Adijan and Her Genie

by L-J Baker

  “Should the opportunity present itself, I shall attempt to kill him.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Two weeks and six days at the most before I see Shali again.” Adijan dunked her scrubbing brush into the pail and straightened to sit back on her heels. Her back protested with a sharp enough pain to override the ache in her knees. “Why do they have to make boats with so much deck?”

  “You’re not the sultan’s sister on a pleasure cruise, maggot,” Qaynu said.

  “No, ma’am. Thank you for pointing that out.”

  Adijan resumed her scrubbing. Qaynu trod on her fingers as she walked past.

  “Two days to Emeza,” Zobeide said. “Then we are free of this brutality and privation.”

  “Can’t come soon enough. If it weren’t for the time, I’d buy a horse and ride back to Qahtan and never set foot on a boat again as long as I live.”

  “How long do you think the return will take?”

  “Um. Let’s see. I wasted a week before I set out for Pikrut. Then sixteen days. We started on this boat the day after we got to Pikrut. It was supposed to take seven days sailing, but if we get to Emeza the day after tomorrow, like they say, it’ll have taken nine days. I can’t do much about winds and stuff, so figure on nine days to get back. Then I reckon I could make Pikrut to Qahtan in nine, maybe eight, days. So, that’s nineteen or twenty days traveling.”

  “To accomplish your return on time, then, you must leave Emeza the day after we arrive.”

  “Which is why I’m praying we find this Baktar of yours right away.” Adijan dropped her brush in the pail and shuffled backwards. “You don’t think he could’ve been enchanted into slavery by that turd Ardashir, too?”

  “That is highly unlikely.” Zobeide pulled her pail back to scrub alongside Adijan. “Baktar would not make the mistake I did. And, with me gone, Ardashir has only Baktar left to take on his legacy.”

  “How does that work? I thought you were the apprentice?”

  “We both were.”

  Adijan dunked her brush and splattered water on the deck. “That doesn’t make any sense. If there’s only one legacy, why did he have two apprentices?”

  “It’s not an uncommon situation, especially for enchanters with more substantial legacies.”

  “They divide it up?”

  “Oh, no. One is obliged to add to, and never subtract from, a legacy. Two apprentices can act as a safeguard against the vagaries of fate. In the event of one becoming incapable of assuming the legacy, perhaps through untimely death, then one trained apprentice remains.”

  Zobeide shuffled to the side to scrub around the base of the mast.

  “Most enchanters will go through several apprentices before selecting a successor,” she said. “That’s especially true of lesser men. They tend not to want a perfectly trained and capable apprentice in the way, waiting for them to retire, for years. So, they end up going through several candidates.”

  “That’s unfair. I can’t imagine a potter’s apprentice slaving away to learn his craft and then tamely taking dismissal before he was able go out and earn his own living.”

  “Enchanters are not tradesmen.”

  “Uh huh. But what will happen when both you and Baktar are there when dung lump decides to do the world a favor and die?”

  Zobeide frowned at the scrubbing brush she worked back and forward across the planking. “We were to have shared the legacy.”

  “Shared? But you just said –”

  “We were to be married.”

  “Oh.” Adijan sat up. “So, Baktar was your lover.”

  “In the sense most frequently employed in ballads and poetry, yes.”

  “What? You either were or you weren’t.”

  Zobeide straightened to wipe hair and sweat from her face. Water from the brush dribbled into her lap. “We were not formally betrothed, because Ardashir would not have approved. He would’ve suspected some collusive effort between us and would probably have dismissed one of us – if not both. So, we kept our relationship secret. We were to be married once one of us was in possession of the legacy.”

  “So this Baktar knew –”

  “Maggot!” Qaynu shouted.

  “I’m working.” Adijan bent to scrub.

  “I don’t believe it.” Adijan scowled up at the limp sail. “We’re only a day short of Emeza.”

  She glared at the coastline. Bent trees clung to rocky cliffs, twisted by a wind that had inexplicably faded to nothing. In the distance she could just make out a smudge of black smoke from a homestead’s fire. If the sea were land she could walk to Emeza. And if she had wings, she could fly back to Qahtan. She had two weeks and four days before Shalimar married Murad.

  “Come and talk to me while I work.” Zobeide sat laboring with a needle to mend one of the captain’s shirts.

  Adijan slumped down beside her and glared at a seagull that glided effortlessly over the boat.

  “In future, I shall pay my seamstresses much more generously.” Zobeide flexed her right hand with its fresh pink scar across the palm. “Didn’t you say your ex-wife sewed?”

  “Shali? Yeah. She’s very good at it. Sewing. Mending. Embroidery. You name it. She did a lot of it to earn money. She liked doing it. Especially baby things. She’d make all sorts for our friends’ and neighbors’ nippers.” Adijan smiled. “Tiny shirts. Little blankets with patterns all over them. And the cutest toy donkeys and camels. She’d use all different colors for the animals, not just brown. Bright colors. Red and yellow and green. And they all had happy faces. She said nippers liked smiling toys. She said she was practicing.”

  “Practicing for what?”

  “Our nipper. I think she understood we couldn’t have any. But I wouldn’t put it past her to believe that, one day, the Eye would smile and give us one anyway to make us happy. I kept my ears and eyes open. You hear about unwanted babies that get dumped. If I’d turned up at home with one, Shali would’ve burst with joy. And the nipper would’ve been loved just as much as the poor woman who got rid of it could’ve managed. Possibly more.”

  She sighed and looked away. “It’s the only reason I’ve ever had for wanting to be a man rather than a woman. I’m pretty sure Shali would’ve loved me the same even if I’d had a poker. She told me she fell in love with me because I’m me, not because I’m a woman. And I know she would’ve loved having a brood of her own kids.”

  She waited for a cutting remark, but Zobeide merely continued to struggle with her needle.

  “Are you sure you have no proficiency at this?” Zobeide asked.

  “Sorry. No. I’m worse than you.” Adijan glanced at Zobeide’s handiwork with its puckered cloth and uneven stitches. “Which is saying something.”

  “It’s terrible, isn’t it?”

  Adijan grinned. “Yeah. Good thing you decided to be an enchanter, not a seamstress.”

  “Your claim that your ex-wife spreads happiness clearly has some basis in fact.” Zobeide rose with the patched shirt. “Talking about her consistently puts you in a better mood. If I ever have the opportunity, I must thank her.”

  Adijan watched Zobeide make her way to the rear deck. Slowly, she smiled.

  A tall stone tower, like a sentinel standing at attention on the rocky promontory, heralded their approach to Emeza. The captain shouted orders, and the crew pulled at ropes, pushed the capstan, and scrambled across the deck. Finally, Adijan saw the open bay of deep green water and the patchwork of buildings hugging the low hills overlooking it.

  “Home,” Zobeide whispered.

  As soon as the hawsers secured the ship to the dock, Adijan scampered down to fetch her blanket and pack. She and Zobeide hurried down the gangplank.

  “Hey! Maggot!” Qaynu shouted. “Where do you think you’re going? There’s work to do!”

  Adijan blew her a kiss. She had the immense pleasure of her last glimpse of Qaynu looking furious.

  Zobeide strode purposely along the pier. Adijan trotted after her. Zobeide
halted, facing a large warehouse. The sign across the front announced it to be the premises of Assad and Sons. Adijan guessed who used to own it.

  “Even here?” Zobeide said. “But Emeza was my father’s biggest branch outside Banda-i-ket. If his business no longer reaches here, does any of it remain in his home city? Can it have extinguished completely? I – I cannot believe it.”

  Adijan would have been happier without this development herself. Where did that leave their search for Baktar?

  She turned her frown down the street toward the docks and spied a port official. She swallowed her natural disinclination to approach armed authority figures and tugged Zobeide with her.

  “Greetings to you,” Adijan said. “May the Eye look favorably on you this day.”

  His bored look vanished on seeing Zobeide. He smiled at her and stroked his beard. “Blessings on you.”

  “I’ve been traveling a long time,” Adijan said. “Can you tell me what year this is of the reign of King Ishtar?”

  “Oh, yes!” Zobeide said. “Good thinking. What regnal year is this of His Sublime Highness, King Ishtar, son of Adi?”

  “Ishtar?” The port official shook his head. “Oh no, lady, the king is Nasor, son of Rashid. Been king for… oh, since the year my brother’s wife died. That’s been… um… eight or nine years now.”

  “Nasor?” Zobeide lost the color from her cheeks. “Son of Rashid? Who was Rashid’s father? Could that have been Ishtar?”

  “Um.” He tugged at his beard. “I’d think better if my brain were lubricated. There’s a tavern just back there. If you’d care to join me, I’m sure we could work it out together.”

  “She’s with me,” Adijan said.

  “Would coin help your memory?” Zobeide cast a significant glance at Adijan, who had little choice but to dig out a few coins to slip into his large palm.

  “King Rashid were the son of Adi,” he said.

  “One of Ishtar’s younger brothers.” Zobeide nodded. “But how long –?”

  “How old is my cousin’s boy Rashid? He was born the same year and named after the king. Um. Twenty minus four. Or was it three?” He mumbled and counted on his thick fingers. “Twelve or thirteen years.”

  “Twelve or thirteen years,” Zobeide said. “Plus eight or nine. Eye…”

  “Twenty to twenty-two,” Adijan said.

  “Over twenty years?” Zobeide’s voice sounded hoarse with shock.

  Adijan grabbed Zobeide’s arm and towed her away to a quieter spot. Zobeide slumped against the wall of a chandler’s shop and stared blankly across the busy street.

  “A bit longer than you thought,” Adijan said.

  “Twenty-two years…”

  “No wonder things have changed. And your father dead.” Adijan bit her lip. The camels of a thousand caravans were beginning to fart at her again. Zobeide looked dangerously pallid. “Look, there’s a good chance Baktar is still alive. Forty-odd isn’t that old for a rich man. And – and if it’s any consolation, you don’t look your age.”

  Zobeide replied distractedly, “This is not my true appearance.”

  Surprised, Adijan studied her profile. She should’ve guessed that Zobeide’s face had also been altered by her masters to please themselves. Her current features were probably a copy of one of Merchant Nabim’s nieces or some other beautiful young woman he secretly lusted after but couldn’t have.

  “Look,” Adijan said. “I don’t want to hurry you, but we might both be better off once we find Baktar. You’ll feel better once he frees you, yes?”

  “Yes. There’s much sense in what you say. Baktar has always been able to see more clearly than I. I trust his judgment completely.”

  Adijan followed Zobeide closely as she wandered the street away from the dock, trying to take her bearings from the hills and familiar buildings. As they walked, Zobeide regained some of her self-control. It appeared to help when they passed from the grimy working areas of the city and climbed into the hills where the houses became larger and grander. One street, cobbled with pale stones, contained troughs of tended plants out in the middle. Instead of a communal water well and latrine, this one had an ornamental pond.

  Adijan stopped to scoop up some water and noticed silver and gold fish lazily gliding beneath the surface. “If your Baktar lives around here, I’m feeling pretty happy about the reward.”

  Zobeide pointed down the street, past the dip, to another ridge. “The Enchanter’s House is along there. You can’t see it from here. It’s around the curve of the hill.”

  Adijan splashed water on the back of her neck and wiped drips from her chin. Zobeide stood as taut as a bowstring, but some shadow of her intensely determined expression was back.

  “Why didn’t you ask me to change you back to your real appearance?” Adijan asked.

  “It would’ve been most unwise on the boat. A sudden change in appearance would have occasioned considerable unwanted attention – and been very difficult to explain.”

  “True.” Adijan studied Zobeide’s frown. “You know, I am curious to see what you look like. You’ll want to be yourself when you meet Baktar, won’t you?”

  “Yes. That would be for the best. Will you change me?”

  “Enchantment, let me see her true appearance.”

  The young beautiful sex slave vanished. In her place stood a straight matron with grey-streaked hair, prominent eyebrows, and a strong chin. Adijan blinked. The two women had only their expression in common.

  “Do I look so bad?” Zobeide bent over the pool. After a long pause, she whispered, “Eye. Grey. Wrinkled. So old. A hag.” She straightened and turned her back on her reflection. “As a not particularly attractive child and young woman, I did not possess the raw material for vanity. Yet – yet to see myself as a… I’m old enough to be your mother.”

  “If you want my opinion,” Adijan said, “I think this suits you better.”

  “Better? How can you possibly say that?”

  “Well, when you looked like someone’s ideal poke, the way you acted and talked was all wrong. Still, I suppose the men who wanted you to look like that didn’t delve too deeply into your personality. But having got to know you, this is what you seem like. Now you look like you were born into a golden basin and were the apprentice to the biggest, meanest, richest enchanter in the world. The inside and outside match up.”

  Zobeide continued to frown down at the cobbles.

  “Come on,” Adijan said. “Let’s find Baktar.”

  “Eye. Baktar.” Zobeide lifted her hands to her face and hair. “What will he think of this old me?”

  “Don’t forget he’s going to be twenty-odd years older, too.”

  “Ageing isn’t as devaluing for men.”

  “True. But if he loves you, he won’t care. If it took me a couple of dozen years to get Shali back, I wouldn’t love her any the less for a few grey hairs and wrinkles. She’d still be Shali.”

  Zobeide slowly nodded. “That is the oddest part. I do feel unchanged. Horrified. Shocked. And angry. But still me: not a me who is twenty-two years older.”

  “Didn’t you say that the enchantment couldn’t bend you too far away from who you are? When it comes down to it, it’s not the outside that’s important, is it? Yours changed completely, but it didn’t make you into someone else.”

  Zobeide nodded. “You’re right. I am the person I have always been.”

  Her eyes were still haunted by a wild look, but she squared her shoulders and continued down the street.

  “Wow.”

  Adijan gaped across the valley at the soaring iron gates and shiny smooth black stone walls. Beyond them, minarets thrust above many clay tiled roofs as if two or three villages clustered together. The gentle breeze carried the smell of lemons from the extensive grounds.

  “That place is enormous,” she said. “Even bigger than Remarzaman’s palace in Ul-Feyakeh.”

  “Ardashir’s legacy is one of the more substantial,” Zobeide said.

 
“If he lives there, where is Baktar’s place?”

  “Apprentices live with their masters. The Enchanter’s House is actually a complex of buildings, some of which have been allocated for the use of Baktar and – and I used to have a suite myself.”

  Adijan frowned. “Are you saying we have to get into there? Where he’s lurking?”

  “Ardashir doesn’t demean himself by screening every petitioner, tradesman, or visitor his apprentices receive.”

  “Even so, it might not be wise for you to try to walk in there. Unless you’re ready to blast the bearded dung lump to pieces?”

  “I cannot do anything until free of the enchantment. But, no, you are correct about the lack of wisdom of an open entrance – even if it’s unlikely that anyone would recognize Zobeide il-Sulayman Ma’ad in me. I shall return to the necklace. Do not call me out until you are safe with Baktar, and him alone. Keep it concealed.”

  Adijan patted the pendant which hung between her breasts under her shirt. “How am I going to get to him? In my experience, your lot aren’t keen on letting people like me in for a coffee and chat. Is there something I can say to get past the guards?”

  “We wish to avoid any and all suspicions of your purpose. So, the best course might be to give me a scrap of cloth from your shirt.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll draw a symbol on it that will have meaning for Baktar.”

  Adijan tugged her shirt tail out of her pantaloons and ripped off a scrap. While Zobeide traced the crude design with a wet lump of soil, Adijan extracted some more coins from her secret bag. Sixteen days. She was fast running out of time. Soon it wouldn’t matter if she had one and a half silver obiks in her hand or a thousand gold wheels, because no amount of money would be able to buy a horse fast enough to get her back to Qahtan before Shalimar married Murad.

  “There.” Zobeide handed Adijan the cloth. “Present yourself at the gate as a messenger from… what is the name of the enchanter in Qahtan? That’s far enough away that it’s unlikely he’ll have ever been in touch with Ardashir or Baktar.”

  “There isn’t an enchanter in Qahtan.” Adijan frowned at the strange wiggling line and circle that Zobeide had drawn. “Make one up. That way no one will have heard of him.”