The Librarians and the Lost Lamp (21 page)

She looked at Flynn. “Do we have any choice?”

“Not at the moment. You'd better do what he says.”

“Listen to the Librarian.” Marjanah shoved Flynn aside to reach Shirin, who reluctantly surrendered the volume to the other woman. “Smart girl.”

She handed over the book to Khoja, who inspected it briefly. Flynn wondered how good his ancient Persian was. Khoja clapped the book shut and tucked it under his arm for safekeeping.

“I'm assuming you already perused the text,” he said to Shirin. “What did it say about the location of the Lamp?”

“Nothing,” Shirin fibbed. “Or at least nothing that a cursory examination could reveal. Translating a work such as this requires extensive study. We're talking hours, days, months, maybe even years.”

“Don't lie to me, Doctor, or try to convince me that you're of no immediate use to us. Our own experts can decipher the book in time, if they have to, but your best chance of surviving the next few minutes lies in giving me the answers I need in a timely fashion.” He drew his pistol and aimed it at Flynn. “Or perhaps we can simply do without Mr. Carsen from now on.”

“No!” Shirin blurted. “You don't need to do that.”

“So, you
do
have something to share with me? Some new clue gleaned from this book?”

Shirin faltered. “Maybe, but it's just a story, and not very informative.”

“Let me be the judge of that.” Khoja kept the gun pointed at Flynn. “Enlighten me.”

Flynn cringed inwardly as Shirin divulged what she had read about the cave on the unknown island. “Guarded by an enormous rock,” she concluded, “or so Scheherazade writes.”

“I see,” Khoja said. “And how exactly do we find this island?”

“I have no idea,” Shirin said. “That's the truth, I swear!”

“Perhaps.” Khoja swung the gun toward her. “What about you, Librarian? Surely you must have some thoughts as to our next move … that you might want to trade for Dr. Masri's life?”

Flynn stalled, hoping to find a way to save both Shirin and his secrets. “What makes you think that I'm not stumped, too?”

“Because you're the Librarian,” Khoja said. “This is what you do.” He cocked the weapon. “But if you're both truly of no more value to us.…”

Flynn was only a so-so poker player, but he didn't think Khoja was bluffing.

“The rug,” he said, “in the antechamber.”

“What about it?” Khoja asked impatiently. “Don't make me twist your arm, Carsen, figuratively or literally.”

“I prefer pulling teeth,” Marjanah added. “And, no, that's not just an expression.”

Flynn gulped. These two meant business.

“The design of the rug, as per tradition, features geometric patterns extended mathematically from a single abstract figure, in this case a distinctive star formed of two interlaced triangles.”

Shirin caught on immediately. “The Seal of Solomon.”

“Precisely.” Flynn had noted earlier how the carpet's design had been built around the Seal. “Which, according to legend, King Solomon used to command genies and all the powers of the Earth, both natural and supernatural.” He couldn't resist pausing for dramatic effect. “Solomon is also said to have possessed a flying carpet that would carry him wherever he willed, to every corner of the globe.”

Khoja nodded, understanding. “And you believe that carpet in the next room…?”

“Is King Solomon's magic carpet, yes.” Flynn was somewhat surprised that the gang leader was not more taken aback by the suggestion. “You're not at all skeptical?”

“We're searching for Aladdin's Lamp,” Khoja reminded him.

“Good point.” Flynn started toward the antechamber, only to be blocked by Khoja's henchmen. “If I may?”

“Let him through,” Khoja said, “but keep your eyes on him. We wouldn't want him to give us the slip again.”

Marjanah flinched at that last remark. Scowling, she shot Flynn another dirty look.

Okay, that didn't help matters any,
he thought.

The gunmen parted to let him pass. Shirin started to follow him, but Khoja stopped her. “Why don't you stick close to us, Doctor, just in case the Librarian has something up his sleeve?”

“Nothing but my watch and a bad case of goose bumps,” Flynn promised. “After me.”

He led them all into the antechamber where the gorgeous carpet still rested on the floor. Golden tassels fringed the rug, which was composed of green silk with a golden weft, just as described in certain historical texts. He pointed out the intertwined triangles at the center of the carpet's design.

“There it is … the Seal of Solomon.”

Shirin gaped at the seal. “I can't believe I missed that before!”

“Well, you were a little rattled from almost being eaten by a ghoul,” he said. “Plus, I've probably had a bit more firsthand experience with Solomon's relics than you have.”

Like throwing Solomon's personal spell book into a lava pit.…

“But do you truly think you can make this carpet fly?” Khoja asked. “All the way to this nameless island?”

“Seems like our best bet, in keeping with the spirit of
The Arabian Nights.”
Flynn glanced at the various artifacts on display in the antechamber. “In fact, I'm betting that's how they managed to cart all this stuff up to the tomb in the first place: by means of the magic carpet.”

He pictured the bygone spectacle: a flying carpet miraculously crossing the canyon outside, bearing priceless books and artifacts and, ultimately, the remains of a legendary storyteller. It was like a scene from one of Scheherazade's own tales.…

“Show me,” Khoja said. “But don't even think of going far, if you want Dr. Masri to keep on breathing.”

He and the others backed away from the carpet, taking Shirin with them. Flynn strode to the center of the carpet and swallowed hard.

“Arise! Ascend! Up, up, and away!”

Nothing happened. The carpet remained stretched out atop the floor like, well, a carpet.

Flynn started to sweat. He repeated the commands in both Arabic and Persian, but with equally unimpressive results. He started to wonder if maybe he was mistaken and this wasn't
the
carpet of Solomon, in which case he and Shirin might be in even worse trouble than they already were.

“You're disappointing me, Librarian,” Khoja said. “What a shame … for both you.”

Beside him, Marjanah grinned in cruel anticipation. “Let me kill just one of them, please?”

“Wait!” Shirin protested. “Let me take a closer look at that carpet. I might be able to help.”

Khoja nodded and brought her closer to the rug, while holding on tightly to her arm. “Do it,” he said, “but no tricks.”

She examined the carpet, her smooth brow furrowing in concentration. Then her eyes lit up and Flynn could practically see the light bulb switch on over her head. This did not escape Khoja's notice.

“You found something. What is it?”

“Writing,” she said. “Along with geometric patterns, calligraphy was often integrated into art and design back in the days of Solomon and Scheherazade. If you look closely, the decorative border around the edge of the carpet is actually a highly stylized inscription … possibly even an incantation.”

Khoja eyed her with interest. “What makes you think that?”

“Traditionally, any writing used in this manner would be a quote from the Koran, but this is from the ‘Song of Solomon':
Arise, my love, my beautiful one, and come away.
”

“That must be it!” Flynn enthused. Now that Shirin had called his attention to it, he could make out the woven incantation, too. “Stand back!”

He recited the words—and the carpet lifted off the floor.

“Whoa!” He struggled to keep his balance atop the levitating carpet as it hovered about a foot above the floor. The Seal of Solomon glowed briefly before fading back into the rug's complicated design. Its golden tassels dangled along the edge of the rug, and Flynn could feel a peculiar vibration beneath his feet. He somehow sensed that the carpet was eager to take flight.

“Bravo,” Khoja said. “You two have just bought yourself a stay of execution.”

“For now,” Marjanah muttered.

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” Khoja admonished his vindictive lieutenant. “Everyone aboard!”

Khoja and his gang, along with Shirin, climbed onto the carpet, which sagged beneath their collective weight, descending back onto the floor.

“What's the problem?” Khoja asked. “Talk to me.”

“Looks like we're overloaded,” Flynn guessed. “Sorry.”

Khoja mulled that over. “How many people can the carpet lift?”

“Beats me.” Flynn looked at Shirin. “You see anything in the book about the maximum carrying capacity of a magic carpet?”

“I'm afraid not,” she replied. “It's not exactly a technical manual.”

“I suppose not.” Khoja nodded at his men. “Get off, one at a time.”

“Yes, First of Forty,” one gunman said, hopping off the carpet onto the tile floor beneath. More thieves joined him, but the rug remained weighed down to the ground.

“What about those two?” Marjanah asked, glaring at Flynn and Shirin. “Do we really need
both
of them now?”

“Possibly,” Khoja said. “Who knows what new challenges or puzzles may await us where we're going? We may still have need of their combined scholarship down the road, at the end of the magic carpet ride.”

Marjanah was visibly disappointed by her boss's decision. “If you say so.”

The other henchmen disembarked from the carpet, which gradually lifted off from the floor again. In the end, only Khoja, Marjanah, Flynn, Shirin, and five additional gunmen were left aboard the floating rug. Flynn was disappointed that Marjanah was still along for the ride. He would have preferred leaving her behind.

But at least we thinned out some of the opposition,
he thought.
Thank goodness this isn't the Boeing 747 of flying carpets.

“I believe we are ready to depart,” Khoja said. “Get on with it.”

“All right.” Flynn sat down on the carpet, not far from Shirin, and gestured for the other passengers to do the same. He gave Shirin the most reassuring look he could manage. “Everyone sit tight and prepare for takeoff.”

His mouth dry, he recited the incantation again and specified their destination.

“In the name of King Solomon, master of all the spirits of the air and sky, convey us now to the secret hiding place of Aladdin's Lamp!”

The carpet took off like a shot.

 

16

2006

The flying carpet went from zero to “Yikes!” in a heartbeat. For a split second, Flynn wondered belatedly how the carpet was going to make it through the various doorways and tunnels between the antechamber and the outdoors, but then the carpet rolled itself up tightly, cocooning its passengers before shooting out into the ravine, where it unfurled beneath the early morning sky. A helicopter hovering above the ravine had to dart out of the way of the carpet as it climbed sharply upward and took off into the sky at preternatural speed.

“Chopper Alpha!” Khoja barked into his walkie-talkie. “Pursue airborne carpet. Repeat: pursue airborne carpet!”

Flynn imagined that the chopper pilot had never received that particular order before and was probably still blinking in surprise at the carpet's miraculous exit from the tomb. Despite Khoja's order, however, the carpet swiftly left the helicopter behind.

“Slow this thing down!” Khoja shouted at Flynn.

Flynn threw up his hands. “Do you see a brake or gas pedal?”

The carpet was in charge now, accelerating much faster than your typical floor covering, while heading southeast away from the mountains. According to legend, Flynn recalled, Solomon's carpet flew so swiftly that the king could breakfast in Damascus and sup in far-off Media, all in the space of a day, so Flynn was not too surprised that the magical rug was eating up the miles at a voracious rate, while soaring high above the mountains. The edges of the carpet curled up to form a railing of sorts, which its passengers could hold onto for safety's sake—although Flynn would have preferred seat belts and a pressurized hull, not to mention a parachute or two.

Flying carpets are perfectly safe,
he thought.
At least in the movies.…

The vertiginous flight was too much for one of the nameless henchmen, who panicked in a big way.

“Take us down!” The man aimed his rifle at Flynn. Terrified eyes bulged from their sockets. “Take us down right this minute, or—”

Marjanah shoved him off the carpet. She snorted in disgust as the man plummeted to his doom, his dying scream trailing behind him.

“Coward.”

Khoja arched an eyebrow. “That was a bit drastic.”

“I never liked him anyway,” she said with a shrug. “Shame about the gun, though.”

Khoja didn't appear overly concerned about the loss of the gun or his henchman. “I think we can afford to trade a foot soldier for a genie.”

Flynn remembered Judson's dire warnings about the Djinn. “About that genie,” he began, “you might want to rethink your plans for the Lamp.”

“And why is that?” Khoja asked suspiciously.

“He's not a nice genie. There's a reason he's confined to that Lamp, and every time he's summoned, he gets stronger and the Lamp gets weaker, so one of these days he's going to break free … and nobody wants that, or so I'm told.”

“By who?” Khoja asked. “The Library? An institution so terrified of magic that for thousands of years it's done nothing but lock it away and let it gather dust on a shelf? You'll forgive me if I take your cautionary advice with a grain of a salt.” He sneered at Flynn. “When has the Library
ever
not considered some great source of mystic power to be too dangerous to be employed out in the world?”