Prester John
Hassan the baker steps out into the alley behind his shop and finds a ghoul waiting for him.
"Morning, Hassan."
"Salaam, Beaban. New hat?"
The ghoul flicks the tassel dangling from his red felt hat.
"Indeed, thanks for noticing. Took it off a dead man."
"...Ah."
"He didn't need it, you see. Being dead and all."
"Yes, I...quite understand."
"So Hassan, what do you have for me today?"
Hassan grunts and hauls a basket out onto the doorstep.
"Bread went moldy."
The ghoul pulls the basket towards him and begins inspecting the loaves, fuzzy with mold.
"Hmm, yes, yes..."
Hassan frowns. Ghouls, it is well-known, will eat anything, but most of all they will eat anything that has spoiled. Rotten meat, moldy bread, overripe fruit...all of the things humans will not eat, a ghoul will happily consume. Including, of course, human flesh. Hassan believes the the former wearer of Beaban's new hat probably provided a meal to the ghoul's family as well.
Well, no use worrying about that. Bodies had to be disposed of somehow.
Beaban stuffs a moldy loaf into his mouth.
"Ah Hassan, I don't know what it is about you shop," he says through a mouthful of bread, "But you have the best mold in Birdnest!"
Hassan's mouth twitches. Ghouls often say that moldy and spoiled food has better, more subtle flavors that only they can appreciate. Imagine, a race for whom one man's garbage is another's delicacy!
Allah makes many mysteries, Hassan is forced to assume when he thinks about that.
"Er, thank you, Beaban."
The ghoul shoulders the basket.
"You're welcome. And I'll just be taking this off your hands."
"No problem, friend, I - BY ALLAH!"
The ghoul follows Hassan's finger into the air, where he sees the
Aliyah leaving the city of Birdnest.
"Ah, that is the flying ship!" Beaban says coolly.
"Flying ship? What fairy tale is this now?"
"No fairy tale! Look, you can see it with your own eyes!"
"Really? So you have heard of it! Where do you think it is going?"
"Oh, they are setting off towards..." the ghoul's eyes dart around conspiratorially, "The Kingdom of Prester John."
"Really? What business do they have, I wonder?"
"Allah knows! But I heard them with my own ears, I have."
The two watch the
Aliyah disappear beyond their line of sight, and Hassan sighs and steps back into his bakery.
"Many mysteries indeed. Well, thank you for sharing that, Beaban. Have a nice day."
"And you!"
And so it happened that the baker told his friend the butcher, who told his smoking buddy, who happened to be a member of Prester John's Secret Police. It always pays for a king to have eyes and ears in the neighboring countries, and it always pays for a spy to listen in on the smoking clubs and drinking halls. And with a magic mirror, a spy can report back quicker than any system of couriers or signals.
And that is why when the
Aliyah crossed the border, Prester John was already well on his way to greet them.
If you're asking how I know all this, well, that's not important right now.
***
"Praise the Lord, we made it," Sarah breathes. The crew of the
Aliyah looks at the borderland of the Kingdom of Prester John. Here, in the province that lies around the Indus River, there is not much to look at, simply miles of dust and strips of green where irrigation ditches have been dug...but the road is clean and straight, and next to it sits a milepost.
The
Aliyah floats only a few feet off the ground, it tether held tightly in Shabbar's hand. Lisa leans on the railing, but the rest of the crew is on the road.
Sarah looks at Shabbar.
"So, is this it? Did we win the bargain?"
The Djinn nods sagely.
"I will humbly affirm that you have completed your end of the bargain. Congratulations, Captain."
"Wow," Sarah says, looking around, her hands on her hips.
"Wow," she says again.
Deb peers at the horizon, where he can see the smudge of a dust cloud approaching.
"Captain, looks like we've got that welcoming party we expected. Permission to have a closer look?"
"Granted," Sarah says, rubbing her hands together. The feeling of victory is just starting to set in, and she's warming to the idea of a royal welcome. The incubus takes off and wings his way over the dusty plains. The crew can see him wheeling in the air like a large bird before returning.
"Captain!" Deb shouts as he lands again, "They really took out all the stops for this one. I can't wait for you to see it."
The approaching party soon proves to be enormous. Hundreds of horsemen and thousands of footmen are approaching, with officials in chariots and riding on elephants, all their mounts bedecked with silks and tassels and jewels, and following them is a long baggage train, with yet more men and horses and elephants. There is a company of Panotti archers, and a Blemmyae chief riding on the back of an elephant, and princes in scale mail, and even women in armor atop warhorses - a deputation of the Amazons who are vassals of Prester John. Before the entire process goes a simple wooden cross born by men in simple vestments, flanked on one side by a man bearing a golden bowl full of earth, and on the other by a man bearing a silver bowl full of gold coins.
The procession is accompanied by gongs, flutes, cymbals, bells, and chimes, and gems and precious metals flash and glitter on harness, armor, neck, and wrist. The crew of the
Aliyah watches in awe as the cross-bearer halts, and the whole procession unfolds and comes to a glittering, thundering halt. A small company of chief officials assembles behind the cross, men in elegant silk clergy vestments, surrounded by incense-bearers and pages, and with crowns upon their heads. These are the bishop-kings who attend Prester John as his personal servants, his cupbearer and chamberlain and steward.
Behind them assembles the seven vassal-kings who have been chosen from among his seventy-two vassal kingdoms to attend Prester John at court: the King of the Salamanders, the Queen of the Amazons, the King of the Blemmyae, and four other kings of men with turbans and sashes and glittering swords and ornaments. Each of them has servants, bodyguards, singers, and stewards, and still there are princes and lords in the company besides.
And yet, among them all there is no sign of Prester John himself.
As yet nobody has addressed the crew of the
Aliyah, although many are casting impressed or curious looks at the ship itself. As the two sides consider each other, a shadow passes overhead.
The enchanted chariot of Prester John, High King of Indica, passes once overhead. The griffins that draw it beat their wings as they descend, the chariot floating behind them as light as a feather. Sarah raises her eyebrow as the two animals settled on the road, the chariot coming to rest as gently as feather falling to earth. A small group of attendants scurry towards the chariot, and Prester John steps down onto the road.
As for his appearance, he looks like an old man, with sharp eyes, dark skin and a prominent nose, and a snowy white beard which spills down across his chest, and hair to match beneath his great crown, a circlet with four great points that meet above his head. In his hand he holds a scepter carved from a single emerald. Every part of him, from his crown to his rings to his very robes, are beset with a dozen types of gems.
Prester John, High King of Indica, smiles benevolently, and the crew bows in greeting.
"Thou art welcome in my domain," he says. He waves his hand almost casually, bidding them to rise.
"Thank you, your majesty," Sarah says as she lifts her eyes to meet his, "We have traveled far."
"Indeed? Thou must have come in yonder device. It is wondrous, and we would greatly desire to look upon it."
Sarah looks at the others.
"Of course, your majesty, if you deem it safe."
Prester John chuckles.
"It shall be no trouble. Corichan!"
A man steps forward from the crowd of attendants. Shabbar grunts in surprise, recognizing a man of great strength. He is tall, heavily muscled, with long hair that looks as if it has never been cut. It hangs in a heavy braid down his back almost to his thighs.
"Corichan is my bodyguard, he shall accompany me."
Again the attendants scurry forward, setting up a small stepladder. Sarah steps forward.
"Your majesty, are you sure?"
Prester John's eyes glint for a moment as he ascends the ladder.
"I have stated my desire to look upon this vessel, have I not?"
Sarah looks away.
"Of course..."
The crew returns aboard their ship, and Prester John paces the deck, smiling.
"As a man learned in alchemy myself, I must recognize great skill," he muses, "And indeed, this ship is wondrous."
"Thank you, your majesty," Sarah says. She's getting a little tired of saying that.
"And you say you came to here from Jerusalem in merely two weeks? Fascinating."
Deb narrows his eyes, but says nothing. Prester John stops to look at Lisa.
"Your majesty," she says, giving him a salute. He smiles and strokes his beard.
"I see. Captain, I would dearly desire to see this ship in action. It may have the honor of carrying me directly to my palace in Kerala."
"Are you sure that's wise, your majesty?" Moishe asks. Prester John suddenly turns on him, smiling - though his smile does not reach his eyes, which glimmer.
"Do you recall the story of where Samson got his strength?"
"He took the Nazarite vows, I believe," Moishe says, "Not to drink alcohol, not to touch corpses, and not to cut one's hair...oh"
Moishe looks at Corichan, who has been standing silently by the rail, arms folded across his chest. Prester John smiles.
"This one is astute."
The High King of Indica claps his hands together and walks towards the bow.
"Now, my dear guests, I shall show my realm from the air!"
