They were material. Grossly material. They knew only what they saw, felt, smelled, and heard. They were limited to the senses humans had. Tony had referred to the glass phials in his pocket. Abdul plainly knew nothing about them and could not mystically determine their contents, or he would have been scared to death. They contained lasf. So it was not impossible to keep a secret from a djinn. It was not impossible to fool them. It might not be impossible to bluff them.
These were encouraging thoughts. Djinns were creatures, and therefore had limitations. They changed massive architectural features of the djinn king’s palace overnight, but they could not—it was a reasonable inference—change the form of a human artifact. Therefore it was probable that the things they could change were of the same kind of matter as themselves.
Tony’s guide opened a door. It should have given upon a passageway of snowy white. Its walls should have been of ivory, perhaps mastodon tusks, most intricately carved in not very original designs. Instead, beyond the door Tony found a corridor which was an unusually lavish aquarium. It had walls of crystal with unlikely tropical fish swimming behind them. The fish wore golden collars and were equipped with pearl-studded underwater castles to suffer ennui in.
Which was a clue. It occurred to Tony that he had not yet seen one trace of a civilization which could be termed djinnian, as opposed to human. Everything he had seen was merely an elaboration, a magnification, an over-lavish complication, of the designs and possessions of men. Humans wore clothes, so the djinn wore garments made after human patterns only more lavish and improbable. Humans had palaces, so the djinn king had a palace which out-palaced anything mere humans could contrive. But the riches of the djinn were unstable, their lavishness had no meaning, and they had no originality at all. In his home world, Tony reflected, djinns would only really fit in Hollywood.
He cheered up enormously. In his pocket he had three phials of lasf. If his opinion was correct, the palace was constructed of the same material as the dragon in the narrow pass, the two colossi before that, and the row of giants on the final lap to the palace gateway. If he uncorked one of the phials, it was probable that the walls about him would begin to sneeze and flee away in the form of whirlwinds—one whirlwind for each unit of the edifice. The djinn palace had an exact analogy in the living structures of the army ants of Central America, which cling together to form a shelter and a palace—complete with roof, walls, floors, and passageways—for the army-ant queen whenever she feels in the mood to lay some eggs. But the djinn were not sexless like the army ants. Nasim’s romantic impulses seemed proof enough of that. And besides—well—the djinnees who had danced for him last night had displayed an enthusiasm which simply wasn’t all synthetic. They had something more than a theoretic knowledge of what it was all about. What they had lacked was art.
It was with an increasing feeling of competence, then, that Tony strode off to answer Ghail’s summons. He began to anticipate his audience with the king of the djinn with less aversion. And somehow, the atomic-bomb aspect of the djinn tended to fade away. Ghail had never mentioned anything of the kind. Humans, apparently, did not know that djinn were fissionable. So it was unlikely that they could be set off by accident. But it was still hard to imagine getting romantic with an atomic bomb, even if it wasn’t fused.
More doorways. They passed through parts of the palace with which Tony was naturally unfamiliar, and whose features as of today he could not compare with yesterday’s. Then they reached a quite small, quite inconspicuous doorway, and the djinn Abdul stopped before it and bowed low again.
“The residence of the Queen of Barkut, lord,” he said blandly.
Tony stepped out-of-doors, onto a sort of dry meadow with patches of parched grass here and there. The sun shone brightly. He heard a bird singing rather monotonously, and he assured himself that no djinn was making that noise! A hundred-odd yards away there was a clump of trees and among the trees a small group of mud-walled houses which were plainly human buildings, not too expertly made, with completely human implements about them.
Tony advanced. Someone waved to him, and he felt his heart pound ridiculously faster. But as he drew nearer yet, he saw that it wasn’t Ghail. It was a stout, motherly woman with her gown tucked up to reveal sturdy, sun-browned calves. She seemed to have been working in a garden. He saw a neatly hoed patch of melons, and a field of onions and other vegetables. The woman beamed at Tony and said:
“The Queen is in there. You are the Lord Toni?”
Tony nodded. Abdul looked oddly uncomfortable.
“When you go back to Barkut,” said the woman, “do try to get them to send us some sweets! We haven’t had any sweets for months!” Then she said tolerantly to Abduclass="underline" “Not that you don’t try, of course.”
Abdul wriggled unhappily. “I will wait here, lord,” he said sadly. “It is not fitting for a djinn, of the most powerful of created beings, to be made mock of by a mere human. Perhaps I will go back and wait by the door.”
Ghail came out of the largest building—it would have no more than two or three rooms, and was of a single story—and regarded Tony with a deliberately icy air. She said:
“Greetings, lord.”
Just then the motherly woman said comfortingly to the short stout djinn:
“Oh, don’t go away, Abdul! I’ll watch your magic tricks for a while—if they’re good ones.”
Abdul wavered. Tony grinned at Ghail. He said critically:
“Of the two of us, you look most like you had a hang-over. Have you been crying?”
“With my Queen,” said Ghail with dignity, “over the sadness of her captivity.”
Then a pleasant slender sun-browned woman came out beside Ghail and nodded in a friendly fashion to Tony. He gaped at her. She had the comfortable air of an unmarried woman who is quite content to be unmarried. Which is not in the least like a queen. The palace of the djinn king loomed up on all sides, but here in the center things were different. These houses did not look like a dungeon, to be sure. Here was a meadow half a mile this way by half a mile that, with these buildings and gardens in the center so that it looked like a small farm. The contrast between these structures and the magnificence of the palace was odd enough. The atmosphere of reasonably complete contentment was stranger still. The Queen looked as if she were having a perfectly comfortable time here, and was as well-satisfied as anybody ought to be.
“This,” said Ghail stiltedly, “is the Lord Toni.”
Chapter 12
The Queen smiled. There was flour on her hands, as if she had been cooking something.
“Have you breakfasted, Lord Toni?” she asked.
“Well—no,” admitted Tony.
“Then come in,” said the Queen, “and we will talk while you do.”
They entered a small room, an almost bare room, a peasant’s general-purpose room which had the shining neatness of a house with no man in it to mess it up. But this had not the fussy preciosity of too many possessions. There was a small fire burning on a raised hearth, giving off a distinctly acrid smell which yet was not unpleasant.
“You will have coffee,” said the Queen, “and whatever else we can find. We are a little straitened for food today, because so much went for your meal last night.”