Swords & Steam Short Stories

by S. T. Joshi

  Eli Whitney and the Cotton Djinn

  Zach Shephard

  Eli Whitney was not always a great inventor. Even the best of his early ideas failed to generate public interest, because no one needed weaponized cheddar or a sock that covers both feet. He had all the tools he needed to improve the world – a Yale education, free lodging with a friend and an abundance of physical resources – but without inspiration, he just couldn’t come up with anything good.

  Then came the day when he burned the handkerchief, and everything changed.

  Eli, brainstorming alone in a shack on Catherine Greene’s plantation, had just wasted his last piece of paper designing a harvester that couldn’t possibly be efficient because yams aren’t twelve feet long. It’s for this reason that, when his next idea struck, the only available writing surface was the pair of handkerchiefs in his pocket.

  On the square of red cloth Eli recorded his idea for a new type of banjo, which could churn butter more effectively than any banjo before it. He labeled his invention the slapwagon, which would make perfect sense if you could see the illustration.

  Grinning at the thrill of discovery, Eli held the drawing out at arm’s length. Upon review, he soon realized the slapwagon’s fatal flaw: it was stupid.

  “Worthless!” he said, and set the handkerchief on fire. He threw it to the dirt floor of the shack, where it promptly exploded.

  From the cloth rose a pillar of smokeless fire, which shifted through various bestial shapes before solidifying into the form of a statuesque woman in purple, stomach-baring silks. Her skin was the color of lava, its texture that of rough tablecloth, and her eyes blazed like flame reflected in opal.

  “Who dares?” she asked. “Who summons Mari, Lady of Fire, Wielder of the Eternal –”

  The water struck her squarely in the face, soaking into the red cloth of her skin. Mari peeled open one eye, then the other, looking something less than jolly as her gaze fixed on Eli, who was still holding the empty bucket.

  “Why,” she said, “would you ever do that?”

  “You said you were on fire.”

  “Of fire. Of.”

  “Oh. I’m dreadfully sorry, then. Will you accept my apologies?”

  Mari sighed. “Oh, I suppose so,” she said, turning to the wall-mirror and finger-combing her long black hair. “After all, I’d hate to get off on the wrong foot. Tell me, darling, what’s your name?”

  “Eli. Eli Whitney.”

  “And how did you summon me, Eli Whitney?”

  “I burned a handkerchief.”

  Mari stopped combing her hair. “A handkerchief? Yes …that does sound familiar. Do you happen to have another like it?”

  Eli held up a black cloth.

  “Oh, wonderful! Would you mind burning that one, too?”

  Eli, eager to find an explanation for the seven-foot woman who’d materialized out of thin air, lit a match.

  “Wait!” Mari said. She took the handkerchief, blew her nose into it and handed it back. “There we are. Carry on.”

  Eli lit the soiled handkerchief and tossed it to the floor. A familiar explosion followed, and when the flaming pillar stopped its shifting, a bare-chested, heavily muscled man with two small horns on his forehead stood beside Mari.

  “Who calls me forth?” he asked. “Who calls upon Zumaj, Lord of the Shadowy Depths, Vanquisher of the Warrior-Kings, Keeper of the why the hell am I covered in snot?”

  Zumaj held his arms to the sides, as if too disgusted to let his body touch itself. His skin, textured like Mari’s and dark as an endless cave, was soaked.

  “Eli, this is Zumaj. Zumaj, Eli.”

  Eli stepped forward to get a closer look at the pair. “This is remarkable,” he said. “What are you?”

  “We’re djinn, silly.” “Djinn! Like from the Arabian tales! Do you grant wishes?”

  “We’ve been known to dabble in miracle-making, in exchange for certain services. But before we get to any of that, I’d like to know more about those handkerchiefs. Where did you get them?”

  “I bought them at the market, just the other day.”

  “From whom?”

  “I don’t recall the merchant’s name – I’m new in town, just passing through on my way to a teaching job.”

  “Hm.” Mari tapped her lips. “A teacher. I suppose that’s all right.”

  Eli, not wanting to leave his wish-factories unimpressed, quickly updated his story.

  “It’s just a temporary position,” he said. “What I really want is to be an inventor.”

  “An inventor!” Mari said. “That’s much more interesting. Isn’t that lovely, Zumaj?”

  The darker djinni leaned away from Eli’s curious hand, which was trying to touch one of his horns. “Yes,” he said, sounding entirely unamused. “Lovely.”

  Mari clapped her hands. “It’s settled, then! We’ll do inventions. But we’ll need some help. Eli, would you be interested in earning a few wishes?”

  Eli’s attention cut over to Mari. “Yes! I’d like that very much.”

  “Good,” she said, draping her long red arm over his shoulders. “Now, let’s talk details …”

  * * *

  In theory, Eli’s rat-trap should have taken three hours to capture every rodent on the east side of the plantation. In practice, it only took forty minutes to kill two cats and incinerate a shed.

  Eli splashed one last bucket of water onto the shed’s smoldering remains. He sifted through the ashes, but found none of the rat parts Zumaj had tasked him with gathering. Too discouraged to start over right away, he took a break from that project and focused on Mari’s needs for a time.

  Eli headed into town to gather the materials on the djinni’s list. Just before he reached the general store he felt a sudden tug on his jacket, which drew him forcefully into the empty space between buildings.

  “I beg your pardon!” Eli said, as he was released with a shove. He turned to get a look at the brute who’d attacked him, only to find a five-foot woman with glittery green eyes and animal-hide clothing.

  “I don’t have much time, so I’ll make this quick. Your name is Eli. You bought two handkerchiefs at the market recently. I need them, and you’re going to give them to me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Eli said, straightening his jacket, “but even if I wanted to, I couldn’t help you.”

  The woman leaned in close and sniffed him.

  “Oh, hell,” she said. “You’ve already burned them. I can smell Mari’s stench all over you.”

  “You know Mari?”

  “Better than I’d care to.” The woman rubbed her forehead, muttering under her breath. “Okay. This is going to take longer than I thought. I’m going to have to tell you my name – promise me you won’t panic.”

  Eli, having never experienced an aversion to obscure names in the past, confidently nodded.

  The woman took a deep breath. “My name is Henrietta.”

  “Henrietta? Why would that –”

  There was a sound like too-tight pants tearing over a too-plump rump, and in the next instant, Henrietta was a walrus.

  Henrietta, with spiraled tusks like unicorn horns and a rainbow mane running down her back, regarded her left flipper.

  “Oh, wonderful,” she said. “That’s just perfect.”

  Eli, far from panicking, leaned in for a closer look at the creature.

  “Remarkable …” He moved his hand toward Henrietta’s tusk, but she flipper-slapped it away.

  “Okay,” she said, “I’m sure you want an explanation, so here’s the short version: I’m cursed. If I don’t tell strangers my name, they forget having ever met me. If I do, I temporarily change shapes.”

  “This is fascinating! I don’t see why you were worried. I’m delighted to meet a …” Eli gestured at Henrietta, searching for a word. “…
Walricorn.”

  “Yes, well – we got lucky. This shape looks to be pretty tame. But now that I have your attention, let’s talk djinn. I’m sure Mari and Zumaj have set you to a few tasks by now, yes?”

  “They have. Though I must confess, I’m still not certain why they need me to gather such items.”

  “It’s because they’re planning to kill each other. Probably in a very elaborate fashion.”

  “Kill each other! But why?”

  “Because that’s the game they play. They’ve been playing it for as long as anyone can remember. Mari and Zumaj are immortal – their bodies may die every now and then, but they always come back. And when they do, they pass the time by finding new ways to end each other. We can’t let that happen. There can’t be a winner. They both need to die.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “The world of magic takes getting used to, I know. But look at me!” Henrietta flailed her flippers and body about, like she had an itch she couldn’t reach. “You can’t deny what your eyes are seeing.”

  “No, I don’t deny it at all – I’ve seen enough magic today to be a believer. The thing I don’t understand is why we can’t let the djinn continue their game. If they’re both consenting and they’ll be resurrected anyway, where’s the harm?”

  “The harm comes from the winner having to wait a few decades for the loser’s resurrection. When djinn get bored, they get into mischief.”

  “What kind of mischief?”

  “The kind that involves death and destruction, and cursing innocent people.” Henrietta spread her flippers, her rainbow mane ruffling. “Exhibit A.”

  Eli considered the woman’s story. He shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “That can’t be right. They promised me wishes.”

  “Of course they did. Because they want your help. This game of theirs is run by some pretty strict rules – they can’t harm one another directly, which is why they’re having you run errands. But you won’t be getting any wishes after the day of their contest, Eli. The best you can hope for is a curse that doesn’t make dating incredibly awkward.”

  Eli paced the alley. He didn’t want to give up on those wishes. Despite his many failures, he really was a brilliant engineer – he could build any machine that came to mind, no matter how complex or likely to explode it was. Unfortunately, none of those machines was the world-changing device he aspired to produce. He had a creative block, which he was certain the wishes could fix.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I only just met you. How do I know you’re telling the truth? How do I know you’re not the dangerous one here? I have no frame of reference for walricorns; maybe you’re all thieves and killers.”

  “I am not a walricorn!” Henrietta shouted, flopping around like a walricorn. “I –”. She paused, composing herself. “Okay, answer me this: what do the djinn have you collecting?”

  “Mari needs some basic building supplies. Nothing unusual – all items that can be purchased from various shops around town.”

  “And what about Zumaj?”

  “He …has me collecting rats.” Eli quickly looked away.

  “And?” Henrietta asked. “What else?”

  “Well,” Eli said, rubbing the back of his neck, “he did mention another ingredient, but he said it was optional. I don’t have to collect a fresh human head.”

  Henrietta crossed her flippers over her chest, raising a rainbow eyebrow.

  “I admit it sounds bad,” Eli said. “But I don’t suspect the djinn are as evil as you think.”

  “That’s the greed talking. You want your wishes.”

  “And with them, I’ll finally be able to make the world a better place.” Eli straightened his posture, raised his chin and bowed. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Henrietta.” He turned and exited the alley, knowing the walricorn would not follow him into public view.

  “You need to think this through!” she shouted after him. “And once you have, you’ll be hearing from me!”

  * * *

  Mari had selected the plantation’s workshop as her base of operations, not only because its great size suited her needs, but because Eli had assured her total privacy: the workers tended to avoid that place, because no one wanted to be around when Eli resumed work on his Wasp-Agitation Device.

  Eli entered the workshop with the bucket of metal spikes Mari had ordered, placing them on a crate as he marveled at the sight before him.

  “My goodness!” he said. “You’ve been busy.”

  Mari stopped hammering on a machine she was building into the far wall. She approached Eli with a smile.

  “Marvelous, don’t you think? And are those my spikes? Lovely! This is all turning out so very well.”

  Eli circled the rectangular pit that took up most of the workshop’s floor. A large wooden cylinder ran lengthwise through the middle, filling the majority of the pit.

  “What’s this for?” he asked.

  “The event, silly. Did you get the rest of the materials?”

  “They’re outside. Mari, about this event …”

  “Which event? The one I specifically told you not to ask nosey questions about?”

  “Yes, well – I’m just concerned for your safety, is all. Especially since the two of you are trying to kill one another.”

  Mari’s eyes narrowed. “Who told you that?”

  “No one,” Eli said, picking at a loose shirt-thread. “But I’m an inventor, you know, and I can see the pieces of your event coming together, forming into an elaborate machine. It seems clear that you and Zumaj are planning a fight to the death.”

  Mari turned to examine the bucket of spikes. “You’re right, of course. But don’t worry about us. We’ve done this plenty of times throughout the centuries – we never stay dead long.”

  “That’s certainly a relief. Still …” Eli scratched the back of his head.

  “Go on, darling.”

  “I just – it seems there are better things you could do with your immortality. You have an infinite supply of time, not to mention considerable strength and wit. With your tools you could invent machines, tend to the needy, write poems – you could change the world.”

  “Have you ever tried writing poetry? Good luck finding a rhyme for ‘eviscerate’ that fits the context of a love story. No, Eli, I will do none of those things. Your world-changing nonsense could never be as fulfilling as a good victory over Zumaj.” She pointed her hammer at Eli. “And speaking of that big black behemoth, you should see if he needs any help – this won’t be a fair contest if I’m monopolizing all your time. Run along, darling.”

  Eli crossed the plantation, hands in his pockets and heavy thoughts in his head. Before he knew it he was at the shack where he’d first summoned the djinn, which now served as Zumaj’s headquarters.

  The sack of dead rats Eli had dropped off earlier was no longer outside the door. He’d given up on capturing the vermin himself, and had instead acquired them from a local hotel owner who’d been lazy about cleaning his traps. The price had been very reasonable, because it turns out rat carcasses were not an expensive commodity in 1792.

  Eli stepped inside the shack, its walls bright with sunlight seeping through the cracks. Zumaj sat on the floor, his hulking back toward Eli, with a pile of rat parts to one side and raven parts to the other.

  Eli cleared his throat.

  “Come in, mortal.”

  Eli circled Zumaj, seeing his first glimpse of the djinni’s project.

  “Oh, that’s – that’s some very nice work.”

  Zumaj pulled the thread tight and clipped it with his teeth, then stuck the needle into the cloth-flesh of his forearm. He held up his project, viewing it with a critical eye.

  “Well?” he asked. “Tell me what you think, inventor.”

  “It’s …I mean, it
’s certainly a …bird. Rat. Thing.” Eli moved to get a better look at the abomination. “Very pretty, if that’s what you’re going for. Or not, if it isn’t.”

  “Hmph.” Zumaj removed the needle from his arm and resumed his work.

  “I think it will be a fantastic tool for your event, if that’s what you’re asking. That thing surely has a decent chance of killing Mari.”

  Zumaj stopped stitching. “You know about the event?”

  “I made some guesses. Mari confirmed.”

  “I see. Well, if you’re worried that I’m not adhering to the theme, I would argue that biological inventions are still inventions. Now, come and sit. I need my legion prepared by tomorrow morning, and your aid is required.”

  For the next thirty minutes, Eli learned how to assemble unholy monstrosities from dead animal pieces. The process was equal parts educational and gross.

  “I was wondering,” Eli said as they worked, “have you ever considered doing something else with your immortality? Something that might benefit the world?”

  “There is nothing else. Avenging my losses to Mari is all that matters.”

  “I see.”

  Eli finished his first abomination, which Zumaj animated and commanded to sprint to the other side of the shack. The bipedal creation ran in three big circles, tripped, and fell on its face.

  “I see the problem,” Eli said. “I took mismatched legs from the pile – they’re not the same length. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I’ve ruined this one.”

  “It’s not ruined. The parts are interchangeable.”

  “Interchangeable?” Eli scratched his chin. “What a brilliant –”

  A rat’s leg hit him in the face, dropping into his lap.

  “Use that one,” Zumaj said. “Back to work.”

  * * *

  By the next morning, Eli still hadn’t figured out what to do about the djinn. On the one hand, his conversations with Mari and Zumaj had been eye-opening, and seemed to coincide with Henrietta’s story about their evil nature. On the other hand, wishes.

  Eli resolved to continue business as usual until he could decide on a course. It’s for this reason that he went to Mari’s workshop in the morning, only to find Henrietta in a giant birdcage in the corner.