William the Conquerer and the Sands of Persia: Chapter 3 - Civilization!
William was grateful when he and the Jinn finally reached the parched, wind-blasted hamlet of Ardabil, home to perhaps a few hundred souls eking out a marginal existence, sustaining themselves on goat milk and unleavened bread. They wandered through the streets, noticing many men wearing colorful, patterned clothing and equally colorful turbans. William approached a low building where many men were sitting about with cups of tea and rolls of fried bread that smelled delicious. William’s stomach rumbled as he dashed inside.
“I need water,” William coughed out to the old man who appeared to be in charge of the establishment.
“My pleasure, good master,” said the owner, cheerfully setting out a tall glass of water. “Now, if you please, that’ll be all the money you have,” he added, sticking out his open palm.
“But I don’t have any money,” answered William.
“I am sorry, oh youth of strange attire,” replied the man, “But since Al-Horrid has dammed up the river, water has become quite scarce.” The man poured the water back into an earthen jar, while William watched glumly, He slumped away to sit on a bench.
“Why did he speak so weird?” asked William to the Jinn.
“They all speak like that here at this time,” the Jinn answered, “just be grateful that the laws of interdimensional travel grant you the ability to understand their language.”
“I guess I’ll have to get used to it, and I am grateful,” grumbled William, “Especially if I am unable to find my way home, which to be honest I’d really like to do. Last time I returned home in a magical cauldron. Do you have any magical cauldrons here?”
“What’s a cauldron?”
“Something you put water in. It’s like a big pot. In Finland they call them pelliporti.”
“You have mentioned this place before,” the Jinn observed, “What is this Finland?”
“A far away country. It’s very cold.”
“Is it inhabited by the Western infidels?”
“I’d guess you’d say it is. So how does a person around here travel through time and space?”
“How should I know? I’ve only been a Jinn for like a hundred years. I’m really new at this.”
“How did you become a Jinn? Is it like your family business?” William asked.
“Not at all,” the Jinn shook his head sadly, “If it was, I might have more information about it. In my case, an evil vizier trapped me in the lamp. I was just an ordinary boy like you, skipping stones by the riverside -- before Al-Horrid damned it up -- when the vizier came by, said something I didn’t understand, and then all of a sudden it got very dark. And then I woke up in that lamp.”
“What’s your name, anyway?”
“Hajji,” said the Jinn, “It means pilgrimage.”
“It’s a nice name. My name’s William Hudson Devalle.”
“A pleasure to meet you, William.”
“Likewise, Hajji.”
Just then, a musician walked into the room carrying a stringed instrument with a long, graceful neck. He sat on a stool in the corner and began to play. William wasn’t familiar with the music of this land, but he thought the gentleman played pretty well. The song started off slow and sad, but then the tempo picked up, and the man’s strumming became more energetic. William almost felt like dancing.
And then, from behind a thick embroidered curtain, a young girl in a colorful costume adorned with tinkling silver bells sailed into the room and began dancing gaily close by William and Hajji.
The girl’s name was Scheherazade, but neither William nor Hajji knew this at the time. She was quite well-known in this part of Persia for her exquisite dancing and beauty.
Scheherazade gyrated gracefully, stretching her body low to the ground and swinging her dark, lustrous hair in time to the music. Her hips circled her body, sometimes thrusting upwards, and sometimes to the right and left. The men in the tavern were hypnotized by her movements, as she stretched out her slender arms and drew them in with her fingers. The customers were so entranced, they did not notice their pockets were picked. Hajji noticed however and discreetly nudged William, but neither wished to break Scheherazade’s spell by saying anything. And then with a magnificent flourish, Scheherazade finished her dance, dropping to the floor in a graceful bow. The room burst into applause.
The lovely dancer had noticed William’s strange clothes, and rather than mingling with the other customers, she approached him and Hajji.
“Are you the famous Scheherazade?” asked William, having been forced to read The Arabian Nights as a school project.
“That is my name, how do you know it?” she replied.
“I read it in a book.”
“I didn’t realize my name was in a book,” Scheherazade’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Oh, yes,” William explained, “Even in my country, the name ‘Scheherazade’ is synonymous with beauty and grace. And I understand that you tell amazing stories as well.”
Scheherazade eyes widened even more in amazement at William’s knowledge, and she looked as though she was about to say something else, when suddenly they heard a commotion outside, and looking through the open window, saw a band of marauding thieves ride into town on Arabian stallions.
They sang a song that went like this:
Ride high, ride high
Ride
Ride
On we ride, plundering sons
Plundering sons,
Forty and one for all!
All for one!
Bedouins all!
Bedouins all!
Side by side,
Saddles and reins following
One for all
Swift and sure
Rob from the rich
Feeding the poor
Ride high, ride high
Ride
Guide me right to a caravan!
Ride again, Ali-Baba, men!
“Who are those men?” William asked Hajji.
“They are the forty thieves,” said Hajji, “They are known widely in this area for protecting the poor and kindly separating the wealthy from some of their onerous worldly possessions.”
“Okay, they sound like nice guys. Would any of them know how I can get home?”
“I don’t think so, but I have an idea. There is a magic scroll kept under lock and key in the palace of Al-Horrid. If you were to get your hands on it, you could read the incantation on the scroll, and it would grant you any wish you desire, including the wish to return home.”
“So let’s head out and find it. I’m so hot in here I’ll melt. And plus there’s nothing fun to do.”
“Watching me dance isn’t fun?” asked Scherezade from across the room.
“Oh! Yes. It’s very entertaining,” William was quick to assure her, “But still, I must go. I am a stranger in this land.”
Ali-Baba entered the establishment, followed by his forty thieves. They handed out coins to the people, who were grateful for Ali Baba’s kindness, especially when some noticed they had somehow lost their money bags..
Ali-Baba noticed William. He took a good look at him and squinted at William’s strange clothes.
“Come here, oh youth wrapped in exotic garments!” called Ali-Baba.
William looked to Hajji to see what he should do. Hajji nodded. William walked over to Ali-Baba, who stood very tall with his arms across his chest.
“Well, well, well, who are you?”
“I am William. And who are you?”
“I am the Great Ali-Baba, and if you do not know that, you must not be from these parts.”
“You are correct, I am from far, far away.”
“And what is the name of this place you hail from?”
“It’s called ‘Northern California.”
Ali-Baba tilted his head in thought. “Strange name. Do they have camels there?”
“Only in zoos.”
“What’s a zoo?”
“Where you keep animals.”
“Sounds like a barn. Or a pen. Or a field.”
“Could you get me the scroll?”
“What scroll?”
“Al-Horrid’s scroll.”
“I most certainly could not. It’s heavily guarded and kept under lock and key, and far away from here in the city of Persepolis. Why, to get there you’d have to ride a donkey down the coast, then catch a boat to Chalus. Then from Chalus ride a caravan to Ecbatana, and then once you get there, get your hands on a flying carpet.”
“A flying carpet?”
“Oh yes, and then you’d ride the flying carpet to Persepolis, where Al-Horrid’s palace is. But you’ll be stabbed to death many times before you get anywhere near his cherished scroll. Now, if instead you want a roll, I know a bakery down the street.”
“A roll would be nice, I haven’t eaten in hours.”
“Then let’s get a roll! Scherezade, come with us!