The Storyteller's Daughter (12 page)

“The young man gaped, his mouth wide open, his eyes as big and round as two full moons.

‘“Of course I did,’ the stone replied. ‘I said, your wish is my command.’

‘“Wait a minute, what wish? I didn’t make any wish,’ the king sputtered.

‘“Oh, yes, you did,’ the stone said. ‘I’d hold on tight, if I were you.’

“With that, the king was lifted high into the air. Up, up, up they went, until the young man was just an astonished speck on the ground below them.

‘“This can’t be happening!’ the king gasped.

‘“Don’t be so ridiculous,’ the stone answered in exactly the same tone of voice the king had used just a few moments earlier. ‘Of course it can. How many stories have you heard about carpets flying? Carpets! Hah! Have you ever heard of anything so stupid? How anyone ever came up with that idea, I can’t possibly imagine.’

“At least if you were a carpet, I could sit down,’ the king said. For, truth to tell, his arm was starting to get a little tired.

“‘Oh, well,’ the stone replied, its tone disgustingly cheerful. At least now we’re on our way.’

“‘On our way
where?’
the king wailed.

“‘Well how on earth should I know?” the stone asked, its tone beginning to get a little testy.’You were the one who wished to get off the mountain. You wished for it twice, in fact. You never said where you wished to end up. Don’t blame me for your lack of foresight.’

“‘How can these things be?” the king asked.

‘“Oh that is simple enough. I am enchanted.’

“I was afraid you were going to say that.’

‘“Watch out,’ the stone suddenly advised. ‘Flock of birds ahead. This could get a little tricky.’

“The king closed his eyes and held on for dear life.
Oh, dear, oh dear,
he moaned to himself as he heard the flutter of wings around his head. How had such a thing come to pass? He was really just an everyday king with an everyday wish. All he wanted was a son. Was that too much to ask?

“Squawk!

“In sudden horror, the king opened his eyes just in time to see the last bird of the flock coming straight for him, its claws outstretched. Another moment, and it would peck his eyes out for sure. With a great cry, the king let go of the stone and covered his face with his hands.

‘“I really don’t think you should have done that,’ he heard the stone say. But by then it was too late. As swiftly as he had risen, the king began to fall, and it seemed to him that the earth rose up to meet him at an alarming rate. Try as he might, the king could see no other outcome but that his life must end.

“Alas, alas!’ he cried aloud. ‘I wish I had not died before I had the chance—”’

But here, as before, Shahrazad’s voice was stilled by the crowing of the first cock of the morning. And so her tale ended, still unfinished after a second night. And Shahrayar discovered he was glad that this was so.

“Surely this king must be the most foolish man alive,” he commented. “For he is so busy wishing for something that he cannot see when it is right in front of him.”

“Fortunate for him, then,” Shahrazad said, “that he lives only in a story.”

At these words Shahrayar snorted. He took the cloth from Shahrazad and tucked it safely back inside the trunk. As he did so, Dinarzad yawned, stretched, and sat up. When she realized that it was day, she drew in a swift breath and glanced fearfully up at Shahrazad.

“Do not fear,” Shahrayar spoke up. “Your sister’s story is not yet ended.” Dinarzad gave a sigh. “You should return to your fathers quarters and sleep in your own bed, little one,” the king went on.”For I fear that you are very tired, and your sister is also.”

So the sisters embraced. But when Dinarzad moved toward the door, she stopped short and gave a cry. At this, the chamberlain burst in through the door, then promptly tripped over a figure sprawled just inside. For many moments, all was pandemonium. When at last order was restored, Dinarzad knelt on the floor, her arms wrapped around a serving lad not much older than she was while the chamberlain stood above them, his expression fierce and his sword drawn.

“Move aside, young mistress,” he commanded.

“I will not!” cried Dinarzad. “Can you not see he is just a boy?”

“No matter,” the chamberlain answered. “He is where he should not be, and must suffer the consequences.”

“Enough!” cried
Shahrayar. He moved to stand beside Dinarzad and the boy. “We will not make war on children, chamberlain. Put up your sword.”

“But… Your Majesty…” the chamberlain sputtered.

“Do as I say!” roared Shahrayar.

The chamberlain sheathed his sword. At this, Dinarzad scrambled to her feet, pulling the serving boy along with her, and sought shelter for them both in her sister’s arms.

“Now then,” said Shahrayar. “Let us see if we cannot get to the bottom of this great confusion.” He knelt down so that he and the boy were face to face, a thing that made the chamberlain take a step forward in alarm. “Suppose you tell us who you are and what you are doing here, my boy.”

Serving lad and king regarded one another for a moment.
So close,
the young boy thought. So close, yet there was nothing to be done. No way to exact the revenge for which he and his brothers longed. He had no weapon of any kind, not even a pin to poke this King Shahrayar in one inquiring eye. He had only an empty cup.

And my wits,
he thought. If ever he had need to use them well, now was surely the time.

“I did but bring the water as I was commanded, my lord,” he said, and he held out his empty cup.

“Ah, the water!” Shahrayar exclaimed, as he stood up. “I remember now. I did call for water. But surely that was last night. How do you come to still be here this morning?”

At this, the boy began to squirm as if confused, though, in fact, his thoughts were racing and he squirmed to buy himself some extra time. A thought had suddenly blossomed in his brain. Perhaps he had a weapon after all.

“If you please,” he said, his tone obsequious. “I meant no harm. I only wanted to hear the story, to hear for myself if what they say is true or no.”

“What do they say?” asked Shahrazad, speaking to him for the first time. He could feel her voice vibrate against his body, and realized he still stood protected by the circle of her arms. At this, he gave a little wriggle and she released him. He snuck a quick glance at her face as he answered, “Why, that there must be magic in it, of course.”

“Magic!” exclaimed Shahrayar. “Why should that be?”

“Because the king did not do as he proclaimed, and all for the sake of a story,” the boy replied. “What else but magic could make a true king go back on his own word?”

At this, the chamberlain hissed, “Silence, you impertinent ruffian.”

“Leave him be,” Shahrayar commanded. He took a turn about the room, his expression thoughtful. “Tell me, my young fellow,” he said at last. “May not a king simply change his mind?”

“But—,” the boy said, then broke off.

“It’s all right,” Shahrayar said. “Go on.”

“Surely a king must be strong,” the boy said. “What he commands must come to pass, for his word is law. Who will respect him if he’s always changing his mind?”

“But what if in changing his mind, he rights a great wrong?”

Without hesitation, the boy shook his head from side to side. “That could never happen,” he said boldly. “What a king proclaims is right to begin with, or he is no true king at all.”

At this, Shahrayar’s eyes became opaque and expressionless. “Do you think so? I perceive that your mind is a sharp one, at any rate. Too sharp to be a… what?”

“A kitchen boy,” the lad said, and he hung his head as if in shame, though in fact it was to hide his expression of triumph. Though he had used no weapon but words, nevertheless he thought that he had struck a blow.

“What is your name?” Shahrayar asked.”Do I not know you?” There was something about the lad’s face that grew in his mind the longer he looked upon him.

“I am called ‘Ajib,” answered the boy, but to the second question he gave no reply. For ‘Ajib was his true name. He and his brothers had considered giving him a new one, but the second brother had decided against it at the last moment. It would be one more thing that might cause confusion and send their plans awry.

“Well, ‘Ajib,” said Shahrayar. “As of this moment, you are a kitchen boy no longer. Since you show such an aptitude for politics, I will place you in the household of my vizier so that you may learn from him whether your notions of what makes a king are true or no. Do honor to the lady Dinarzad, his daughter, for without her protection you might have come to harm.”

At this, the boy turned to where Dinarzad stood beside her sister and made a bow.  “I will honor both the vizier’s daughters to the best of my ability,” he vowed.

“Well spoken,” said Shahrayar.

In this way did Shahrayar take a stranger into the bosom of his family. Though whether this would turn out well or ill, not even ‘Ajib himself could know.

And now there came a time when the days and nights flowed into one another like the great silk ribbon in Shahrayar’s vision. Nights when Shahrazad spun out her tale, her voice falling silent only with the first cock crow of the morning.

Nights when the lamplight glowed softly over her hair and skin, and Shahrayar discovered he wanted no world other than the sound of her voice. Nights when the scent of jasmine wafted in through the open window and Shahrazad found herself happier than she had been since her mother died. Her mouth filled with tales, her sister and young ‘Ajib curled at her feet, and her heart full of wonder for what was coming to blossom there for Shahrayar.

For, in her husbands company in the long, quiet hours between darkness and dawn, Shahrazad began to feel a thing she had not expected: Perhaps, at last, she had found the place where she belonged.

But even though the feelings grew with each day that passed, neither Shahrayar nor Shahrazad spoke them aloud. Each was uncertain how to put what their hearts felt into words, and so they waited for the heart of the other to reveal itself.

Each day, the king sent a herald to announce to the people that he would spare his wife for one day longer, and the whole kingdom rejoiced. But, as the days wore on and began to blend together like drops of rain streaming down a leaf, fewer and fewer people came to hear Shahrazad’s life proclaimed in the palace courtyard. Finally the day came when none appeared at all. For people had ceased to wonder whether the queen might live, but came to take it for granted that she would do so.

And thus it came to pass that the only ones for whom Shahrazad’s life continued to be a wonder were those whom it most closely concerned: Nur al-Din Hasan, the vizier, her father. Dinarzad, her sister. Shahrayar, the king, her husband. Shahrazad herself. And also young ‘Ajib, who had once been a prince in his own right, though this was a thing that those around him still did not know.

Then during the peace and quiet of these days a rumor began. Though it came to roost in many ears, then flew from many mouths, none could say for sure just how it started. For that is the way of such things, both their weakness and their power.

And the rumor all heard, then spoke, was this: The reason Shahrayar prolonged the life of Shahrazad, his queen, was not that he was gracious and beneficent (though, the fact that he was both these things was surely so). No! The reason King Shahrayar spared the life of Shahrazad the queen was because, with her stories, she had woven a great enchantment around him. In short, the king was bewitched.

A very dangerous situation indeed. One that could not be allowed to go on.

It was the king’s own chamberlain who added these final words himself. For no sooner had the rumor found a place first in his ears, then in his mouth, than it found its way into his heart and made itself a home. Long had the chamberlain nursed a grudge against the vizier, for Nur al-Din Hasan had been honored by two kings in succession, and it seemed to the chamberlain that he himself had yet to be honored or even appreciated by just one.

The honors bestowed upon the vizier left none for him, or so the chamberlain had always thought. And furthermore, he thought that it was unjust that this was so. For was he not charged with at least as important a duty as the vizier who, as a councilor, did little more than talk when all was said and done? The chamberlain was charged with guarding the life of the king, even at the cost of his own.

How had it come to pass, then, that the vizier should be honored and the chamberlain ignored? Never had the chamberlain been able to answer this question, for never once had he perceived that it was due to a lack within himself. And so he had failed to place the blame where it belonged—at his own door. But with each passing day the king continued to spare Shahrazad’s life, the chamberlain began to perceive an important truth: His misfortunes, as well as the king’s, had the same cause. And that cause was none other than the vizier himself, and his daughter, Shahrazad.

For the more the chamberlain thought about it, the more certain he became that the vizier and his daughter were plotting together. It only made sense, after all. What father would consent to put forward his own daughter to be the bride of the king, knowing she must die? Even the vizier could not be so unnatural, or so the chamberlain surmised.

Surely that left just one explanation: The vizier and his daughter were plotting together to overthrow King Shahrayar.

First, they would weaken his mind with magic. Indeed, this had already begun. For there must be sorcery at work in Shahrazad’s stories. Had they not caused the king to repudiate what he himself had proclaimed must be so? What else did Shahrazad’s stories do but prolong her own life by holding the king in thrall?

And the longer she lived, the greater the danger to Shahrayar must be, for the more potent her spell over him would become.

When the brothers of the former queen heard this (for of course it was they who had started the rumors in the first place), they could hardly contain their secret delight. For now their rumors were impossible to separate from those of the chamberlain, and the claim that Shahrazad and her father had bewitched the king came to roost in every ear, then flew from every mouth until the whole of Shahrayar’s kingdom rang with the sound.