The Librarians and the Lost Lamp (32 page)

“MY THOUGHTS RACE EVER FASTER AND FASTER, LIKE A HERD OF WILD STALLIONS STAMPEDING BEYOND MY CONTROL!”

Cassandra knew the feeling. This was like one of her meltdowns, taken to the
n
th degree.

Not so easy to handle, is it?

Dismay contorted his face as he struggled to rein in his newly unbridled imagination, which was already coupled with nearly limitless power. “NO! IT IS TOO MUCH! I CANNOT CHOOSE. I CAN DO ANYTHING, BE ANYTHING, GO ANYWHERE.…”

His iridescent flesh began to boil and steam away as he was literally torn in a billion directions at once. Expanding infinitely, the Djinn simultaneously grew ever thinner and less substantial until nothing remained but a few faint wisps of smoke that swiftly dispersed upon the raging winds, even as the Lamp crumbled to pieces in Cassandra's grasp, leaving nothing but fragile shards and splinters behind.

And that's why genies don't have much in the way of imaginations,
Cassandra realized.
They can't handle them.

She wiped her hands of the last bits and pieces of the Lamp.

*   *   *

The Djinn's stormy evaporation whipped up the winds accosting the carpet, whose edges curled upward to try to hold onto its imperiled passengers. Baird appreciated the effort, but would have preferred seatbelts or a proper aerial extraction. She dropped facedown onto the pitching carpet to keep from being thrown from the rug.

Smart girl, Cassandra,
Baird thought.
Hope I live to congratulate you.

Marjanah, who had dived unsuccessfully for the Lamp only moments before, stayed down as well, but Krieger did the opposite. Scrambling to his feet, despite the choppy weather, he snatched desperately at the dissipating wisps of genie, which literally slipped between his fingers, leaving him empty-handed. Crazed eyes bulged from their sockets. An anguished croak escaped his lips.

“Get down, you fool!” Marjanah snapped at Krieger. “Have you gone mad?”

Possibly,
Baird thought.
Not that he was apparently all that sane to begin with.

Paying no heed to his cohort's furious exhortations, or the violent atmospheric conditions, the First of the Forty ranted silently while shaking his gloved fist at the vanished Djinn. An angry gust of wind nearly capsized the carpet, and he went tumbling over the edge, unable to scream even as he plummeted to his doom more than a mile below. Despite everything, Baird winced at the thought of her onetime friend and comrade crashing onto the rocks and rapids at the bottom of the Canyon.

Damn you, Krieger. You didn't have to check out like this.

If the tragic loss of her leader affected Marjanah, it was impossible to tell. Intent on her own survival, she stabbed her dagger into the carpet to anchor herself to it, holding onto the hilt with both hands as she lay prone atop the storm-tossed rug.

Not a bad idea, actually.

Wriggling forward on her stomach, Baird grabbed onto the knife as well, clasping her hands over Marjanah's and hanging on for dear life. She had no intention of joining Krieger at the bottom of the canyon, not if she could help it.

“Let go, Guardian!” Marjanah spat. “You ruined everything, you and your friends!”

“Ruined … saved. Depends on your perspective.”

The weather was only slowly settling down in the wake of the Djinn's departure, causing the carpet to waft about without direction. Calling upon her basic Arabic, which she'd picked up on various tours of duty in the Middle East, Baird shouted at the carpet.

“Take us down to my friends! Gently!”

“No! Don't listen to her!” Marjanah commanded, her accent slightly better than Baird's. “Take me away from my enemies!”

“Belay that last order! Take us down!”

“No, carry me away from these wretched Librarians!”

The carpet jerked back and forth beneath them as the women fought verbally for control, shouting over each other. Its tassels vibrated in confusion.

“Stop fighting me,” Baird yelled. “You're going to get us both killed!”

“And place my fate in your hands? Never!”

A loud ripping sound hushed them both.

Oh, crap,
Baird thought.

To her horror, the conflicted carpet tore in half across its width, yanking the women away from each other. Baird tried to hang onto Marjanah's hand, just to hold the two halves of the carpet together, but the severed fragments were straining too hard to go their own ways. Baird lost her grip on the other woman's hand as the bisected carpet dived toward opposite sides of the canyon.

Not the safest way to fly,
she concluded.
Give me a plain old chopper any day.

Forgetting about Marjanah for the moment, due to her own heart-pounding predicament, Baird held on tightly to the ragged edge of the carpet fragment as it descended at a roughly forty-five degree angle toward the lookout point where her friends were beckoning and calling out to her.

“Baird!” Stone shouted. “Hurry! You're losing altitude!”

Tell me something I don't know,
she thought. Lacking Cassandra's computer brain, Baird figured it was even money as to whether she made it to the North Rim—or crashed into the rocky red walls of the canyon.

“Come on,” she urged the faltering carpet. “You can do it. Just a few yards more.”

It was like landing a fighter jet on the deck of an aircraft carrier, except that ejecting was not an option. Coming in fast, and at far too steep an angle, the carpet looked as though it was going to slam into the cliff instead, but, with a final burst of power, it pulled up just enough to be able to clear the canyon wall after all. Gasping in relief, Baird still worried about how rough a landing she was in for.

“Watch out!” Stone shouted to Cassandra and Ezekiel. “Here she comes!”

The Librarians scrambled out of the way, clearing a path for the incoming carpet. Bracing herself for impact, Baird was startled when the half-sized fragment suddenly wrapped itself around her like a cocoon. Rolled up tightly inside the rug, like Cleopatra before Caesar, she hit the top of the North Rim and skidded across several yards of dirt and gravel before finally coming to a stop. Her heart racing, she gasped out loud, then conducted a quick bodily inventory. She was going to be bruised all over, but nothing felt broken, while the overlapping layers of carpet had apparently spared her from the mother of all skid burns.

Bottom line: she was alive.

How about that? Guess wonders never do cease.

The exhausted carpet turned into dead weight. Footsteps stampeded toward her, and she heard the Librarians shouting words of encouragement. “Hang on!” Stone hollered. “We'll get you out of there!”

Within moments, they had unrolled her from the carpet and helped her to her feet. Sore and out of breath, she remained focused on the mission.

“Marjanah?” she asked.

“See for yourself,” Ezekiel said, nodding toward the canyon. “It's not looking good for her.”

Baird saw what he meant. Trying to make for the far side of the canyon, at least ten miles away, Marjanah and her half of the carpet had lost too much altitude already. Veering away from the cliff face at the last minute, the carpet spiraled down toward the Colorado River, dropping out of sight. Baird and the others rushed to the edge of the cliff just in time to see the carpet and its bloodthirsty rider splash down into the river and be washed away almost instantly.

“You think she made it?” Cassandra asked.

“Hard to tell from this height,” Stone said. “Not without binoculars.”

“Doesn't matter.” Baird stepped away from the ledge. “No way is she—or the rest of the Forty—ever getting their hands on the Lamp or the Genie now. You guys took care of that.”

“And without losing you,” Cassandra said. “Thank goodness!”

“Works for me,” Baird decided. “Good job, team.”

“Was there ever any doubt?” Ezekiel said. “You had Ezekiel Jones on your side.”

“Don't remind me.” Stone started toward the ranger's station. “So, back to the Library now?”

“Maybe a quick detour first,” Cassandra said. “We still have one last errand to run.”

 

27

2016

“So the Lamp is gone for good?”

They'd found Dunphy at an all-night diner on Carson Avenue, feeding five-dollar bills into one of the ubiquitous slot machines. Given the rate he was going through them, as well as the size of the tip he had left for a
very
attractive waitress, Stone imagined that Gus would blow through what remained of his winnings in no time at all.

“I'm afraid so,” Stone said. They had tried to scoop up the broken shards, just to be safe, but the fragile pieces had pretty much crumbled to powder at the slightest touch. “On the bright side, you're not going to have as many sore losers and secret societies chasing you anymore.”

“You got a point there,” Gus admitted. “I'm not going to miss that part, for sure.”

With any luck, the Forty would cash in their chips and hightail it back to Baghdad now that their centuries-long quest for the Lamp had finally ended in failure. Certainly, they no longer had any reason to go after Dunphy, who was taking the loss of the Lamp much better than Stone had expected.

“You okay with this?” he asked.

Gus shrugged philosophically. “No winning streak lasts forever, but at least I got to be a real high roller for a while.” He smiled at the memory. “Although, to be honest, gambling wasn't quite as exciting when you knew you were always going to come out ahead. Where's the thrill in that?”

“You learn anything else from this experience?” Baird asked. “About relying on luck perhaps?”

“Oh, sure! Lady Luck is fickle, but when you crap out you just gotta keep on gambling until your luck changes again.”

“Not exactly the lesson I had in mind,” Baird said dryly, “but … whatever.”

“Which reminds me.” Cassandra fished a copper (well, mostly zinc) coin out of her purse. “I think I have something that belongs to you.”

“My lucky penny!” Gus beamed with joy. “Now I
know
I'm going to win big again … one of these days.”

Stone sighed and shook his head.

“Take care of yourself, Gus.”

*   *   *

“One half of King Solomon's Carpet, over to you.”

Baird dropped her end of the rolled-up carpet fragment onto the Annex floor in front of Jenkins. Stone did the same.

“Sorry about the skid marks,” she added.

Jenkins shrugged. “Few items in the Library are still in mint condition, Colonel, including yours truly.”

“I don't know,” she said. “Looks to me like you're holding up pretty well, considering the mileage.”

Jenkins arched an eyebrow. “I'll strive to take that remark in the spirit with which it was intended.” He nudged the inanimate carpet with his shoe. “An unexpected addition to the Library's collection. I'll have to find precisely the right home for it. Perhaps the Enchanted Textiles wing, cross-referenced to the Middle Eastern Studies section? Who knows? Someday we may even be able to acquire the other half of the carpet … in due time.”

Baird wasn't inclined to worry about that now. A hot bath and a good night's sleep were calling her name. “So that's it then? The Djinn is gone forever?”

“Scattered to the four winds, as I understand it,” Jenkins said. “I believe we can safely strike Aladdin's Lamp from the list of loose magical objects once more. At some point, I suppose, I should inform the Court of Smoke of the outcome of your investigation … if and when I get around to it.”

“I leave that to your discretion.” Baird's stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten in hours. “Say, are there still any of those doughnuts left?”

“'Fraid not,” Ezekiel said, “but I might be able to remedy that situation.”

“Don't even think about it.” Baird decided a bath could wait until they had all properly celebrated their victory. “Stone, Cassandra, Ezekiel, Jenkins, you up for a doughnut run? My treat.”

“Don't have to twist my arm,” Stone said.

“Mine, either,” Cassandra said, “especially if we're talking the ones with all the sprinkles on top.”

“I imagine shelving King Solomon's Carpet can be put off until tomorrow,” Jenkins said. “Far be it from me to let the defeat of the Forty—and the dissolution of a mad Djinn—go unfêted.”

“What he said,” Ezekiel said. “Although you're not really going to pay for the doughnuts, are you?”

“Watch me.”

It was a shame that Flynn was nowhere to be found. Baird couldn't wait to tell him how she and her Librarians had finished one of his old cases for him, ten years after the fact.

The next time I see him, that is.

 

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