Piers Anthony - Hassan

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Hasan
Piers Anthony
Chapter 1. Persian
„Gold!-from copper?“ Hasan’s loose headcloth fluttered with his impolite laughter.
The white-bearded Persian nodded gravely. He was dressed in a handsome robe and wore sturdy
sandals: a man of moderate wealth. He looked remarkably pious under his tall white turban-but
Persians were in bad repute in Bassorah. Hasan had seen the man move slowly down the street,
investigating the crowded stalls on either side. This was the metalworkers’ section of the city,
and there were splen- did displays of copper, silver and gold, all intricately wrought. Many were
far more spectacular than Hasan’s own-yet the Persian had paused longest here, exclaiming to
himself and shaking his head. Hasan soon concluded there was little prospect for a sale, for
otherwise the customer would have demeaned the merchandise in an effort to reduce its price. He
pretended to read an old book, fretfully waiting for the intruder to move on and leave the space
clear for some legitimate client.
Why did he linger so? Could he be a bandit from the marshes to the north, hiding from the Caliph’s
justice amidst the towering reeds? Impossible; yet- At the hour of the mid-afternoon prayer the
shops cleared of customers, but the Persian remained. Hasan did not trust him. All True Believers
went to prayer-call promptly. There was something furtive in the way the man’s eyes shifted about,
though his voice was cultured and persua- sive enough.
„Young man, you are a most talented craftsman. Your father trained you well.“
„I have no father,“ Hasan replied shortly, trying to maintain his prejudice in the face of such
flattery.
The Persian became unctuous. „Ah, the good man has joined Allah-may His name be praised. And I-I
have no son.“ Hasan grew uncomfortable under the man’s intense scrutiny. „Yet I could hardly ask
for a finer son than you. Your locks are as long and black as the mane of a fine stallion. Your
body is straight and strong. If I had a son like you, I would weigh him down with wealth beyond
tabulation.“
„Wealth?“ Hasan said, too quickly.
„Provided he didn’t object to a little innocent alchemy, in a good cause.“
„Alchemy!“ This was forbidden in Bassorah.
„How else is an honest merchant to convert common copper, or even brass, into an equal weight-of
gold?“ The Persian’s eye was fixed upon Hasan’s, challenging him to protest.
And Hasan had laughed-but not for long. „If you can do such a thing-change copper to gold-why are
you shopping here? You could be rich in a single day.“
The Persian shook his head in seeming sadness. „And what are riches, to one who has no son?“ An
artful tear coursed down one wrinkled cheek, „I have no wife, no concubine, for how am I to trust
a woman, and I an alchemist? Many men have begged me to instruct them in my secret art, and I have
refused them all. But love of you has gotten hold upon my heart, for you are the fairest lad in
all the city, and if you will consent to become my adopted son I will teach you this skill. You
will toil no more with hammer and anvil; you will sweat no more in the heat of the charcoal and
fire. No, not one more day!“
The old man was beginning to make sense. „Teach me now,“ Hasan said, maintaining his guard, for he
suspected a swindle in spite of his desire to be convinced.
„Tomorrow,“ the Persian said. „I will bring my prepa- rations here early in the morning, and you
must make ready some copper. I do not ask you to believe until you see this for yourself, my son.“
With that he departed, leaving Hasan both doubtful and wildly excited.
Gold! Could it be?
He was too disturbed to finish the day patiently in his stall. He closed up shop and tramped
blindly out of the city, his head spinning. Gold! Key to rich living. He would dine on candied
locusts and choice Persian stew. He would sip sweet sherbet from the colored glass of Sidon. He
would garb himself in a robe of embroidered damask, and sleep under a sheet of finest oriental
silk. Choice slave-girls would fan away the biting flies while he dis- pensed largess to groveling
beggars and needy holy men and thus store up great favor with Allah.
He looked up to see the dry mud flats, cut by shallow irrigation ditches, that stretched from the
two great rivers toward the foul marshes. The People of the Reeds dwelt in floating huts, not so
far away, neighbors of unclean pigs. They sat with their vicious dogs around fires of buffalo
dung. Hasan knew little of them for civilized men were not welcome in the reedy swamps. There had
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been occasional skirmishes . . .
He turned back to face the city. Gold! The cultivated fields became rosy in the glow of dusk, the
hot sands saffron. Clustered date-palms beckoned in a momentary gust of wind, and swarms of sea-
fowl dotted the sky, calling him to his destiny.
The sun sank, and Hasan quickly spread out his prayer-mat, and kneeled with his face to the
distant west of Mekkeh. He prostrated himself ritually and called upon Allah for blessing. Gold!
His old, careworn mother was cynical. Hasan sat bare- footed on a cushion of the divan, leaned
against the plas- tered wall, and smacked his lips on stale bread and sour camel’s milk while she
harangued him about the business of the day. She was adept at prying and wheedling infor- mation
that didn’t concern her, he thought, as were all women whom time had deprived of physical charm.
She had the story from him almost as he entered the run-down dwelling.
„Hasan, don’t pay attention to such superstitions. Be- ware especially of Persians, and never do
anything they urge upon you. They are nothing but infidels and sharpers, and if this man pretends
to alchemy you can be sure it is only to steal the money of an honest man.“
„But we are poor, Mother,“ Hasan pointed out rudely, half lost in his dreams of wealth. The good
house, now suffering from lack of repair, was all that remained of their original fortune. „How
could he covet the little bit of gold I have in the shop, when he has the power to manufacture as
much as he wants, from copper?“
She looked at him despairingly. „How can you trust the word of a stranger-a Persian!-who makes
such a ridicu- lous promise? Have you forgotten already the leeches and loafers who promised you
their undying friendship-until the wealth your father left was exhausted catering to their
expensive tastes? And where are these friends now? Where would you be now, were it not for the
kindness of your father’s friend, the goldsmith, who took you in and taught you his trade?“
„But I am tired of this trade,“ Hasan said defensively. „I thought all goldsmiths were rich, but-“
„But, but!“ she exclaimed. „My son, Bassorah is a wealthy city, for this is where the long sea
meets the richest farmland east of Egypt. The traders come here in great number, and the boatmen
and camel-drivers and farmers. But you can’t expect to make your fortune as a goldsmith without
working for it. All day you sit idly in your shop and read books about the adventures of liars
like that Sindbad of the Sea, instead of calling out to passing merchants who might pay you well
for your effort. No wonder you sell nothing!“
„I’m sure this Persian is honest,“ Hasan argued uncer- tainly. „He wears a turban of pure white
muslin, in the best manner of the True Believer. And he wants to adopt me as his son!“
He ignored her look of reproach and retired, but sleep was slow in coming. Gold!
* * *
Hasan woke at dawn, performed the morning ablution, and rushed to his shop without speaking to his
mother. Anxiously he cast about for copper; this was a detail he’d almost forgotten. It would not
be wise to use a finished utensil, because if anything were to go wrong the loss would be awkward,
particularly when his mother learned of it. Ah-there was a broken platter that would have to be
melted down anyway. It was copper, or at least good brass, and it should do well enough.
Before long the Persian appeared. Hasan jumped up. „Welcome, O noble Uncle! Let me kiss your
venerable hands.“
The Persian restrained him. „We must do this business quickly, before the neighboring smiths
arrive, or everyone will know the secret. Have you heated your furnace?“
„O yes, Uncle!“
„Set up the crucible and apply your bellows.“
Hasan hastened to comply, forgetting in his eagerness yesterday’s promise of freedom from such
labors. The fire blazed up hotly, until it seemed the crucible itself would melt.
„Where is your copper?“
„Here, Uncle!“
„Take your shears and cut it into small pieces and melt them down promptly.“
Hasan was amazed at the businesslike air of the man who yesterday had waxed so sentimental. He
followed the terse instructions, sweating profusely under his tunic from the unaccustomed heat and
effort. The metal became a thick liquid as he wrestled mightily with the bellows.
The Persian inspected it approvingly. He removed his turban, reached inside, and brought out a
folded wad of paper. A few ounces of yellow powder were inside. „Stand back, boy,“ he said, „but
don’t let up for a moment on the bellows.“
Hasan pumped until he thought he would expire, while still trying valiantly to observe every
detail of the magic.
The old man held the paper above the crucible. „In the name of Jabir ibn-Hayyan, the father of
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alchemy, and by virtue of this catalyst he created and bequeathed to me in dire secrecy, let this
base metal be converted forthwith to purest gold!“ He shook in some of the bright powder.
It seemed to Hasan that the pot bubbled angrily and that an ominous glow suffused the room. This
was evil magic, and the Persian had not invoked the name of Allah. . . .
„Hold!“ and Hasan relaxed gratefully. He wiped his smarting eyes and peeked into the crucible.
Gold.
„Test it,“ said the Persian, smiling. „You will find it to be of rare quality.“
Hasan quenched it and manhandled the still hot mass out of the pot and rubbed it with a file. It
was genuine. He leaned against the counter for support, dazed by the real- ity. Gold! The magician
had not been lying.
The Persian gave him no rest. „Quickly, son, hammer it into an ingot before the merchants come.“
Hasan bent hastily to the task, while the Persian watched with an inscrutable expression. „Are you
married?“
„No, sir!“ The ingot was almost shaped.
„Very good,“ the old man said to himself, with an- other appraising glance at Hasan. „Now carry
this gold to the market and sell it quickly. Don’t waste time haggling over the price; as soon as
you have a good offer, take the money, go home without a word to anyone, and put it away where no
one will see it. We don’t want the people to interrogate you about the origin of this gold.“
Hasan agreed, although he regretted being denied an immediate spending spree. His mother would
insist that he put most of the money back into the goldsmith business, and he would get little
pleasure from it. Of course, if she saw the ingot, she might not let him sell it at all, since
many fine utensils could be fashioned from it.
He picked up the ingot, which weighed several pounds, wrapped it in a fold of his tunic, and
rushed to the richest business section of Bassorah.
The assembled businessmen were amazed at the size and quality of the ingot. Bidding was rapid. „A
thousand dinars,“ a fat purple-cloaked moneychanger offered. Hasan turned his back disdainfully.
„Twelve hundred,“ another said, barely concealing his eagerness to possess such re- fined gold.
Hasan yawned. „Fifteen hundred,“ a green-pantalooned merchant said.
Hasan studied the last bidder calmly. „Allah open on you another door,“ he said, in a time-honored
convention that indicated too low a bid. That is, Allah would have to open the door to merchandise
at such a price, for Hasan certainly wouldn’t.
The first moneychanger squinted, catching on to the fact that this young man was not entirely
innocent about the value of his merchandise. „Eighteen hundred dinars-no more,“ he said.
„Allah open-“ Hasan said, then remembered the Persian’s warning. „This fine gold is a gift at such
a price-but I am weary of carrying it. Take it for two thousand dinars.“
In such manner he completed the richest transaction of his life.
„Look at this, Mother!“ he cried as he burst into the house with the hefty purse of coin. „My
father the Persian has shown me how to make gold from a broken platter, and I sold it for half a
year’s income, and I’m going to be rich!“
The old woman shook her head lugubriously, despite the proof displayed before her. Hasan had
forgotten his re- solve to hide the news from her. „No good will come of this. It is devil’s
money.“ And she blessed herself, saying „There is no majesty and there is no might, except in
Allah, the Glorious, the Great!“
„I must take more metal to the shop,“ Hasan said, paying no attention to her words. He picked up a
large metal mortar, a pot once used for crushing onions, garlic and corn cakes. Heedless of his
mother’s expostulations, he carried it out the door.
The Persian was still sitting in the shop, relaxing in its shade with his turban in his lap. His
hair was almost as white as the headpiece. „What are you doing with that thing?“ he demanded.
„I’m going to put it on the fire and turn it into gold,“ Hasan said.
„Have the jinn taken your wits?“ the Persian exclaimed, choking. „The surest way to arouse
suspicion would be to appear in the market twice in a day with mysterious ingots of perfect gold.
The merchants would be certain you had stolen them, and this would cost us both our lives.“
Hasan was chagrined. „I hadn’t thought of that.“
„If I am to teach you this craft-and there is more to it than mere sprinkling of powder-you will
have to promise to practice it no more than once a year. That will easily bring enough income to
maintain you.“
„I agree, O my lord!“ Hasan said, anxious to master the process. So long as no limit was set upon
the amount converted in that annual session. . . .
He placed the crucible over the furnace and heaped more charcoal on the fire.
„Now what are you up to?“
„How am I to learn this craft if we don’t go through the steps again?“
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„There is no majesty and no might save in Allah!“ exclaimed the Persian, laughing at the youth’s
audacity. „You have the singlemindedness of a thirsty camel, lad. But you hardly demonstrate the
wit required for this noble craft. Do you expect to learn such an art in the middle of the street?
With all the grasping shoppers and beggars looking on? Don’t you know what they do to proven
alchemists?“
„But-“
„If you really want to master this mystery immediately, come to my house, where there will be
privacy.“
„Let’s go!“ Hasan replied immediately, closing up his shop.
But as he followed the Persian, he began to reflect upon his mother’s warning. Such men did have a
bad reputation.
How could he be certain this was not some elaborate trick to lure him into slavery, perhaps in the
uncharted marsh- land? Handsome young artisans were valuable, and few questions were asked if
their tongues were cut out. Did he really know this stranger well enough to trust himself to his
house? His feet dragged, and finally he stopped in confusion.
The Persian turned to see him lagging. „Are you having foolish second thoughts now, my son? Here I
am, trying to do you the greatest favor of the age because of the love I have in my heart for you-
while you hang back, accusing me of bad intent!“
Hasan felt quite guilty, but his doubt remained. The man was leading the way out of the city, and
it was hard not to suspect pork in the cookpot.
„Ah, the folly of youth!“ the Persian expostulated. „Well, boy, if you’re afraid to come to my
house, I must go to yours. I can teach you there just as easily, so long as you provide the
materials.“
Hasan brightened. „You can?“
„Show me the way, son.“
Hasan’s mother was not delighted. „You brought the idolater here! I will not share the roof with
him!“
„But this way he is proving his good faith. What harm could he do at my house?“
„What harm could a cobra do in your house? A sword-tusked boar? You-“
„He’s standing outside our door right now.“
„No! He is nothing but a ghoul, an evil influence. I will not remain while he sets foot in this
house!“
„But he is teaching me to make gold out of-“
„He is making mush out of your brains. I’ll stay at my cousin’s house until he is gone.“ She was
already busy setting the house in order, however, lest the unwelcome guest find anything to
criticize. At length she finished her preparations and left by the back way, so as not even to see
the Persian, and Hasan was free to invite the guest inside. Then he had to run to the market to
buy food, while the Persian waited some more.
Hasan spread his best circular cloth on the floor, in the corner near the two divans, and arranged
the meal. He set up a stool supporting a large brass tray, upon which were several copper dishes.
Around these were round, flat cakes of bread, some cut limes, and small wooden spoons. He had
hired a servant-boy for the meal, who now brought large napkins and a basin and ewer filled with
water to each of them. They rinsed their mouths and washed their right hands ceremoniously as they
sat cross-legged on the two divans. It would never do to eat with an unclean hand.
„In the name of Allah, the Compassionate, the Merci- ful,“ Hasan said, serving himself first in
accordance with the ritual. This showed that the food he offered his guest was wholesome. He drew
a dish of mutton toward him, stewed with assorted vegetables and with apricots, and removed a
morsel with the aid of a piece of bread.
The Persian did likewise. For a moment it looked as though he was about to touch the food with his
left hand, and Hasan marveled at this. All True Believers knew that the left hand was unclean. It
was unthinkable that the hand that cleaned the privates should ever touch the face . . . yet the
visitor had almost-
He was imagining things. Even in Persia, they were not that slovenly. He should abolish such
unnatural suspicions.
Hasan drank some cool water from a porous earthen bottle. „Praise be to Allah,“ he said-but did
not mention that it had been many weeks since Allah had blessed him with a repast like this.
„May your drink produce pleasure,“ the Persian re- plied, also following the ritual. But his gaze
was calculating.
„Now there is the fellowship of bread and salt between us,“ Hasan exclaimed as they ate. „What
loyal servant of Allah would violate that?“
„What, indeed,“ the guest replied dryly.
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They finished the meal, and the Persian leaned back, belched politely, but did not wash his hand
again. „What did you bring for dessert?“
Hasan stammered in confusion. He had forgotten this detail.
„No trouble, my son. You just run down to the market again and fetch us something suitable, some
sweetmeats.“ He closed his eyes comfortably, anticipating no refusal.
Hasan rose hastily and dashed off, forgetting to send the servant, and returned shortly with an
armful of pastries. The Persian eyed the monstrous amount the young man had brought home in his
enthusiasm and shook his head with mock perplexity. „O my son-the likes of you de- light the likes
of me. Nowhere, in all Bassorah, could I have found a more appropriate subject for my purposes!“
He hardly bothered to conceal the sneer, but Hasan in his naivete flushed with pleasure.
After they had eaten their fill and washed hands and face again, the Persian stretched lazily and
uttered the magic words. „O Hasan, fetch the gear.“
Hasan shot out of the house like a colt let out to fresh green pasture in the spring. He ran to
his shop and carried all the apparatus he could sustain back to the house, once more panting and
sweating with the exertion he hoped to be relieved of so soon.
The Persian withdrew from his turban a package of some weight. „My son, this wrapping contains
three pounds of the elixir I demonstrated this morning, and each ounce of it will transform a
pound of copper into the finest gold. When this is gone, I will make up another batch for you.“
Hasan trembled as he took the package and stared at the glittering yellow powder. „What do you
call this?“ he inquired. „How is it made?“
The Persian laughed far more than the innocent ques- tions deserved.
„Must you know everything at once, boy? There will be time for that later. The manufacture of this
elixir is quite complicated; for now you should be satisfied to keep quiet and master its proper
application.“ Hasan did not notice the increasingly overbearing tone or the poor breeding the
laughter betrayed. Gold dazzled his mind’s eye. He found a brass platter and cut it up and threw
the pieces into the melting pot. He blew up the fire until the metal melted, then shook in a
little powder and stirred the mixture vigor- ously. He was so intent on what he was doing that he
never thought to call upon Allah for blessing.
Nevertheless, the molten potful steamed up, shimmered, and took on the golden hue. „It worked!“
Hasan shouted. „I did it! I made gold!“
He removed his crucible from the heat and fumbled with the tongs as the golden lump cooled. He did
not see the Persian break open one of the surplus pastries, shake in a little powder of a
different complexion and seal it up again. He did not overhear the exuberant chuckle.
„You have done very well, my son,“ the Persian said. „You seem to have a natural talent for what I
have in mind, and I am most pleased with your performance. Did I mention that I have a daughter,
who is as lovely a girl as anyone has ever seen?“
Hasan pulled his eye momentarily away from the glis- tening mass of gold. „Sir, I thought you were
unmarried. How can you have a daughter?“
The Persian paused, but corrected himself quickly. „You are astute, my boy. True, I have no wife
now. I had one, a very discerning and gracious and obedient woman of sin- gular beauty, but she
died five years ago and I have brought my daughter up and educated her myself. Since you are to be
my adopted son, it seems appropriate that I marry her to you.“
Things began to fall into place for Hasan. A marriageable daughter; an offer of unlimited gold.
The full commitment was coming to light.
„Well, I hadn’t planned to-“
„I assure you, she is no less beautiful than yourself, a fitting match. Her face is like the full
moon, her hair darker than the night, her cheeks rosy as-“
„Shouldn’t I see her first?“ Hasan asked cautiously, disturbed by the manner the Persian seemed to
be reading his face.
„Her posture is like a slim bamboo among plants; her eyes are as large and dark as those of a
delicate young deer.“
„Yes, but-“
„Her two breasts are like fresh round pomegranates; her buttocks are like wind-smoothed hillocks
of sand . . . and she is just fourteen years of age!“
„Done!“ cried Hasan, carried away by this vision. After all, there was always the gold, in case
the damsel fell short of the description.
„Congratulations! Let’s celebrate with another sweet- meat,“ the Persian said, pressing the one he
held on Hasan.
The young man bit into it automatically, careless of all ceremony, thinking of gold and hillocks
of sand. Once more he forgot to praise Allah before taking food.
A vacant expression came over his face. He reeled and collapsed, unconscious.
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„O dog of an Arab!“ the Persian exalted. „O carrion of the gallows! How many months have I
searched for as handsome an innocent as you. Yet how near you came to slipping my net. But now I
have you! If an elephant smelled that bhang I fed you, he would sleep from year to year.“
Nevertheless, he took the precaution of binding Hasan hand and foot, gagging him, and packing him
into a great chest, which he locked. Then he gathered together all the money from the sale of the
first ingot of gold, and every- thing else of value in the house including the second ingot, and
packed it all into another chest. Before long he had summoned a porter from the market and
assigned him the second trunk, instructing him not to drop it. He dallied only long enough to
scribble a message on the wall, and departed in haste.
A rented ship, provisioned and crewed, was waiting for him in a special harbor outside the city,
in the direction he had attempted to lead Hasan earlier. He paid off the porter, loaded the
merchandise on board, and set sail immediately with a fair wind.
What a welcome awaited Hasan’s mother when she came home that evening! The door was open, the
rooms ransacked, and her cherished son was gone. All that re- mained were cryptic words printed
crudely on one wall, near a half-eaten bit of sweetbread.
The spirit came and wakened one from bed;
But when he woke, he found the spirit fled!
Chapter 2. Voyage
Vinegar and acrid powder choked Hasan, and he came to his senses coughing and sneezing violently.
The world seemed to be swaying and tilting in crazy combinations, now one way and now another, so
that he could hardly orient himself. He felt sick.
A black ifrit stood before him. „So the Arab pig opens his eyes!“ a harsh voice said near his ear.
Hasan recog- nized the voice of the Persian, despite the change in tone. Was he a demon?
His eyes cleared slowly, and he saw that what he faced was not an infernal creature, but a
grinning Negro slave, a eunuch. Beyond the slave was a short wooden deck, and beyond that-
He was aboard a ship! He could see the lapping waves, the distant shoreline. No wonder he had
reeled to the steady rocking of the floor. He was sitting on one of the great chests his mother
had saved, and beside him sat the Persian. How had such a thing come about?
„There is no majesty and there is no might, except in Allah, the Glorious, the Great!“ he swore.
„We belong to Allah and to Him we shall return.“
„Don’t prate your ridiculous faith aboard this ship!“ the Persian snapped. „You are in my power
now, you incredi- ble simpleton.“
Hasan began to understand. He had eaten a pastry this man had handed him-and suddenly found
himself among strangers and far from home. He had been drugged! But why?
„O my father,“ he said quietly, „what have you done? Didn’t we eat bread and salt together, so
that neither could betray the other?“
The Persian stared at him. „Do you expect me to be bound by your superstitions? Your life means
nothing to me, and your friendship less. I have slain nine hundred and ninety-nine whelps like
you, and you shall surely be the thousandth.“ His expression was so serious that Hasan could not
doubt that he meant what he said. All of it had been a trick after all, to lure him into this
situation. His mother’s warning had been valid, and his own early suspi- cions justified.
He shifted his hands and found them tied behind him. His feet were free, but he was helpless. Yet
obviously they weren’t going to kill him right away; the ship must have a destination, and a far
one, or it would not have been employed at all. Was he to be a sacrifice? He had heard of such
things, at least in the far reaches of the world where the jinn-folk lived. He should be safe for
a few days, at least.
Hasan was frightened, but not nearly as much as he thought he ought to be. Perhaps the drug the
Persian had given him still affected his senses. Still, he had always longed for adventure and
never had the means to undertake it. Now it had come upon him unawares, and though the shaft of
fate was painful, it was not wholly repulsive. The Persian might be bluffing, testing him, trying
out his mettle; if not there were a thousand things that might happen before the sentence was
carried out. Well, perhaps a hundred, or at least ten. ...
„Who are you?“ he asked the Persian. „What do you want with me?“
The man studied him as if annoyed that there had been no screaming or begging. „I am Bahram the
Guebre, the foremost magician of Persia. I will use you to obtain the essential ingredient for my
elixir of gold, and you will not survive that use.“
„Why don’t you kill me now, Bahram?“ Hasan was astonished at his own temerity; he had never
imagined that he could contemplate death so calmly.
„Don’t be impatient, lad; you have three months to live yet; maybe more. I would have killed you
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before now, if more important considerations didn’t restrain this pleasure.“
„Do you expect me to live three months without eat- ing?“ Hasan asked him. „How good a magician
are you?“
The Persian refused to take offense at the tone. „Untie his hands and give him some water,“ he
directed his slave.
The eunuch came forward cheerfully. He was big and wore bright red pantaloons; evidently he had
once been muscular, but now was running to fat. His eyes were sleepy, but his hands, as he reached
around Hasan to undo the cord, were clever and gentle. „Now tread lightly, Arab,“ he murmured into
Hasan’s ear as he worked.
Hasan stretched his arms. His wrists were chafed and stiff where the rope had bound them, but were
after all serviceable. He accepted the jug the slave offered. As he drank, his eyes ran over the
ship.
It appeared to be a fair-sized merchant ship, built for the open sea. There were no oars-if
merchanters carried oarsmen, there would be little space for cargo-and he could see the tall
center mast reaching up into the single square sail. She might be as much as forty-five feet from
stem to stern-but old. Even though he was no Sindbad, he could sense the wallow and see the age of
the calking in the worn deck. This tub would not be worth much in a storm.
Hasan finished his drink and returned the bottle to the eunuch. „Praise be to Allah,“ he said, and
launched himself from the chest.
And sprawled on the deck. The slave had neatly tripped him. He was neither as sleepy nor as stupid
as he looked, that eunuch.
„Tie the ingrate up again,“ Bahram said. „We won’t give him another chance to betray our trust.“
„Betray your trust!“ Hasan exploded. „Why you dog, dog-fathered, grandson of a dog! How can you
act other than as a dog? Trust!“
Bahram stood up. „By the virtue of the Heat and the Light of the Fire I worship, do not tempt me
to violence, boy!“
„What temptation remains for the uncircumcised cur who foully betrays bread and salt?“
„Silence!“ the Persian roared. His hand swung round to deal Hasan a blow that sent him crashing to
the deck. This time, with his hands bound, he struck face down. He felt his teeth digging into the
dirty planking as he passed out.
His trial was not over. Sea water dashed in his face brought him spluttering to his senses a
second time. He knew that only a moment had passed. His nose stung fearfully in the salt and he
could taste the blood running over his bruised lips. His front teeth felt as though they had been
driven back into his head; angry tears trickled down his cheeks.
The eunuch propped him up and mopped away some of the mess. „You have more to lose than a few
drops of blood, Arab,“ he murmured, his voice so soft that Hasan knew the magician was not
intended to overhear. „Ap- pease his fancies; it won’t hurt Allah, the All-knowing.“
Hasan nodded, not certain whether this was a genuine condolence or another trap. Certainly he
would not again insult the Persian to his face. Not while he was bound, anyway.
„Make a Fire!“ Bahram said, and two young boys, white servants, appeared with a brazier. They
filled it with charcoal and tinder and struck sparks into it, and soon a hot flame crept up
through the chunks. Hasan wondered what would happen if such a stove were to be overturned on the
deck. No-the wood had just been soaked down, and would not ignite.
„What is the purpose of that?“ Hasan inquired, discov- ering that his fall had not affected his
power of speech, despite the discomfort of teeth and nose.
„This is the Fire, my Lady of Light and Sparkles! She is the goddess I worship, not your foul
bread-and-salt Allah. See how bright She is! How fair!“ Indeed, as the magician looked into the
flame his expression was rapt, and he stood tall and bold.
Hasan was disgusted, but he held his peace. How could he ever have been fooled by such a creature?
Bahram turned to him, his eyes burning fanatically. „O Hasan-this is my Beloved! Worship Her as I
do, and I swear to you I will give you half my wealth and marry you to my maiden daughter. Worship
the Fire, and I will set you free and find some other sacrifice.“ He waited expectantly.
Hasan forgot his recent resolution.
„Woe to you!“ he cried out angrily. „You are a crimi- nal who prays to a vanishing element instead
of to the True God, the King of the Omnipotent, the Creator of Night and Day. How can you desert
the God of the Prophets Moses, Jesus, and the great Mohammed? This is not worship you practice-it
is nothing but calamity!“
Bahram stiffened. „O dog of the Arabs, are you refus- ing to worship with me?“
„I will never turn my face away from Allah!“
The man’s eyes smoldered like the coals of the brazier, but he did not strike Hasan again. He
faced the fire, dropped to his knees, and prostrated himself before it ritually. „O Sacred Fire, I
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will punish this infidel for his blasphemy!“
He stood up and spoke to the eunuch. „Cast him on the deck on his face!“ The slave obeyed,
muttering dolefully into Hasan’s ear.
„I told you. I told, Arab. You didn’t have to renounce Allah in your heart. ‘Appease his fancies,’
I said, ‘It won’t hurt your god,’ I said. But you-“ Then Hasan hit the deck, more gently this
time, and the remaining advice was lost.
„Strip him down,“ Bahram directed. Hasan felt the eunuch’s careful black hands pulling away his
tunic, leav- ing him bare from neck to calf.
„I don’t like this any better than you do,“ the slave muttered as he worked, untying and retying
the bindings. „Next time, keep your mouth shut, eh?“
„Take your elephant-hide whip and beat him!“ the Persian said. And the eunuch dutifully laid on
with the stiff knotted thongs.
Hasan had determined to maintain silence during the beating, and refuse the magician the
satisfaction of his screams, but a cry of agony tore free at the first blow. Hasan had never
before experienced such pain. His entire back flamed up with the savage rasp of the rough leather.
The second blow fell and he screamed again; the very skin seemed to be wrenched from his body. A
third blow, this time across the posteriors-and now he felt the blood running down from the cuts
of the lash.
A fourth blow: „Allah!“ he screamed. „Protect me!“ But there was no protection. A fifth blow; he
wrenched up his head and implored the Almighty in the name of Mo- hammed, the Chosen Prophet-but
there was no succor.
A sixth blow. He thought he would faint with the pain, the terrible destruction of his body . . .
but he could not faint. Now the tears rolled down his face like the dripping sea water, and in the
humiliation and agony he said what he could no longer avoid saying.
„In the name of the Fire: mercy!“
The seventh blow did not fall.
„Raise him up,“ the Persian said gently. „We shall be eating now.“
The slave clothed him again and set him on the chest, and the servant-boys brought wine and boiled
rice and set them before him. But Hasan was ashamed of himself- though he had never renounced
Allah in spirit-and did penance by fasting. He refused to eat the lowly rice or sip the forbidden
beverage.
„You’ll eat when you get hungry, boy,“ Bahram said wisely. „If not today, tomorrow.“ Hasan knew he
was right.
Hasan was kept tied at all times except for meals. He never had a chance to look around the ship,
or to talk with the crewmen, though he saw half a dozen of them in the course of their normal
duties. It was evident that they feared and disliked the magician, but would not interfere.
Undoubtedly they had been hired for such voyages before, or were under regular contract with
Bahram, and had learned to ignore the cries and appeals of helpless captives.
Each day the ship coursed south along the Persian shore, farther away from Bassorah and
civilization. Each night it hove to in some natural harbor for safety from the demons of night and
water. Some days the winds were adverse, and the ship was unable to make significant progress;
Hasan blessed Allah for such weather. On other days the winds were fair, and Hasan watched the
shore parade by, its rocks and beaches and inlets ever less familiar, in growing despair.
The days became weeks, the weeks months, or so it seemed to one who had no accurate way to reckon
time. Hasan also bemoaned the fact that he was unable to per- form the required ablutions and
prayers. First, the Persian would have beaten him again if he had attempted any obvious homage to
Allah, and he did not feel strong enough to undergo such pain the prescribed five times each day.
Second, he could be certain of neither the precise time of day nor the direction of the Holy City,
which he had to face during prayer. Third, he had no water with which to cleanse himself before
prayer. Fourth, he was constantly bound, and could not accomplish the motions and gestures of the
normal ritual. He felt unclean and defiled, but there was nothing he could do, and after a time he
ceased to worry about it unduly. Allah was all-powerful and all-knowing; if it was His will that
his ser- vant be unable to pray properly, who was Hasan to protest?
The shoreline became mountainous, then leveled off into a steady jungle. Great rivers carried
their rich sedi- ment into the sea. At times the shore on the opposite side had been visible, but
now, crane his head around as he might, Hasan could see nothing but a blue expanse of sea. He
heard the crewmen talking, and knew that the ship was approaching the magical land of Hind. This
must be their destination, and the number of his days was dwindling.
„Praise be to Allah,“ he said to himself fervently. „May he send a wind to dash this vessel away
from that shore!“
This time it seemed that his informal prayer was to be answered. In the afternoon a sudden
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blackness came upon the sky, and the sea grew dark and wild. A strong wind sprang up so quickly
that it caught the sail before the crewmen could furl it and blasted the ship away precipi- tously
from land. She rocked and pitched sickeningly and her old timbers creaked; Hasan himself, who had
much more to gain than to lose, began to fear for his life. A sailor screamed as the boat yawed
and pitched him into the whipping sea; before his friends could help him he was gone. They brought
the sail down, somehow, but it was already torn. It would be many days before they could make it
serviceable again.
Still the wind rose, screaming through the ancient rig- ging and smashing sheets of water over the
tired deck. Now the rain was marching over the ocean, a nebulous army, and the dark of the storm
was closing down upon them. Men ran wildly and uselessly about as planking tore loose from the
deck and upended into the liquid melee. There was little they could do now except hold on and
pray.
Hasan, still bound, was helpless-but he seemed to be in no more trouble than the others. They all
were prisoners for the time being.
Suddenly the stout captain worked his way to the space where Hasan lay and the dampened Persian
clung with his two boys and the eunuch. „By Allah!“ the captain swore, „this is all because of
that fair youth you are mistreating. Let him go, and the wrath of God will abate.“
„Mind your own business!“ Bahram screamed at him. „This youth is mine, and I will not tolerate any
interfer- ence. Go secure the ship; that’s the only way you can save us all.“
The captain made as if to release Hasan himself, but the eunuch, at a sign from Bahram,
interposed. The captain withdrew, grumbling.
For a moment the sea calmed. Then there was a scream of fear. Hasan looked out over the water
where a crewman pointed and beheld a monstrous and terrifying shape. It was an enormous funnel,
tiny where it touched the water, but whirling up into a black cloud as big as the sky. High-
pitched thunder came from it, a sustained scream like that of a savage sandstorm.
„A marid!“ the captain exclaimed, naming the most powerful of the tribes of jinn. „Now we are lost
indeed!“
Every person watched, fascinated, as that awful creature waltzed across the ocean, now leaning
toward the ship, now artfully retreating. In a moment it would tire of its game and descend upon
the ship and tear it apart and smash the fragments, wood, cloth and bone, into the hun- gry wake.
„Kill the magician!“ the captain cried. „He is responsi- ble for this. Appease that marid!“
The crewmen rushed upon Bahram in a body. The Persian drove them back temporarily with threats and
demonic gestures, for they were all afraid of him still, and the big eunuch got between them
again. Three men bore him down; a knife flashed, the ship rocked, and suddenly the slave was
crawling across the deck, bleeding from a gut wound. Once more the ship pitched, and he rolled
over the edge of the deck and disappeared.
The two young servants screamed and tried to escape. They too were caught and sacrificed. Only the
Persian himself remained, as the crewmen gathered to bring down the last of the supernatural’s
grievances. As they delayed, in a larger swell of the sea that forced them all to cling
frantically to the tenuous woodwork, Bahram somehow made his way to Hasan and cut his ties.
„It was a mistake, my son,“ he shouted through the gale. „I do not mean to sacrifice you. Come, I
will dress you in fine raiment and take you back to your native land. We are friends!“
The marid lifted its tail into itself and whirled back into the clouds. It had spared the ship.
The wind eased and the waves subsided. „You see!“ Bahrain harangued the crew- men. „There is no
quarrel between me and Allah; none between me and this fair lad. The marid was only passing by,
and you chose to interpret this as divine intent. You are attacking us for nothing!“ And he put
his arm around Hasan and kissed him on the cheek.
The captain hesitated. „Is this true, O man of Bassorah?“
Hasan was too confused by the storm and the abrupt change in his situation to answer immediately.
„Of course it’s true!“ shouted the Persian, instilling belief by the power of his voice. „The
marid has gone and Allah has made the water quiet. What other evidence do you need?“
Still the captain hesitated, fingering his knife. He was not, in the clutch, a timid man, and he
did not change his mind easily. „I want an answer of the boy, the one you have tied and beaten.“
Hasan gathered his wits. Certainly he could never trust the Persian again, and would be foolish to
throw away this chance to eliminate him permanently. One word would do it-
He opened his mouth, but Bahram spoke first, directly and compellingly. „O my son, in the name of
Allah, forgive me for the evil I have done you and do not seek revenge. Let me prove to you how
sure a friend I can be. I repent my cruelty to you, and wish only to make amends.“
Hasan had thought he hated this man, but there was something so touching and persuasive about the
magician’s present appeal that he knew he could not go through with it.
„You see,“ Bahram shouted immediately to the crew, „he does not wish my end. Forget the matter and
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go about your business!“ And the captain, an honest but uncertain man, in the face of Hasan’s
silence, obeyed.
Things were considerably more pleasant after that. Hasan was provided with good clothing and
permitted to perform his ablutions in the prescribed manner. Several members of the crew joined
him every day. Bahram said no more about fire worship, though he did not honor Allah either.
Everyone was friendly now and Hasan learned many things about the structure and handling of a
ship.
Several days were required to repair the sail and the other damaged sections of the ship. Hasan
was anxious to com- mence the journey home, but somehow, in those idle days, he found himself
agreeing to Bahrain’s proposal that they proceed to the original destination.
„O my son, surely you don’t believe that I ever in- tended you evil? I was only testing you in
order to be certain that you were indeed a devout servant of Allah and a fit match for my lovely
daughter. Only in the heat of the fire can the surest sword be tempered. And you have vindicated
yourself gloriously! How can you give up the marvelous adventures that await you, now that you
have proven your right to them? Do you want them to laugh in Bassorah and say ‘Hasan journeyed
three months, but changed his mind in sight of adventure’?“
„What adventure is this?“ Hasan asked cautiously.
„O my son, we are bound for the Mountain of Clouds, the most magnificent mountain in the world,
upon whose summit are the ingredients for the elixir that makes gold. You want to make more
elixir, don’t you?“
„Yes, but-“
„I knew you would agree. I knew you had the heart of an adventurer. Oh, it is a place of rare
enchantment and beauty, the like of which few men are privileged to see. You will find it
fascinating, this mountain in Serendip.“
Hasan look up from the restless waves. „Serendip? You mean the island Sindbad visited?“
„Who?“
„Sindbad the Seaman. He’s famous in Bassorah. He-“
Bahram smiled indulgently. „Believe me, Hasan, his name will never be known beyond your city. A
common seaman!“
Thus Hasan discovered one day that he had agreed to go on, although he remained leery of the
Persian’s friendly words. The ship set sail once more for the fabled land
Hasan had read about, that nothing now could keep him from: Serendip. Perhaps, on his return, he
would pay a call on the seaman. ...
More weeks passed. They left behind the marvelous country of Hind, where monstrous elephants were
said to roam wild, and bore south along a mountainous coast. Finally the land curved again, and
they faced the rising sun; then at last the ship bore north. It was as though they had circled the
world and were ascending its far side. Then they cut east again, directly out to sea-and new land
came into view. Serendip at last!
The green surf broke against shallow islands under the water and sent white breakers foaming onto
the beach. Familiar palm trees came up to the shore here and there, but the rest of the scenery
was strange. The sands were not white, but colored-pebbles of white and yellow and sky-blue and
black and every other hue, intermixed with un- usual rocks. And in the shallow waters were
remarkable fishes, no less colorful than the stones, and even stranger marine formations. Bahrain
had been right: this was a land of adventure!
„O my son,“ the Persian said, „Make ready, for this is the place we desire. We must go ashore.“
Hasan was delighted at the news. He wanted nothing better than to run along that bright beach and
to explore the magic landscape beyond. This was a far cry from Bassorah! He could see already that
the earth was not brown, but red, as though the blood of a god had colored it. He no longer
regretted his decision to continue the voyage.
But he had uneasy second thoughts when he observed Bahram making arrangements with the captain,
who was to remain behind with the ship and safeguard the goods aboard. He had thought, somehow,
that the entire party was coming along, and did not relish the solitary company of the magician.
Yet of course the ship could not be deserted . . . and the land excursion should not take long.
He made up a pack of supplies, and was ready, physically and emotionally, when the time came to
jump into the shallow waves and wade ashore. The adventure had begun!Chapter 3. Mountain of Clouds
They left the beach and marched inland, east, until the ship and the sea itself were out of sight.
After a few miles Bahrain called a halt, set down his pack, and took out a kind of kettledrum
fashioned of copper and a silken strap. Hasan marveled at the man’s possession of such a useless
object, here in the wilderness, but said nothing. The Persian was full of surprises.
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摘要：

file:///F|/rah/Piers%20Anthony/(ebook)%20Anthony,%20Piers%20-%20Hasan. xtHasanPiersAnthonyChapter1.Persian„Gold!-fromcopper?“Hasan’slooseheadclothflutteredwithhisimpolitelaughter.Thewhite-beardedPersiannoddedgravely.Hewasdressedinahandsomerobeandworesturdysandals:amanofmoderatewealth.Helookedrema...

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