The boy looked like he wanted to flee, but somehow he held his ground. Faintly, he whispered, ‘Sir, forgive me, I didn’t mean to –’
‘You haven’t done anything wrong, that I know of,’ said Khaled. He picked up the book the boy had dropped and looked at it. ‘Legends of the Akamenians,’ he read. It was one of the books he himself had consulted during his investigations, though he’d had a hard job of it, knowing only a little Parsarian as he did. ‘It’s in your language,’ he went on. ‘You are interested in the fire-people, Payem? Or are you one?’
The blue eyes stared at him, the fear now quite naked in them. Khaled remembered that in Parsari, fanatics prowled around looking for Akamenians to beat up or even kill. He said, ‘It’s all right. You don’t need to worry, even if you are an Akamenian, Payem. No-one is forced to renounce their faith in this house, as long as they don’t try to convert others.’
Payem swallowed and tried to speak, but could not. Khaled held out the book. ‘Take it with you, if you like. It’s something to read at night. And maybe you can tell me a bit more about it. I wasn’t able to read a lot of it. I don’t know your language well enough.’
‘Sir,’ said Payem, breathlessly, ‘I cannot take it, the other servants, they’ll – they won’t understand. I am sorry, forgive me for coming into this place without permission, I understand I’ll be punished, but – I love reading, and I …’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Khaled crossly. ‘Why would you be punished, just for wanting to read? We aren’t like that, in this family. I will ask my father if you can come in here regularly to read, if you’d like –’
Something flashed in Payem’s eyes. He looked like he was about to say something, when suddenly they heard Husam’s booming voice, followed by Kareen’s rapid tones. Payem shot a pleading glance at Khaled, then in a swift movement whipped behind one of the heavy velvet curtains and was instantly gone from sight behind the deep folds. Not an instant too soon, for the doors opened with a crash, and Husam and Kareen walked in.
‘Well, look who’s here so bright and early!’ said Husam, cheerfully. ‘You a bookworm like your father, young Khaled?’
‘Well, sir,’ said Khaled, ‘I do like to read, but I’m not sure I read quite as much as my father.’ He was intensely aware of Payem hidden behind the curtains.
Husam looked around him. ‘You know, Khaled, when I was young, I came into this place with Abdullah only once. I wasn’t a reader back then, but I remember it impressing me a great deal, even so. Of course, Abdullah must have added greatly to this library since then.’
Kareen Amar was not paying any attention to them. She was prowling around the room. Her gaze was not at the bookshelves but at something invisible, beyond their ken; her face had that listening look again. She said, startling them, ‘General Lord Bikaj of the Yakabikaj, Protector of all Books in this Library, I, Kareen Amar, Compatriot of Fire, bring you fair greetings!’
She inclined her head, and waited. All was deathly still in the library. Khaled held his breath. Would the recalcitrant Library-Jinn make an appearance now?
Kareen Amar repeated her greetings, the beginning of a tiny frown appearing on her face as she spoke. Again, she inclined her head. Again, there was deathly silence. A third time she repeated it, her voice noticeably more impatient; then suddenly, came a high, petulant voice.
‘Kareen Amar, I hear you. What do you want?’
‘Audience with you, General Bikaj,’ she said.
‘So I hear from Farasha. Why does a wandering spirit come into the settled places? Why does a daughter of the desert serve humans?’
‘We all serve humans,’ said Kareen, ‘except for those who followed Iblis, as you know, General Bikaj.’
‘You must not say that accursed one’s name!’ screeched the petulant voice. ‘It is forbidden, in this realm of mine.’
‘Yet it is there even in the holy books,’ said Kareen casually. ‘Your writ does not extend so far, Protector of Books.’
‘Your insolence is intolerable!’ With a crackle and bang like the shutting of a weighty tome, Bikaj appeared, balancing on one of the tables in front of them. He was a weird sight indeed, for he manifested as an enormous caterpillar with many waving legs and arms, and a human sort of face, like a grey-whiskered, popping-eyed, furious old man with skin the colour of aged parchment. His long, fat segmented body was clothed in a kind of tunic and trousers edged in gold and turquoise, with a silk cloak flung over that, bordered with designs that resembled words and numbers. On his head he wore a fez-like cap with a gold bobble hanging down from it. He had an ivory hubble-bubble pipe clutched in one hand, which he drew on ferociously as he spoke.
‘We keep a neat and ordered house here,’ he snapped, regarding Kareen Amar with enormous disfavour, despite the fact she towered over him. ‘Everything has its customary place. I myself, General Bikaj, command platoons of lesser Jinns which prevent the depredations of bookworms and silverfish and other bookish insects, thus earning us the undying gratitude of the family. We do not want any trouble caused by desert gypsies whose rank cannot even be determined.’
‘General Bookworm,’ said Kareen Amar sweetly, while Husam and Khaled listened, holding their breaths, ‘let me remind you that it is we, the desert wanderers, who still have the greatest power, and the greatest prestige. You, my friend, have been given a small area in which to operate, and limited powers. You are safe that way, perhaps, from sorcerers who would not bother enslaving such as you; but remember, it was the desert Jinns, not the house ones, who went with the Messenger into the country of the angels. Remember your place, oh Master Bookworm. You are amongst a great deal of knowledge and wisdom here, but it does not seem to me you have absorbed much of it.’
Bikaj stared up at her, his eyes popping more than ever. ‘Very well,’ he said, in a deadly voice. ‘I will remember my place. And that is to protect these books, and this library, in the house of al-Farouk.’ He turned to Khaled, acknowledging him for the first time. ‘Son of this house, I have always served the house of al-Farouk. It is not my role to answer the importunate questions of arrogant strangers.’
Kareen Amar’s eye’s flashed, but before she could speak again, Khaled interrupted. ‘Will you answer my question, then, Lord Bikaj, as I am a son of this house, and you are bound to us?’
That was not the right thing to say. Bikaj drew up his fat body and said in an offended voice, ‘We are not bound – we grant you our presence. And it should be the head of the al-Farouk household that asks the questions, not a junior member.’
‘Stop your shillyshallying, Book-Jinn!’ hissed Kareen Amar. ‘We do not have time for your foolish niceties of protocol.’
‘Well, then,’ said Bikaj sharply, ‘I do not have time for any foolish questions, either.’
‘Wait,’ said Khaled desperately, as Bikaj began to disappear, ‘please, General Bikaj, I conjure you to answer my question. Though I am but a junior member of the house, still you have loyalty to my house. We want to wipe out the curse of Zohreh. Please, Lord Bikaj, if we do not, before my birthday in three days, I may well die and with me the house of al-Farouk, and even this library.’
Bikaj stopped in mid-disappearance, only his bewhiskered face hanging rather foolishly in the air. ‘What is that you say?’
‘I say that this is the hundredth anniversary of the curse, and on the hundredth anniversary the curse is at its most potent. You must know that, being so learned.’ Bikaj nodded smugly. ‘Well, then, dear General Bikaj, if the curse destroys me on my birthday, the al-Farouks will also be destroyed, this house abandoned, the library ruined.’
Bikaj’s eyes started, and part of his body popped back into view. ‘Why didn’t you say so before, then? There is no time to be lost!’
‘Yes, you fool,’ snapped Kareen, ‘why have you just realised that?’
‘Son of the house,’ said Bikaj, deliberately turning his back on Kareen, ‘I fail to understand why you should employ such rude and discourteous servants. A
nd alas, I cannot tell you how to wipe out the curse of Zohreh, but I do know this: you must find where the Akamenian’s talisman is hidden, in the arms of riddling Albalhol.’
‘What? Where?’ said Khaled.
‘Listen! I haven’t finished,’ said Bikaj crossly. ‘You must also go to the old graveyard of the al-Farouks, where Kassim is buried, for there some of the answer may be found. That is all I can tell you. I wish you good fortune.’
‘Please, tell us more,’ said Khaled hastily. But this time, Bikaj didn’t linger. His voice floated on the air: ‘I told you all I know, besides I have no wish to stay here and be insulted by a desert gypsy who thinks herself better than a General of Book-Jinns.’
After he’d vanished there was a short silence, then Kareen snapped, ‘That fool really annoys me. I only just restrained myself from unleashing my fire against him!’
Khaled shivered. ‘I’m glad you didn’t,’ he said softly, thinking of the curse.
‘Wouldn’t be the thing,’ said Husam. ‘Not in this place full of nice, flammable old books. Now, what about what he told us? Who or what is riddling Albalhol? And are we to speak with Kassim’s ghost, in the graveyard?’
‘I think we should discuss this outside, with the Shayk,’ said Kareen Amar. ‘I don’t want to stay any longer in friend Bikaj’s realm than is strictly necessary. Khaled, are you coming?’ she went on, frowning, as the youth showed a marked reluctance to follow them. ‘Don’t imagine you can get Bikaj back to talk to you, al-Farouk though you are; if I know such creatures, he’ll be sulking over his offended dignity for weeks.’
Behind the curtain, Soheila stood frozen, stunned by what she had just heard. She made the sign of the Truthteller against her chest. A curse! Her ancestor had declared a curse against this wicked family.
She had come to the library because she’d had that dream again, in which the hooded figure beckoned her forward, but this time into the library. And so she had hurried here – and had learnt what she had learnt.
She’d been in the same room as a Jinn – as two Jinns! Her legs trembled, and for the first time since she had set out on her mission, she felt truly afraid. How could she fulfil her task if the al-Farouks had supernatural help, in addition to wealth and power? It appeared that they had the Talisman of the Star as well – for that must be the ‘Akamenian’s talisman’ the Book-Jinn had referred to – though they had seemed to be unaware of its existence till then. And what was the curse? It didn’t seem to have worked so far, if the al-Farouk’s wealth and prosperity were any guide. But the boy – who must be the Al-Farouk heir – had spoken of the curse being most potent this year. It must be why she had had those dreams – Zohreh reaching across the barrier of time, and death, so that she could have one last certain chance of taking revenge.
She shivered, remembering her two encounters with the boy, in the garden and in the library. Would he tell his two dangerous friends about having met her there, and what she’d been doing? ‘I will have to be very careful,’ she thought, emerging from behind the curtain.
She must find out more. She must follow them to the graveyard, find out what was going on. But she must also find the Talisman of the Star for herself. What was it the creature had said: that the Talisman was held ‘in the arms of riddling Albalhol’? She had no idea what that meant, but thought that the Talisman must be in here somewhere, for only then would Bikaj know about it at all. Yes, it must be somewhere in this library, and she was going to find it.
She glared determinedly at the ranks of shelves. ‘By Akamenia and his prophet, the Truthteller,’ she vowed, ‘before too many days are out I will hold the ancient talisman of my family in my own hands.’
As she spoke the defiant words to herself, she happened to look over at the tall mirror that stood in the corner of the room. Her heart gave a great leap, for all at once she saw someone else reflected there: the hooded figure from her dream. Suddenly cold with fear, she whirled around. There was no-one in the room with her. No-one at all. But her nerves, already strained to breaking point, gave out at that moment, and she turned and fled from the room as fast as she could go.
Eleven
As the household sat down to breakfast, Soheila, standing in the shadows, listened as they decided the trip to the graveyard would be set for the next day, then she slipped back to the kitchen.
Today, Khaled would go under Husam’s protection to the Carpet Bazaar, to find a repairer for the flying carpet, which might well be needed to travel long distances. Neither Abdullah nor Kareen would come with them, for they were to supervise another task – the search for the Talisman.
‘I will call up all my clerical staff to help us. There is a catalogue of the books, you see,’ said Abdullah, ‘and we will start with that, with anything about Albalhol. We need to find out what that means, first of all, if we are to have a chance of finding the Talisman.’
‘Do you have any idea what the Talisman might be?’ said Husam.
Khaled looked a little warily at his father. ‘There is a story I read,’ he said, ‘which said that the clan Zohreh belonged to was named after a famous ancestor, the Magvanda Melkior, who obtained a magical object called the Talisman of the Star while on a mysterious journey to pay homage to a baby king whose coming had been foretold. They were guided there by a bright star, and angels.’
‘That sounds like a Nashranee story my young friend Adi told me once,’ said Husam. ‘But Zohreh was not a Nashranee, was she?’
‘No,’ said the Shayk. ‘She was an Akamenian. Fire-worshippers from Parsari.’
‘Actually, Father,’ said Khaled, ‘they don’t worship fire. That is an untruth put about by their enemies. Fire is just the symbol of their God, Akamenia. It is like saying we worship the Heaven Stone, instead of knowing it as a token from God.’
‘The Light preserve us,’ said Abdullah, after a short silence, ‘the child presumes to teach theology now!’
Khaled said nothing. Husam said gently, ‘I wonder then what exactly was the Talisman of the Star? Didn’t it tell you, in this book of yours, Khaled?’
‘No. It appears the Melkior clan have always closely guarded that secret.’
‘Perhaps it’s some kind of star chart, or instrument for looking at stars,’ said Husam. He turned to Abdullah. ‘Your ancestor Kassim must have hidden it, surely? Did he say nothing to anybody about it?’
‘There is no record of it,’ said Abdullah. ‘I had no idea it existed, let alone that it was in my palace.’ He sighed. ‘Perhaps it was Zohreh herself who hid it; perhaps it’s what holds the curse in place.’
‘No,’ said Kareen, speaking for the first time. ‘I am sure it is Kassim who placed it there. If an enemy of the house had done so, the Jinn would know where it was. Bikaj only knows the riddle of where it was placed: a House-Jinn cannot penetrate to the heart of a family’s secrets, for he or she is bound to a family and cannot betray it even inadvertently. I think that Bikaj told you all he knew.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Abdullah, ‘I do wish Kassim had been a – nicer man. So much trouble could have been avoided. The old graveyard was abandoned because it was said ghouls haunted it. No-one was buried there after Kassim. We have a much nicer plot now. I haven’t been to the old one in decades, not since I was your age, Khaled, and my father told me the story of the curse, standing at Kassim’s grave.’ He lowered his voice. ‘It is said that Kassim’s spirit is not in a good place, so I did not like being there, even though it was daylight. At night it is far too dangerous, with the ghouls having full power to prowl at their leisure.’
Khaled shivered. Ghouls are terrifying creatures. They are a kind of evil Jinn who haunt certain graveyards, particularly where wicked people are buried. They feed on dead flesh, but are not averse to sweet living flesh either. If you come across one unawares, it will try to catch you, and tear you limb from limb, and eat your flesh.
‘But ghouls can be defeated with a stout heart and a trust in the Light,’ Khaled said, in a rush, ‘so there’s
nothing really to be afraid of, especially in daylight. I should like to defeat one myself.’
Abdullah and Husam looked at each other. Husam said, ‘Have you ever seen a ghoul, Khaled?’
‘No, but –’
‘I hope to God you never do, my son,’ said Abdullah gravely.
‘Indeed,’ said Husam, ‘ghouls are no laughing matter, at any time.’
‘Ghouls!’ said Kareen, with great scorn. ‘They are evil things, but they hold no terror for me, sordid and stupid things that they are.’
That made everyone laugh, and lightened the tension a little.
On the way to the Carpet Bazaar, Husam and Omar chatted animatedly about Jayangan – or rather, Omar asked questions and Husam answered, at great length. Khaled listened to them, fascinated. He would like, one day, to travel the world; it was so big, and so much of it was worth seeing. He liked the sound of Jayangan, and of Husam’s friends, Dewi and Adi, who were about his age. He wished they could have come with Husam; he had few friends of his own age, for his exalted rank made things very difficult indeed for him here. But in another country, he’d just be Khaled, not the heir to the vast al-Farouk fortune and the ancient al-Farouk name. He could be himself. One day, perhaps, he might visit them with Husam. One day, when all this was over and he could breathe again. ‘One day,’ he thought with a shock of fear, ‘if I make it past my fifteenth birthday …’
All at once, for no reason that he could discern, the face of the Parsarian kitchen boy came into his mind. He thought suddenly that he should have asked Payem some questions; if he was an Akamenian, he might know things that could be of help. Yet the boy had not actually admitted to being an Akamenian, so what was he doing in the library, looking at a book of Akamenian legends? Unease stirred at the back of Khaled’s mind. Maybe he should ask Husam’s advice. But he didn’t want to get the boy into any trouble. He liked him. He felt oddly protective towards him, strangely drawn to him, though the boy was only a servant.
The Curse of Zohreh Page 7
