"Luka and the Fire of Life" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rushdie Salman)

5 The Path to the Three Fiery Doughnuts

If you have not yet flown on a magic carpet, you probably don’t know about the seasickness. A flying carpet makes a slow, rolling, wavelike movement as it passes through the air, not exactly as if it’s floating on airwaves, but more as if the carpet itself has become a kind of silken air that can bear you aloft and take you wherever you want to go. It’s sad, but true, that your stomach may find this kind of travel disagreeable, at least for a while. And if you have never flown on a flying carpet accompanied by a nervous talking bear, an even more nervous talking dog, and an Elephant Duck and an Elephant Drake making the first flight of their otherwise flightless lives, to say nothing of a supernatural being who looks, acts and talks like your own father, as well as an ancient Queen who looks, acts and talks like a seventeen-year-old girl, and, in addition, a large amphibian boat tank named Argo, then you will just have to imagine the confusion that reigned aboard the green-and-gold Resham as it took off to begin its journey towards the Mists of Time. The flying carpet had grown considerably in size to accommodate all its passengers and cargo, and this exaggerated the waviness of the flight.

It was, it has to be said, a chaotic and noisy scene. There was a moaning and a howling and a groaning and a growling, and that honking sound elephants (and ducks) make when they are in distress. Dog the bear kept saying that if bears had been meant to fly they would have grown wings, and he mentioned, too, that when bears sat on carpets it made them think of bearskin rugs, but mainly it was the flying thing that was the problem; and Bear the dog was babbling anxiously and without stopping as he rolled around the rug, and his monologue went something like this: I’m going to fall off, aren’t I? I am, don’t let me fall, am I going to fall off? I am, I can tell, I’m going to fall off, any second now, I’ll fall; even though in fact the carpet carefully curved itself upwards whenever any of the travellers lurched too close to an edge, and deposited them safely back at, or near, the centre.

As for the Elephant Birds, they kept asking each other why they were there at all. In the excitement of the departure from the Respectorate, they had somehow been swept aboard along with the Argo, but they couldn’t remember being asked if they would actually like to come. ‘And if we can’t remember it, it didn’t happen,’ said the Elephant Drake. They felt kidnapped, shanghaied, dragged along on an adventure that had nothing to do with them and was very probably extremely dangerous, and yes, they thought they might fall off the rug as well.

Of course the Insultana Soraya abused the lot of them roundly, as it was in her nature to do, calling them babies and girls and boobies and not-ducks-but-geese; she told them they were scaredy-cats and namby-pambies, sissies and yellow-bellies, milksops and Milquetoasts and candy-asses (a term with which Luka was not familiar, though he thought he could probably work out what it meant). She made chicken noises at them to call them cowards, and the worst part of all was when she squeaked at them contemptuously, which meant she was calling them mice.

Nobodaddy, naturally, handled the flying-carpet ride effortlessly, and stood coolly and with perfect assurance beside the Insultana, and that made Luka determined to find his ‘carpet legs’ as soon as possible. After a while he did, and stopped falling over; and after a further while the four animals found their twelve legs as well, and then, at last, the moaning and groaning stopped and things settled down, and nobody had actually been sick.

Once he could stand up and keep his balance on the flying carpet, Luka noticed that he was getting extremely cold. The carpet was beginning to fly higher and faster, and his teeth were beginning to chatter. The Insultana Soraya did not seem to be affected by the cold, even though she was wearing floaty garments that appeared to be constructed out of cobwebs and butterflies’ wings, and neither did Nobodaddy, who stood beside her in Rashid Khalifa’s short-sleeved vermilion bush shirt, looking quite unconcerned. Dog the bear seemed fine under all that hair, and the Elephant Drake and Duck had their downy feathers to keep them warm, but Bear the dog looked shivery and Luka was getting very cold indeed. ‘Who would have thought,’ Luka mused, ‘that this business of flying through the air would present so many practical problems?’ Inevitably the Insultana called him a whole set of new names when she saw that he was freezing to death. ‘I suppose,’ she said, ‘that you expected this flying carpet to have central heating and whatnot. But this, my dear, is no modern softie’s suburban deep-shag-pile rug. This, I’ll have you know, is an antique.’

When Soraya had finished teasing Luka, however, she clapped her hands, and at once an old oak chest – which Luka had not noticed until that moment, but which had apparently been aboard the flying carpet the whole time – sprang open, and out flew two seemingly flimsy shawls. One shawl flew into Luka’s hands and the other wrapped itself around Bear. When Luka put the shawl around him he immediately began to feel as if he had been transported to somewhere in the tropics – almost too warm, almost as if he would prefer it to be a little cooler. ‘Some people are never satisfied,’ said the Insultana, reading his mind, and she turned away from him to hide her affectionate grin.

Now that he was warm as well as balanced, Luka was able to take in the wonderful sight that lay before him. The flying carpet was following the course of the River of Time. The World of Magic lay spread out on both banks of the River, and Luka, the storyteller’s son, began to recognise all the places he knew so well from his father’s tales. The landscape was dotted with cities, and with a rising excitement and a pounding heart Luka recognised them all, Khwáb, the City of Dreams, and Umeed Nagar, the City of Hope, and Zamurrad, the Emerald City, and Baadal-Garh, the Fortress City built upon a Cloud. In the distance to the east, rising up against the horizon, were the blue hills of the Land of Lost Childhood, and in the west lay the Undiscovered Country, and there – over there – was the Place Where Nobody Lived. Luka recognised with a thrill the crazy architecture of the House of Games and the Hall of Mirrors, and beside them the gardens of Paradise, Gulistan and Bostan, and, most exciting of all, the large Country of Imaginary Beings, Peristan, in which the peris, or fairies, endlessly did battle with malevolent ogres known as devs or bhoots. ‘I wish I wasn’t in such a hurry,’ Luka thought, because this was the world he had always thought of as being even better than his own, the world he had drawn and painted all his life.

He also saw, now that he was aloft and could take it all in, the enormous size of the Magic World, and the colossal length of the River of Time; and he understood that he would never have been able to get where he needed to go if he had had to rely on the Memory of the Elephant Birds for fuel, and their pulling power for speed. But now the Flying Carpet of King Solomon was carrying him at a great rate towards his goal, and even though he knew there would be dangers ahead he entered a state of high excitement, because, thanks to the Insultana of Ott, the impossible had just become a little more possible. And then he saw the Mists of Time.

At first they were no more than a white, cloudy mass on the horizon, but their true immensity became apparent as the carpet hurtled towards them. They stretched from horizon to horizon like a soft wall across the world, flowing across the River’s course and swallowing it up, engulfing the enchanted landscape and gobbling the sky. Any moment now they would fill Luka’s entire field of vision, and then there would be no Magic World left, only these clammy Mists. Luka felt the optimism and excitement drain out of him and a cold, bad feeling crept into the pit of his stomach. He felt Soraya’s hand on his shoulder, but did not feel reassured.

‘We have reached the Limits of Memory,’ Nobodaddy announced. ‘This is as far as your hybrid, surf-and-turf friends here would have been able to bring you.’ The Elephant Birds were most displeased. ‘We are not accustomed,’ said the Elephant Duck with immense dignity, ‘to being described as menu items.’ (That had been the true Nobodaddy speaking, Luka realised, the creature he didn’t like, and indeed had every reason not to like. His own father would never have said such a thing.) ‘Also,’ said the Elephant Drake, ‘may we remind you of the old cautionary saying regarding what you should do when you reach the Limits of even an elephantine Memory?’

‘What should you do?’ Luka asked.

‘Duck,’ said the Elephant Duck.

No sooner had she spoken than a fusillade of missiles came flying out of the Mists of Time, and the carpet had to take swift evasive action, diving and climbing and swerving to right and left. (The animals and Luka lost their balance again, and once more there was much rolling about and many noisy ursine, canine and duck-elephantine protests.) The missiles seemed to be made out of the same substance as the Mists themselves: they were white Mistballs the size of large cannonballs. ‘Can they really hurt us that much if they’re made out of fog?’ Luka asked. ‘What happens if one of them hits you?’ Nobodaddy shook his head. ‘Don’t underestimate the Weapons of Time,’ he said. ‘If a Mistball struck you, your entire memory would immediately be erased. You would not remember your life, or your language, or even who you were. You would become an empty shell, good for nothing, finished.’ That silenced Luka. If that was what a Mistball could do, he was thinking, what would happen when they plunged into the Mists of Time themselves? They wouldn’t stand a chance. He must have been crazy to think he could penetrate all the defences of the Magic World and reach the Heart of Time itself. He was just a boy, and the job he had given himself was far beyond his capabilities. If he went on, it would mean not only his own destruction but the ruin of his friends. He couldn’t do it; but, on the other hand, he couldn’t stop, because to stop would be to give up hope for his father, however slim that hope might be.

‘Don’t worry so much,’ Soraya of Ott said, interrupting his anguished thoughts. ‘You are not defenceless here. Have some faith in the great Flying Carpet of King Solomon the Wise.’

Luka’s spirits lifted a little, but only a little. ‘Does somebody know we are coming?’ he wondered. ‘Mustn’t that be why the missiles were fired?’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Nobodaddy. ‘I believe we may have triggered an automatic defence system by coming so close to the Mists of Time. We are about to break the Rules of History, after all, young Luka. When we enter the Mists we will leave behind the world of Living Memory and move towards Eternity; that is,’ he went on, seeing from the confusion on Luka’s face that he needed to be clearer, ‘towards the secret zone, where clocks do not tick, and Time stands still. Not one of us is supposed to be there. Let me put it like this. When a bug of some sort enters your system, when it starts moving around your body and making you feel unwell, your body dispatches Antibodies to fight it until it’s destroyed, and you start feeling better. In this case, I’m afraid, we are the bugs, and so we must expect… opposition.’

When Luka was just six years old he had seen pictures of the planet Jupiter on television, pictures beamed back to Earth by a tiny, unmanned space probe that was actually falling slowly towards the surface of that great gas giant of a planet. Every day the probe got closer and the planet loomed larger and larger. The pictures clearly showed the slow movement of the gases of Jupiter, the way they created layers of colour and movement, arranging themselves in stripes and swirls, and, of course, forming the two famous Spots, the huge one and the smaller one. In the end the probe was pulled down by the planet’s gravitational force and disappeared for ever, with what Luka imagined to be a soft gloop, a slow sucking sound, and after that there were no more pictures of Jupiter on television. As the flying carpet Resham approached the Mists of Time, Luka could see that their surface, too, was full of movement, just like Jupiter’s. The Mists, too, flowed and swirled and were full of intricate patterns, and there were colours there, too – as Luka got closer and closer he could see the whiteness breaking up into many subtly graded hues. ‘We are the probe,’ he thought, ‘a manned probe, not an unmanned one, but any second now there will probably be a gloop, and that will be that. End of transmission.’

The Mists were upon him, all-encompassing and blinding, and then, with no sort of a sound at all, the flying carpet had entered the whiteness, but the Mists of Time touched none of them, because the carpet, too, possessed defence mechanisms, and had put up some sort of invisible shield around itself, a force field that was plainly strong enough to keep the Mists at bay. Safe in this little bubble, just as Soraya had promised they would be – have faith in the carpet, she had said – the travellers began the Crossing.

‘Oh, goodness,’ cried the Elephant Duck, ‘we are going into Oblivion. What an awful thing to ask a Memory Bird to do.’

It was like being blind, Luka thought, except maybe blindness was full of colours and shapes, of brightnesses and darknesses and dots and flashes, which, after all, was how things looked behind his eyelids whenever he closed his eyes. He knew that deafness could fill up your ears with static and all sorts of buzzing, ringing sounds, so perhaps blindness filled up your eyes in the same useless way. This blindness was different, though; it felt, well, absolute. He remembered Nobodaddy asking him, ‘What was there before the Bang?’ and realised that this whiteness, this absence of everything, might be the answer. You couldn’t even call it a place. It was what there was when there wasn’t a place to be in. Now he knew what people meant when they talked about things being lost in the Mists of Time. When people said that it was just a figure of speech, but these Mists were not just words. They were what there was before there were any words at all.

The whiteness wasn’t the same as blankness, though; it moved, it was active, stirring round and round the carpet, like a broth made out of nothing. Nothing Soup. The carpet was flying as fast as it could, and that was very, very fast, but it seemed to be motionless. In the bubble there was no wind, and around the bubble there was nothing to look at that might give you the feeling of movement. It would probably have felt the same, Luka thought, if the carpet had stopped dead in the middle of the Mists, so that they were marooned there for ever. And the moment he thought that, that was how it began to feel. They weren’t moving at all. Here in this time before Time they were adrift, forgotten, lost. What was it the Elephant Duck had called this place? Oblivion. The place of total forgetting, of nothingness, of not-being. Limbo, religious people used to say. The place between Heaven and Hell.

Luka felt alone. He wasn’t alone, obviously, everyone was still there, but he felt horribly lonely. He wanted his mother, he missed his brother, he wished his father hadn’t fallen Asleep. He wanted his room, his friends, his street, his neighbourhood, his school. He wanted his life to go back to being the way it had always been. The Mists of Time curled around the carpet and he began to imagine fingers in the whiteness, long tendril-like fingers clutching at him, trying to grab him and wipe him clean. Alone in the Mists of Time (even though not actually alone) he began to wonder what on earth he had done. He had broken the first rule of childhood – don’t talk to strangers – and had actually allowed a stranger to take him away from safety into the least safe place he had ever seen in his life. So he was a fool and would probably pay for his folly. And who was this stranger, anyway? He said he had not been sent but summoned. As if a dying man – and, yes, there in the Mists of Time Luka was at last able to say that word, if only to himself in the privacy of his thoughts – as if his dying father would summon his own death. He wasn’t sure whether he believed that or not. How stupid was it to go off into the blue – into the white – with a person – a creature! – you didn’t entirely believe or wholly trust? Luka had always been thought of as a sensible boy, but he had just disproved that theory, big time. He was the least sensible boy he knew.

He looked across at his dog and his bear. Neither of them spoke, but he could see in their eyes that they, too, were in the grip of a deep loneliness. The stories they had told when they acquired the power of speech, the stories of their lives, seemed to be slipping away from them. Perhaps they had never been those people, perhaps those were just dreams they had had, banal dreams of being noblemen; didn’t everyone dream of being a prince? The truth of those stories slipped away from them, here in the white, white void, and they were just animals again, and going towards an uncertain doom.

Then at last there was a change. The whiteness thinned out. It was no longer everything and everywhere, but more like thick clouds in the sky as an airplane rushes through them, and there was something up ahead – yes! an opening – and here again was the forgotten sensation of speed, the feeling of the carpet going like a rocket towards the light, which was close now, and closer still, and finally whoooosssshhhh out they came into the light of a bright, sunny day. Everybody aboard the Resham was cheering loudly in their various fashions, and Luka, touching his cheeks, realised to his surprise that they were wet with tears. He heard a now-familiar ding, and the counter in the top right-hand corner of his field of vision climbed to 3. In all the excitement he hadn’t even seen the saving point, so how? ‘You weren’t looking,’ said Soraya. ‘That’s okay. I saved it for you.’

He looked down and saw the Great Stagnation. On this side of the Mists of Time, the River had expanded into a gigantic Swamp, which spread in every direction, as far as the eye could see. ‘It looks beautiful,’ he said. ‘It is beautiful,’ Soraya replied, ‘if beauty is what you’re looking for. Down there you’ll find rare alligators and giant woodpeckers and scented cypress trees and carnivorous sundew plants. But you will also lose your way, and indeed yourself, for it is in the nature of the Great Stagnation to capture all who stray into it by inducing a sleepy laziness, a desire to remain there for ever, to ignore your true purpose and your old life and simply lie down under a tree and rest. The perfumes of the Stagnation are exceptional, too, but they are by no means innocent. Breathe in that beauty and you’ll smile contentedly and lie back on a tussock of grass… and be the captive of the Swamp for good.’

‘Thank goodness for you and your flying carpet,’ said Luka gratefully. ‘Meeting you was the luckiest day of my life.’

‘Or the unluckiest,’ said Soraya of Ott. ‘Because all I can do is bring you closer and closer to the greatest dangers you will ever face.’

That was a pleasant thought.

‘Don’t be tricked,’ the Insultana added, ‘by the golden Save button. There it is, right at the edge of the Stagnation, but if we go down there to punch it, we’ll breathe that goodnight scent and fall asleep and that will be the end of us. It’s not necessary, anyway. When we save at the end of the Forking Paths, it will automatically save the earlier levels.’

The idea of skipping the saving points made Luka nervous, because if for some reason he lost a life, would he have to cross the Great Stagnation all over again? ‘Don’t worry about that,’ Soraya said. ‘Worry about this instead.’ She was pointing straight ahead. In the distance Luka could make out the rim of a low, flat cloud formation that looked like it was spinning slowly round and round. ‘The Inescapable Whirlpool is under that,’ said Soraya. ‘Have you ever heard of El Niño?’ Luka frowned. ‘It’s that warm spot in the ocean, right?’ The Insultana of Ott looked impressed. ‘The Pacific Ocean,’ she said. ‘It’s enormous, as big as Amreeka, and it shows up every seven or eight years and plays havoc with the weather.’ Luka knew that, or he remembered it when she said it, anyway. ‘What does that have to do with us?’ he asked. ‘We’re nowhere near the Pacific Ocean.’ Soraya pointed again. ‘That,’ she said, ‘is El Tiempo. It’s also as big as Amreeka, it also shows up every seven or eight years, right above the Whirlpool, and when it does, it does terrible things to Time. If you fall into the Whirlpool, where Time spins round, you’re stuck for ever, but if El Tiempo gets you, things start going a little crazy.’

‘But we’re too high up to be trapped by it, aren’t we?’ Luka anxiously asked.

‘Let’s hope so,’ Queen Soraya replied. Then she called for everyone’s attention. ‘To avoid being caught up in the unpredictable temporal distortions of the El Tiempo phenomenon,’ she announced, ‘I will reduce the carpet to the smallest size that can carry us all, and the Argo also, of course, large as she is. I will also be taking the carpet to its maximum height and will reactivate the shields to keep you all warm and to make sure there is air to breathe.’ This was serious. Everyone gathered at the centre of the rug and the edges closed in around them. The force field came on, and Soraya added, ‘I should tell you that this is the last time I will be able to use the shield, or else it will not have enough power left to get us back again.’ Luka wanted to ask her where the carpet’s power source was and how it was recharged, but judging by the expression on her face this was not the right time for inquisitive questions. Her eyes stayed fixed on the approaching El Tiempo, with the Inescapable Whirlpool below. And now the carpet began to rise.

The Kármán Line, the edge of the Earth’s atmosphere, is – to put it simply – the line above which there isn’t enough air to support a flying carpet. That is the true frontier of our world, beyond which lies outer space, and it’s roughly sixty-two miles, or one hundred kilometres, above sea level. This was one of those useless facts that had become stuck in Luka’s memory on account of his great interest in intergalactic fiction, video games and science-fiction movies, and, goodness, he thought, it turned out not to be so useless after all, because that appeared to be where they were going. Up and up went the Resham, and the sky turned black and the stars began to shine, and even though they were protected by the carpet’s force field they all felt the chill of Infinity, and the bleak emptiness of space suddenly didn’t seem exciting at all.

Far, far below them as they climbed – perhaps forty miles below them already – swirled the Inescapable Whirlpool, creating loops in Time, and above it the treacherous El Tiempo; but even though they were as far from danger as it was possible to be, they were still in double trouble, because far, far below them as they climbed – perhaps forty miles below them already – swirled the Inescapable Whirlpool, creating loops in Time, and above it the treacherous El Tiempo; but even though they were as far from danger as it was possible to be, they were still in double trouble, because far, far below them as they climbed – perhaps forty miles below them already – swirled the Inescapable Whirlpool, creating loops in Time, and above it the treacherous El Tiempo; but even though they were as far from danger as it was possible to be, they were still in double trouble, because far, far below them – perhaps forty miles below them already – swirled the Inescapable Whirlpool, creating loops in Time, and above it the treacherous El Tiempo; but even though they were as far from danger as it was possible to be, they were still in double trouble, because far, far below them as they climbed – and here the carpet broke out of the temporal whirlpool with a jerk that sent even Nobodaddy flying.

Only Soraya remained upright. ‘That’s one problem dealt with,’ she said, but she didn’t look seventeen any more, Luka realised, she looked maybe one hundred and seventeen, one thousand and seventeen years old, while he himself seemed to be getting younger by the minute, and Bear the dog was a puppy while Dog the bear looked rickety and frail. Even Nobodaddy had grown a white beard that reached down to his knees. If this went on much longer, Luka realised, they could forget about the Fire of Life, because El Tiempo would defeat them right here and now – whenever now was in this zone of messed-up years.

Once again, however, the Carpet of King Solomon proved equal to the task. Further and further it climbed, higher and higher, straining against the pull of the temporal traps below. And after a long, worrying time the moment came, the moment for which Luka had almost not dared to hope, when the Resham broke free of ElTiempo’s dark, invisible bonds. ‘We’re free,’ Soraya cried, and her face was her beautiful young face once again, and Bear was no longer a puppy, and Dog looked strong and fit. They were at the very zenith of their journey, just below the Kármán Line, and Luka stared with a kind of enchanted terror into the deeps of space, deciding that perhaps he preferred to keep his feet on the ground after all. And in a while the carpet began to descend, and ElTiempo and the Whirlpool were behind them. There had been no way to reach the saving point, wherever it might have been. So the risks were growing. If for any reason Luka failed to punch the golden button at the end of the next level he would be condemned to defeat this one all over again, and without the benefit of the carpet’s shields he would not stand a chance. But there was no time for such defeatist thinking. The Trillion and One Forking Paths lay ahead.

They were approaching the upper reaches of the River of Time. The wide, lazy lower River was far behind them, and so was the treacherous middle. As they got closer to the River’s source in the Lake of Wisdom, the River’s flow should have dwindled, making it an ever narrower stream. And no doubt it had; but now there were numberless other streams all around it, streams flowing in and out of one another, looking from above like the myriad strands of an intricate, liquid tapestry. Which one was the River of Life? ‘They all look the same to me,’ Luka confessed. And Soraya had a confession of her own. ‘This is the level I’m least certain about,’ she said, a little shamefacedly. ‘But don’t worry! I’ll get you there! That’s an Otter promise!’ Luka was horrified. ‘You mean, when you said you could help me skip four levels, you weren’t sure about the last one? And we haven’t even saved our progress, so if you get this wrong we’ll be done for, we’ll have to do the last two all over again…?’ The Insultana was not accustomed to criticism, and her face coloured brightly; and she and Luka might have had quite a quarrel right then and there, if there hadn’t been loud harrumphing noises to distract them. But harrumphing noises there were, and they turned crossly away from each other to see what was going on.

‘Excuse me,’ harrumphed the Elephant Duck, ‘but aren’t you ignoring something important?’

‘Or someone,’ said the Elephant Drake. ‘Two someones, in fact.’

‘Us,’ the Elephant Duck clarified.

‘Who are we?’ the Elephant Drake wanted to know. ‘Are we living-room ornaments, or are we, perhaps, the famous Memory Birds of the World of Magic?’

‘Are we surf-and-turf menu items,’ the Elephant Duck went on, with a glare in Nobodaddy’s direction, ‘or have we perhaps spent our whole lives swimming in the River of Time, fishing for Eddies in the River of Time -’

‘- drinking the River of Time, reading the River of Time -’

‘- and, in sum, knowing the River of Time as intimately as if she were our Mother – which, in a way, she is, having nourished us all our lives – knowing it rather better, at any rate, than any Insultana of Ott, a place which isn’t even on the River?’

‘Meaning,’ concluded the Elephant Drake triumphantly, ‘that if we can’t tell the real River from these Trillion Fakes, then, my dears, nobody can.’

‘There you are, then,’ Soraya said to Luka, brazenly taking the credit. ‘I told you everything would be taken care of, and taken care of it is going to be.’

Luka decided not to answer her back. It was her flying carpet, after all.

An elephant’s trunk is an extraordinary organ. It can smell water from miles away. It can actually smell danger, being able to tell whether approaching strangers are friendly or hostile, and it can smell fear, too. And it can detect very particular scents from long distances: the odours of family members and friends, and of course the sweet smell of home. ‘Take us down,’ said the Elephant Drake, and the flying carpet, expanded again to a roomier size, flew down towards the labyrinth of waterways. The two Elephant Birds stood at the front with their trunks lifted high in the air, curving downwards at the tips. Luka watched the tips twitch in unison: left, right and left again. It looked like the trunks were dancing with each other, he thought. But could they really smell out the River of Time when they were surrounded by so many other, and no doubt confusing, watery perfumes?

While the Elephant Birds’ trunks were dancing, their ears, too, were hard at work, standing rigidly out from their heads and listening for the River’s whispers. Water is never silent when it moves. Brooks babble, streams burble, and a larger, slower river has deeper, more complicated things to say. Great rivers speak at low frequencies, too low for human ears to hear, too low even for dogs’ ears to pick up their words; and the River of Time told its tales at the lowest frequencies of all, and only elephants’ ears could listen to its songs. However, the Elephant Birds’ eyes were shut. Elephant eyes are small and dry and don’t see very far at all. Eyesight would be of no use in the search for the River of Time.

Time passed. The flying carpet flew across the Trillion and One Forking Paths in long, side-to-side sweeps. The sun sank in the western sky. Everyone felt hungry and thirsty, until Soraya’s magic oak chest produced an array of snacks and drinks. ‘We’re lucky that the Elephant Birds have bird appetites instead of elephant hungers,’ Luka thought, ‘because elephants eat all the time, and might empty out even that amazing chest.’ The shadows of the afternoon lengthened across the landscape. The Elephant Birds said nothing. Luka felt less and less hopeful as the light failed. Maybe this was how the adventure ended, with all his hopes lost in a maze of water. Maybe this – ‘That way!’ shouted the Elephant Duck, and the Elephant Drake confirmed, ‘Definitely, that way, about three miles away.’

Luka ran to stand between them. Their trunks were stretched straight out in front of them now, pointing the way. The carpet came down low over the Forking Paths and accelerated. Trees, shrubs and rivers passed swiftly by beneath them. Then all at once the Elephant Duck called, ‘Stop!’ and they had arrived.

It was getting dark, and Luka couldn’t see what was so different about this particular river, but he hoped with all his might that the Memory Birds were right. ‘Down,’ said the Elephant Drake. ‘We need to touch it, just to be sure.’ The carpet flew lower and lower until it was hovering just above the water’s surface. The Elephant Duck put the tip of her trunk into the river and then lifted up her head triumphantly. ‘Sure!’ she shouted, and with cries of happiness both Elephant Birds jumped off the flying carpet into the rediscovered River of Time. ‘Home!’ they yelled. ‘No question! This is the place!’ They squirted great jets of River water over each other, and then controlled themselves. The River of Time deserved to be treated with care. It was not a toy. ‘Certain,’ said the Elephant Drake. ‘One hundred per cent.’ He gave a little bow. Bear the dog, who prided himself on his own nose, was impressed and, perhaps, a little ashamed that he had not been the one to find the way. Dog the bear was impressed and embarrassed as well, and grumpily neglected to offer the Memory Birds his congratulations. Nobodaddy seemed lost in thought and didn’t say anything, either. ‘Thank you, ladies, boys, ordinary-nosed animals, and strange supernatural figures who are, to be honest, a little creepy,’ said the Elephant Drake pointedly. ‘Thank you all very much. There is no need to applaud.’

Night in the World of Magic can be livelier than the day, depending on your exact location. In Peristan, the Country of Imaginary Beings, the night is when the ogres, the bhoots, usually creep about trying to abduct sleeping peris. In the City of Dreams, Khwáb, the night is the time when all its inhabitants’ dreams come to life and are acted out in the streets – love affairs, quarrels, monsters, horrors, joys all throng those darkened lanes, and sometimes your dream may, at the night’s end, hop into someone else’s head, and theirs end up, confusingly, surprisingly, in yours. And in Ott, as Soraya was telling Luka, everyone’s behaviour was always naughtiest, wildest and least predictable in the hours between sunset and dawn. Otters ate too much, drank too much, stole their best friends’ cars, insulted their grandmothers, and threw rocks at the bronze face of the First King of Ott, her ancestor, whose equestrian statue stood at the palace gate. ‘We are a badly behaved people, it’s true,’ she sighed, ‘but we are good at heart.’

In the Trillion and One Forking Paths, however, night was eerily quiet. No bats flew across the face of the moon, no silvery elves glimmered behind bushes, no savage gorgons lurked, waiting to turn the unwary traveller to stone. The silence, the empty hush, was almost frightening. No crickets chirruped, no distant voices called across the water, no nocturnal animals prowled. Soraya, seeing that Luka was a little unnerved by the quiet, tried to inject a note of normalcy into the scene. ‘Help me fold this carpet up,’ she commanded, adding, in good Otter fashion, ‘unless you’re too clumsy or ill-mannered, of course.’

They had floated the Argo on the River and boarded her. The Memory Birds wouldn’t need to pull the vessel – the flying carpet Resham could easily do that. But even a magic rug appreciates a few hours’ rest, and Soraya on the deck of the Argo was putting Resham away for the night. Luka took two corners of the soft silken fabric and followed her commands, and saw, to his amazement, that the carpet just went on folding, and folding, and folding as if it were made of folding air. In the end it had folded away into a square no larger or bulkier than a handkerchief, and all its enchanted furnishings had vanished with it. ‘There,’ said Soraya, putting the carpet into a pocket. ‘Thank you, Luka.’ And then, remembering herself, she added, ‘Not that you were really very much use.’

The animals were already asleep. Nobodaddy, who never slept, was behaving as if he was fatigued in a very human sort of way – resting quietly, squatting at the Argo’s prow, with his hands wrapped around his legs and his head resting on his knees, still wearing that panama hat. Luka realised that his father must have staged a small recovery, because Nobodaddy was looking slightly more transparent than he had recently. ‘Perhaps that’s why he’s tired,’ Luka thought. ‘The stronger my father gets, the weaker this Nobodaddy becomes.’

It would be a mistake, Luka knew, to pin too many hopes on this happy reversal. He had heard that ill people sometimes experienced a little misleading ‘improvement’ before sliding downhill to their… to their ends… He was feeling very tired himself, but couldn’t allow himself to sleep. ‘We have to go on,’ he said to Soraya. ‘Why is everyone behaving as if we have time to spare?’

The stars were out overhead, and they were dancing again, the way they had on the night Rashid fell Asleep, and Luka didn’t know if that was a good sign, but he was afraid it might be a bad one. ‘Let’s go,’ he pleaded. But Soraya came towards him and hugged him in a way that wasn’t insulting at all, and a moment later he was fast asleep in her arms.

He woke up early, well before dawn, but he wasn’t the first to open his eyes. The Memory Birds and animals were still asleep, but Nobodaddy was pacing up and down looking worried (was that a good or bad sign? Luka wondered). Soraya was staring towards the far horizon, and if Luka didn’t know she was fearless he would have said she was afraid. He went to stand beside her, and to his surprise she took his hand in her own and held it tightly. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, and she shook her head violently and did not at first reply. Then in a quiet voice she said, ‘I should never have brought you here. This is no place for you.’

Luka answered impatiently, ‘It’s fine. We’re here now. We should get on and find the saving point.’

‘And then what?’ Soraya asked.

‘Then,’ Luka stammered, ‘then, we’ll do whatever comes next.’

‘I told you the carpet can’t pass through the Great Rings of Fire,’ Soraya said. ‘But the Heart of Magic, and everything you’re looking for, lies beyond them. It’s useless. We’re lucky to have got this far. I should take you back.’

‘About these Rings of Fire -’ Luka began.

‘Don’t ask,’ she replied. ‘They are immense and impassable, that’s all. The Grandmaster makes sure of that.’

‘And when you say the Grandmaster -’

‘It’s just impossible,’ she burst out, and there were actual tears in her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. It can’t be done.’

Nobodaddy had been quiet for a long time, but now he intervened. ‘If that is so,’ he said, ‘the boy probably needs to find it out for himself. And besides, he still has six hundred and fifteen lives to spare, plus one more that he will obviously need to hold on to. And so do his dog and his bear.’

Soraya opened her mouth to argue, but Luka began to bustle about the Argo. ‘Wake up! Wake up!’ he shouted, and the animals grudgingly did as he asked. He turned to Soraya and said firmly, ‘To the saving point. Please.’

She nodded her head in surrender. ‘Have it your own way,’ she said, and took the flying carpet out of her pocket.

There were steel rings at each corner of the carpet, Luka now realised (but had they been there the night before, when Resham was being folded up?), and the Argo was now attached to these rings by ropes. The Elephant Duck and Elephant Drake took it in turns to sit on the carpet and guide it through the labyrinth of decoy waterways along the true River of Time. And even though the carpet flew swiftly, it was a long journey, and Luka was relieved when he finally saw the golden ball of the saving point up ahead, bobbing up and down like a small buoy. In recognition of the Memory Birds’ role as guides, he asked them to punch the ball, and the Elephant Duck jumped into the River and butted the golden orb with her head. The number in the top right-hand corner of Luka’s field of vision changed rapidly from 3 to 4, 5 and then 6; but he wasn’t paying attention, because the moment the Elephant Duck hit the saving point, the whole world changed, too.

Everything went dark, but night had not fallen. This was some sort of artificial, black, magic darkness, intended to frighten. Then, right in front of them, there arose out of the darkness an immense fireball, billowing up into the sky with a mighty roar, to form a giant flaming wall. ‘It goes all the way round the Heart of Magic,’ Soraya whispered. ‘You’re just seeing the front of it from here. That’s the first Ring.’ Then there was a second and a third roar, each louder than the one before, and two more gigantic rings of flame appeared, the second ring larger than the first and the third larger than the second, so that they could move up and down around the first one, the three forming an impassable triple barrier, like three immense fiery doughnuts in the sky. The colour of the fire, reddish-orange at first, paled quickly until the rings were almost white. ‘The hottest fire in existence,’ Soraya told Luka. ‘White heat. Now do you understand what I’ve been trying to say?’

Luka understood. If these burning doughnuts encircled the Heart of Magic – the Torrent of Words, the Lake of Wisdom, the Mountain of Knowledge, all of that – then the quest was hopeless. ‘This fire,’ he said, without much hope, ‘the fire the Rings are made of, that isn’t the same fire as the Fire of Life – or is it?’ Nobodaddy shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘This is the ordinary sort of fire, that turns whatever it touches to ash. The Fire of Life is the only flame that creates – that restores instead of destroying.’

Luka was at a loss for words. He stood on the deck of the Argo in the darkness and stared at the sheets of flame. Bear the dog and Dog the bear came to stand in silence on either side of him. And then, without warning, they both began to laugh.

‘Ha! Ha! Ha!’ barked Bear the dog, and fell down and rolled onto his back and waggled his legs in the air. ‘Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!’ And Dog the bear began to dance a jig on the deck, which made the Argo lurch alarmingly from side to side. ‘Ho! Ho!’ he roared. ‘If I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t have believed it. After all that fuss… it’s just this?’

Soraya was bemused, and even Nobodaddy looked perplexed. ‘What on earth are you doing, you foolish beasts?’ demanded the Insultana of Ott.

Bear the dog struggled upright, out of breath on account of having laughed so hard. ‘But look,’ he cried. ‘It’s Fifi, that’s all it is. It’s only a great big supersized Fifi, after all this fuss.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Soraya asked. ‘There’s no woman out there!’

‘Fifi,’ giggled Dog the bear. ‘The Famous Incredible Fire Illusion of Grandmaster Flame. F-I-F-I, Fifi! That was our name for it in the circus. So Captain Aag is behind all this! We should have known.’

‘You know the Grandmaster?’ Soraya actually gasped.

‘Grandmaster, bah!’ answered Bear the dog. ‘He was a phoney in the Real World, and he’s still a phoney here. These fantastic defences you’re so afraid of, they’re no defences at all.’

‘Fifi is an illusion,’ explained Dog the bear. ‘Smoke and mirrors! She’s a magic trick. She isn’t really there at all.’

‘We’ll show you,’ said Bear the dog. ‘We know how she works. Put us ashore and we’ll put a stop to this silliness once and for all.’

Nobodaddy held up a warning hand. ‘Are you sure,’ he asked, ‘that the Captain Aag of your circus days is the same as the Grandmaster Flame of the Magic World? How can you be certain that these Great Rings of Fire aren’t the real thing, even if the circus illusion was a fake?’

‘Look up there,’ Luka said sharply. ‘Where did they appear from?’

Circling in the sky above their heads, horribly illuminated by the giant flames, were seven vultures wearing ruffs around their necks, like European noblemen in old paintings, and also like circus clowns.

That set Bear the dog and Dog the bear off again. ‘Ha! Ha!’ Dog the bear laughed, jumping off the Argo onto the shore. ‘Old Aag’s beaky buddies just spoiled his trick by flying through it!’

‘Ha! Ha!’ agreed Bear the dog. ‘Watch this, everyone!’

Whereupon they both ran directly at the Great Rings of Fire, and disappeared into the blaze.

Soraya shrieked, and Luka covered his mouth with his hands; and then in a flash the Rings vanished, the light changed, Bear and Dog came running back, the counter in the top right-hand corner of Luka’s field of vision dinged up to 7, and the Heart of Magic lay revealed, lit up by the Dawn of Days.

The Heart of Magic – and also Captain Aag, astride a fire-breathing dragon.