“Agreed.” Park stuck his head back into the airwain. “Come on out. One of their judges is going to figure out what to do with us.”
Despite the Moor’s promise, men crowded close to Park and his companions to make sure they did not break and run. He wondered where they could run to, but on second thought was just as glad to have a lot of bodies around — the pilot never had put away that knife.
The qadi’s tent was at the edge of the jungle, close by several dozen man-sized rugs spread on the ground: the airfield crew’s worship area, Park realized. “Excellency!” a Moor said.
Everyone bowed when the qadi came out. Park was slower than the Muslims, but quicker than Dunedin, Ankowaljuu, or Waipaljkoon. When he straightened, he got his first good look at the Muslim judge; all he’d noticed before was the Arab-style robes the man wore.
The qadi was no Arab, though. With his round, copper-skinned face, he was plainly of jungle Skrelling stock. Park knew he shouldn’t have been surprised. Just as Vinland’s Skrellings were Christian, so naturally those of the Emirate would follow Islam. He needed a moment to adjust all the same.
The qadi said, “Who are these strangers? Why do you bring them before me?”
Park spoke up before anyone else had a chance: “Excellency, I am qadi myself — a judge of the International Court of the Continent of Skrelleland. Your pilot made my airwain land by mistake.”
“They are my prisoners, my battlefield booty!” the fighter pilot cried. “Even this Christian who calls himself a qadi admits that these”-he pointed at the two Tawantlinsuujans-“are but pagans, deserving only death or slavery.”
The qadi frowned. “This is too complicated to decide at once. Come into my tent, Muawiyah” (that was evidently the pilot) “and you foreign folk as well. And, to keep anyone from getting ideas perhaps he should not have, you come too, Harun, and you, Walid, with your weapons.”
The tent was crowded with so many people inside, but it held them. The Muslims with pipes sat behind Park and his companions. The qadi also found a place on the rug. He picked up a book — a Qu’ran, Park guessed.
“Now we may begin,” he said, then added, “I suppose I should tell you and yours, O qadi of the Christians, that I am called Muhammad ibn Nizam. Do you all speak Arabic?”
“I do, qadi Muhammad,” Ankowaljuu said at once. Waipaljkoon and Dunedin did not understand the question, which was answer in itself.
“Translate as you need,” Muhammad ibn Nizam told Park and the tukuuii riikook. “We shall allow the time.
‘Allah’s judgment surely will come to pass: do not try to hurry it along,’ as Allah says in the chapter called The Bee. Now, unfold me your tale.”
Park again spoke first, describing how he had been chosen to arbitrate the dispute between Tawantiinsuuju and the Emirate of the Dar al-Harb, and how, in spite of his efforts, war had broken out between them. He told how Ankowaljuu still had hopes for peace, and had arranged to have him fly to meet the Son of the Sun — and all the trouble he’d had since. “I also hope for peace now,” he finished, “but not for the same reasons.”
“I had heard of your mission,” Muhammad said. “Beyond your Frankish look, can you prove who and what you are?”
“Yes, Excellency. My papers are in the trunk inside our airwain. Other important papers, too.”
Muhammad nodded to the Moors behind Park. “Have this trunk fetched here.” One of the men hurried away. The qadi went on, “While we wait, I will hear what Muawiyah has to say.”
Park half-listened as the pilot told how he had intercepted the Tawantiinsuujan airwain and forced it to land. “The pagans, at least, are mine,” he insisted, “and their airwain, as booty won in our righteous jihad.”
Just then, two men lugged the trunk into the tent. Park opened it and extracted his credentials. He had three sets: English, Ketjwa, and Arabic, all gaudily scaled and beribboned. Muhammad ibn Nizam carefully read the Arabic version. He kept his face still until he was through. Then he nodded.
“It is as the Christian qadi says,” he declared. “Both the Emir, Allah grant him long years and prosperity, and the pagan king have agreed to harken to his judgment. May it be wise.” He bowed to Park.
“Then we are free?” Park asked, bowing back in delight. That was better than he’d dared imagine.
“You and your servant, yes. Not only are you an honored judge, but, as you said, a Person of the Book, even if your Christian Gospel has only in corrupted form the truth of the glorious Qu’ran. Still, by Allah’s holy law, you may not be wantonly enslaved. That is not the case, however, for the Tawantiinsuujans with you.”
“What? Why not?” Park said. “They are with me, they fly me to try to make peace-”
“There can be no peace between Islam and paganism,” the qadi said. “In the words of the Qu’ran, ‘Kill those who give God partners wherever you find them; seize them, encompass them, and ambush them.’ ” He turned to Ankowaljuu. “You, pagan who knows the Arab speech, will you and your comrade yield yourselves to the truth of Islam?”
The tukuuii riikook spoke briefly with Waipaljkoon, then shook his head. “No, qadi, we will not. We have our faith, just as you have yours.”
“Then you know what must become of you. You are the pilot Muawiyah’s to slay or to sell into slavery, as he alone shall decide. You men”-he nodded to the armed Moors in back of Park and his party-“help the good pilot take them away.”
“No! Wait!” Park said.
Muhammad ibn Nizam shook his head. “I understand your concern, qadi of the Christians. I even have some sympathy for it. But under the shari’a, the law of Islam, this thing must be. I am sorry.”
“Wait,” Park said again. He was not about to let his friends go to a fate he thought worse than death, certainly not over a dispute where, as far as he was concerned, no sure right answer existed. And so he trotted out for a qadi of no particular importance the argument he’d intended to use on the Emir or his envoy to Tawantiinsuuju: “These men are not pagans. They too are People of the Book, for they have the truths of their religion set down in writing.”
“Do you see what a liar this Christian is, qadi?” Muawiyah the pilot said. “We have been fighting these pagans since our ancestors crossed the sea to bring Islam to this newer land, and never yet have we seen one sign of a scripture among them. Now he invents it out of his own head. Let him show it to us, if it is there.”
“With pleasure.” Park dug into the trunk. He pulled out the sheets Ankowaljuu had written as they’d traveled down the Amazon, presented them with a flourish to Muhammad ibn Nizam. “I’ll read this if you like, and translate into Arabic.”
“No,” Muawiyah burst out. “I’ve already said the man is a liar, ready for anything. Who knows what these papers say, and whether he translates them truly?”
“Yes, that is so,” the qadi said thoughtfully, “the more so as lying would be to his advantage. Have we any other man here who knows the pagans’ tongue as well as our own?”
One of the armed guards, a thin, grizzled man somewhere in his fifties, spoke up: “I do, excellent qadi. I was raised not too far from here, before Tawantiinsuuju stole this province from us, and learned to read and write the language so I could better deal with the folk who knew it but no Arabic.”
“Good,” Muhammad said. “Read, then, Walid, and translate for us. By Allah, I charge you to translate the words here as they are written.”
“By Allah, I will, Excellency.” Walid took the papers from the qadi, studied them. “They do speak of Patjakamak, the Tawantiinsuujans’ false god,” he said grudgingly. “I begin: ‘How Patjakamak made the sun and the world and the stars…’ ”
“Enough,” Muhammad said, some time later.
“More than enough,” Muawiyah said loudly. “I will take these two now, as the excellent qadi has justly agreed is my right. They are not Muslims; what we just heard proves that. Therefore their religion must be false.”
“In essence, the pilot is right,�
� Muhammad said. “The Qu’ran recognizes but three faiths as failing under the status of Peoples of the Book: those of the Christians, Jews, and Sabians. All others are pagans. Truly, I admit there is more that approaches truth in the religion of Tawantiinsuuju than I had thought, but under the shari’a that has no bearing.”
“What of those who follow Zoroaster?” Park said. Not for nothing had he spent his time on the steamboat immersed in books. On this point of Islamic law, if on no other, he was ready to do battle with the subtlest of sages.
The qadi frowned. “They are not specifically mentioned in the Qu’ran either. What of them indeed?”
“No, not in the Qu’ran,” Park agreed. “But when Arabs conquer Persia, Zoroastrians write down their holy book, their Avesta. Till then it had only been recited”-he used the word on purpose, for the literal Arabic meaning of Qu’ran was recitation-“just like faith of Patjakamak now. And Arabs recognize Zoroastrians as People of the Book. Do you see, excellent qadi? Precedent for what I say.” Precedent was one Arabic legal term he’d made sure he knew.
Of course, all his research would go down the drain if Muhammad ibn Nizam was the kind of judge who used the law only to justify what he had already decided. Park had known enough judges like that, in New York and New Belfast both. Not all of them were, though. He waited for the qadi to reply.
What the Muslim judge said was: “Are you sure you are a Christian? You should be made to convert to Islam, for you argue like one of us.”
“La ikraha fi’l-din,” Park answered: “ ‘There is no compulsion in religion.’ ”
“You even quote the holy Qu’ran at me.” Muhammad shook his head. “I find that your precedent has some validity.” Muawiyah let out a howl of outrage; Ankowaljuu, and a moment later Waipaljkoon, cheered. “Be still, all of you,” the qadi said sternly. “More learned men than I must make the final decision in this case. Until they do, I — declare these two Tawantiinsuujans People of the Book, under the protection of the Christian qadi here. If I am overruled, however, they shall become the property of the airwain pilot Muawiyah. I have spoken.”
“Now what?” Park asked him.
“Now I send you on to my more learned colleagues, which means, in the end, on toward the court of the Emir, Allah’s blessings upon him.” The qadi’s eyes were shrewd. “Which, no doubt, is what you had in mind.”
“Who, me?” Park grinned at Muhammad ibn Nizam. It was always easier to do business with someone who understood him.
“You did that aforethockly,” Ankowaljuu said the next day as they jounced along in one of the Emirate’s military goodwains toward its ruler’s headquarters.
“Did what aforethockly?” Park asked. They used English for privacy’s sake; had Park been in Muhammad ibn Nizam’s shoes, he knew he would have salted away a Ketjwa-speaker or two among the guards who made sure nobody tried diving out over the rear gate. Park had no intention of escaping but, since he’d fallen into the Emirate’s hands in the company of two enemy citizens, was certain the Moors would not believe that.
“Had me make that faithly writing,” Ankowaljuu said. “You never planned to change to Patjakamak — you wanted the writing to show the Muslims we Tawantiinsuujans are People of the Book.”
“Who, me?” Park said, just as he had to the qadi.
“Aye, you, and don’t naysay it, either. You made me so hopeful of the ghostly good coming to you that I forgot to think straight through, as a tukuuii riikook ock. But tell me this, Thane Ready-for-Aught: how were you thinking of getting the writing to the Muslims had we gone on to the Son of the Sun as we reckoned we would?”
“I’d have had you take me over the lines,” Park answered calmly.
“I’d nay do that!”
“Oh yes, you would, if you’re as hot for peace as you say you are. The best chance to get it is to show the Muslims you’re no heathen country, but earnful of being treated like other folk with a godshown faith. I’d have talked you into getting me over there, all right, never fear.”
“You just might have,” Ankowaljuu said after a pause in which he seemed to be examining his own feelings. “I thock I was good at fingertwisting men into doing what I want, Judge Scoglund, but I own I’ve met my thane in you.”
“That’s sooth,” Eric Dunedin put in. “He even got me to learn Ketjwa. He’s the slyest man I ken for-”
Park never did find out why Monkey-face thought he was so sly. Just then, a beetle almost the size of a kitten flew into the goodwain’s passenger compartment. Christians, Patjakamak-worshipers, and Muslims spent a couple of frantic minutes knocking it down and squashing it. By the time the remains were finally scraped off the floor and tossed out, the conversational thread was broken.
When they arrived at the base from which the Emir was directing his war, Park did not find the Arabian Nights-style encampment he had half expected. Instead, the neat rows of mass-produced shelter tents reminded him only of the Vinlandish camps he’d seen the year before. The Industrial Revolution, even this world’s less complete one, inevitably brought industrialized warfare with it.
He had hoped he and his companions would be whisked straight to the Emir, but that did not happen. Muhammad ibn Nizam led them to a qadi he knew, one of hardly higher reputation than himself. That judge listened with the same skepticism Muhammad had shown, and only slowly came round to reluctant acceptance of the possibility that the Tawantiinsuujans might have had some long-ago share of divine revelation, however much their current doctrine distorted it. Ankowaljuu bristled at that; Park could not even kick him under the table, as they were sitting on rugs again instead.
The qadi said, “How ancient are these beliefs of yours?”
Park knew the cult of Patjakamak had sprung up in the fourteenth century. Before he could answer, though, Ankowaljuu said proudly, “They date from the time of the creation of the world, thousands upon thousands of years ago.”
“Hmp.” The qadi gave an audible sniff. “There were many prophets before Muhammad. Maybe one did indeed visit your folk, unlikely as I would have thought it. Had you told me your religion grew up after the Prophet’s time, I would know it for a sure falsehood, as he was the seal of prophecy… You said something, Judge Scoglund?”
“Nothing, Excellency.” Park swallowed a gulp. He had forgotten about that detail. A good thing Ankowaljuu had been irritated enough to interrupt with that bragging, he thought, or all his plans would have gone down the drain.
“Please let us deliberate by ourselves for a time now, Judge Scoglund,” Muhammad ibn Nizam said.
“Why? I am judge, too.” Park was anything but happy at having the two qadis decide things without his being there to see to it they decided his way.
But the other religious judge said pointedly, “You may be a qadi of qadis among Christians, Judge Scoglund, but you are not a Muslim.” Park knew a warning to back off when he heard one. He got out, taking Ankowaljuu with him.
“Even if they do ontake us as Folk of the Book, they’ll still be as faithproud as ever,” the tukuuii riikook said while they waited and worried. “You are a Wick of the Book, and look how the qadi brushed you aside. We and they will still find grounds for ficking each other.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Park said.
“What then?”
“If you’re Folk of the Book, that makes you a civilized country-”
“What kind of country?” Ankowaljuu asked. “I don’t know that word.”
“Huh? Civi — Oh.” It was a wonder, Park thought, that he didn’t absent-mindedly use his native brand of English by mistake more often. “A burgish country, I mean, in Muslim eyes, not a bunch of savages to be fickt whenever the mood takes the Emir, and surely not a fit dumping ground for ghazis who’d likely be in jail if they weren’t out hunting heathens.”
“I hope you’re rick,” Ankowaljuu sald, “because if you’re not-”
Muhammad and the other qadi came out of the tent. The more senior judge looked as sour as if he’d been sucki
ng on a lemon, but he said, “Come with us. We’ll lay your case before the Emir’s qadi, to let him make the final decision.”
Getting in to see the Emir’s qadi took most of the afternoon, though he did not seem that busy. He was one of those important people who show how important they are by making everyone else wait. His name, Muhammad ibn Nizam told Park, was Uthman ibn Umar.
Park’s heart sank when he was finally led into Uthman’s presence. The chief qadi was an ancient man whose hair and beard were white but whose bushy eyebrows somehow remained defiantly dark. The deep-set eyes that glittered beneath those brows were also dark, and as unyielding as any Park had ever seen. Convincing him of anything new was not going to be easy.
“Well, what is it?” Uthman asked peevishly.
By way of answer, Muhammad ibn Nizam handed him the sheets Ankowaljuu had composed. He put on spectacles and began to read. “You know Ketjwa?” Park said in surprise.
Those eyes, like an old hawk’s, lifted from the paper. “Why should I not?” Uthman said. “Even pagans may produce worthy thoughts. Surely the Greeks did. For all their wisdom, though, they burn in hell.” He read on, dismissing Park from consideration. Park glared at his turban, but did not interrupt again.
Finally Uthman set down the sheets. “So,” he said, “you claim the Tawantiinsuujans are People of the Book and not pagans?”
“Yes, excellent qadi,” everyone said together.
“From this, I might even believe it, but for one thing,” Uthman said.
“What?” Park asked, wondering how he would have to finagle with the shari’a next.
“This book is no Book.” Uthman tapped the pages with a skinny finger. “It is but one man’s belief written out, not a true holy text like the Torah or the Gospels or the perfect book, the Qu’ran. Let the Tawantilnsuujan priests accept it and I could do the same.” His laugh told how likely he thought that was.
Park winced. The qadi had a point, one that could be stressed if the Emirate wanted to go on reckoning the Tawantiinsuujans pagans, wanted an excuse to fight their neighbors whenever they got the whim. “How fares the war, excellent qadi?” he asked tensely. If the Muslims were winning-
Down in The Bottomlands (and Other Places) Page 28
