The Djinn Garden Read online

  ***

  It was a bleary–eyed set of guests greeted by Fazil bin Abou shortly after sunup when he came to invite them to breakfast, but if the castle’s chamberlain noticed any differences he kept his opinions to himself. “My master hopes you spent a safe and pleasant night beneath his roof.”

  “El–Hadar has spent safer and pleasanter nights in a typhoon,” the captain growled, but he was careful not to speak too loudly. Again, bin Abou appeared not to notice.

  “We slept the untroubled sleep of the just,” Jafar told him.

  Bin Abou paused as though uncertain whether to believe him. “My master also invites you to accept his hospitality to break your fast.”

  “We are most grateful for your master’s hospitality,” Prince Ahmad said graciously, “and would relish the opportunity to thank him directly. Perhaps we could repay his kindness in some way.”

  “My master is quite wealthy and is in no need of repayment. He only wishes me to offer his hospitality and entreat you to stay another couple of days as his guests.”

  “We are on a mission of Oromasd—” the prince began, but Jafar cut him off.

  “But we can spend another day or so before we must leave,” the storyteller continued. “I’m sure Oromasd would want us rested for the tasks ahead.”

  “What are these tasks?” bin Abou asked, suddenly wary.

  “A holy pilgrimage,” Jafar said. “A pilgrimage to the shrine of Sarafiq to consult the mage Muhmad. I am…I am mayor of my village, and we have been beset by calamity. All our children were struck insubstantial, as you see my daughter here, and we’re told that only Muhmad has the wisdom to unravel this riddle. My wife and I, and her nephew from the neighboring village, are traveling with this sea captain to the shores of Bann where—”

  At the mention of Bann, bin Abou’s eyelids fluttered, he turned pale and fell almost into a swoon. El–Hadar, reacting quickly, caught him before he hit the ground. “Are you all right?” the captain asked.

  Fazil bin Abou steadied himself with the other’s help. “Forgive me,” he said. “I…I come from Bann originally, and had not thought of my beloved homeland in some time. The sudden mention of it quickened my soul. I shall be fine in another second.”

  The chamberlain took two deep breaths and did indeed seem to recover his composure. As he led them along the blank copper corridors, El–Hadar took Jafar aside. “You temporize well, wizard,” he said. “One might almost think you were a born storyteller.”

  “Thank you,” Jafar replied. “I’ve often thought it was a calling I could handle well.”

  “Stick to wizardry,” the captain told him. “You’ll get more respect.”

  “So I’ve learned.”

  Bin Abou led the party into the banquet hall, where a sumptuous breakfast had been spread out for them on the sofreh, though still there was no sign on anyone who might have prepared the meal. Again they took their cue from Leila, who looked over every course and pronounced it, indirectly, free of any tampering. The food was as delicious as it had been the previous night, which only made the travelers more uneasy. Not only didn’t they know the source of the food, but they didn’t know why their host was being so generous to them. Oromasd’s name was being liberally invoked, but such unalloyed goodness seemed alien within these cold copper walls.

  As the breakfast concluded, Jafar al–Sharif said, “We have been marveling, O worthy chamberlain, at the marvelous features of your master’s castle. Would your master consider it an invasion of his privacy if we asked to see some of the other rooms, perhaps the castle grounds—?”

  A look of panic again fell on bin Abou’s face. “My master is a very private—”

  “Person, yes, we know,” Leila finished with him. “But surely, say, his kitchen is not in his private realm. I think we all should like to thank the cooks who prepared such wonderful meals for us.”

  “Quite unnecessary, I assure you,” bin Abou said hastily. “I shall convey your appreciation to them personally.”

  “You are right, of course, to remind us of our status,” El–Hadar said. “We are but guests, and guests cannot have discourse with lowly kitchen help. But a good guest must know when he has overstayed his welcome, and we have surely overstayed ours. So—”

  “On the contrary,” bin Abou said quickly. “My master would bid you stay some time yet. We so seldom have visitors here.”

  “And will our host graciously allow us to see more of his remarkable home?” Leila persisted.

  Bin Abou cocked his head yet again, listening to the unheard whispers. “Of course, of course,” he said finally. “Come with me. I shall show you the kitchen if you like, though I assure you there’s nothing unusual about it.”

  He led the group to a back wall of the banquet chamber, where a door that had not been there a moment ago miraculously swung open to let them pass. They filed through yet another bare copper corridor, but only needed to walk a short distance before reaching the kitchen.

  The kitchen looked like many others they had seen in their lives: large ovens for baking and chimneyed flame pits for other cooking, long wooden counters, immaculately scrubbed, for cutting and preparing foods, and large basins for washing and cleaning the ingredients. Pots, pans, knives and other utensils all hung neatly from their appointed racks. A large barrel of flour stood in one corner, while baskets of herbs and vegetables waited neatly on shelves.

  As the group looked around, Leila said, “You were not entirely truthful with us, O bin Abou. There is something very unusual about this kitchen.”

  Bin Abou tensed like a rabbit who has seen the shadow of a hawk. “Is this not a typical kitchen for a palace?”

  “Where are the people?” Leila asked. “Where are the cooks and the kitchen boys, the bakers and the sculleries? I assure you it is most unusual for a castle’s kitchen to be empty of servants in the middle of the day.”

  The chamberlain was so paralyzed by panic that Jafar took pity on him and came to his rescue. “No doubt they are all outside tending to the animals or collecting herbs.”

  Bin Abou seized on that gratefully. “Yes, yes, no doubt, no doubt. That is where they must be.”

  “Is there any place else in the castle you can show us?” Prince Ahmad asked.

  “Perhaps the gardens,” Selima suggested. “A palace this fine must have beautiful gardens.”

  “The garden,” bin Abou repeated. “The garden. Yes, the garden. My master takes special pride in his garden. I am certain you will love the garden. Come this way, please.”

  He walked slowly with his distinctive waddle, escorting the group out another mysterious door to the back of the palace and into the warm morning sunlight. There indeed was a garden filled with lovely flowers of many varieties. Broad gravel paths wound through the garden, and different areas were separated by small rows of bushes and shrubs. Bubbling fountains were spaced judiciously about the grounds, their mist cooling the breezes. A few trees had been planted to give shade to gracefully carved benches. The garden was meticulously planned and cared for, and would have required the attention of one or more gardeners working continuously to maintain it—yet no one was to be seen.

  “These gardens are gorgeous,” Selima said with genuine admiration.

  “They are commendable,” said Prince Ahmad, who had grown up roaming the paths of the Royal Gardens in Ravan, legendary for their size and beauty, and could scarcely be impressed by anything less.

  “My master bids you welcome to his garden and invites you to spend the day free of care, wandering and enjoying the beauty he has created.”

  “El–Hadar has never been a fancier of pretty gardens,” the burly sea captain said. “Could he instead explore some more of this wondrous island? Or are there dangers in the daytime as well as in the night?”

  “The daytime is safe enough,” bin Abou said, “though I would suggest you don’t stray too far from the castle for fear of getting lost.”

  Verethran the monkey decided to accompany El�
��Hadar on a further exploration of the island, while the rest of the group stayed behind to test the mysteries of the copper castle. Selima and Prince Ahmad wandered the garden paths together, as much to enjoy one another’s company as to solve the riddles of this enigmatic place. That left Jafar and Leila to walk together in the sunlight.

  As Jafar started down one pathway, he felt a familiar sensation. He spun around expecting to see Cari, a smile starting to form at the corners of his mouth. But there was no Jann there, merely a small ylang–ylang tree with its yellow–green petals open to catch the wind and tickle the poet’s imagination. With a disappointed shrug, Jafar turned back and continued down the path, his left arm around Leila’s shoulders.

  Despite the heat of the day, Jafar could feel Leila shivering with each step they took along the broad paths. “What’s wrong?” he asked her.

  “This garden,” Leila replied. “This garden is very wrong. Everything in it is wrong. Nothing is what it appears to be, and though I can’t see the truth I can feel a sense of tension. This garden is filled with silent screams, every blossom crying in agony, every leaf reaching out in supplication. This garden is outwardly beautiful, but inwardly it is unnatural, a garden of pain.”

  “Should we leave here, then?”

  “No, I’ll stay. I don’t think there’s any threat to us, and I think one of the keys to this mystery may be right here. Who knows? Perhaps if I see more of this garden I can unravel its mystery.”

  But though they wandered the garden’s paths until sunset, the travelers were no closer to solving the riddle than they were when they’d awakened that morning.