Princess of Dhagabad, The (7 page)

But at the same time you feel surprised,
searching and not finding in her that feeling, which for her
grandmother, your previous mistress, was the sole reason for owning
a djinn. She doesn’t see you as the source of her own power; you
cannot find in her any indication of the desire to use you for her
own glory. She almost regrets that you are a slave in spite of all
your knowledge, in spite of your ancient wisdom and ancient
pain…

You feel her tremble like a captured bird,
losing herself in the bonds of your eyes, and, coming to your
senses, reminding yourself of her weakness and of the enormous
difference in your strength, with a regret that you cannot
completely understand, you break the contact.

The princess comes to her senses, realizing
where she is. Her hands are shaking; she feels tired and empty;
tears fill her eyes and a lump stands in her throat. She feels as
if she has just missed something very important and again looks
searchingly into the eyes of the djinn standing in front of her.
But his eyes are now impenetrable; his face bears the look of
indifference, like that of an ordinary slave waiting for orders
from his mistress. She starts at the sounds of nannies and
courtiers; she sees the master of ceremonies hurrying to them
through the hall, and Nimeth following in his wake.

The master of ceremonies stops right in front
of them. He directs his words not to the princess, but to the
djinn.

“The great sultan wishes for you to return to
your bottle and to await further orders.”

The djinn does not move, and it seems to the
princess that a smile runs across his impassive face which at the
same time remains totally still.

“Are you
deaf?
” the master of
ceremonies demands.

This unseemly cry echoes through the hall,
setting everyone in motion. The courtiers, seeing a disobedient
djinn, back away. The most fearful ones regret with all their
hearts that they failed to listen to the voice of reason and had
come instead to the accursed ceremony. Even the guards step back in
indecision, reluctant to draw their weapons in the face of an
unknown power. But the princess, in spite of all, cannot possibly
feel any fear of her new slave, and asks quietly:

“Why aren’t you doing what he said,
Hasan?”

“The sultan cannot give me orders, princess.
I obey only
your
commands.”

At this very moment Nimeth, delayed by the
crowd, finally reaches the princess and whispers in her ear: “The
sultaness is asking you to lock him in his bottle for now,
princess. He is dangerous and before you can let him out again, you
must discuss with your parents what to do with him.”

The princess turns to Hasan and opens her
mouth to repeat this order. She cannot possibly disobey Nimeth
relaying her mother’s wish.

“Hasan,” the princess begins.

And then…

She remembers the glimpse into his eyes, into
the ancient abyss of eternal wisdom and pain that her mind cannot
possibly enfold—she can still feel their distant echo. No! Such a
creature has no place in a bronze bottle! Never, never can she
order him to go back into his prison!

“Hasan will take his place in my suite,” she
says to Nimeth with finality. “Take the bottle away,” she adds,
raising her voice and turning to the hall.

For a moment the hall freezes. Nimeth stares
at her with an open mouth; the nannies stand still in terror, and
the master of ceremonies, in conversation with the courtiers around
him, stops with his hands in midair. But the princess firmly holds
Nimeth’s gaze and then, turning away, nods to her slave women.
Suddenly the hall comes to life again, resuming its hum of voices,
just as the singing of birds resumes in a field when a thunderstorm
passes. The slave women, bowing, take away the bottle, the cork,
and the embroidered pillow. Nimeth and the master of ceremonies
walk off in the direction of the royal canopy, while Hasan,
following the princess’s gesture, joins the group of her bodyguards
who back off, looking at him with fearful curiosity.

The princess, trying to stop shivering and
waving aside thoughts of what kind of punishment will follow her
disobedience, feels at the same time that today has brought the
most significant change of her life, a change too big for her mind
to enfold.

Chapter 4. A Word of Power

“Didn’t mother tell you anything, Nanny
Zeinab? What was she going to talk to me about?”

With sinking heart the princess is trying to
match her hurried steps to the shuffling steps of old Zeinab. The
rest of her birthday was relatively uneventful and now, knowing
that the time has come to pay for her disobedience, the princess is
trying without much success to find out how great her mother’s
anger is.

“It isn’t difficult to guess,” Zeinab
grumbles, throwing side glances at the princess’s frowning
face.

“What, nanny? What?” the princess
exclaims.

“I think you’ll find out for yourself, soon
enough.” The nanny stops in front of the sultaness’s quarters and,
lifting the heavy curtain, lets the princess through the
half-opened door.

The sultaness is sitting on the pillows in
the middle of the room and two slave girls are combing her long
hair. Nimeth, dark and silent like a statue, is standing one step
behind, her arms crossed.

“Mother,” the princess says, but her
trembling lips keep her from finishing.

“I am waiting, princess, for you to explain
your behavior.” The sultaness’s voice is so stern that the
princess’s heart quivers with fright.

“I…” the princess clenches her fists hard,
forcing her lips to fold into words. “He is so old and wise,
mother,” she says hurriedly, fearing that the ability to talk might
fail her at any minute. “I know he looks just like an ordinary man,
but if you look into his eyes, you can see that he is a mighty
wizard who has survived much pain. I thought of how hard it was for
him to languish in his bottle… I simply couldn’t force him to
return there.”

“Do you realize how dangerous he is,
princess? Your grandmother never let him out in front of the
court.”

“He is not dangerous to me, mother. He is
going to do whatever I tell him.”

“You should understand, princess,” Nimeth
says, “he is so much older and more powerful than you are that he
can easily trick you and do something terrible.”

“But he—he will never do me any harm.”

“How do you know, princess?”

“I—I looked into his eyes.” The princess
lowers her head, unable to hold back the tears anymore.

“Enough!” the sultaness says. She jumps up
from her seat and, stepping forward, presses the princess tightly
against her chest. “It is not her fault! That sorcerer has already
tricked her into disobeying her parents. Call him in here,
princess. I want to talk to him.”

The princess clings to her mother, then rubs
her eyes with both hands.

“Hasan,” she says in a voice hoarse with
tears, “I want you to appear here.”

The djinn appears in the middle of the room
without a sound, without a sign or movement of air. Zeinab and the
slave-women jump aside, covering themselves with their arms, as if
this gesture could somehow protect them from terrible magic.

“What is your wish, princess?” Hasan’s voice
sounds gentle, almost tender.

“My mother wants to talk to you.”

“Your majesty?”

His impeccable manners and easy friendliness
make the women relax a little bit. How can such a pleasant young
man possibly be dangerous? But then, if you think about it, how can
they see a djinn as a pleasant young man without the help of
magic?

“I am worried about the princess, Hasan,” the
sultaness begins, not quite knowing how to carry on this
conversation. There are so many questions in her head she seems to
be unable to choose, or to phrase, any one of them. “We know very
little about djinns,” she says finally. “We heard that they are
mighty wizards destined to slavery. We weren’t even certain that
djinns really existed. Tell us about yourself.”

“All your information is absolutely correct,”
he says without emotion.

“But…” The sultaness spreads her hands in a
gesture of helplessness. In spite of all her efforts the
conversation has made a loop and returned to its beginning. With a
sigh, she makes another attempt.

“How did the mother of our sultan come to
possess you?”

“The sultaness of Dhagabad, like myself at
one time, chose the way of eternal knowledge. But she decided not
to follow this way to the end, choosing instead to get herself a
djinn, an all-powerful slave…”

“You are all-powerful??”

He eyes her calmly. “I am, in this world,
your majesty. At the princess’s orders I can do anything.”

The sultaness feels as if the floor is
floating away from under her feet. She presses her daughter more
tightly against herself.

“So, how did the princess’s grandmother
acquire you?”

“She managed to find a way into the desert
where the djinns are created, your majesty. Unfortunately, I can
tell you very little about it. The desert, and the forces that rule
it, lie in another world that is beyond my power.”

The sultaness clears her throat. “Why didn’t
your old mistress give you to the sultan, her son? A ruler of a
country could surely put an all-powerful slave to a good use!”

“It is not my place to question my mistress’s
motives, your majesty.”

He meets her eyes and the sultaness has an
uneasy feeling that the djinn completely understands all her doubts
and difficulties and that he is purposely making no effort to help
her.

“How do you see your place in the palace,
Hasan?” she asks, overwhelmed by a new wave of helplessness.

“Similarly to any other slave, your majesty.
Only…” A barely visible smile slides over Hasan’s lips. “I think
I can do much more good.”

“Or harm.”

“If such is the princess’s wish,” the djinn
says calmly.

Why does the sultaness get the feeling that
she has just surrendered her daughter into the hands of unknown
forces—as if this impassive, devilishly attractive sorcerer were
not a slave, but her own master?

“She is just a child!” the sultaness
exclaims. “How can she possibly command an all-powerful
creature?”

“As any other slave, the purpose of my
existence is to make the princess’s life better. I regret that it
causes you trouble.”

The sultaness doesn’t see any regret in his
quiet, impassive face. But it seems that the sultan’s old mother
left her no choice. The damned witch! No wonder everyone in the
palace feared her evil tricks so much! It would have been better if
one of the palace rumors had come true! It would have been better
if there really had been a curse in the bottle!

“What would have happened if the princess
never opened the bottle?”

“I would have remained inside forever.”

“Hasan…” the princess says suddenly.

“Princess?”

“I will never make you return to the bottle!
Never!”

“But…” the sultaness tries to interfere,
feeling her total uselessness in this uncontrollable situation.

“You are kind, princess,” Hasan says, “but my
bottle cannot harm me. It is like my body, only I have a way to
leave it from time to time.”

A wild hope springs up in the sultaness’s
heart.

“You see, princess…” she starts. But her
daughter isn’t listening to her.

“I like the body you have now, Hasan.”

This is it! Her innocent daughter, brought up
in decency, is saying such words to a man! Let her be damned
forever—the heedless old sultaness! How could she have done such
harm to an innocent child?

Hasan’s answer, however, somewhat eases her
fears, or, rather, offers her an excuse to calm herself a
little.

“It is only an illusion, princess. I am not a
man. I am a spirit.”