Gardner, Craig Shaw - Arabian 2 - A Bad Day for Ali Baba

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This book is an Ace original edition, and has never been previously

published.

A BAD DAY FOR ALI BABA

Book Two of the Arabian Nights

By Craig Shaw Gardner

An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author

PRINTING HISTORY

Ace edition / September 1992

Cover art by Darrell Sweet.

This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part,

by mimeograph or any other means, without permission.

For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.

ISBN: 0-441-04676-2

Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.

The name "ACE" and the "A" logo are trademarks belonging to Charter

Communications, Inc.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

This one's for Dancing Girl

(This cha-cha's on me.)

An Introduction,

in which we are once again ushered into the world of marvels.

Ah. Many of you have come back for another of our tales.

Those of you who were here before know of my compatriot's story of

the two Sinbads, full of marvels and dangers, but a tale in which all

comes right in the end. Yes, yes, dear fellow, except of course for that

unfortunate business with the Queen of the Apes. But that is all behind

you now, or so we shall all most fervently hope. You appear, quite

frankly, to be almost completely recovered.

But on with the business that brings us all here. Today I will tell you a

second tale, one filled with such wonders and terrors that it shall make

brave Sinbad's previous story seem like the slightest of rumors

whispered in the wind.

So it is that I, too, shall return to that time before time, when Baghdad,

whose towers seem to be made from the light of the sky and the colors

of the dawn rather than common mud and clay, was the greatest city in

all the earth. But this is a tale of other lands as well, with dark and

forbidding forests so large that they hold trees equal to one hundred

times the entire population of Persia, places so great that they might

hide the best and worst of men and beasts. And my tale shall travel

even farther still, past great and searing deserts, where lurk those wild

things banned from all the cities of men, and where both man and beast

might go made from heat and thirst.

But my story is more than a simple catalogue of the strange and the

terrifying. It is the tale of a certain man, of humble bearing and modest

occupation, named Ali Baba, and how a chance encounter led him to

great wealth and even greater danger.

Aha! I hear certain of you cry. This is the tale of the Forty Thieves!

And yes, this is the tale of the Exactly Forty Thieves, and how they fell

upon hard times with their Greater Caravan Redistribution Program.

What, do you ask, do I mean by exactly? And what did the thieves do

to all those caravans?

Perhaps you do not know the true story of the forty thieves, after all,

including the interference of certain djinn and items of exceptional

magic. Perhaps you would be better served if you ceased your chatter

and began to listen. Perhaps you have even guessed that my name is

indeed Ali Baba, and, especially you noisy lot in the back, perhaps you

forget that I once was one of the most talented of woodcutters, and

have retained a facility for the exacting use of exceedingly sharp

instruments.

That is much better. A storyteller needs to hear his own voice. I shall

begin.

And please, this time, no giggling during the dramatic passages.

BOOK THE FIRST:

being

ALI BABA'S STORY

Chapter the First,

in which we find there is more to a woodcutter's lot than a pile of

logs.

Every man, it is said, has his destiny, and it is a wise man who accepts

what is written for him. Ah, but there is a catch upon that very line, for

what man can find that scrap of parchment upon which his own destiny

is writ?

So it was that a certain poor woodcutter did eke out his existence in a

certain city in the most distant corner of Persia, ignorant of the great

events that were soon to shape his life in unexpected and even

extremely unlikely directions. And that humble yet industrious

woodcutter was named Ali Baba.

Now, Ali Baba was the younger of two sons, and when his father had

passed from this world, the elder bequeathed all of his earthly goods

upon the older of the two, whose name was Kassim. This was, of

course, the accepted custom in that place and time, as it remains today.

And the younger son did well to accept this, for his father was not a

wealthy man, and the humble should not become bitter because custom

should turn against them.

But this newfound wealth was not enough for Kassim, and the elder

brother squandered those coins like a man might pour water into the

desert sands, until he, too, was forced to seek employment. And even

in this regard was he none too prudent, for he fell in with certain bad

company, and began to run certain errands and perform certain

services for a certain house of extremely low repute. But still did Ali

Baba keep silent, and continue to go about his menial business without

complaint.

So it was that Ali Baba pursued his woodcutting, day in and day out,

collecting vast and back-breaking quantities of wood in the wild forest

beyond the city, receiving calluses upon his palms and splinters in his

fingers, facing constant threats from wild bandits and wilder beasts, so

that he might eke out the most meager of existences. And Kassim, who

appeared to do what little labor was expected of him in the middle of

the night, would loll about the house during the day and call to his many

servants for scented water to cool his brow. But Ali Baba thought little

of his brother's lot, even though his brother happened to live directly

next door to Ali Baba's poor hovel, and although his brother's actual lot

was far larger than the pitiful few feet of property that Ali Baba, his

wife, and the one single servant that they could afford were crowded

upon, and further that Kassim seemed to have loud and vociferous

gatherings that lasted far into the night, depriving Ali Baba of

much-needed sleep.

But still did the modest woodcutter not object. So humble and

hardworking was this man, in fact, that he barely noticed the dozens

upon dozens of petty affronts and nagging oversights on the part of his

less-than-perfect brother that might cause him to object. Of course,

should I dwell upon this unpleasant matter, there is one small example

that happens to come to mind. It is a certain incident concerning an

evening pleasant in all respects. At least it was pleasant at first, before

the actions of the jet-black stallions of Kassim's superior (whose true

name was Goha, but whom all called One Thumb, since the thumb

which once rested upon his left hand rested there no more, having been

separated from the remainder of his flesh by a particularly sharp

scimitar during a particularly heated discussion concerning the

disposition of certain women of that household over which he held

dominion) as they wandered away from Kassim's gateway. And these

stallions did happen to poke their heads through a space in Ali Baba's

fence, and they further did happen to sample the finest young

vegetables from the man's small yet tidy garden. And further, in the

manner of horses everywhere, as did they eat, so did they defecate, so

that their offal covered the usually spotless stone path that led to Ali

Baba's gate. Therefore, when Ali Baba arose the next morning, even

before the dawn, so that he might drive his mules the incredibly great

distance into that portion of the dangerous forest where the best wood

might be found, he discovered these twin disasters.

But was the noble woodcutter upset at the loss of his vegetables,

without which he would be hard-pressed to feed his household a

balanced, if undeniably meager, diet? But was the humble Ali Baba

embittered because his front walk was now heavily soiled and

odoriferous?

Well, we shall leave such questions for the sages, for at that exact

moment the unassuming Ali Baba, truly a prince among paupers, did

indeed espy his brother, Kassim, traversing his nearby gate. And so

meek of manner was the woodcutter that he did not wish to draw the

degree of attention to these recent upsetting matters as some might

have found necessary.

"Good brother!" was instead his greeting.

"What is it now?" Kassim responded shortly. "Can you not see that I

am a busy man?"

And indeed, Ali Baba was uncertain whether he wished to make his

brother busier still. Yet did he feel that such business, once begun, was

best done with. So it was that he stated: "There are two things that have

come to my notice." And with that statement, he pointed at the

vegetable garden, a patch of ground where vegetables now grew no

more.

His brother glanced hurriedly at the disturbed earth. "From the looks of

your garden, it is wise that your primary trade lies in woodcutting," was

Kassim's jovial reply.

But was the meek Ali Baba prepared to stand idly by and silently

accept his brother's ill-considered humor? Perhaps not, for the

woodcutter further stated: "But the deed was done by Goha's horses."

And, as proof of this statement, he pointed to the overly fragrant

mounds upon the walk.

At this Kassim frowned, and wrinkled his large and ill-shaped nose.

"Why has this not been removed? It is bad enough that you must live in

such close quarters. You should be careful that your habits do not

further sully the neighborhood." And with that his brother wheeled

about, and marched away with that imperious stride so cultivated by

the well-to-do.

But was the simple Ali Baba, so much purer in spirit than his brother in

so many ways, put out in the least by his brother's selfishness and lack

of understanding? But was the righteous Ali Baba ready to take this

earthenware cup that is now in his hands and smash it into bits against

this nearby tent pole? Was the always courteous Ali Baba about to

take this parchment before him and shred it into tiny pieces, wishing

each piece were a part of his brother's-

Oh, dear. You must excuse me. I was temporarily carried away by my

tale. Why are you shifting your position? You are certainly not

considering leaving. I am but setting the stage for the great events to

come. Perhaps Sinbad is correct, and I should tell the tale more directly.

Where are you going? I have not even told you about the Curse of the

Contrary Wishes, or the awesome discovery I made upon National

Djinni Day. And I have not breathed the first word about the Palace of

Beautiful Women,

Ah, that is much better. I believe I have done enough to set the stage,

and shall proceed-yes, most rapidly-to the point at which the true

action began, and I realized that my life would be changed forever.

What is that? Oh, yes, the Palace of Beautiful Women. Well, I shall

comment upon that eventually.

Chapter the Second,

in which we again attempt to determine wherein lies the truth of

the tale.

So it was that the hardworking Ali Baba found himself chopping the

most sturdy wood from the darkest part of the forest, a place so dense

with undergrowth that it seemed to be twilight at noon, and every

shadow appeared to produce a further shadow of its own. Ali Baba

was understandably disquieted by his surroundings, but he also knew

that the wood that he cut would bring a good price at market, so that

he might provide adequately for his wife and children.

But the sun shifted beyond a nearby hill, and the afternoon became no

brighter than the onset of evening. The wind increased in volume,

bringing with it the growling cry of some forest predator. Ali Baba

redoubled his efforts, wondering if any amount of effort might be worth

the loss of his life. It was little wonder, then, that he jumped and hit his

head upon that tree branch when he heard the approach of a great

many horses.

Did I say a great many? He quickly ran from the path as the earth

shook with their approach. As they passed his hiding place within the

dense forest thicket, Ali Baba further heard the sounds of coarse

laughter and the sort of language one did not generally associate with

the upper echelons of polite society. So full of entirely understandable

trepidation was he that he almost completely forgot about the bump

upon his head, and remained as completely still as a living being might

within his place of concealment.

But still did the shaking of the earth become greater, so that Ali Baba

could no longer distinguish between the movement beneath his feet and

the quaking of his own form at what transpired. For, just beyond the

thicket, he could now see the horses gallop past in twos and threes.

And upon every horse there rode a man clothed in robes as dark as a

storm at night. Ali Baba silently counted as they passed, and when he

could see nothing more but a dissipating cloud of dust, he had

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ThisbookisanAceoriginaledition,andhasneverbeenpreviouslypublished.ABADDAYFORALIBABABookTwooftheArabianNightsByCraigShawGardnerAnAceBook/publishedbyarrangementwiththeauthorPRINTINGHISTORYAceedition/September1992Allrightsreserved.Copyright©1992byCraigShawGardner.CoverartbyDarrellSweet.Thisbookmaynotbe...

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Gardner, Craig Shaw - Arabian 2 - A Bad Day for Ali Baba

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