Riddle of the Copper Coin

"You must be a fellow of some worth," Sharifah said, "to have clothes such as these."

Adiba shook her head. She was still not sure whether it was safe to reveal herself as a woman travelling alone, but she did not wish to deceive the Queen more than was necessary. "I am only a poor scribe, but I won these from a Prince in a game of wits."

"You must tell me all about it!" said Queen Sharifah.

"My lady, I beg to be excused," said Adiba, knowing that the full story would disclose too much about her. "I cannot tell the story without painting the Prince as a fool, and it is unwise to make enemies of princes. But if it pleases you, I should be very glad to sing instead."

To this the Queen agreed, and Adiba began an old lament that she had often heard the orphans sing at home.

Mother, I have never known you Never have I seen your face But never can my heart disown you In my flesh still lives your trace

In still water I shall meet you Glimpse your features in my own In the mirror I shall greet you Eye to eye, and yet alone.

As she sang Adiba wept again, thinking of her mother and her father both. Then she saw the Queen was weeping also, and she broke off.

"What is wrong, my lady?" asked Adiba.

"Your song reminds me of a grief I have carried for thirteen years. Adib, will you hear my tale?"

"My lady, I am your servant."

So the Queen began her story—

* * * * *

Rafi had given up on my chair altogether—the bolt had made its way through the upholstery—and taken to sitting on the bed beside me, with her feet by my head and her head by my feet. It felt comforting to have a physical presence there again on what had been Lucy's side, even with a quilt and several inches of space separating us.

(Did I say several inches of space? Make that several inches of cat. It didn't take Bilqis long to figure out that if she took her place in the gap between us she could command the attention of two humans at once.)

I'd settled into a routine with Annie, my counsellor. We'd meet every couple of weeks and talk about how I'd been doing, unpicking some of the things I was feeling about the injury and about Lucy. There's no magic fix for these things, but at least I was getting better at noticing when I was sinking back into negative thoughts, and doing something about it.

Every so often, though, something would come up that made me flinch again: picking up a favourite book and remembering who'd given it to me, or responding to an invitation sent to "Penny and Lucy". The worst times were when I had to interact with her, passing on messages or mailing on things she'd left behind.

* * * * * To the north of Salt-Sorrow, said Queen Sharifah, there lies a vast desert where the unseen jinn live in numbers beyond counting. A few are Believers, but for the most part they are fierce and wild, answering only to their lord Karrakanash.

As a young woman I strayed into that land alone and would surely have died in the sands, but that I caught the attention of the ifrit Lellinalak, the youngest of Karrakanash's three sons. He made himself visible to me and brought me to his house, where he gave me sweet water to drink and food to eat. We spoke for days, and we came to love one another; he wooed me with sweet songs and verse, and at length he asked me to marry him.

I told him that despite my desires I could not marry him, for I was a Believer and he was not, and besides I could not desert my parents; I was the only heir to this kingdom.

But he swore to me that he would never ask me to abandon my faith or my family. Instead he would leave his family and come live with me in Salt-Sorrow. So I agreed, and we became husband and wife, and for some years we delighted in one another. During that time my mother and father died, and I became Queen of this kingdom.

On the day I took the throne of Salt-Sorrow I bore Lellinalak a daughter. Some have claimed that the union of jinn and human may create only monsters, but she was a beautiful child, sweet and clever. Makaarim, my greatest joy and my greatest sorrow! When I passed judgement on my subjects she would sit at my knee and attend, and she had as much care for the lowest of them as for the highest. Sometimes her childish questions would cut to the heart of the matter and show the way to justice.

Yet she was the cause of strife between myself and Lellinalak, for I was determined to raise her in my faith, and this he would not countenance. We fought, and at the last he divorced me and returned to his own land with our daughter. I have not seen her since she was a small child—she would now be of an age with you, if she still lives—and every day I have wept for her loss.

"Your ladyship," said Adiba, "with my father lost, I am alone in the world. I feel sure that your daughter misses her mother as I miss my father; if Allah wills it, I will go into the desert and free your Makaarim."

Sharifah tried to convince "Adib" of the danger of such an endeavour, but Adiba was resolute. "If Allah allows it, I shall return with your daughter," said Adiba, "and if Allah permits the jinn to slay me then I am ready to stand before His judgement."

When the Queen saw that "Adib" would not be dissuaded, she offered what help she could give. She gave Adiba two camels, laden with food and water, and called on Allah to bless her journey.

Having rested, Adiba set out into the desert—

* * * * *

—and so did Rafi. Well, over the desert; a friend of hers in Perth was getting married, and she was travelling over for a couple of weeks to help with the preparations.

Four days into the trip, she called me:

"Hi, Penny!"

"Hey Rafi, how's doing?"

"Busy busy. Just found out the caterer double-booked, Aisha's mum had a total meltdown. You?"

"Yeah, not bad. Her Ladyship's still wandering around meowing for you."

"Aw, tell her I'll be home soon."

"Rafi, can you do me a favour?"

"Sure thing, what?"

"Tell me I'm not allowed to go look at Lucy's Facebook."

"Aw, hon, I thought you were over that."

"I am, mostly. Just get twitches once in a while. I want to know how she's doing."

"Are you sure?"

"No, I mean I..." I trailed off. I couldn't figure out how to say it.

"You want to know if she still thinks about you. Sad about you forever, talking about how miserable she is in London, wishing she hadn't given you up?"

"I guess. Yeah."

"If she felt that way, do you really think she'd put it up there for people to see?"

"No... no, I guess not."

"You will see her chatting to her shiny new English friends about her shiny new job. She won't be talking about you. You'll work yourself up telling yourself that she's forgotten you already and you never mattered to her, because you want to be angry. Even though you know it's not true."

I mumbled something or other.

"So we're not going to do that, are we?"

"...no, miss."

"Good." I heard another voice in the background. "Hang on a moment." Rafi said something in Arabic, then came back to me. "Look, I have to go, some sort of disaster with the bridesmaids' dresses. I want you to do something good for yourself. Take a nice bath? And I'll call you back later, okay?"

I took her advice, and I stayed away from the Internet, but even after the bath I still felt twitchy. It was just past eleven p.m. when my phone finally rang.

"Hey Rafi! Everything under control?" As I spoke, I felt my anxiety receding, and I realised I'd been nervous about whether she'd remember.

"Not really, but I'm taking a break, otherwise I'll start shouting at people. And I thought you might want to hear about what Adiba did in the desert..."

* * * * *

Adiba rode alone into the bleak waste. She left Salt-Sorrow behind her, and then saw no living thing except her camels, nothing but stone and sand and sun and sky. At night she slept rolled up in a blanket, surrounded by the moaning of the wind.

At the end of the third day her water was half gone, and still there was nothing. Not so much as a hawk in the sky, nor a beetle crawling on the ground. She knew she had enough water to take her back to Salt-Sorrow, and none to spare, but she kept riding north. The wind danced around her now, and sand stung her face.

She rode for three more days, until the last of her water-skins was dry and she had but one small flask remaining, and that half empty. Then she dismounted, and gave the camels their freedom. "I have chosen this errand," she said to them, "and unless Allah wills otherwise, it may be the death of me. But I see no reason for you to die with me."

She wet her lips, then poured the last of the water into her hand and held it out for the camels to drink. "Go back to your mistress," Adiba said, "and tell her that I continue alone." Then she slapped their haunches, and as they plodded away she turned back to the north and began to walk. When night fell she kept on walking, for she had sent the blanket back with the camels, and she knew the next day's sun would be the end of her.

The moon shone bright overhead, striking shadows from the rocks like sparks from a flint, and suddenly Adiba stopped in her tracks. Just a footstep in front of her the moon had revealed a tiny grey snake. It was no thicker than her little finger, but it was the first creature she had seen in all this land.

"Brother serpent," she said, "I think this must be your land, for I have met no others in it. I ask your permission to travel here."

Then the snake slithered towards her on its belly. Its tongue flicked the air, and then it flowed over her toes and coiled itself around her ankle, although it was so small it barely wrapped once around. Adiba kept very still, but her heart pounded in her breast.

"Brother serpent," she whispered, "I seek the City of the Jinn. Can you show me the way?"

The snake began to move again, and then to wriggle, and then to shake. Then it slipped from her ankle, and before her eyes it transformed into a huge jinn, still shaking with laughter. He was very ugly indeed! He stood as tall as three men, and his feet were webbed like a frog's, and on his head were great spiralled horns. His tail was forty feet long and his zabb was longer still, and they twisted around one another, knotting and unknotting. His lips belched flames when he spoke, and his tongue was that of the little grey snake, although grown to enormous size. His name was Mishderesba.

"Ha ha ha! You are bold for a beardless youth, bold and foolish! What is your name?"

"You may call me Adib bin Fadil," she said, which was quite true, for the jinn might do whatever he pleased.

"Well, Adib bin Fadil, the City is no place for humans."

"None? I have heard that the King's son Lellinalak married a human woman, and that their daughter lives in the City."

Then the jinn laughed again, louder than before. "Oh, you seek the Princess Makaarim? You have heard of her beauty, you think to woo her!"

"That was not my purpose, sir."

"Good! For her father and grandfather keep a close watch on her, and woe betide any who tries to steal her away. But then what?"

"I shall not say, sir. But will you take me to the City?"

The jinn laughed louder still, until the rocks around them shook and clattered and dust rose into the air. "Perhaps I shall! I don't know what my lord Karrakanash will do with you, but I shall enjoy finding out!"

And he snatched her up and flew through the air on bat-leather wings—

* * * * *

"So when Dad told me these stories, sometimes he'd let me play too. He'd say 'and what do you think the robber did next?' and I'd tell him. He'd say 'Absolutely right!' and improvise from that. Sometimes I'd paint him into a difficult corner on purpose. Heroine gets caught in a sinking ship, that sort of thing, just so I could make him come up with a way out of it."

I heard Rafi chuckle at the other end of the phone. "We always had fun with the jinn. We'd take turns. He'd tell me how the jinn had feet like an elephant's, I'd tell him it had eyes as small as watermelon seeds, and we'd go back and forth. Fun times."

"That sounds like hard work for him?"

"Oh yeah. He kept a little notebook so he could remember all their names and descriptions. Sometimes he'd pull out one of the jinn we'd made up years ago in a different story, have it come back. You have to know, when we got to Melbourne he was working two jobs, didn't get home until just before my bedtime. So story time was our big thing. He always took the stories seriously. His way of making sure I knew he loved me."

"Aw, that's so sweet. Well, I'd better get some sleep. You try not to shout at any caterers, okay?"

"No promises, but I'll try. Sleep well, Penny."

A couple of nights later she called again, putting me on speaker so she could continue the story while she folded wedding programmes:

* * * * *

The jinn Mishderesba flew high through the air, grasping Adiba's shoulders in his toadlike feet. "You could wander this desert for a thousand years," he bellowed, "and never find the City! We alone can travel the ways that lead here!"

Adiba was afraid lest the jinn should let her fall, but soon her fear was forgotten as the desert below them gave way to a magnificent city. Banners rippled in the moonlight and a hundred spires shone, copper and brass, silver and gold. Fruit trees of every kind grew along the avenues, and strange things walked under them; whether beasts or jinn, she could not tell.

In the heart of the city was a huge palace of marble and greenstone, and here did Mishderesba alight. He brought Adiba into the great hall of the palace to stand before the mighty King Karrakanash.

Karrakanash was a huge ifrit, as high as a palm tree, and he had three tails. One trailed behind him, one rose up behind to scratch his back, and one he carried over his shoulder and waggled the tip at his courtiers when he was angry. His skin was the colour of lead, and his mouth opened as wide and as hot as a potter's kiln, with teeth like millstones.

Beside him sat his sons: Amasp, Minbidim, and Lellinalak. But Adiba had eyes for none of those, for behind Lellinalak amongst the ladies of the court stood one who could only be the lady Makaarim.

She was no taller than Adiba, tiny behind her uncles and father, and there was no missing that she was the child of Queen Sharifah; there was a likeness in their faces. But equally there was no missing that she was a jinn's daughter; her eyes gleamed like opals, and what little hair showed beneath her veil was red as burnished copper. She looked at Adiba with intense curiosity.

"Well, well," boomed King Karrakanash, "what have you brought me, Mishderesba?"

"Sire, Lord of the Grand City, I found this foolish man wandering in the desert. He sought our City but would not say why! I would have punished his insolence, but I thought it might please you to design some punishment for him yourself."

"Oh ho ho!" said the King. He flicked out his tail—the first one, the one that trailed behind him—and caught Adiba around the waist, holding her so close he could have bitten her head off. "Is this true, little manling? Creature of clay, will you tell us your purpose here?"

Adiba did not wish to lie. But she knew that to tell the real reason for her journey would draw the King's anger onto Sharifah. So in reply she murmured, "Not unless Allah wills it," which is an answer that can be given truthfully in almost any situation.

"Oh, a Believer? Well," roared the King, "Believer or no, I think I shall squeeze you until you burst, and see what Allah wills about that!" His tail began to tighten, and Adiba was sure the end was near—

* * * * *

Rafi left us dangling there—Adiba and me both—for four days, until she came back from Perth. Her flight was due to land at ten p.m. but at midnight there was still no sign of her. It was almost one in the morning when I heard the taxi outside; I got to the door just as she was fumbling for the key.

"Hey Penny! You didn't need to wait up."

"I know. Just wanted to know you were safe. Expected you earlier." I'd been missing her more than I wanted to admit. "Dinner in the fridge if you want it."

"Aw." She hugged me tight. "Dad's suitcase came open when they were unloading, everything fell out. They had to pick up the pieces and bring it out to us, took forever."

"Glad you got it sorted out. Well, now you're home, I'm off to bed."

"Same. I had dinner on the plane, just gonna brush my teeth and hit the sack."

But a few minutes later, she knocked on my door. "Do you want to hear what happened with Adiba?"

"Please! Uh, that is, I'd love to, but I don't want to keep you up."

Rafi let out a loud yawn. "Excuse me. Yeah, I should get to sleep...but I'm getting a bit addicted to this." She sat on the bed beside me, bunny-slippered feet near my head. "I like having you on the hook. Now, where were we?"

* * * * *

King Karrakanash would surely have crushed the life out of Adiba. But the Princess Makaarim was kind of heart and she was intrigued by the stranger, for she had rarely seen her mother's kind since Lellinalak stole her away as a child. She ran to the King and tugged on his back-scratching tail.

"Grandfather!" she cried. "Let him live, let him live. He has travelled far, perhaps he will entertain us with stories of his travels."

"Very well," said Karrakanash, "but his insolence shall be punished nevertheless. He shall stay as our prisoner and amuse us of an evening, until I grow tired of him. Mishderesba, take him to the east tower!"

Mishderesba bowed to the King, then snatched up Adiba and took to the air once again, sweeping her up to a small chamber at the very top of a tower of alabaster and silver. "Do not think to escape, little wingless one," he said, "for there are no stairs. I did warn you!"

Then he gave her a jug of water and a little dry bread, and left her there. For it was almost sunrise, and the jinn of that city loved to sleep through the day and wake at night.

On his return, Makaarim sought him out. "Mishderesba, what do you suppose his errand might be here? Why would one come such a way at such risk?"

Now Mishderesba was something of a knave, and although he did not know what "Adib"'s intention could be, he saw an opportunity (as he thought) to curry favour with the Princess. So although Adiba had told him otherwise he replied, "Your magnificence, I believe the impudent fellow has heard stories of your beauty and come to press his suit." To this the Princess listened with great interest.

Meanwhile Adiba made her fajr salat, the prayer that comes just before dawn, and then took the measure of her prison. Indeed it was just as Mishderesba had said. There were no bars on the windows, but there was no way up to the tower without the benefit of flight, and no way down but a swift one with a sudden stop.

But as she looked out, she forgot her captivity. The moon had set, and the lamps were extinguished; the City of Jinn stretched out beneath her in darkness. And yet, as she looked out on the city she saw a gleam of light, and another, and another; one by one, the new day's sun was striking fire from the highest spires and minarets.

Adiba watched the play of light spread across the city, tower by tower, dome by dome, down to the treetops and the rooftops until it fell at last into the dust of the streets. She thought, well, if the King kills me tonight, at least I have seen this wonder, and I am grateful to Allah for it.

Now by the palace, not far from the tower, there was a garden surrounded by a high wall. In it grew peach trees and plums, and flowers of every hue, and there walked splendid peacocks. And among the peacocks walked the Princess Makaarim, unveiled and alone. Adiba looked down on her, and thought she had never seen anybody more beautiful; and then Makaarim looked up, and hastily Adiba turned away lest she be caught watching. When she looked again later, the Princess was gone.