Haroun and the Sea of Stories Page 4

  ‘Mission impossible to divulge,’ the little man sulked. ‘Top secret, classified, eyes-only info; certainly not to be revealed to smarty-pants boys in red nightshirts with purple patches who snatch what isn’t theirs and then accuse other people of being thieves.’

  ‘Very well,’ Haroun said. ‘Then I’ll wake my father.’

  ‘No,’ said the blue-beard sharply. ‘No adults. Rules and regulations, totally forbidden, more than my job’s worth. O, I knew this would be a terrible day.’

  ‘I’m waiting,’ said Haroun severely.

  The little fellow drew himself up to his full height. ‘I am the Water Genie, Iff,’ he said crossly, ‘from the Ocean of the Streams of Story.’

  Haroun’s heart thumped. ‘Are you trying to claim you’re really one of those Genies my father told me about?’

  ‘Supplier of Story Water from the Great Story Sea,’ the other bowed. ‘Precisely; the same; none other; it is I. However, I regret to report, the gentleman no longer requires the service; has discontinued narrative activities, thrown in the towel, packed it in. He has cancelled his subscription. Hence my presence, for purposes of Disconnection. To which end, please to return my Tool.’

  ‘Not so fast,’ said Haroun, whose head was spinning, not only at the discovery that there really were Water Genies, that the Great Story Sea wasn’t only a story, but also at the revelation that Rashid had quit, given up, buttoned his lip. ‘I don’t believe you,’ he said to the Genie Iff. ‘How did he send the message? I’ve been right with him almost all the time.’

  ‘He sent it by the usual means,’ Iff shrugged. ‘A P2C2E.’

  ‘And what is that?’

  ‘Obvious,’ said the Water Genie with a wicked grin. ‘It’s a Process Too Complicated To Explain.’ Then he saw how upset Haroun was, and added: ‘In this case, it involves Thought Beams. We tune in and listen to his thoughts. It’s an advanced technology.’

  ‘Advanced or not,’ Haroun retorted, ‘you’ve made a mistake this time, you’re up the spout, you’ve got the wrong end of the stick.’ He heard himself beginning to sound like the Water Genie, and shook his head to clear it. ‘My father has definitely not given up. You can’t cut off his Story Water supply.’

  ‘Orders,’ said Iff. ‘All queries to be taken up with the Grand Comptroller.’

  ‘Grand Comptroller of what?’ Haroun wanted to know.

  ‘Of the Processes Too Complicated To Explain, of course. At P2C2E House, Gup City, Kahani. All letters to be addressed to the Walrus.’

  ‘Who’s the Walrus?’

  ‘You don’t concentrate, do you?’ Iff replied. ‘At P2C2E House in Gup City there are many brilliant persons employed, but there is only one Grand Comptroller. They are the Eggheads. He is the Walrus. Got it now? Understood?’

  Haroun absorbed all this information. ‘And how does the letter get there?’ he asked. The Water Genie giggled softly. ‘It doesn’t,’ he answered. ‘You see the beauty of the scheme.’

  ‘I certainly don’t,’ Haroun retorted. ‘And anyway, even if you do turn off your Story Water, my father will still be able to tell stories.’

  ‘Anybody can tell stories,’ Iff replied. ‘Liars, and cheats, and crooks, for example. But for stories with that Extra Ingredient, ah, for those, even the best storytellers need the Story Waters. Storytelling needs fuel, just like a car; and if you don’t have the Water, you just run out of Steam.’

  ‘Why should I believe a word you say,’ Haroun argued, ‘when I can’t see anything in this bathroom except for a perfectly ordinary bath, toilet, basin, and some perfectly ordinary taps marked Cold and Hot?’

  ‘Feel here,’ said the Water Genie, pointing to a patch of empty air six inches above the basin. ‘Take the Disconnecting Tool, and just tap it against this space where you imagine nothing to be.’ Dubiously, suspecting a trick, and only after instructing the Water Genie to stand well back, Haroun did as he was told. Ding went the Disconnecting Tool as it struck something extremely solid and extremely invisible.

  ‘There she blows,’ cried the Water Genie, grinning widely. ‘The Story Tap: voilà.’

  ‘I still don’t get it,’ Haroun frowned. ‘Where is this Ocean of yours? And how does the Story Water get into this invisible Tap? How does the plumbing work?’ He saw the wicked glint in Iff’s eye and answered his own question with a sigh: ‘Don’t tell me, I know. By a Process Too Complicated To Explain.’

  ‘Bull’s-eye,’ said the Water Genie. ‘Got it in one, ten out often, spot on.’

  Now Haroun Khalifa made a decision that would prove to be the most important decision of his life. ‘Mr Iff,’ he said politely but firmly, ‘you must take me to Gup City to see the Walrus, so that I can get this stupid blunder about my father’s Water supply reversed before it’s too late.’

  Iff shook his head and spread his arms wide. ‘Impossible,’ he said. ‘No can do, it’s off the menu, don’t even dream about it. Access to Gup City in Kahani, by the shores of the Ocean of the Streams of Story, is strictly restricted, completely forbidden, one hundred per cent banned, except to accredited personnel; like, for instance, me. But you? No chance, not in a million years, no way, José.’

  ‘In which case,’ Haroun said sweetly, ‘you’ll just have to go back without this’—and here he waved the Disconnecting Tool in the blue-beard’s face—‘and see how They like that.’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘Okay,’ said the Water Genie. ‘You’ve got me bang to rights, it’s a done deal. Let’s make tracks, scram, vamoose. I mean: if we’re going, let’s go.’

  Haroun’s heart sank rapidly towards his toes. ‘You mean,’ he stammered, ‘now?’

  ‘Now,’ said Iff. Haroun took a slow, deep breath.

  ‘All right, then,’ he said. ‘Now.’

  Chapter 4

  An Iff and a Butt

  ‘So pick a bird,’ the Water Genie commanded. ‘Any bird.’ This was puzzling. ‘The only bird around here is a wooden peacock,’ Haroun pointed out, reasonably enough. Iff gave a snort of disgust. ‘A person may choose what he cannot see,’ he said, as if explaining something very obvious to a very foolish individual. ‘A person may mention a bird’s name even if the creature is not present and correct: crow, quail, hummingbird, bulbul, mynah, parrot, kite. A person may even select a flying creature of his own invention, for example winged horse, flying turtle, airborne whale, space serpent, aeromouse. To give a thing a name, a label, a handle; to rescue it from anonymity, to pluck it out of the Place of Namelessness, in short to identify it—well, that’s a way of bringing the said thing into being. Or, in this case, the said bird or Imaginary Flying Organism.’

  ‘That may be true where you come from,’ Haroun argued. ‘But in these parts stricter rules apply.’

  ‘In these parts,’ rejoined blue-bearded Iff, ‘I am having my time wasted by a Disconnector Thief who will not trust in what he can’t see. How much have you seen, eh, Thieflet? Africa, have you seen it? No? Then is it truly there? And submarines? Huh? Also hailstones, baseballs, pagodas? Goldmines? Kangaroos, Mount Fujiyama, the North Pole? And the past, did it happen? And the future, will it come? Believe in your own eyes and you’ll get into a lot of trouble, hot water, a mess.’

  With that he plunged his hand into a pocket of his auberginey pajamas, and when he brought it forth again it was bunched into a fist. ‘So take a look, or I should say a gander, at the enclosed.’ He opened his hand; and Haroun’s yes almost fell out of his head.

  Tiny birds were walking about on the Water Genie’s palm; and pecking at it; and flapping their miniature wings to hover just above it. And as well as birds there were fabulous winged creatures out of legends: an Assyrian lion with the head of a bearded man and a pair of large hairy wings growing out of its flanks; and winged monkeys, flying saucers, tiny angels, levitating (and apparently air-breathing) fish. ‘What’s your pleasure, select, choose,’ Iff urged. And although it seemed obvious to Haroun that these magical creatures were so small that
they couldn’t possibly have carried so much as a bitten-off fingernail, he decided not to argue and pointed at a tiny crested bird that was giving him a sidelong look through one highly intelligent eye.

  ‘So i’s the Hoopoe for us,’ the Water Genie said, sounding almost impressed. ‘Perhaps you know, Disconnector Thief, that in the old stories the Hoopoe is the bird that leads all other birds through many dangerous places to their ultimate goal. Well, well. Who knows, young Thieflet, who you may turn out to be. But no time for speculation now,’ he concluded, and with that rushed to the window and hurled the tiny Hoopoe out into the night.

  ‘What did you do that for?’ hissed Haroun, not wishing to wake his father; at which Iff gave his wicked grin. ‘A foolish notion,’ he said innocently. ‘A fancy, a passing whim. Certainly not because I know more about such matters than you, dear me, no.’

  Haroun ran to the window, and saw the Hoopoe floating on the Dull Lake, grown large, as large as a double bed, easily large enough for a Water Genie and a boy to ride upon its back.

  ‘And off we go,’ carolled Iff, much too loud for Haroun’s liking; and then the Water Genie skipped up on to the window sill and thence to the Hoopoe’s back—and Haroun, with scarcely a moment to reflect on the wisdom of what he was doing, and still wearing his long red nightshirt with the purple patches, and clutching the Disconnecting Tool firmly in his left hand, followed. As he settled down behind the Water Genie, the Hoopoe turned its head to inspect him with a critical but (Haroun hoped) friendly eye.

  Then they took off and flew rapidly into the sky.

  The force of their acceleration pushed Haroun deep into the comfortable, thick and somehow hairy feathers on the Hoopoe’s back, feathers that seemed to gather around Haroun to protect him during the flight. He took a few moments to digest the large number of amazing things that had taken place in quick time.

  Soon they were travelling so quickly that the Earth below them and the sky above both dissolved into a blur, which gave Haroun the feeling that they weren’t moving at all, but simply floating in that impossible, blurry space. ‘When the Mail Coach Driver, Butt, was rocketing up the Mountains of M, I had this same sense of floating,’ he recalled. ‘Come to think of it, this Hoopoe with its crest of feathers reminds me quite a bit of old Butt with his quiff of hair standing straight up on his head! —And if Butt’s whiskers were somehow feathery, then this Hoopoe’s feathers—as I noticed the moment we took off—have a distinctly hairy feel.’

  Their speed increased again, and Haroun shouted into Iff’s ear: ‘No bird could fly so fast. Is this a machine?’

  The Hoopoe fixed him with its glittering eye. ‘You maybe have some objection to machines?’ it inquired, in a loud, booming voice that was identical in every respect to the Mail Coach Driver’s. And at once it went on: ‘But but but you have entrusted your life to me. Then am I not worthy of a little of your respect? Machines also have their sense of self-esteem. —No need to gawp like that, young sir, I can’t help it if I remind you of someone; at least, being a driver, he’s a fellow who feels fond of a good, fast travel machine.’

  ‘You can read my mind,’ Haroun said, somewhat accusingly, because it wasn’t entirely a pleasant feeling to have one’s private ruminations bugged by a mechanical bird. ‘But but but certainly,’ answered the Hoopoe. ‘Also I am communicating with you telepathically, because as you may observe I am not moving my beak, which must maintain its present configuration for aerodynamic reasons.’

  ‘How are you doing that?’ demanded Haroun, and back came the inevitable answer, quick as a flash of thought: ‘By a P2C2E. A Process Too Complicated To Explain.’

  ‘I give up,’ said Haroun. ‘Anyhow, do you have a name?’

  ‘Whatever name you please,’ replied the bird. ‘Might I suggest, for obvious reasons, “Butt”?’

  So it was that Haroun Khalifa the storyteller’s son soared into the night sky on the back of Butt the Hoopoe with Iff the Water Genie as his guide. The sun rose; and after a time Haroun spotted something in the distance, a heavenly body like a large asteroid. ‘That is Kahani, the Earth’s second Moon,’ said Butt the Hoopoe without moving its beak.

  ‘But but but,’ Haroun stammered (much to the Hoopoe’s amusement), ‘surely the Earth has just the one Moon? How could a second satellite have remained undiscovered for so long?’

  ‘But but but it is because of Speed,’ Butt the Hoopoe responded. ‘Speed, most Necessary of Qualities! In any Emergency—fire, auto, marine—what is required above all things? Of course, Speed: of fire truck, ambulance, rescue ship. —And what do we prize in a brainy fellow? —Is it not his Quickness of Thought? —And in any sport, Speed (of foot, hand, eye) is of the Essence! —And what humans cannot do quickly enough, they build machines to do faster. —Speed, super Speed! If not for the Speed of Light, the universe would be dark and cold. —But if Speed brings light to reveal, it can also be used to conceal. The Moon, Kahani, travels so fast—wonder of wonders!—that no Earth instruments can detect it; also its orbit varies by one degree per circuit, so that in three hundred and sixty orbits it has overflown every spot upon the Earth. Variety of Behaviour assists in Evasion of Detection. But also, there are serious purposes for the variation of orbit: Story Water facilities must be provided across the entire planet with an even hand. Voom! Varoom! Only at High Speed may this be done. You appreciate the further bonuses of Machines?’

  ‘Then is the Moon, Kahani, driven by mechanical means?’ Haroun asked, but Butt had turned its attention to practical matters. ‘Moon approaching,’ it said without moving its beak. ‘Relative speed synchronized. Landing procedures initiated. Splashdown in thirty seconds, twenty-nine, twenty-eight.’

  Rushing up towards them was a sparkling and seemingly infinite expanse of water. The surface of Kahani appeared—as far as Haroun’s eye could see—to be entirely liquid. And what water it was! It shone with colours everywhere, colours in a brilliant riot, colours such as Haroun could never have imagined. And it was evidently a warm ocean; Haroun could see steam rising off it, steam that glowed in the sunlight. He caught his breath.

  ‘The Ocean of the Streams of Story,’ said Iff the Water Genie, his blue whiskers bristling with pride. ‘Wasn’t it worth travelling so far and fast to see?’

  ‘Three,’ said Butt the Hoopoe without moving its beak. ‘Two, one, zero.’

  ~ ~ ~

  Water, water everywhere; nor any trace of land … ‘It’s a trick,’ cried Haroun. ‘There’s no Gup City here, unless I’m much mistaken. And no Gup City equals no P2C2E House, no Walrus, no point in being here at all.’

  ‘Hold your horses,’ said the Water Genie. ‘Cool down, don’t blow your top, keep your hair on. Explanations are in order, and are forthcoming, if you will only permit.’

  ‘But this is the Middle of Nowhere,’ Haroun went on. ‘What do you expect me to do out here?’

  ‘To be precise, this is the Deep North of Kahani,’ the Water Genie replied. ‘And what is available to us here is a short cut, avoidance of bureaucratic procedures, a means of cutting the red tape. Also, if I must truthfully admit, a means of solving our little difficulty without admitting to Guppee authorities my little mistake, my loss of Disconnecting Tool and subsequent blackmail by its Pincher. We are here in search of Wishwater.’

  ‘Look for patches of the Ocean that shine with extra brightness,’ Butt the Hoopoe added. ‘That’s Wishwater; use it properly and it can make your desires come true.’

  ‘So persons in Gup need never be directly involved,’ Iff went on. ‘When your Wish is granted, you can return the Tool, and home you go to bed, and end of saga. Okay?’

  ‘Oh, very well,’ Haroun agreed somewhat doubtfully, and, it should be said, with a little regret, because he had been looking forward to seeing Gup City and learning more about the mysterious Processes Too Complicated To Explain.

  ‘Tip-top type,’ cried Iff in great relief. ‘Good sport, prince among men, popular choice. —And hey presto! Wishwater ahoy!’<
br />
  Butt paddled carefully towards the patch of brightness at which Iff was eagerly pointing, and came to a halt by its edge. The Wishwater gave off so dazzling a light that Haroun had to avert his gaze. —Now Iff the Water Genie reached inside his little gold-embroidered waistcoat and pulled out a small bottle made of many-faceted crystal, with a little golden cap. Swiftly unscrewing the cap, he drew the bottle through the bright water (whose glow was golden, too); and, fastening the lid once more, he passed the bottle carefully to Haroun. ‘On your marks, be prepared, here goes,’ he said. ‘This is what you must do.’

  This was the secret of the Wishwater: the harder you wished, the better it worked. ‘So it’s up to you,’ Iff said. ‘No fooling around, get down to it good and proper, do serious business, and the Wishwater will do serious business for you. And bingo! Your heart’s desire will be as good as yours.’

  Haroun sat astride Butt the Hoopoe and stared at the bottle in his hand. Just one sip, and he could regain for his father the lost Gift of the Gab! ‘Down the hatch,’ he cried courageously; unscrewed the cap; and took a goodly gulp.

  Now the golden glow was all around him, and inside him, too; and everything was very, very still, as if the entire cosmos were waiting upon his commands. He began to focus his thoughts …

  He couldn’t do it. If he tried to concentrate on his father’s lost storytelling powers and his cancelled Story Water subscription, then the image of his mother insisted on taking over, and he began to wish for her return instead, for everything to be as it had been before … and then his father’s face returned, pleading with him, just do this one thing for me, my boy, just this one little thing; and then it was his mother again, and he didn’t know what to think, what to wish—until with a jangling noise like the breaking of a thousand and one violin strings, the golden glow disappeared and he was back with Iff and the Hoopoe on the surface of the Sea of Stories.

  ‘Eleven minutes,’ said the Water Genie contemptuously. ‘Just eleven minutes and his concentration goes, ka-bam, ka-blooey, ka-put.’