
“Actually, that’s not exactly true,” said Teer, smirking. “The fact is that you have no djinn power at all while you and these Dong Xi warriors are standing on this lake of mercury. Like all of my terra-cotta warriors, this lake contains a tiny amount of djinn spit. My dad put a special djinn binding on the mercury. An adligare. It works like a djinncantation.”
“I know wha
t an adligare is, thank you,” Nimrod said crisply.
“It makes you subject to my will and command. Just the same as one of these warrior devils.”
Rudyard Teer pointed his arm at Nimrod and, for a minute or two, had him running up and down on the spot, just to prove his point.
“See what I mean? I can make you do anything at all.”
He pointed again and this time Nimrod put his hands around Groanin’s throat and started to throttle him.
“I can make you strangle him if I want.” Rudyard Teer laughed his insane, childish laugh.
Groanin’s face started to turn red and then purple.
“And there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“All right, Rudyard,” said Nimrod, panting from the exertion of trying to squeeze the air out of his own butler’s windpipe. “You’ve made your point.”
Rudyard Teer dropped his arm and, suddenly, Nimrod was able to let go of his butler’s neck. Groanin leaned over to catch his breath and to cough.
“I’m sorry about that, Groanin,” he said.
“That’s quite all right, sir.”
“And how is it that your djinn power remains active?” Nimrod asked Rudyard Teer. “The jade suit of armor, I suppose.”
“Right,” said Rudyard Teer. “We had them made up especially by a specialist tailor in Hong Kong. To the same pattern as the ones once worn by the emperors of China. Do you know, there are two thousand one hundred fifty-six pieces of jade in this suit? Dad is quite a historian, you know. He has a theory that the emperors of China may have made these jade suits to make themselves immune to djinn power.”
“I suppose that would explain why so much jade has been stolen from museums all over the world,” said Nimrod. “I was wondering about that. I ought to have suspected the Ifrit was behind it.”
“That’s right,” Rudyard Teer said proudly. “You should have.”
“Let me see,” said Nimrod, thinking aloud. “First of all, you sent warrior devils into the spirit world to purge it, to absorb billions of poor defenseless ghosts to give you enough elbow room in the spirit world to carry out your plan. Then you loaned some of these terra-cotta warriors to museums all over the world. So that they could release some of the spirits they’d absorbed to scare people out of museums long enough to give you and your people enough time to steal precious jade artifacts. You needed a lot of jade to make that preposterous suit. And make yourself immune to the power of another djinn, like me.” Nimrod shook his head. “I suppose one shouldn’t expect anything else of a tribe who continue to dedicate themselves to all that’s horrible in the world. But really. Stealing jade. Destroying ghosts. Your father should be ashamed of himself.”
