The Five Fakirs of Faizabad (31 page)

T
he twins John and Philippa left their house on East 77th Street in New York, and walked around the corner to the Carlyle hotel where their uncle Nimrod, who was staying there with his butler, Groanin, had invited them both to come and have lunch.

Following her complete and irrevocable renunciation of her djinn powers, Nimrod’s sister, Layla, who was also the twins’ mother, had made it adequately clear to her brother that she and her husband no longer cared to have any djinn matters even mentioned in their presence. Although Nimrod strongly disapproved of any djinn denying his or her true nature, his impeccable British manners required that he respect his sister’s decision — enough to have written a short note to her informing her exactly why he had invited her two children to lunch.

Since no objection to their lunch had been forthcoming, Nimrod had gone ahead and booked a table in the
hotel’s swanky restaurant where he and Groanin now met the twins.

After a very large feast of Cornish lobster bisque, peekytoe Maine crab, pan-seared Hudson Valley foie gras (which Philippa did not eat), Atlantic black bass, roasted Amish chicken, and desserts from the trolley, Nimrod finally arrived at the subject he wished to discuss with his nephew and niece.

“Since you have both recently turned fourteen,” he said, “the time has come when you must observe a tradition in the Marid tribe that we call
taranushi.”

“Why is it called
taranushi?”
asked John.

“Well,” said Nimrod, “as you may know, Taranushi was the name of the first great djinn. Before the time of the six tribes, he was charged with controlling the rest, but he was opposed by another wicked djinn named Azazal, and defeated. This Marid tribal tradition is meant to commemorate his overthrow by wicked djinn.”

“Why was he opposed?” asked Philippa.

“For the simple reason that he tried to improve the lot of mundanes —” Nimrod glanced at Groanin, who was loosening a button on the waist of his trousers to accommodate his enormously full stomach. “Sorry, Groanin, I was speaking about human beings. I meant no offense.”

“None taken, sir.”

“Yes,” continued Nimrod. “Well, as I was saying, Taranushi tried to improve the lot of human beings by occasionally giving some of them three wishes. In fact, it was he who initiated the custom of giving three wishes.”

“So what’s the tradition?” asked John.

“The tradition is that each of you will go somewhere of your own choosing and find someone you consider to be deserving of three wishes. But it has to be someone truly deserving because upon your return, you have to justify it to a panel of adjudicators that includes me, Mr. Vodyannoy —”

“After
I get back from my holiday,” said Groanin. “I say, after I get back from my holiday. And not before. It’s been ages since I had a proper holiday.”

Nimrod continued with the names of the panel of
taranushi
adjudicators. “There’s Jenny Sachertorte, and Uma Ayer the Eremite. Also, it ought to be a secret where you two go, just in case anyone tries to put themselves in the way of being granted three wishes. So, even I shouldn’t know where that is. Although that’s not so important, given it’s me. But either way, you’re very much on your own for this one.”

“Anywhere we want?” said John.

“Anywhere you want,” confirmed Nimrod.

“Maybe I should go on holiday with you, Groanin,” said John. “There must be something I can do for that funny little town in Yorkshire where you take your vacation. Bumby, isn’t it?”

“Oh, no,” said Groanin. “You’re not coming there and that’s final. Bumby is just fine the way it is without you messing the place up with three wishes ‘n’all.”

“There must be something I could do for it,” teased John.

“Nothing,” said Groanin. “Nothing at all. Things are just dandy in Bumby the way they are.”

“Please yourself.” John shrugged. “Either way, it doesn’t sound so difficult.”

“Doesn’t it?” Groanin laughed. “It’s also traditional,” he said, “in case you’d forgotten, for a young novice djinn like you to make a complete pig’s ear out of granting three wishes. And to have little or no idea of how a wish will turn out. That’s why I don’t want you within a hundred miles of Bumby, young man. Especially not when I’m on me holiday.”

“All right, all right.” John laughed. “I promise not to go.”

“Ever,” insisted Groanin.

“Yes, okay,” said John. “I was just kidding, all right?”

“Maybe,” said Groanin. “But just remember what old Mr. Rakshasas used to say? ‘A wish is a dish that’s a lot like a fish: Once it’s been eaten it’s harder to throw back.’“

“I remember,” said John. “I’m not about to forget anything he said, okay?” He frowned. “I just wish I knew what had happened to him for sure.”

There was a moment’s silence while everyone spared a thought for Mr. Rakshasas who, it seemed, had been fatally absorbed by a Chinese terra-cotta warrior in the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art.

“Groanin makes a good point,” said Nimrod, returning to the subject in hand. “Because it’s not just that the recipient has to be judged deserving of three wishes. You also have to justify what they do with their three wishes. And, as I think you know, that can be a very different kettle of fish. People are unpredictable. And greedy.”

Groanin managed to stifle a burp. “You can say that again,” he said and, waving the waiter over, he ordered himself a second dessert.

“Even the most honest, upstanding sort of person can turn rapacious when three wishes are involved,” added Nimrod.

“Aye, it’s not everyone that wishes for world peace,” said Groanin. “I say, it’s not everyone that wishes for world peace these days. Even if that was something within your power.”

“Which, sadly, it isn’t,” said Nimrod.

“How are we going to discover if someone is really deserving of three wishes?” said John.

“Research,” said Nimrod. “Read books. Read the newspapers. Find out what’s happening in the world.”

John groaned. “I might have known that there’d be some reading involved.”

“It saves time finding out things for yourself,” said Nimrod.

“It does that,” agreed Groanin.

“Maybe I’ll go to Canada,” said John. “I bet there are lots of people in Canada who could do with three wishes.” He grinned. “Stands to reason, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t tell me,” insisted Nimrod. “Even your parents aren’t supposed to know. It’s a secret, remember?”

“He doesn’t know how to keep a secret,” said Philippa.

“I like that,” said John. “You’re the biggest gossip I know.”

Noticing that Groanin had a newspaper in his pocket, John asked to borrow it and, absently, Groanin agreed. It
was an English newspaper called the
Yorkshire Post
and, hardly to John’s surprise, there was nothing of any interest in it.

Privately, Philippa thought she might go to India. For one thing, in India they believed in the djinn, and experience had already taught her that it was a lot easier granting someone three wishes when they believed such a thing was even possible. Another thing was that there were lots of deserving people in India. Just about everywhere you went you could see them. Yes, India seemed like a good idea. She would go there. Besides, India was hot, and being hot meant she would have maximum power. That seemed important, too.

And she thought John could do worse than go to Africa for some of the same reasons. She thought she might suggest this to him when they were back home.

“Suppose you and these other adjudicators decide that the three wishes were not justified,” said Philippa. “What happens then?”

“I’m glad you mentioned that,” said Nimrod. “There’s a penalty to be paid.”

“You mean like a punishment?” said John.

Philippa grinned.

“What?” asked John.

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“It’s just that I had this incredible déjà vu moment,” said Philippa. “I remembered you asking that question over lunch in here once before.”

“Well, that’s easy to shoot down,” said John. “We’ve never had lunch in here before.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Groanin. “At these flipping prices. I say, I’m not surprised at these flipping prices.” He leaned back in his chair and, raising his voice, added for the benefit of the waiter, “Sixty-five dollars for a Dover sole? They’re trying it on for size, if you ask me. There’s not a fish in the sea that’s worth sixty-five dollars on a dinner plate.”

“Groanin, please,” said Nimrod. “Behave yourself or I’ll send you back up to your room.”

“Yes, sir.” He chuckled. “Hey, listen. What do you call a meal you’ve eaten before? Déjà stew.”

Philippa groaned.

“Every day is like déjà vu with you, sis,” said John. “The things you say, the clothes you wear, the things you do.” “Thanks.”

“Of course, strictly speaking,” said Nimrod, “it shouldn’t be called déjà vu at all. Properly, it should be called
déjà vécu —
the sense of having lived before.”

“I just knew you were going to say that,” said John. “Weird.” He started to laugh.

“No, really,” insisted Philippa. “Whatever you want to call the feeling I had, it was very strong.”

“You’ve eaten too much lunch,” said John.

“Not as much as you.”

“With all this talk about déjà vu, I’m reminded of a poem called ‘Sudden Light,’“ said Nimrod. “By Dante Gabriel Rossetti.”

“I think I’ve never heard of him before,” said John. “You know? Like
déjà who?”

“Do shut up,” said Groanin. “There’s a good lad.”

Nimrod said:

John shrugged. “I really don’t know what that tells us.”

“That Philippa is hardly the first person to have felt this way,” said Nimrod. “As a matter of fact, I had quite a déjà vu moment myself when I saw the two of you coming in here today.”

Philippa’s eyes narrowed as she tried to hang on to the thought and the feeling that had prompted her own déjà vu. Then she sighed. “It was there and now it’s gone.”

“I know,” said John. “Maybe you’ve been reincarnated.”

“If that’s true, it must be some kind of a punishment,” said Philippa.

“How’s that?” asked John.

“Because I’m closely related to
you
.”

“Whooaa,” said John. “I just had the déjà vu thing myself.”

“Stop it,” said Philippa.

“No, honestly,” insisted John. “I swear I really did. Oh, man, that was creepy. I just looked at that big vase of yellow flowers and it was like I’d seen it someplace before.”

“You know something, John?” Philippa smiled. “I guess maybe it’s true after all. You do get everything I get, only it takes just a little longer.”

¹
Djinn duels, also known as Cagliostro Duels, are always settled medicinally, which is to say that each djinn arrives at the duel with three apparently identical pills, two of which are harmless but one of which contains a diminuendo binding. Each djinn swallows the other djinn’s pills in turn, until one of them starts to shrink and, as a result, is judged to have lost the duel. Nimrod had fought and won only one such duel in his lifetime — against Rajmus the Ifrit, who was the father of Jirjis.

P. B. Kerr was born in Edinburgh, Scotland, where he developed a lifelong love of reading. Although the Children of the Lamp books are P. B. Kerr’s first for children, he’s well known as the thriller writer Philip Kerr, author of the Berlin Noir series, including, most recently,
If the Dead Rise Not; A Philosophical Investigation; The Grid; The Shot;
and many other acclaimed novels. Mr. Kerr lives in London with his family. Visit P. B. Kerr at his website, www.pbkerr.com.

Copyright © 2010 by Thynker Ltd.
Cover art © 2010 by Petar Meseldžija
Cover design by Elizabeth B. Parisi

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Library of Congress cataloging-in-Publication Data
Kerr, Philip.
The five fakirs of Faizabad / P. B. Kerr.
p. cm. — (Children of the lamp; bk. 6)
Summary: Fourteen-year-old djinn twins John and Philippa travel from the Himalayas to Yellowstone National Park seeking to uncover and protect five holy men before the wicked djinn responsible for upsetting the balance of the world’s luck finds them.
ISBN 978-0-545-12658-8
[1. Genies — Fiction. 2. Magic — Fiction. 3. Luck — Fiction.
4. Twins — Fiction. 5. Brothers and sisters — Fiction. 6. Himalaya
Mountains — Fiction. 7. Yellowstone National Park — Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.K46843Fiv 2010
[Fic] — dc22
2009043656

First edition, November 2010

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e-ISBN 978-0-545-34689-4