The Eye of Midnight (4 page)

“What's Grandpa got in there?” asked William uneasily.

The lid was pasted with several shipping labels and a conspicuous yellowed tag, which Maxine dusted off with her shirtsleeve.

“Noli me tangere,”
she read.

“Is that Greek?” asked William.

“Latin, I think,” she replied. “I've seen it before, in a book at school.”

“What does it mean?”

Maxine traced the words with her finger, racking her brain, and the translation came to her suddenly from the depths of memory.

“ ‘Touch me not.' ”

William scuttled away, leaving Maxine alone with the crate for several uncomfortable moments before reappearing with a rusty claw hammer he had scrounged from an old toolbox.

“What do you think you're doing?” Maxine asked suspiciously.

William flashed her a devious grin, brandishing the hammer as he approached the wooden crate.

“Oh no you don't,” she said. “We are
not
opening up that box, Will.”

“What an interesting suggestion,” he said innocently. “To be honest, the thought never even crossed my mind—but now that you mention it, count me in.”

“Do you need your head examined?” she chirped. “The label says hands off.”

“Don't worry. If Grandpa asks whose idea it was, I'll be sure to give you all the credit.”

“Oooh,” said Maxine, grinding her teeth in aggravation. “I could just pinch you to death!”

“Oh, come on, M, don't be such a cold fish. Aren't you even a little bit curious to know what Grandpa's hiding in there?”

Maxine folded her arms across her chest and thought for a moment. “I guess I am,” she said finally. “Maybe I need my head examined, too.”

William started near the bottom, wedging the claw end of the hammer under the lid. He pried, and the first nail made an evil screech the cousins felt in the roots of their teeth. As the crack yawned, a shiny black centipede writhed out of the gap, and William recoiled with revulsion.

“A stowaway,” he said, wiping his hands on his shirt before returning uneasily to his task.

He worked his way up the lid, standing on a footstool to reach the final nail, which proved more stubborn than the rest. Maxine felt sure that he was about to pull the whole box down on top of them with a great crash, when suddenly the nail gave way, the lid sprang open, and William tumbled off the stool, bowling his cousin over in the process. The smell of mildewed packing straw filled the room.

William and Maxine caught their breath and scrabbled backward on the floor.

Towering over them was an ominous figure—eight feet tall at least—a colossal wooden statue stained as black as darkest midnight and polished to a gleaming luster. It was clad only in a crimson loincloth that brushed the floor between its widespread feet, and a spherical glass vial was slung round its neck on a thick gold chain.

The figure's sinewed shoulders and powerful haunches seemed to knot with menacing intent, and an evil-looking beard of braided horsehair hung down over the naked chest. But far and away the most disturbing aspect of the whole spectacle was the countenance that leered at them. Between a broad, flat nose and brutal brow, two deep-set eyes of black glass glittered wickedly and fixed the cousins with a malignant stare. The jaw was hinged, and the mouth hung open in an obscene gape, which conjured up the uncanny impression of a great black serpent prepared to swallow some enormous prey.

“Wh-what is it?” whispered Maxine.

William didn't answer but crawled forward on hands and knees to retrieve an old envelope that had fallen from the open crate. Keeping a nervous eye on the wooden statue, he unfolded a yellowed letter and read the contents.

My dear Colonel Battersea,

It was immensely gratifying to receive your inquiry. As a professor of Near Eastern history and a collector of rare antiquities, I was fascinated to hear of the artifact you have in your possession, and hope that I may be able to shed some light on its substance and essence.

Your wooden figure is highly unusual, but it is not unknown in this corner of the world. To put it plainly, it is a vessel of sorts—a supernatural receptacle for a being known as the jinni.

The jinni, as I'm sure you are aware, is without physical body. The jinn are believed to be creatures of purest fire, and no mortal can lay hold of them, any more than a man may grasp a twisting flame. But the old legends say that in dark corners of the world, in dark times, men sought out forbidden knowledge and found the means to trick the jinn and capture them in lamps or flasks, like the one worn around the neck of your carved figure.

In the end, though, these sorcerers realized that a bottled jinni was of no more use to them than a liberated one, and so in order to bend them to their purposes, they fashioned wooden statues—vehicles for the jinni's smokeless fire—and they called these figures
al-kaljin,
or “spirit steeds.” Animated by the spirits of the jinn, the wooden marionettes were roused to stalk the world of men.

A word or two about the particulars of the process are probably in order. To breathe life into the wooden colossus, the glass flask containing the jinni's imprisoned spirit is placed inside the open mouth, and in due course an abraxas, or an abracadabra, as you would call it, is spoken aloud. The precise words, in this case, are
“Rise and obey,”
and when the command is uttered, the dark eyes of the
al-kaljin
will flicker, the rigid limbs will turn supple, and dead wood will rise, compelled to do the master's bidding.

There is more that could be said, of course, about the origins of the
al-kaljin
and the secrets of the jinn. I have never had the opportunity to put the lore to the test myself, but if you happen to attempt awakening the creature, please send word, as I would be most interested to learn of the results.

Until that time, I remain, indubitably,

Your humble servant,

Baltasar Anawi, PhD

University of Damascus

William folded the letter and scratched his forehead thoughtfully with his hammer.

“A jinni,” murmured Maxine, approaching the wooden figure and tapping the glass flask with her finger.

“So,” asked William, “are you game?”

“Game for what?”

“Waking it up, of course. What else?”

Maxine's face clouded.

“I mean, we wouldn't actually make it do much,” said William. “Have it turn around and touch its nose…ask it to say its name. Maybe we could get it to dance the Charleston.”

“Can it grant wishes, do you think?” asked Maxine.

“I expect. Every self-respecting jinni I've ever heard of can grant wishes.”

Maxine's thoughts flitted to her sick mother.

“All right,” she said. “Do it quick, before I change my mind.”

William obliged, mounting the stool again to stand face to face with the creature. He grasped the vial and prodded it delicately into the figure's yawning maw as if he were feeding a goldfish to a moray eel.

“Now we're on the trolley,” he muttered, descending from the stool and taking a large step backward. He cleared his throat nervously and pointed at the creature.

“Er…
Rise,
” he said.
“Rise and obey.”

The figure showed no sign of life. It stood silent and still, with never so much as a twitch.

“Maybe try and sort of…close the mouth a bit,” Maxine suggested.

William raised his eyebrows at Maxine's recklessness with
his
fingers, but he gave it a decent effort, gingerly forcing the heavy jaw up until it closed partially on the vial.

“Rise and obey!”
he said again, louder this time. He pulled away and watched the figure closely for a moment.

“Aw, this thing is a big hoax,” he said with disappointment. He shrugged at Maxine and turned his back on the crate.

At that moment they were startled by a noise upstairs. Heavy footsteps crossed the floor above them. A voice called out.

“Grandpa!” said William. “He's home!”

Maxine blinked at him in a panic.

“We shouldn't be down here, Will!” she cried. “We shouldn't have opened the box!”

William slammed the lid of the crate and tacked it shut with a single nail. Tripping over the clutter in the basement, the cousins scrambled for the stairs.

Maxine and William slunk from the darkened stairway and found the entry hall unoccupied. Breathing a sigh of relief, they pulled the secret door shut behind them and tiptoed toward the library.

“Good evening,” said a voice above them.

The cousins both jumped like tripped mousetraps, and their eyes shot to a tall, gray-haired gentleman descending the stairs.

“I didn't startle you, I hope,” said Colonel Battersea in a plummy British accent. “I was just looking for you in the upper halls.” If he knew of their visit to the basement, he showed no sign of it.

“Welcome to Battersea Manor,” he said. “Maxine, I presume. And this must be William.”

The cousins weren't certain whether he expected a hug or a salute, but the old colonel settled the matter by offering an outstretched hand.

“Where've you been?” asked William. “We thought you'd forgotten all about us.”

“Eh? Forgot about you?” replied Grandpa. “Oh yes, yes of course. My apologies. I had every intention of being here upon your arrival, but I've had a bit of urgent business to attend to, and I've only just now returned.”

Grandpa's face was lined with years, and his handlebar mustache was gray now, but his eyes still glinted with the vitality of the man in the photographs downstairs. His features might have been carved from flint; taken in total, they hinted at an intimidating intellect. He leaned against the banister and loosened his tie, then gave a long sigh. His mind seemed elsewhere.

“You look a bit bedraggled,” he said, coming back to himself. “Are you hungry? The housekeeper won't return until tomorrow morning, but I imagine we can rummage up something in the pantry.”

He led the way into the kitchen, and the cousins sat down at a small table near the window and watched him boil water for tea. They waited in silence for an uncomfortable length of time, but Grandpa's face was brooding, and he offered no conversation.

“What's this?” asked William, pointing to a photograph on the wall of a younger Colonel Battersea and his wife standing atop the Great Pyramid of Giza. “It looks like it was taken in Egypt or something. Were you some sort of professional adventurer? Like Lawrence of Arabia or Richard Halliburton?”

“Dick Halliburton,” Grandpa scoffed. “Hmmph! Dandified travel writer. No, no, that was hardly my style. I've had my share of adventures, all right, but I never sought them out for their own sake.” He stopped and frowned. “Haven't your parents told you anything about me?”

“Not really,” William said.

“No,” muttered Grandpa. “I expect not.”

“They said you traveled a lot, and that you worked for the British government,” Maxine chimed in.

“Ah, that much is true. Although your grandmother was an American and we made our home here, I am a British subject. I've worn many hats over the years—done some soldiering, some amateur mapmaking, a bit of diplomacy. And I've been a great many places, I suppose. Traveled Asia, Africa, and the Continent, spent a time in South America. I ended up in the Levant—or the Near East, as they're calling it now—and that was where I stayed for the remaining years of my service to the Crown.”

“And Grandma came along?” asked Maxine. “She followed you to all those places?”

“Your grandmother traveled with me as often as it was possible, at least until the children—your parents—were born. And there were long stretches when I was home with her as well.”

Maxine's thoughts drifted back to the pictures in the basement. “Do you miss her?” she asked.

Colonel Battersea poured the tea as if he'd never heard the question, then turned and considered his granddaughter carefully.

“How are things at home, young lady? How is your mother?”

Maxine was silent for a moment.

“She coughs,” she said in a hollow voice. “She coughs and she can't stop, and her face is as white as chalk, and she can hardly breathe. And sometimes when it's over, there's blood on the pillow.”

Grandpa cleared his throat. “Yes, well, we can certainly hope her trip abroad will do her some good, can't we?” he said, arranging a trio of scones and a dish of clotted cream on a tray. “She'll be staying at the best hospital in Europe, after all.”

Maxine's eyes dropped, and she twiddled with the buttons on her sleeve.

“So, Grandpa,” said William, breaking the awkward silence, “what exactly did you do for the British government all those years?”

“Hmmm, what indeed. You aren't the first person to ask that question, of course. But perhaps I should save a few of my secrets for another day. For the time being, let us just say that I protected His Majesty's interests wherever I was needed.”

Grandpa placed the tea tray on the kitchen table and sat down beside the children.

“And now,” he said, “I want to hear about yourselves. Details, mind you. I'm anxious to know what sort of a hand I've been dealt.”

The cousins squirmed for a moment under his intense gaze, then proceeded to struggle through a fractured account of hobbies and classmates and music lessons while Grandpa listened and nodded at regular intervals.

“Very interesting, I'm sure,” he said at last. “But tell me, now that you have spent some time together here at Battersea Manor, you must be getting to know each other a bit, eh? I am eager to learn a little of what you have discovered. Above all else, I would like to hear what redeeming qualities you have found in each other—what is it that you most admire?”

It was an odd question, and the cousins traded uncomfortable glances.

William pondered for a moment. “Mostly I'd say Maxine is smart. A sharp tack. She's read all kinds of books, and she's good at figuring things out.”

“Ah, intelligence. A fine trait. Yes. And, Maxine, what about William?”

“I think Will's very brave,” she said. “I'm a great big chicken, but he's not afraid of anything.”

“Bravery, eh? How do you know?”

Maxine's immediate thoughts were of the expedition to the basement and William's insistence on opening the pine box, though mentioning these details to Grandpa would hardly do.

“I'm not sure,” she said. “He's got a lot of nerve, I guess. He's already explored just about every dark corner of this house.”

“I see. Yes, well, you've made fair judgments, given that you've known each other only a very short time. But I must say, I believe you are both quite wrong. These are not your worthiest attributes. There are greater gifts in heaven and on earth. When the summer is over, perhaps you will have a very different answer.”

The cousins fidgeted restlessly and tried to vindicate themselves with an intelligent response, but found themselves at a loss for words.

“Well, that's enough lecturing for one night, I suppose,” said Grandpa. “Perhaps it is time to turn in. Let me show you to your rooms.”