The Librarians and the Lost Lamp (23 page)

“Then how…?” he started.

“Did we survive?” Khoja said. “After you deserted us? We were in dire straits, I admit, with the carpet ripping apart beneath us even as that blasted bird kept on coming. In desperation, we sliced the rug into fragments, one for each of us, and used them to parachute down to the ground, while dividing the roc's attention so that
most
of us made it to safety in one piece.” He shrugged. “A shame about poor Harufa, but let's hope his tough hide gives the beast indigestion—or at least a full belly for the time being.”

Flynn cast a nervous gaze upward, but he didn't see the roc. He made a mental note to keep watching the skies.

“What about the book?” Shirin asked anxiously. “Did you manage to save the book?”

“Spoken like a museum curator,” Khoja observed. “But I'm afraid the book was lost during the tumult. It could have landed anywhere on the island.”

Shirin's face fell. “Oh.”

“We managed to salvage the bulk of the carpet, however.” Khoja gestured toward one of the surviving henchmen, who had apparently been drafted into toting the shredded fragments on his back. “Who knows? Maybe the carpet can be stitched back together at some point, perhaps with the Genie's help. Indeed, maybe he can even help us find your precious book.”

Flynn saw another opportunity to try to reason with Khoja. “You know, releasing that Djinn is a seriously bad idea. From what I hear, he's much too dangerous to let loose from his Lamp, especially if you empower him by rubbing it too often.”

“You Librarians,” Khoja said scornfully. “You have access to some of the most powerful magical relics on the planet, yet you're too timid to wield that power.”

“That's because we know how easy it is for such powers to end up using you,” Flynn said. “And just think what could happen if you lost control of the Djinn, which is a very real possibility.”

Khoja didn't want to hear it.

“You're wasting your breath and my time,” he said. “You're not going to scare me away from our prize, not when we're finally this close.” He waved his pistol at Flynn and Shirin. “Let's get a move on, before that bird gets hungry and comes hunting for us.”

Flynn
was
feeling a tad exposed on the beach, beneath the open sky. The beckoning woods, meager as they were, did offer slightly more cover. He grudgingly stood up and helped Shirin to her feet. Gritty sand clung to their soaked clothing despite their best attempts to brush it off. Shirin swept her wet hair away from her face.

“That's more like it.” Khoja turned to Marjanah. “Any luck contacting our people?”

She shook her head while scowling at her satellite phone. “I'm not getting anything: voice communication or GPS. Something is jamming us.”

“Magic,” Flynn guessed. “This whole island is probably cut off from the modern world, like on
Lost
.” He frowned for a moment. “You know, I never could figure that show out.”

“Let's hope that you're better at locating hidden caves,” Khoja said. “I trust I don't need to repeat the usual threats?”

Flynn didn't need to be a Librarian to grasp that he and Shirin were still outnumbered and outgunned by their enemies, despite the roc reducing the bad guys' numbers by one more henchman.

“I think we can skip that part,” he agreed.

Khoja lowered his gun, although Marjanah kept fondling her knife in a way that Flynn could have done without.

“So where to next?” the First of the Forty asked.

Flynn contemplated the desolate gray mountain looming above them. It was small compared to the towering peaks of the Zagros back in Iran, but it was large enough to hide any number of hidden caves. He wished Scheherazade had been a little more specific in her directions.

A map would have been nice.

He looked to Shirin for assistance. “Do you remember anything else from the book?”

“Not really. An island, a cave, a rock … sorry, a
roc.”

Flynn considered his options. He could insist he was stumped, probably at the cost of his and Shirin's lives, but that would still leave Khoja and his minions free to search the island on their own, with no guarantee that the determined criminals wouldn't find the cave eventually. Flynn decided he wasn't willing to sacrifice Shirin just to slow the Forty down.

“Let me have one of those carpet fragments,” he said.

“Why?” Khoja asked. “They're no good for flying in their present state. At best, they just slowed our descent like parachutes. If you're entertaining some desperate fantasy of making a speedy getaway with Dr. Masri on a scrap of rug, you can forget about that right away. You're grounded like the rest of us.”

“The thought never crossed my mind,” Flynn fibbed. “But I may have another use for that magic fabric.”

Khoja's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he assented after a moment's consideration. “Fine. Let's see what you have in mind.” He glanced at the henchman serving as a porter. “Rahan, give Mr. Carsen a piece of the carpet. A
small
one.”

“As you wish, First of Forty.” The man handed Flynn a remnant of the carpet about the size of a welcome mat and threw in a surly look as a bonus. “I'm watching you, Librarian.”

“We all are,” Khoja added. “You're on, Carsen. Show us what you're up to.”

Flynn gulped, not at all positive this trick was going to work. Holding onto the remnant with both hands, he held it out in front of him so that it dangled above the sand. He recited the incantation once again and repeated his earlier command.

“In the name of Solomon, take us to the Cave of the Lamp.”

Golden light shimmered briefly along the sliced edges of the fragment, which came alive in Flynn's grasp, rising up so that it was horizontal with the ground. His fingers tingled as the piece of the carpet tugged, pulling him toward the looming mountain.

“It wants to go this way,” he said. “I think.”

Khoja caught on immediately. “A homing device. You're using it as a homing device.”

“More like a dowsing rod,” Flynn said, “but that's the basic idea, yes.”

“Ingenious,” Khoja said. “You continue to impress me, Carsen. I don't suppose you'd be interested in switching sides and joining our organization?”

Flynn didn't even think about it. He'd dealt with a turncoat Librarian before. It was not a path he ever intended to go down.

“Not interested, sorry.”

Khoja shrugged. “Worth a try. Perhaps you'll change your mind once we have the Lamp in hand, and the world is ours for the taking.”

“Again, not a good idea. Releasing the Djinn, I mean.”

“I beg to differ.” Khoja nodded at the mountain. “Lead the way, Librarian.”

The floating remnant tugged insistently. Flynn sighed and let it guide them forward.

He hoped he wasn't making a big mistake.

 

18

2006

“Watch your step,” Flynn warned.

“I think that goes without saying,” Shirin said, “but thanks.”

Guided by the eager carpet remnant, they hiked up a narrow ledge along the side of the mountain. It had been a long and arduous climb already. The party, which was now comprised of Flynn, Shirin, Khoja, Marjanah, and the two bonus cutthroats, had quickly left any trace of vegetation behind, so that nothing lay before them but lifeless rock, dirt, and debris, along with the daunting prospect of yet more uphill hiking. A sharp drop-off on the left threatened to make a careless step one's last. Loose dirt and pebbles rolled beneath Flynn's feet, adding to the danger. Sinbad and Ali Baba had clearly gone out of their way to make certain that the route to the hidden cave—and the Lamp—was as difficult as possible.

Thanks a lot, guys,
Flynn thought.

His legs ached from the climb. His damp clothes were cold and clammy, and his boots still sloshed with every step as he trudged wearily at the head of the procession. He was breathing hard, as was Shirin, who was right behind him. Khoja and his crew took up the rear, almost as though they didn't want to turn their backs on their captives while navigating the precarious ledge.

Flynn couldn't imagine why.

“How much further?” Khoja asked.

“Only the carpet knows,” Flynn replied, “and it's not talking.” The levitating scrap continued to tug at him, like a bloodhound straining at its leash. “But it feels like we're getting warmer.”

“You'd best hope so, Librarian,” the chief thief said ominously. “If it turns out that you've been leading us on a wild goose chase…”

A goose is not the bird we need to worry about,
Flynn thought. He kept one eye on the sky and the other on the challenging path ahead, which left him wishing he had borrowed a Third Eye from the Library's Optical Sciences gallery. Even without an extra eye, he doubted that they had seen the last of the roc, especially as they climbed higher toward its mountain aerie and the forbidden cave.
Chances are, it will be showing up any minute now.

“Incoming!” Marjanah shouted. “Big bird at eleven o'clock!”

Called it,
Flynn thought.
Lucky us.

He couldn't fault the keen-eyed kidnapper's vigilance. Looking up, he spotted the roc swooping toward them with renewed ferocity. Its harsh caw echoed off the stony hills. The wind from its wings gusted against the hikers, blowing them backward into the granite slope on the right side of the ledge and churning up a cloud of dust and grit. Flynn threw up an arm to protect himself from the swirling debris. Shirin coughed hoarsely.

We're dead ducks,
Flynn thought, before swearing off avian idioms forever.
On the bright side, I guess the Forty's not claiming that Lamp today.

“Get it!” Khoja hollered. “Before it gets us!”

“I have a better idea.” Marjanah turned and shot the henchman behind her, who tumbled off the ledge toward the rocks below. The load of carpet fragments strapped to his back caused him to drift slowly downward like a leaf on the wind, presenting a tempting target for the hungry roc, which veered away from Flynn and the others to dive after the screaming morsel. Marjanah tucked her pistol back into her holster. “That should keep it busy for a few minutes at least. We shouldn't waste them.”

If the cold-blooded tactic shocked Khoja, he didn't let it show.

“You heard the Second,” he ordered. “Move it!”

Although shaken by the brutal murder, Flynn didn't want to stick around, either. With nowhere to go but forward, the surviving members of the party scrambled up the trail faster than would have been prudent under less frantic circumstances. Flynn's foot hit a loose patch of gravel and, losing his balance, he tottered on the brink of the precipice before Shirin grabbed his arm and pulled him to safety.

“Forget it,” she said. “You're not leaving me alone with this bunch.”

Flynn's heart was beating harder than the roc's wings. “I wouldn't think of it.”

Racing up the trail, they turned a corner to find themselves at a dead end. The curving path widened to form a large rocky ledge, the size of a backyard patio, which faced a looming wall of solid granite that blocked their path entirely. The ledge offered a great view of the island, including the cove a good ways off, but no protection from the winged monster pursuing them.

“Great,” Flynn said. “We're stuck between a roc and a hard place.”

Shirin stared at him in disbelief. “Really? You had to go there?”

“How could I not? I mean,
somebody
had to say it.”

“That's highly debatable.”

Khoja ignored their banter. “What's this?” he demanded, glaring at the rock wall before them. “You've led us to our doom!”

“Not necessarily.” Flynn let the magical remnant pull him toward the seemingly impassable barrier. “Scheherazade did write that it was a
hidden
cave.”

“Then unhide it, Carsen,” Khoja barked. “Before we're the next items on that monster's menu.”

No pressure there,
Flynn thought. He hastily examined the rock face, searching for a secret passage or lever, but came up empty. There weren't even the usual enigmatic hieroglyphics to decipher.
Where's a puzzling pictograph when you need one?

“Get on with it, Librarian,” Marjanah said, “or I'll feed you and your girlfriend to the bird myself!”

Flynn noted that the remaining henchman was backing away from her nervously, no doubt remembering how she had distracted the roc only minutes ago. “I'm not sure
girlfriend
is quite the right label. We're still just getting to know each other.…”

“
So
not the point right now,” Marjanah said icily. “Show us the way, you babbling idiot!”

The flapping of mighty wings heralded the return of the roc, which soared up from below to reclaim the sky above the exposed ledge. A human leg dangled from its beak as it circled around to come at the party again.

“Point taken.” Flynn ran his hands over the rough stone, finding no telltale cracks or seams. His desperate mind turned to
The Arabian Nights
for inspiration.
What would Sinbad do?

“No,” he realized, “not Sinbad.”

Hidden caves were more Ali Baba's thing.

“Open sesame!” he commanded, and stepped back in anticipation.

Nothing happened. The dead end stayed dead.

“Open sesame!” he tried again, more in panic this time. “Open rye … barley … poppy seed…”

“Not in English!” Shirin shouted. “Old Persian!”

Shirin rushed forward and addressed the wall in flawless ancient Persian.

All at once, the solid rock shimmered like a mirage, fading away to reveal the mouth of a cave. Darkness waited beyond the entrance, but there was no time to wonder what lay within the cave, not when the roc was swooping down for the kill.