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Authors: Helene Wecker
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implication that he was the Jinni’s jailor.
“I suppose I would feel odd if I had to stay in a room all night and watch a man sleep,” Arbeely conceded.
“Exactly.” The Jinni sat down on the edge of the bed, and looked around once more. “And really, Arbeely, this place is terrible!”
His tone was so plaintive that Arbeely started laughing. “I don’t mind it, really,” he said. “But it isn’t what you’re used to.”
The Jinni shook his head. “None of this is.” Absentmindedly he rubbed the cuff on his wrist. “Imagine,” he said to Arbeely, “that you are asleep, dreaming your human dreams. And then, when you wake, you find yourself in an unknown place. Your hands are bound, and your feet hobbled, and you’re leashed to a stake in the ground. You have no idea who has done this to you, or how. You don’t know if you’ll ever escape. You are an unimaginable distance from home. And then, a strange creature finds you and says, ‘An Arbeely! But I thought Arbeelys were only tales told to children! Quick, you must hide, and pretend to be one of us, for the people here would be frightened of you if they knew.’ ”
Arbeely frowned. “You think I’m a strange creature?”
“You miss my point entirely.” He lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “But yes. I find humans strange creatures.”
“You pity us. In your eyes, we’re bound and hobbled.”
The Jinni thought for a moment. “You move so slowly,” he said.
Silence hung between them; and then the Jinni sighed. “Arbeely, I promised I wouldn’t leave the shop until you felt the time was right, and I’ve kept that promise. But I meant what I said before. If I don’t find some way to regain my freedom, even a degree of it, I believe I’ll go mad.”
“Please,” Arbeely said. “Just a few more days. If this is going to work—”
“Yes,” the Jinni said, “yes, I know.” He stood and walked to the window. “But in all of this, my one consolation is that I’ve landed in a city the likes of which I never could have imagined. And I intend to make the most of it.”
Warnings flooded Arbeely’s mind: the inadvisability of wandering strange streets at night, the gangs and cutthroats, the bawdy houses and stews and opium dens. But the Jinni was looking out the window with an air of hungry longing, across the rooftops to the north. He thought again of the Jinni’s image of himself, bound and hobbled.
“Please,” he only said. “Be careful.”
After the stifling confines of Arbeely’s bedroom, the tinsmith’s shop seemed almost cavernous in comparison. Alone, the Jinni sat at the workbench, measuring out solder and flux. He had to be careful with the solder; his hands were warm enough that it tended to melt if he held it too long. Arbeely had patiently demonstrated how to spread the solder along a joint, but when it came time for the Jinni to try, the solder had run from the plate in a river of droplets. After a few more tries he’d begun to improve, but it strained every ounce of his patience. He longed to simply meld the seams with his fingers, but that would ruin the point of the exercise.
It galled him, though, to curtail the one ability he had left. Never before had he truly appreciated how many of his powers were lost to him outside his native form. If he’d known, he might’ve spent more time exploring them, instead of simply chasing after caravans. The ability to enter dreams, for example, was something he’d barely ever used.
Like all their other attributes, this ability varied wildly among different types of jinn. In the lesser ghuls and the ifrits , it manifested as a crude possession, performed mostly for amusement, trickery, or petty revenge. The possessed human would become little more than a poorly handled puppet until the jinni grew tired and abandoned the game. Many of the possessed were permanently damaged; some even perished from the shock. In the worst cases, the jinni would become
“I suppose I would feel odd if I had to stay in a room all night and watch a man sleep,” Arbeely conceded.
“Exactly.” The Jinni sat down on the edge of the bed, and looked around once more. “And really, Arbeely, this place is terrible!”
His tone was so plaintive that Arbeely started laughing. “I don’t mind it, really,” he said. “But it isn’t what you’re used to.”
The Jinni shook his head. “None of this is.” Absentmindedly he rubbed the cuff on his wrist. “Imagine,” he said to Arbeely, “that you are asleep, dreaming your human dreams. And then, when you wake, you find yourself in an unknown place. Your hands are bound, and your feet hobbled, and you’re leashed to a stake in the ground. You have no idea who has done this to you, or how. You don’t know if you’ll ever escape. You are an unimaginable distance from home. And then, a strange creature finds you and says, ‘An Arbeely! But I thought Arbeelys were only tales told to children! Quick, you must hide, and pretend to be one of us, for the people here would be frightened of you if they knew.’ ”
Arbeely frowned. “You think I’m a strange creature?”
“You miss my point entirely.” He lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “But yes. I find humans strange creatures.”
“You pity us. In your eyes, we’re bound and hobbled.”
The Jinni thought for a moment. “You move so slowly,” he said.
Silence hung between them; and then the Jinni sighed. “Arbeely, I promised I wouldn’t leave the shop until you felt the time was right, and I’ve kept that promise. But I meant what I said before. If I don’t find some way to regain my freedom, even a degree of it, I believe I’ll go mad.”
“Please,” Arbeely said. “Just a few more days. If this is going to work—”
“Yes,” the Jinni said, “yes, I know.” He stood and walked to the window. “But in all of this, my one consolation is that I’ve landed in a city the likes of which I never could have imagined. And I intend to make the most of it.”
Warnings flooded Arbeely’s mind: the inadvisability of wandering strange streets at night, the gangs and cutthroats, the bawdy houses and stews and opium dens. But the Jinni was looking out the window with an air of hungry longing, across the rooftops to the north. He thought again of the Jinni’s image of himself, bound and hobbled.
“Please,” he only said. “Be careful.”
After the stifling confines of Arbeely’s bedroom, the tinsmith’s shop seemed almost cavernous in comparison. Alone, the Jinni sat at the workbench, measuring out solder and flux. He had to be careful with the solder; his hands were warm enough that it tended to melt if he held it too long. Arbeely had patiently demonstrated how to spread the solder along a joint, but when it came time for the Jinni to try, the solder had run from the plate in a river of droplets. After a few more tries he’d begun to improve, but it strained every ounce of his patience. He longed to simply meld the seams with his fingers, but that would ruin the point of the exercise.
It galled him, though, to curtail the one ability he had left. Never before had he truly appreciated how many of his powers were lost to him outside his native form. If he’d known, he might’ve spent more time exploring them, instead of simply chasing after caravans. The ability to enter dreams, for example, was something he’d barely ever used.
Like all their other attributes, this ability varied wildly among different types of jinn. In the lesser ghuls and the ifrits , it manifested as a crude possession, performed mostly for amusement, trickery, or petty revenge. The possessed human would become little more than a poorly handled puppet until the jinni grew tired and abandoned the game. Many of the possessed were permanently damaged; some even perished from the shock. In the worst cases, the jinni would become
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