“Why, yes,” said Sadik, “but my master—”
“Your master is a good man, but he should not employ people like Ibrahim,” said Adi angrily. Ibrahim was the sort of Pumujisal who gave them all a bad name. He thought purity and holiness came from despising others.
“Please,” said Sadik, and his eyes shone with tears. He put a timid hand on Adi’s arm. “It’s quite true what you say, about dissension only furthering the cause of demons, but please, Adi, you’re doing that yourself, you’re falling into their trap. Let’s forget what Ibrahim said—it’s not important, not compared to what we have to face. He’s a good fighter, absolutely loyal to the Shayk. He’s on our side, Adi. You musn’t forget that. Please, Adi.”
Adi held his gaze for an instant, then looked away. “Very well,” he said gruffly. “You’re right. It’s not important, not right now.” But it will be later, a tiny voice inside his head whispered. After all, Ibrahim hadn’t liked Adi from the start, had mistrusted him on sight, had insulted him from the very beginning. Adi clenched his fists; then, catching sight of Sadik’s anxious expression, he tried to smile. “Sorry, Sadik. You’re quite right. Now come on. We’d better make sure that barbarian of an Ibrahim doesn’t get run through straightaway by one of the Sultan’s guards for speaking like that in public.”
Sadik sighed but nodded. He followed Adi silently, dodging guards, who were now carrying armfuls of weapons—machine guns, rifles, pistols, flamethrowers, swords, krises—and positioning themselves at appropriate spots on the walls. A semblance of calm was beginning to return to the palace grounds, though there was still a great deal of tension in the air, and people were scurrying hither and thither. Adi and Sadik passed swiftly through the outer courtyards and into the interior ones and, at the door to the Sultan’s quarters, were stopped by two enormous guards with blank, impassive faces, who carried some of the biggest guns Adi had ever seen, or even imagined. But the men had obviously been well briefed, for as soon as the boys told them their names, they nodded and let them pass through.
The Sultan’s quarters were in a very large complex that comprised many different rooms, including quarters for the Queen, her female relatives, and the children, audience chambers such as the one Adi had been in earlier, and private rooms for the Sultan himself. There were guards here too, but also soldiers dressed in combat uniforms. Tough-looking, cold-faced men, the soldiers made Adi feel rather better, for they looked as if at least they deserved the Sultan’s trust. The boys caught sight of Ibrahim deep in conversation with a couple of the soldiers; he appeared to be explaining something to them, and Adi smiled bitterly to himself, thinking the man was probably telling them how to do their job. He hoped they’d punch the insolent creature on the nose!
The guards took Adi and Sadik to a small room at one end of the complex, where the Sultan sat at a modest desk, writing. When they were announced, he turned around and smiled at them.
“Come in, shut the door.” He put his pen down and motioned them to stand before his desk. Adi saw that beside the pen and pile of papers on the desk there was a two-way radio, a kris—a large, splendid weapon, very well sharpened and polished—and also a revolver.
“So the pair of you are to be my guards.” The irrepressible smile sweetened the Sultan’s round face. “You are so young to be so brave. I must say that though I have to believe in the reality of the threat we are facing, I can scarcely bring myself to realize that these things have actually come to pass.” He waved a hand at the papers on his desk. “You cannot imagine the amount of paperwork such a thing consumes. Decrees for this, licenses to do that. I had hoped never to have to sign such things. I dislike war and violence, utterly. I had hoped other methods…” He broke off, smiling tiredly at them. “Forgive me. I am ranting, and should not burden you. You are my guards, not my advisers.”
“Oh, Your Majesty,” said Adi impulsively, “I am honored that you should trust in us.”
“And I,” said Sadik. He had been wide-eyed the whole time they had rushed through the palace; here, in front of the Sultan himself, he seemed quite awestruck. Adi knew just how he felt. To be here, talking to the Sultan—well, as a child from a modest family, you never imagined something like this happening to you. And to be here to protect the Sultan himself—that was like something out of a dream, an old story, a legend. He caught Sadik’s eye and grinned. Sadik grinned back.
“You are one of the Shayk’s boys, aren’t you?” said the Sultan to Sadik, who nodded.
“My name is Sadik, Sire,” he said, bowing very low.
“Don’t bow, don’t bow,” said the Sultan impatiently. “Only bow before God, that’s the ticket, Sadik.”
At that moment, there was a loud knock. The Sultan frowned a little and looked at the boys, who immediately positioned themselves near the door. The Sultan winked at them; then he said, loudly and rather haughtily, “Who is it?”
“Sire, it’s me, Rahman,” came a rather high, panic-stricken voice. The Sultan raised his eyebrows. “The commander of the guard,” he whispered to Adi and Sadik. Aloud, he said, in that same haughty voice, “What is it, Rahman?”
“Sire, a message. An urgent message has come. It was delivered to my very quarters, Sire. By a man dressed all in black, with a black mask over his face.”
“What!” The Sultan got up so quickly that he knocked his chair over. He strode to the door and pulled it open. “Give it to me, then, Rahman.”
The man at the door was tall, fat, well dressed, and sweating. He bowed deeply and handed over a sealed envelope. The Sultan immediately ripped it open. He pulled a sheet of paper out and rapidly scanned its contents. Adi and Sadik saw all the color drain out of his face, making him look old and gray all of a sudden. There was a terrible silence; then the Sultan yelled, “Rahman! Why didn’t you detain that man!” He was still gray, but his kindly face transformed instantly into that of a snarling tiger. “You fool!”
Rahman shrank back. “Your Majesty, he vanished so quickly, and I didn’t think—”
“You never do! Fool! Yanto was right—I should have gotten rid of you years ago.”
“But Sire…” It was Rahman’s turn to look gray and old. “I—”
“Go away. Get out of my sight,” snarled the Sultan. “This minute.”
“Sire…” bleated the unfortunate Rahman, but the Sultan closed the door in his face. He stood at the door for a moment, breathing deeply, then rushed over to the radio and twiddled the dials. He picked up the mouthpiece. “Tiger One, come in. Tiger One, come in.” The radio crackled fiercely, but no voice came over. “Tiger One, come in.” Crackle, crackle. The Sultan sighed despairingly. His face set in deep lines. “Tiger Two, Tiger Two, come in. Come in, Tiger Two.” Crackle, crackle. He tried again, but still no change. Slowly, he turned away from the radio.
Adi and Sadik dared not move. Adi’s heart was racing. One of the hantumu had been at the palace, right inside it! Fear crept over him.
“My son…” said the Sultan harshly, after a long silence. “They…they have forced his helicopter down. The…the hantumu and their master hold Yanto prisoner. They will kill him unless I agree to meet with this…this man…today.”
“Does he say what he wants, Your Majesty?” said Adi.
“He says I must go to meet him, and that then he will tell me his demands.”
“Where does he want you to meet him, Your Majesty?”
“He says I am to go to the Water Gardens, and someone will take me to the Sorcerer.”
“Sire, it is a trick,” said Adi definitely. “He wants you out of the safety of the palace, in a place where he can—”
The Sultan laughed mirthlessly. “The Water Gardens are as safe as my palace. I am safer in the atrium of my mystical bride, Rorokidul, than I ever would be here,” he said. “Though…” He broke off, looking rather stricken.
Suddenly, Adi remembered Rorokidul’s words. “Sire, Sire, when I first came to see you, with the Shayk, I saw the Queen of the Southern Sea, Roro
kidul herself, standing behind your chair.”
The Sultan’s expression lifted. “Are you sure, Adi?”
“She was definitely there, Sire,” he said, ignoring Sadik’s look of astonishment. “And she said…she said…er…” He cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Sire, but she said that her human husband had not been mindful of his vows.”
“I see,” said the Sultan. He looked rather shamefaced. “She’s reminding me that I need to renew contact with the spirits. I’ve been neglecting her of late. I thought perhaps, in our modern world, you know…. Besides, Yanto’s been on and on at me to move away from too much reliance on the spirit world, because he thinks it’s not good religious practice. Ah well! This is good news in a way, Adi. If you saw Rorokidul here, it means she hasn’t turned her back on us. Rorokidul has always been closely linked to my family, and it is partly through her protection that my family has flourished. But the palace—why, anyone could get in. After all, the hantumu got into that fool Rahman’s quarters to deliver his message, didn’t he?”
Unease gripped Adi. “Sire, why would a man who threatens your family and your kingdom ask to meet you in the very place that is a source of your power?”
“You may well be right, Adi, but I cannot take the chance of leaving Yanto at their mercy. They told me in the letter, just to make sure I know they have him, of a birthmark he has on…on a part of the body not normally shown in public. No one except my family knows of this. They must already be humiliating him, hurting him.” His face twisted. He closed his eyes briefly. “Oh, what an idiot I was to let him go on this fool’s errand. I should never have trusted to such a harebrained plan.”
Neither Adi nor Sadik mentioned that it was not only Yanto who was missing but also the Shayk. Yet they both thought it. Adi could see in Sadik’s wide, frightened eyes just how afraid he was for his master. As for himself, he felt sorry for the poor, kind, brave old man who had staked his own safety—and the peace of his people—on helping to defend the Sultan’s power, no matter what he thought of the Sultan. He had thought the Shayk was Snow—and now Snow was incapacitated, or maybe even dead. Harshly, he said, “Sire, it is too late for regrets. It is time now for decisions.”
The Sultan’s eyes flashed. “How dare you…” he began. Then he broke off sharply. “Forgive me, Adi. You are right. It is time now to act. And so I will go to the Water Gardens to meet the Sorcerer.”
“And we will come with you,” said Adi, echoed by Sadik, who added, “Sire, we can ask Ibrahim to come with us—he is a good fighter.”
“Tell him to come if he likes,” said the Sultan, handing Sadik the kris that had been on the desk and tucking the gun into the waistband of his own trousers. “We’ll leave by the back; I don’t want too many people to see us.” He moved like a young man now, briskly, with a sense of purpose that Adi knew would not be blunted anymore.
TWENTY-FIVE
DEWI AND HUSAM rode on through the afternoon. The bike drove smoothly enough, and fortunately there were few bends in the road, so Husam did not have to do much steering, but it was definitely not as fast as a modern motorbike would have been. Dewi cursed it under her breath. She also wondered just how much fuel it had in its tank, and how long it would last. They had just passed a sign to Kotabunga, and it was farther than she had hoped. But there was nothing she could do about it, not even urge Husam to greater speed. The machine wouldn’t take it.
She thought of poor Anda Mangil, speaking so cheerfully about how new threats needed new magics and new ideas. Well, she was sure the spirits would think this bike came under the heading of new magics, but it was not much of a comfort. Why couldn’t they have been given powerful bikes such as the hantumu used? As to new ideas, she had precisely none in her head. Nor old ones, in fact. Even if the Sultan believed them—which might not be the case—what then? Warning him against a sorcerer whose name nobody knew and whose nature could hardly even be guessed at was surely not a very useful thing.
Her thoughts were jolted out of her head by Husam slamming on the brakes. Dewi sailed gracefully out of the sidecar, onto the dusty road. For a moment, she was utterly winded and could not even speak. Husam immediately jumped off the bike and bent over her, babbling apologies. Desperately worried when she did not respond, he said, urgently, “Dewi, Dewi, speak to me! Are you all right?”
Dewi found her voice. “Not all right, but not badly hurt,” she said crossly. “Help me up.” As he did so, she said, “Why on earth did you do that?”
“Look,” said Husam, pointing. Dewi followed the direction of his finger. There was a cloud moving on the road toward them, a formless shape, far away. “It’s people,” said Husam quietly. “Lots of people. They’re streaming out of Kotabunga.”
“The Sorcerer’s there already!” said Dewi, scrambling for the bike. “Quick, quick, Husam!”
He hurried to help her.
“Let me drive this time,” she said.
“Okay—you can’t do much worse than me,” said Husam ruefully. Dewi jumped on the bike, while Husam folded himself into the sidecar. Alas, when Dewi tried to kick over the bike to start, it just kept ticking and whirring, but the engine would not start up.
“Oh dear,” said Husam even more ruefully. “Looks like we have run out of—” He broke off as a wild sound came to their ears.
“What the—?” He peered ahead. “Dewi, Dewi, quick, get on the side of the road. It’s coming straight for us!”
There, emerging out of the formless mass in the distance, a smaller cloud of dust, with a center of fire, was coming toward them, very rapidly indeed. Dewi did not stop to think; she jumped off the bike and painfully into the thornbushes at the side of the road, Husam falling beside her in a most undignified sprawl. Both of them tucked their heads under their arms and curled up tightly, trying to make themselves as small as possible, trying to ignore the pain as the long thorns pricked every centimeter of their exposed flesh.
The blast of sound came again, very loudly this time; then came a grinding crash, a bang, a yell, and some very loud swearing. Dewi’s eyes flew open, as did Husam’s. They carefully extricated themselves from the thornbushes and came to stand by the side of the road.
“Er…Kareen Amar, we are glad to see you,” said Dewi in a small voice.
“Funny way of showing it,” said the Jinn, very crankily. She kicked out hard at what remained of the speeda—a twisted, half-molten lump of metal. “Why did you leave this thing in the way?”
“It was going to take us to Kotabunga,” said Husam quietly, staring at the pitiful remains of Kembang’s pride and joy. “Oh dear, Kareen, couldn’t you have been more careful?”
“Useless dumb machine,” said Kareen Amar loftily. She turned away from them and whistled, very low. A toot-toot, as if from a horn, answered her; and in the next moment, an astonished Dewi and Husam saw Anda Mangil’s car trundling toward them from its hiding place in the bushes, a short distance away.
“Now, that one is clever,” said the Jinn happily. “Anda Mangil does not die while his car lives. Come on, you two,” she went on, impatiently beckoning them to get in. “Staring like fish out of water won’t help us get to the Sultan, now, will it?”
Dewi looked back once at the twisted heap of blackened metal that had been the prized possession of the Stone Village clan. She felt bad about the state it was now in, despite her earlier unpleasant thoughts about its slowness and clunkiness. It had been of great use to them, and they had promised to bring it back. Glancing at Husam, she saw the same thought in his eyes. But there was nothing they could do right now. They would have to try to repay the villagers. They’d have to get them a new one, somehow.
At least Anda Mangil’s car was back to being what it had been before she’d unwisely called on the unfettered power of Fire, thought Dewi as she and Husam climbed into the backseat of the car. In fact, it seemed better than before—everything looked new, spotless, gleaming. Even the pictures of the holy sites had a brand-new look to them; they shimmered t
hree-dimensionally under their glass frames, as if you could truly walk into the heart of each. Dewi touched one of them and all at once heard Anda Mangil’s voice in her head, gently teasing. Tears sprang into her eyes. His spirit might well be here, in his beloved car, but oh, how she wished he were there in the driver’s seat and would turn his head to smile at her.
But it was Kareen Amar in the driver’s seat, Kareen Amar who was chatting volubly over her shoulder as she started up the engine, though for a moment Dewi hardly heard what the Jinn was saying. It was the mention of Adi’s name that drew her attention.
“What did you say?”
Kareen Amar turned right around to look reproachfully at her. “Young one, your ears do not always work properly. I was telling all about how Kotabunga has gone mad and people are streaming out of it into the countryside. There are stories running like wildfire among them, that Jehannem has opened and that all the demons of hell are pouring out of it and will destroy Kotabunga in a rain of fire. They say, too, that the army has already been destroyed, that the Crown Prince has flown away in a helicopter, and that the Sultan has been seen leaving the palace, and—”
“No. Adi. Adi—you spoke of Adi!”
“Yes, I saw him in a car, going toward the palace. He was with some people. I sang to him, but he did not come. The car turned a corner and was gone.”
“And these stories about Jehannem…”
“Are untrue,” said Kareen Amar primly. “People are panicked. They will believe anything. Only this is true: The Crown Prince has left by helicopter, and the Sultan is no longer in the palace.”
“The helicopters!” said Dewi and Husam in unison. “Was the Sultan in one of the helicopters?” added Dewi.
“No, my informant saw only the Prince and an old man, a stranger, dressed all in snowy white.”
Both Dewi and Husam started. “In snowy white!” Dewi echoed. Could it be a sign?
Kareen Amar took no notice of this interruption. “Furthermore, a servant, hiding in one of the back rooms, told me she saw the Sultan and three companions heading out of the palace. Perhaps Adi was one of them.”
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