Castle in the Air. Diana Wynne Jones
why should I visit there?” Abdullah asked, somewhat surprised. “You all made it clear long ago that I am not welcome.”
“Because,” said Hakim, “the prophecy made at your birth has come to light in a box long thought to contain incense. If you care to present yourself at the emporium in proper apparel, this box will be handed over to you.”
Abdullah had not the slightest interest in this prophecy. Nor did he see why he had to go himself to collect it when Hakim could just as easily have brought it with him. He was about to refuse, when it occurred to him that if he succeeded in uttering the correct word in his sleep tonight (which he was confident he would, having done it twice before), then he and Flower-in-the-Night would in all probability be eloping together. A man should go to his wedding correctly clothed and washed and shaved. So, since he would be going to baths and barber anyway, he might as well drop in and collect the silly prophecy on his way back.
“Very well,” he said. “You may expect me two hours before sunset.”
Hakim frowned. “Why so late?”
“Because I have things to do, cousin by marriage,” Abdullah explained. The thought of his coming elopement so overjoyed him that he smiled at Hakim and bowed with extreme politeness. “Though I lead a busy life that has little time left in it for obeying your orders, I shall be there, never fear.”
Hakim continued to frown, and turned that frown on Abdullah back over his shoulder as he left. He was obviously both displeased and suspicious. Abdullah could not have cared less. As soon as Hakim was out of sight, he joyfully gave Jamal half his remaining money to guard his booth for the day. In return, he was forced to accept from the increasingly grateful Jamal a breakfast consisting of every delicacy on Jamal’s stall. Excitement had taken away Abdullah’s appetite. There was so much food that, in order not to hurt Jamal’s feelings, Abdullah gave most of it secretly to Jamal’s dog – which he did warily, because the dog was a snapper as well as a biter. The dog, however, seemed to share its master’s gratitude. It thumped its tail politely, ate everything Abdullah offered, and then tried to lick Abdullah’s face.
Abdullah dodged that piece of politeness. The dog’s breath was laden with the scent of elderly squid. He patted it gingerly on its gnarled head, thanked Jamal, and hurried off into the Bazaar. There he invested his remaining cash in the hire of a handcart. This cart he loaded carefully with his best and most unusual carpets – his floral Ochinstan, the glowing mat from Inhico, the golden Farqtans, the glorious patterned ones from the deep desert, and the matched pair from distant Thayack – and wheeled them along to the big booths in the centre of the Bazaar where the richest merchants traded. For all his excitement, Abdullah was being practical. Flower-in-the-Night’s father was clearly very rich. None but the wealthiest of men could afford the dowry for marrying a prince. It was therefore clear to Abdullah that he and Flower-in-the-Night would have to go very far away, or her father could make things very unpleasant for them. But it was also clear to Abdullah that Flower-in-the-Night was used to having the best of everything. She would not be happy roughing it. So Abdullah had to have money. He bowed before the merchant in the richest of the rich booths and, having called him treasure among traders and most majestic of merchants, offered him the floral Ochinstan carpet for a truly tremendous sum.
The merchant had been a friend of Abdullah’s father. “And why, son of the Bazaar’s most illustrious,” he asked, “should you wish to part with what is surely, by its price, the gem of your collection?”
“I am diversifying my trade,” Abdullah told him. “As you may have heard, I have been buying pictures and other forms of artwork. In order to make room for these, I am forced to dispose of the least valuable of my carpets. And it occurred to me that a seller of celestial weavings like yourself might consider helping the son of his old friend by taking off my hands this miserable flowery thing, at a bargain price.”
“The contents of your booth should in future be choice indeed,” the merchant said. “Let me offer you half what you ask.”
“Ah, shrewdest of shrewd men,” Abdullah said. “Even a bargain costs money. But for you I will reduce my price by two coppers.”
It was a long hot day. But by the early evening, Abdullah had sold all his best carpets for nearly twice as much as he had paid for them. He reckoned that he now had enough ready money to keep Flower-in-the-Night in reasonable luxury for three months or so. After that, he hoped either that something else would turn up, or that the sweetness of her nature would reconcile her to poverty. He went to the baths. He went to the barber. He called at the scent-maker and had himself perfumed with oils. Then he went back to his booth and dressed in his best clothes. These clothes, like the clothes of most merchants, had various cunning insets, pieces of embroidery and ornamental twists of braid that were not ornaments at all, but cleverly concealed purses for money. Abdullah distributed his newly earned gold among these hiding places and was ready at last. He went, not very willingly, along to his father’s old emporium. He told himself that it would pass the time between now and his elopement.
It was a curious feeling to go up the shallow cedar steps and enter the place where he had spent so much of his childhood. The smell of it, the cedarwood and the spices and the hairy, oily scent of carpets, was so familiar that, if he shut his eyes, he could imagine he was ten years old again, playing behind a roll of carpet while his father bargained with a customer. But, with his eyes open, Abdullah had no such illusion. His father’s first wife’s sister had a regrettable fondness for bright purple. The walls, the trellis screens, the chairs for customers, the cashier’s table and even the cash box had all been painted Fatima’s favourite colour. Fatima came to meet him in a dress of the same colour.
“Why, Abdullah! How prompt you are and how smart you look!” she said, and her manner said she had expected him to arrive late and in rags.
“He looks almost as if he was dressed for his wedding!” Assif said, advancing too, with a smile on his thin bad-tempered face.
It was so rare to see Assif smiling that Abdullah thought for a moment that Assif had ricked his neck and was grimacing with pain. Then Hakim sniggered, which made Abdullah realise what Assif had just said. To his annoyance, he found he was blushing furiously. He was forced to bow politely in order to hide his face.
“There’s no need to make the boy blush!” Fatima cried. Which of course made Abdullah’s blush worse. “Abdullah, what is this rumour we hear that you are suddenly planning to deal in pictures?”
“And selling the best of your stock to make room for the pictures,” added Hakim.
Abdullah ceased to blush. He saw he had been summoned here to be criticised. He was sure of it when Assif added reproachfully, “Our feelings are somewhat hurt, son of my father’s niece’s husband, that you did not seem to think we could oblige you by taking a few carpets off your hands.”
“Dear relatives,” said Abdullah, “I could not, of course, sell you my carpets. My aim was to make a profit and I could hardly mulct you, whom my father loved.” He was so annoyed that he turned round to go away again, only to find that Hakim had quietly shut and barred the doors.
“No need to stay open,” Hakim said. “Let us be just family here.”
“The poor boy!” said Fatima. “Never has he had more need of a family to keep his mind in order!”
“Yes, indeed,” said Assif. “Abdullah, some rumours on the Bazaar state that you have gone mad. We do not like this.”
“He’s certainly behaving oddly,” Hakim agreed. “We don’t like such talk connected to a respectable family like ours.”
This was worse than usual. Abdullah said, “There is nothing wrong with my mind. I know just what I am doing. And my aim is to cease giving you any chance to criticise me, probably by tomorrow. Meanwhile, Hakim told me to come here because you have found the prophecy that was made at my birth. Is this correct, or was it merely an excuse?” He had never been so rude to his father’s first wife’s relations before, but he was angry enough to feel they