Luka and the Fire of Life

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.

6

Into the Heart of Magic

‘Is this an illusion, too?’ Luka boldly asked Captain Aag. ‘Is this another of your pesky magic tricks?’ Captain Aag gave what might have been intended as a laugh but came out as a sort of snarl. ‘Security,’ he said, ‘is not an Illusion. Security is the Foundation of any World. Alas! Those of us who labour in the field of Security are often misunderstood, regularly abused, and frequently ignored by those whose safety and values we protect, and yet we struggle on. The Maintenance of Security, young feller-me-lad, is a Thankless Task, I’ll have you know; and yet Security must be Maintained. No, Security is not a Deception. It is a Burden, and it has fallen upon me. Fortunately, I do not work alone; and a loyal Fire Bug’ – here Luka saw the little telltale flame hovering at Aag’s shoulder – ‘who makes haste, overcoming all obstacles and distractions, to bring me word that thieves are on their way, a heroic Fire Bug such as we have here, such a Bug is not the creation of flimflam or prestidigitation. Such a Bug is Virtue’s Child. Nor is the murderous and terrifying Dragon Nuthog the product of any conjuring trick – as you will soon discover.’

He was a man of hair and anger, this Aag, whose henna-tinted locks stood out from his head like wrathful orange serpents; a man, too, of chin hair, whose russet beard stuck out in all directions like the rays of an ill-tempered sun; a man of eyebrows, quarrelsome scarlet bushes which curled upwards and outwards above a pair of glaring black eyes; and a man also of ear hair, long, stiff, crimson strands of ear hair, that corkscrewed outwards from both those fleshy organs of hearing. Blood-red hair sprouted up from Aag’s shirt at the collar and out from his pirate’s greatcoat at the cuffs, and Luka imagined the Captain’s entire body covered in a luxuriant growth, as if that body were a farm and hair its only crop. Soraya, also a flame-haired person, whispered in Luka’s right ear that this Grandmaster’s bushy excessivity of hair might give all redheads a bad name.

The hair was Aag’s anger made visible. Luka could see that from the way it waved around, shaking itself in his direction as if it were a fist. Why was he so angry? Well, there was the little matter of the destruction of his circus by Luka’s curse, that much was obvious; but, in the first place, that circus was now revealed to be a side issue, merely the minor Real World plaything of the Gatekeeper of the Heart of Magic, and, in the second place, that hair had been growing for a long, long time, so Captain Aag had plainly been furious all his life, or, if he was by some chance immortal, then he must have been angry since the beginnings of Time.

‘His original name was Menetius,’ Nobodaddy whispered into Luka’s left ear, ‘and he was once the Titan of Rage, until the King of the Gods lost patience with his crosspatchery, killed him with a thunderbolt, and hurled him into the underworld. Eventually he was allowed to return to this lowly job – he’s no more than a doorman now – so here he is, in a worse mood than ever, I’m sorry to say.’

The seven vultures had arranged themselves in the air above Aag and the dragon, like guests at a banquet, waiting for a feast. Aag, however, was for a moment in a playful mood. ‘In other places, such as the Real World,’ he said from the dragon’s back, almost as if he were speaking to himself, looking off into the distance and adopting a thoughtful expression, ‘such terrible creatures as one might encounter – the Yeti, the Bigfoot, the Unbearably Unpleasant Child – are what I like to call monsters in space. There they are, but that’s all they are, unchangeable, therefore always the same. Whereas here, where you have no business to be, and where you will very shortly be no more, our monsters can be monsters in time as well; that is to say, they can be one monster after another. Nuthog, here, is actually called Jaldibadal, and she’s a Magical Chameleon: quite the quick-change artist is old Jaldi when she wants to be, but she’s a lazy good-for-nothing creature a lot of the time. Show them, Nuthog, why don’t you? There’s no real rush to cook them in dragon-fire, after all. The vultures can wait for their lunch.’

Nuthog the dragon – or, more properly, Jaldibadal the Changer – gave what sounded very like a tired, serpentine sigh and then mutated, with what looked very like a monstrous unwillingness, into, first, a giant metallic sow, and then, one after the other, a huge, shaggy woman-beast with the tail of a scorpion, a Monstrous Carbuncle (a mirrored creature with a diamond shining out of its head) and an immense mother-tortoise, and finally, with what felt very like a sullen resignation, back into a dragon again. ‘Congratulations, Nuthog,’ said Captain Aag sarcastically, and his black eyes glittered with anger and his bushy beard flared out around his face like the red flame of an evil match. ‘An excellent show. And now, O indolent beast, get on with it and fry these thieves alive before I lose my temper.’

‘If my sisters were here beside me, to release me from your spell,’ Nuthog spat back, in a voice of considerable sweetness, and in surprising rhyme, ‘you wouldn’t speak so bravely, and we’d send you back to Hell.’

‘Who are her sisters? Where are they?’ Luka hissed at Nobodaddy; but then Nuthog blasted the Argo, and all the world was flame. ‘It’s odd, this business of losing a life,’ Luka thought. ‘You ought to feel something, but you don’t.’ Then he noticed that the counter in the top left-hand corner of his field of vision had gone down by fifty lives. ‘I’d better think fast,’ he realised, ‘or I’ll run out of chances right here.’ He had re-formed in the same place as before, and so had Bear and Dog. The residents of the World of Magic were unharmed, though Soraya was complaining loudly. ‘If I wanted to be sunburned,’ she said, ‘I would go and sit in the sun. Point that flame-thrower, please, in some other direction.’

Nobodaddy was examining his panama hat, which looked very slightly scorched. ‘That’s not right,’ he grumbled. ‘I like this hat.’ BLLLAAARRRTT! Another blast of dragon-fire, another fifty lives lost. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ Soraya cried. ‘Don’t you know that flying carpets are made of delicate stuff?’ The Elephant Birds were also extremely upset. ‘Memory is a fragile flower,’ complained the Elephant Drake. ‘It doesn’t respond well to heat.’

Things were rapidly arriving at crisis point. ‘Nuthog’s sisters,’ murmured Nobodaddy, ‘were imprisoned by the Aalim in blocks of ice, over that way in the Ice Country of Sniffelheim, so that Nuthog would obey Aag’s orders.’ BLLLAAARRRTT! ‘That’s one hundred and fifty lives gone in no time at all, just four hundred and sixty-five left,’ Luka thought as he came back together; and when he looked around him this time, Soraya and the flying carpet had vanished altogether. ‘She has abandoned us,’ he thought. ‘Which means we’re done for.’

Just then Dog the bear asked Jaldibadal a question. ‘Are you happy?’ he demanded, and the monster looked surprised.

‘What sort of question is that?’ Nuthog asked in return, forgetting to rhyme in her confusion. ‘I’m in the process of burning you to death, and this is the thing you want to ask me? What’s it to you? Suppose I was happy; would you be happy for me? And if I was not happy, would you sympathise?’

‘For example,’ persisted Dog the bear, ‘are you getting enough to eat? Because I can see your ribs sticking out through your scales.’

‘Those aren’t my ribs,’ answered Nuthog, looking shifty. ‘Those are probably the skeletons of the last people I gobbled down.’

‘I knew it,’ said Dog the bear. ‘He’s starving you, just as he underfed the animals in the circus. A bony dragon is an even sadder sight than a skinny elephant.’

‘Why are you wasting time?’ Captain Aag roared from Nuthog’s back. ‘Get on with it and finish them off.’

‘We rebelled against him back in the Real World,’ said Bear the dog, ‘and he couldn’t do a thing about it, and that was the end of him in that place.’

‘Cook them!’ shouted Captain Aag. ‘Grill them, roast them, blast them, toast them! Bear sausages for dinner! Dog chops! Boy cheeks! Cook them and let’s eat!’

‘It’s my sisters,’ Nuthog told Bear the dog mournfully. ‘As long as they are imprisoned I have no choice but to do as he says.’

‘You always have a choice,’ said Dog the bear.

‘Also,’ said a voice from the sky, ‘were these perhaps the sisters you were looking for?’

Everyone aboard the Argo looked up; and there, high above them, was Queen Soraya of Ott, on King Solomon’s magic carpet, Resham, which had grown large enough to carry three enormous, shivering monsters, just released from their prison of ice, too cold to fly, too unwell to metamorphose, but alive, and free.

‘Bahut-Sara! Badlo-Badlo! Gyara-Jinn!’ shouted Nuthog joyfully. The three rescued Changers uttered weak, but happy, moans in reply. Captain Aag had begun to look distinctly panicky on Nuthog’s back. ‘L-Let’s all stay calm now,’ he said, stammering a little. ‘Let’s all remember that I was only following orders, that it was the Aalim, the Guardians of the Fire, who put the three excellent ladies here on ice, and instructed me to work with you, Nuthog, to guard the Gate to the Heart. Let’s understand, too, that Security is a hard taskmaster, who requires some tough decisions, and that in consequence it can happen that some innocents suffer for the sake of the greater good. Nuthog, you can understand that, can’t you?’

‘Only my friends can call me Nuthog,’ said Nuthog, and with a smooth little wiggle she flipped Captain Aag off her back. He landed with a bump right under her smoking nose. ‘And you’re no friend of mine,’ Nuthog added, ‘so the name is Jaldibadal. And I’m sorry to tell you that, no, I don’t understand.’

Captain Aag stood up to face his fate. He looked like a very wretched pirate indeed, all hair and no fire. ‘Any last words?’ enquired Jaldibadal sweetly. Captain Aag shook his fist at her. ‘I’ll be back!’ he roared.

Jaldibadal shook her scaly head. ‘No,’ she said, ‘I’m afraid you won’t.’ Then she unleashed an immense flame that wrapped itself around Captain Aag, and when the flame died away there was no more Captain, just a small pile of angry-looking ash.

‘Actually, of course,’ she added, once Aag had been, so to speak, put out, and his vulture troupe had fled into some distant sky, never to be seen again, ‘there are Powers in the Heart that could bring him back to life if they chose. But he doesn‘t have many friends here, and I think he’s probably had his last chance.’ She blew hard on the little pile of ash that now lay under her nose, and it was scattered to the four winds. ‘Now, young Sir,’ she said, looking straight at Luka, ‘and, I should say, Sir Dog and Sir Bear, how can I be of assistance?’

Her sisters on the flying carpet flapped their wings experimentally; and found, to their great pleasure, that they could fly again. ‘We too will help you,’ said Badlo-Badlo the Changer, and Bahut-Sara and Gyara-Jinn nodded their assent. The Insultana Soraya clapped her hands in delight. ‘That’s more like it,’ she rejoiced. ‘We’ve got an army now.’

In all the excitement nobody noticed a small fiery Bug rushing away from them as quickly as it could fly, making its way deep into the Heart of Magic, whooshing along as quickly as a wildfire running before a helpful wind.

Nobodaddy was acting strangely, Luka thought. He was fidgety, scratching constantly at his panama hat’s scorched brim. He seemed irritable, pacing up and down and rubbing his hands together and speaking in monosyllables, when he spoke at all. Sometimes he seemed almost transparent and at other times almost solid, so plainly Rashid Khalifa at home in Kahani was struggling for life and health, and maybe that struggle was having a bad effect on Nobodaddy’s mood. But Luka began to have other suspicions. Maybe Nobodaddy had just been humouring him, toying with him for his own warped amusement. Who knew what sort of twisted sense of humour such a creature might have? Maybe he had never expected Luka to get this far, and in fact didn’t like the idea that they were now flying towards the Fire of Life itself. Maybe he hadn’t been honest, and didn’t want the quest to succeed. He’d need watching carefully, Luka decided, in case he tried to sabotage everything at the last moment. He looked, walked and talked like the Shah of Blah, but that didn’t make him Luka’s father. Maybe Bear and Dog had been right: Nobodaddy was not to be trusted an inch. Or maybe there was an argument raging inside him, maybe the Rashid-ness he had absorbed was at war with the death-creature that did the absorbing. Maybe dying was always like this: an argument between death and life.

‘Who wins that argument is a matter for another day,’ Luka thought. ‘Right now, I’ve got to stop thinking of him as my dad.’

Soraya’s flying carpet was aloft again, after briefly landing to allow all the travellers, and the Argo of course, to come aboard. Jaldi, Sara, Badlo and Jinn, the four Changers, in their dragon shapes, flew in strict formation around the Resham, one on each of the carpet’s four sides, protecting it against any possible attack. Luka looked down and saw below him the River of Time flowing from the distant, and invisible, Lake of Wisdom at the Heart of the Heart (which was still too far away to be seen) – the River flowing into, and then out of, the immense Circle of the Circular Sea, at the bottom of which, he knew, slept the giant Worm Bottomfeeder, who coiled his body all the way around the Circle just so that his head could nibble at his tail. Outside the Circle, directly beneath the flying carpet at that moment, were the vast territories of the Badly Behaved Gods – the gods in whom nobody believed any longer, except as stories that people once liked to tell.

‘They don’t have any power in the Real World any more,’ Rashid Khalifa used to say, sitting in his favourite squashy armchair, with Luka curled up on his lap, ‘so there they all are in the World of Magic, the ancient gods of the North, the gods of Greece and Rome, the South American gods, and the gods of Sumeria and Egypt long ago. They spend their time, their infinite, timeless time, pretending they are still divine, playing all their old games, fighting their ancient wars over and over again, and trying to forget that nobody really cares about them these days, or even remembers their names.’

‘That’s pretty sad,’ Luka said to his father. ‘To be honest with you, the Heart of Magic sounds a lot like an old folks’ home for washed-up superheroes.’

‘Don’t let them hear you say that,’ Rashid Khalifa replied, ‘because they all look gorgeous and youthful and luminous and, well, perfect. Being divine, or even ex-divine, has its perks. And inside the Magic World they still have the use of their superpowers. It’s in the Real World that their thunderbolts and enchantments no longer have any effect.’

‘It must be awful for them,’ Luka said, ‘to have been worshipped and adored for so long, and then just discarded, like last year’s unfashionable clothes.’

‘Particularly for the Aztec deities from Mexico,’ Rashid said, putting on his scary voice. ‘Because they were used to receiving human sacrifices; the throats of living people were cut and their lifeblood flowed into the gods’ stone goblets. Now there’s no blood for those disused gods to drink. You’ve heard of vampires? Most of them are blood-thirsty, long-in-the-tooth, undead Aztec gods. Huitzilopochtli! Tezcatlipoca! Tlahuizcalpantecuhtli! Macuilcoz-cacuauhtli! Itztlacoliuhqui-Ixquimilli –’

‘Stop, stop,’ Luka begged. ‘No wonder people stopped worshipping them. Nobody could pronounce their names.’

‘Or it may be because they all behaved so badly,’ Rashid said.

This got Luka’s attention. The notion of gods behaving badly was an odd one. Weren’t gods supposed to set an example to the people whose gods they were? ‘Not in the Olden Days,’ Rashid said. ‘These Olden, and now Jobless, gods usually behaved as badly as people, or actually much worse, because, being gods, they could behave badly on a bigger scale. They were selfish, rude, meddlesome, vain, bitchy, violent, spiteful, lustful, gluttonous, greedy, lazy, dishonest, tricky and stupid, and all of it exaggerated to the maximum, because they had those superpowers. When they were greedy they could swallow a city, and when they were angry they could drown the world. When they meddled in human lives they broke hearts, stole women and started wars. When they were lazy they slept for a thousand years, and when they played their little tricks other people suffered and died. Sometimes a god would even kill another god by knowing his weak spot and going for it, the way a wolf goes for the throat of its prey.’

‘Maybe it’s a good thing they faded away,’ Luka said, ‘but it must make the Heart of Magic a peculiar sort of place.’

‘Nowhere more peculiar in the universe,’ Rashid replied.

‘And what about the gods people still believe in?’ Luka asked. ‘Are they in the Heart of Magic as well?’

‘Oh, dear me, no,’ said Rashid Khalifa. ‘They’re all still right here with us.’

The memory of Rashid faded away, and Luka found himself flying over a phantasmagoric landscape dotted with broken columns and statuary, with creatures out of fable and legend walking, running and flying among them. There – over there! – were two vast and trunkless legs of stone, the last remaining echoes of Ozymandias, King of Kings. Here, slouching towards them, was an immense rough beast, Sphinx-like, only male, and spotted, a man with a hyena’s body and its hideous laugh as well, destroying whatever house or temple, hill or tree it passed, by the sheer force of its ecstatic, ruinous laughter. And there! – yes, right there! – was the Sphinx herself! Yes, surely that was she! The Lion with the Woman’s Head! See how she stopped strangers and insisted on talking to them … ‘It’s too bad,’ said Soraya. ‘She keeps asking everyone the same old riddle, and nobody can be bothered to answer, because everybody has known it for ever. She really needs to get a new act.’

A gigantic egg walked by below them on long, yolk-coloured legs. A winged unicorn flew past. A curious three-part creature – a crocodile, lion and hippopotamus combined – shuffled its way towards the Circular Sea. The sight of a small god in the shape of a dog excited Bear. ‘That is Xolotl,’ warned Soraya. ‘Stay away from him. He’s the god of bad luck.’ That disappointed Bear the dog a good deal. ‘Why does Bad Luck turn out to be a dog?’ he complained. ‘In the Real World, a faithful dog is very good luck for its owner. No wonder these bad-luck gods are done for.’

Luka couldn’t help noticing that the Heart of Magic was in some disrepair. The Egyptians’ pyramids were crumbling, and in the Nordic quarter a gigantic ash tree lay on its side, its three huge roots clutching at the sky. And if those meadows over in that direction were really the Elysian Fields, where the souls of great heroes lived on for ever, why was the grass so brown? ‘These places are in really bad shape,’ Luka said, and Soraya nodded sadly. ‘Magic is fading from the universe,’ she said. ‘We aren’t needed any more, or that’s what you all think, with your High Definitions and low expectations. One of these days you’ll wake up and we’ll be gone, and then you’ll find out what it’s like to live without even the idea of Magic. But Time moves on, and there isn’t a thing we can do about it. Would you like,’ she said, brightening, ‘to see the Battle of the Beauties? I believe this is the right time of day.’

The carpet began to fly down towards a great pavilion topped by seven golden, onion-shaped domes, all shining in the morning sun. ‘Shouldn’t we stay out of these gods’ and goddesses’ way, though?’ Luka objected. ‘Surely we don’t want them to see us, to know we’re here? We are thieves, after all.’

‘They can’t see you,’ Soraya answered. ‘If you’re from the Real World, they are blind to your existence. You don’t exist for them, just as they no longer exist for you. You can walk right up to any number of gods or goddesses, say “boo” and pinch their noses, and they’ll act as if nothing happened, or as if they’re being bothered by a fly. As for persons from the general neighbourhood, like myself, they don’t care about us. We aren’t part of their stories, so they think we don’t count. Stupid of them, but that’s the way they are.’

‘Then it’s a sort of ghost town,’ Luka thought, ‘and these supposed almighties are sort of sleepwalkers, or echoes of themselves. It’s like a mythological theme park here – you could call it Godland – only there are no visitors, except for us, and we’ve come to pilfer a piece of their most precious possession.’ To Soraya he said, ‘But if they can’t see us, won’t it be easy to steal the Fire of Life? In which case, shouldn’t we just hurry up and do it?’

‘In the Heart of the Heart, which is to say inside the Circular Sea, where the Lake of Wisdom is bathed in the Eternal Dawn,’ said Soraya, ‘things are very different. There are none of these moronic sleepwalking sacked gods in there. That is the Country of the Aalim – the Three Jos – who watch over the whole of Time. They are the Ultimate Guardians of the Fire, and they don’t miss a thing.’

‘The Three Jos?’ asked Luka.

‘Jo-Hua, Jo-Hai and Jo-Aiga,’ Soraya answered, and she was whispering now. ‘What Was, What Is and What Will Come. The Past, the Present and the Future. The Possessors of All Knowledge. The Aalim: the Trinity of Time.’

The golden onion domes were right below them now, but Luka was thinking only of the Fire of Life. ‘So how do we get past the Jos, then?’ he whispered back to Soraya, and she spread her arms with a shrug and a rueful smile. ‘You knew from the start,’ she said, ‘that no one has ever done it. But there’s somebody who usually skulks around here, who may be able to help us. He usually lies pretty low, but this is the best place to find him. When the Beauties battle, he likes to watch.’

She landed the flying carpet behind a spreading thicket of rhododendrons, large enough to conceal the Argo. ‘Few magical creatures ever approach a rhododendron,’ she told Luka, ‘because they believe them to be poisonous. If there were any Yetis in the neighbourhood they would devour them, of course, but this is not Abominable Snowman country, and so the Argo will be safe enough here for a while.’ Then she folded up the carpet, put it in her pocket, and marched towards the onion-domed building. The four Changers shape-shifted into metal sows, and, clanking a good deal, trotted along beside Soraya, Nobodaddy, Luka, the Memory Birds, Bear the dog and Dog the bear towards the Battle Pavilion, from which loud, angry noises could be heard: the sounds of goddesses at war.

‘It’s so idiotic,’ Soraya said. ‘They fight over which of them is the loveliest, as if it mattered. Beauty goddesses are the worst. They have been flattered and spoiled for thousands of years, mortals and immortals have sacrificed their lives for them, and as a result you wouldn’t believe the things they believe they are entitled to. Nothing but the best will do for them, and if it belongs to someone else, so what? They are sure they deserve it more than its owner, whether it’s a jewel or a palace or a man. But now here they are in the junkyard of their power, and their beauty no longer launches warships or makes men die for love, so there’s nothing left to do but fight each other over a hollow crown, a title that means nothing: the loveliest of them all.’

‘But that’s you – you are the loveliest of them all,’ Luka wanted to tell her. ‘See how your red hair flies in the wind, and then there’s the perfection of your eyes, your face, and I even enjoy it when you’re insulting people, and I don’t like it when you sound sad.’ Unfortunately he was too shy to say such embarrassing words out loud, and then a great burst of cheering began, and grew louder and louder, so she wouldn’t have been able to hear anything anyway.

The crowd in the pavilion was the sort of gathering of fantastic creatures out of fables and legends which would have utterly astounded Luka just a few days ago, but which he had, by now, almost begun to expect. ‘Oh, look, there are fauns here – horned, goat-eared and goat-hoofed – and proud centaurs stamping their feet,’ he thought, and was surprised by how unsurprising the World of Magic was starting to feel. ‘And winged men – would those be angels? – angels watching women fight? – that doesn’t sound right. And presumably all these other battle fans are the lower orders of the various god gangs, the gods’ servants and children and pets, out for a morning’s fun.’

Just then, the first goddess was ejected from the fray. She came tumbling head over heels through the air, right over Luka’s head, screaming her rage as she went by, and turning from a palely powdered, geisha-like beauty into a hideous long-toothed harridan and then back into the geisha again. She crashed through the swing doors of the fight hall and was gone. ‘I believe that was the Japanese rasetsu, Kishimojin,’ said Nobodaddy, with the air of a goddess-fight connoisseur. (Being at the battle had clearly improved his mood.) ‘A rasetsu is more demon than goddess, really, as you saw from her transformations just then. Out of her class in this company, one feels; you’d expect her to be the first one to be knocked out.’

As Kishimojin retreated from the pavilion, Luka could still hear her high-pitched cursing. ‘May your heads split into seven pieces like the flower of the basil shrub.’ ‘The so-called Arjaka curse,’ Nobodaddy explained to Luka. ‘Terrifying in the Real World, but pathetically ineffective against these formidable females.’

Luka couldn’t see much of the fight, but didn’t like to ask any of his companions to lift him up. Over the heads of the crowd he saw thunderbolts being hurled and loud explosions lighting up the fighting area. He saw huge clouds of butterflies and flocks of birds, apparently also at war with one another. ‘There’s a little side battle going on between Mylitta, the moon goddess of ancient Sumer, and the Aztec vampire queen Xochiquetzal,’ Nobodaddy reported. ‘They don’t like it that they both have bird and butterfly entourages – beauty goddesses always want to be unique! – so they usually go at each other right away, and so do their flapping friends. Usually the two ladies knock each other out and leave the field clear for the top girls.’

The Roman love goddess, Venus, was eliminated early, staggering from the hall, reattaching her severed arms as she went. ‘The Romans are low down in the rankings here in the Heart of Magic,’ Nobodaddy shouted over the din. ‘For a start, they are homeless. Their followers never came up with an Olympus or Valhalla for them, so they wander around the place looking, to be frank, like vagrants. Also, everybody knows they are just imitations of the Greeks, and who wants to watch second-rate remakes when you can see the original movies for free?’

Luka shouted back that he didn’t know there was a divine pecking order. ‘Who’s at the top of it, then?’ he yelled. ‘Which bunch of ex-gods are the Top Gods?’ ‘I’ll tell you which ones are the snootiest,’ Nobodaddy shouted. ‘The Egyptians, for sure. And in these battles their girl Hathor often comes out on top.’

On this occasion, however, it was the Greek Cypriot, Aphrodite, who was the last goddess standing. After Ishtar of Babylon and Freya, Queen of the Valkyries, had beaten each other unconscious in the mud-wrestling ring, the betting favourite, cow-eared Hathor – a shape-shifter like Jaldi and her sisters, only far more powerful, capable of turning herself into clouds and stones – had made the mistake of turning briefly into a fig tree, which had allowed Aphrodite to chop her down. So at the end of the battle it was Aphrodite who approached the great Mirror that was the Ultimate Arbiter of Beauty, and asked the famous question, Mirror, Mirror on the Wall, and so on; Aphrodite it was who received the Mirror’s accolade, You are the loveliest, as was traditional. ‘Oh well,’ said Nobodaddy, ‘it’s good exercise, and they’ll all be back at it tomorrow. There’s not that much for them to do around here. It’s not as if they can stay home and watch TV, or go out to the gym.’

The victor, Aphrodite, passed through the crowd, waving graciously, but a little robotically. She was within a few feet of Luka at one point, and he saw that her eyes were oddly glazed, and focused on infinity. ‘No wonder she can’t see anyone Real,’ he thought. ‘She has eyes only for herself.’

He looked around for Soraya, but she had disappeared. ‘She probably got bored,’ said Nobodaddy. ‘We’ll find her outside.’ As they left the Battle Hall, he pointed out some of the more remarkable audience members to Luka. The Humbaba of Assyria was a naked, scaly giant with a horned head and lion’s paws. His tail was a living snake with a little, flicking forked tongue. ‘And so is his willy,’ Luka noted with delight. ‘That’s quite something, a willy-snake, that’s a thing I’ve never seen before.’ And close behind this brand-new sight was a group of Central Asian Boramez, who looked like baby lambs, except that their legs were made of two different varieties of long. fleshy roots, like sweet potatoes and parsnips. ‘Lamb chops and two veg,’ Luka thought. ‘Yum! These creatures would make a complete, nourishing meal.’ There were several three-headed trolls in the crowd, and many disappointed Valkyries, who had been hoping for their girl Freya to come out on top. ‘Nev-er mind,’ they told one another in their sing-song, phlegmatic, good-natured Nordic way, ‘to-morr-ow is an-oth-er day.’

Soraya was waiting in front of the rhododendron bushes, looking innocent, which was such an unusual look for her that Luka immediately suspected she was up to something. ‘What’s going on?’ he began, then changed tack. ‘Never mind,’ he continued. ‘We’re wasting time. Let’s get going, okay?’

‘Once upon a time,’ said Soraya dreamily, ‘there was an Indian tribe called the Karaoke. They didn’t have Fire, so they were sad and cold and never sang a note.’

‘This is no time for fairy tales,’ said Luka, but Soraya ignored him and continued. ‘Fire had been created by a god-type creature named Ekoarak,’ she said in the same dreamy, musical voice, which Luka had to admit was a beautiful voice, a voice exactly like his mother’s voice, which made it comforting to listen to, ‘but he had hidden it in a music box and given it, for safe keeping, to two old witches, with instructions that on no account were they to give it to the Karaoke –’

‘There’s a point in here somewhere, I hope,’ Luka interrupted, a little rudely, but that only made the Insultana smile, for, after all, it was the Otter way.

‘Coyote was the one who decided he would steal the Fire,’ she said. Bear the dog perked up. ‘This is a story about a heroic prairie dog?’ he said hopefully. Soraya ignored him. ‘He got the Lion, the Big Bear, the Little Bear, the Wolf, the Squirrel and the Frog to help him. They spaced themselves out between the witches’ tent and the Karaoke village and waited. Coyote told one Karaoke Indian to visit the witches and attack their tent. When he did so they came out with their broomsticks and ran after him to chase him away. Coyote ran inside, opened the box with his nose, stole the burning firebrand, and ran. When the witches saw him running with the Fire they forgot about the Indian and chased Coyote instead. Coyote ran like the wind, and when he was tired he passed the burning wood to the Lion, who ran as far as the Big Bear, who ran on to the Little Bear, and so on. Finally the Frog swallowed the Fire and dived under the river where the witches couldn’t follow him, and then he jumped out on the far bank of the river and spat the Fire out onto dry wood in the Karaoke village, and the Fire crackled and burned and the flames rose high into the sky, and everybody cheered. Soon afterwards the Indian returned, having gone into the witches’ tent (while they were chasing Coyote) and stolen the whole music box, and after that the Karaoke village was warm, and everyone sang all the time, because the magical music box never stopped playing its selection of popular songs.’

‘Okay … y … y,’ said Luka doubtfully. ‘It’s a nice enough story, but …’

Coyote strolled out from behind the rhododendron bushes, looking Wild and Western and ready for trouble. Buenas dias, kid, he said, in a cool, slanting sort of way. My friend here, that’s the Insultana, indicated you could probly use some help. You ask me, I reckon you need all the help you can git. He gave a confident, wolfish laugh. Hear this, Fire Thief. Aint nobody got more sperience than me in the fire-stealin line, xceptin maybe one individual – big individual he was, too – but after what happen to him last time aroun, he aint available. Caint be helped. Reckon he lost his nerve.

‘What happened?’ Luka asked, not really wanting to know.

Taken, said Coyote, bluntly. Got his big self tied down on a rock. Si, señor. Spreadeagled on there at the mercy of the merciless. Eagle got to chewin on his liver all day, which liver then done fix itself up an grow back ever’ night on account of 3-J magic, so that Eagle he could jus go on munchin till the end of time. You want more?

‘No, thank you,’ Luka said, thinking, not for the first time, that he was a long, long way out of his depth. But he made his voice sound a lot braver than he felt and went on. ‘Also,’ he said, ‘I’m smelling a rat, to be honest with you. Everybody has been telling me all along that the Fire has never been stolen in the whole history of the World of Magic. Now you tell me that you stole it, Coyote, and apparently this old-timer you’re talking about stole it, too? So what’s the truth? Has everyone been lying to me this whole time, and it’s actually easier to steal the Fire than anyone has admitted?’

Soraya replied, ‘We should have explained things better to you. Nobodaddy should have done it right at the outset, and so should I. You’re right to feel aggrieved. So this is the truth of it. The World of Magic has taken many forms in different times and places, and it has had many different names. It has changed its location, its geography and its laws, as the history of the Real World has moved from age to age. In several of those times and places, it’s true, Fire Thieves did make successful runs at the Fire of the Gods. But nobody has succeeded since the Heart of Magic assumed its current shape and form, in this place, in this time, here and now. That’s the truth. The Aalim have always been around – after all, there’s no escape from the Past, the Present and the Future, is there? – but for a long time they left the management of things to the gods of the period, the same ex-gods you see here, inefficient deities who didn’t always do such a good job. Now the Aalim have taken control of matters themselves. Everything has been reordered. The Fire of Life is impregnably defended. The Three Jos know everything. Jo-Hua knows even the smallest details of the Past, Jo-Hai can see even the smallest incident in the Present, and Jo-Aiga can foretell the Future. Nobody has managed to steal the Fire since they took charge.’

‘Oh,’ said Luka, feeling horribly deflated, because the notion that Nobodaddy and Soraya and everyone else had hidden from him the successful Thefts of Fire had briefly given him hope. If Coyote could do it, he had thought, then he could do it, too. But that short-lived burst of optimism fizzled out and died like a well-doused fire as Soraya explained the truth. He turned back towards Coyote, humbly. ‘What sort of help did you have in mind?’ he asked.

This beautiful lady here she’s kindly disposed to you and I’m indebted to her for old kindnesses, said Coyote, chewing something at the side of his mouth. She says maybe I could guide you through the inner country, which maybe I could at that. Says maybe you’ll need somebody to make a carrera de distracción. That’s a decoy run. Says I should see if I can get the old gang together and run that diversion for you while you make your crazy bid. Wants me to draw the 3–J attention way from you while you run for glory.

Then Soraya said something that drained all the hope out of Luka’s body. ‘I can’t take you in there,’ she said. ‘Into Aalim country. If they see the Flying Carpet of King Solomon the Wise entering their space, and if they become aware of him –’ here she nodded her head at Nobodaddy with a distasteful expression on her face – ‘and, believe me, they will become aware, then the game will be up right away; they’ll smell trouble and come down on us with all the power they have, and I’m not strong enough to fight them off for very long. That’s why I wanted to find Coyote. I want you to have a plan.’

‘I’m going with you,’ said Bear the dog, loyally.

‘I’m going too,’ said Dog the bear in a gruff, big-brotherish voice. ‘Somebody has to look after you.’

The Memory Birds shuffled their webbed feet awkwardly. ‘It’s not really our thing, fire-stealing,’ said the Elephant Duck.

‘We just remember stuff, that’s all. We’re just rememberers.’ And the Elephant Drake added clumsily, ‘We’ll always remember you.’

The Elephant Duck gave him a furious look. ‘What he means,’ she said, nudging her partner roughly, ‘is that we’ll wait with Queen Soraya for your return.’

The Elephant Drake harrumphed. ‘Obviously,’ he said. ‘I misspoke, obviously. We’ll obviously be waiting. Obviously, that is what I meant to say.’

Nobodaddy squatted down so that he could look Luka in the eye. ‘She’s right,’ he said, annoying Luka intensely by using Rashid Khalifa’s most serious and loving voice. ‘I can’t go with you. Not in there.’

‘Here’s something else you should have told me before now,’ Luka said angrily. ‘Both of you. How am I supposed to do this without you?’

Jaldibadal the Changer said firmly, ‘You still have us.’

Nuthog’s sisters had fully recovered from their icy ordeal by now, and nodded enthusiastically, which made their metal pig ears clank against the sides of their heads. ‘We are creatures of the Heart,’ said Badlo-Badlo – at least Luka thought it was Badlo, but with all their Changing it was hard to remember which of the four sisters was which. ‘That’s right,’ said – maybe – Bahut-Sara. ‘The Three Jos will not suspect us.’

‘Thank you,’ said Luka gratefully, ‘but maybe you could change back into dragons? Dragons might be more useful than metal pigs if we come under attack.’ The quadruple transformation was quickly completed, and Luka was pleased to see that there were differences in their colouring which made it easier to tell the Changers apart: Nuthog (Jaldi) was the red dragon, Badlo the green one, Sara the blue one, and Gyara-Jinn, the Changer with eleven possible transformations, the largest of the four, was golden.

‘Then it’s settled,’ Luka said. ‘Bear, Dog, Jaldi, Sara, Badlo, Jinn and me. Seven of us, into the Heart of the Heart.’

‘Call me Nuthog,’ said Nuthog. ‘We’re friends now. And I never liked my real name much anyhow.’

Coyote spat out the remnant of his dinner and cleared his throat. Aint you forgettin somethin here, chico? Or is it your intent to insult me by declinin my offer in public an in spite of it being both generous an bona fide? An in spite of your ignorance and my particular expertise?

Luka was genuinely unsure how to reply. This Coyote was a friend of Soraya’s, so that made him trustworthy, Luka supposed, but was he really necessary? Maybe the best way was just to creep in without doing anything to draw the Aalim’s attention in any direction at all, even the wrong one?

‘Just tell me one thing,’ he said, rounding on Nobodaddy, who he was beginning to dislike more and more, ‘how many levels do I still have to get through? I’ve got this single-digit counter up here on the right, saying Seven –’

‘Seven is excellent,’ said Nobodaddy. ‘Seven is actually impressive. But you won’t complete Level Eight unless you do succeed in stealing the Fire of Life –’

‘Which, let’s be clear, has never been done – at least, not in the current format of the Magical World,’ interjected Luka crossly. ‘Not under the Rules of the Game that are presently in effect.’

‘And Level Nine is the longest and hardest of all,’ Nobodaddy added. ‘That’s the one in which you have to get all the way back to the Start and jump back into the Real World without being caught. Oh, and you will have the entire World of Magic up in arms and chasing after you, by the way. That’s Level Nine.’

‘Wonderful. Thanks a lot,’ said Luka.

‘You’re welcome,’ said Nobodaddy in a cold, hard voice. ‘I seem to recall that this was your idea. I distinctly recall your saying, “Let’s go.” Was I perhaps mistaken?’ That wasn’t Luka’s father talking at all. That was a creature who was trying to suck his father’s life away. Luka suspected even more strongly than before that this whole adventure had just been Nobodaddy’s way of passing the time until his real work was done. It has just been something to do.

‘No,’ said Luka. ‘No, there was no mistake.’

Just then he heard a loud noise.

A loud, loud, LOUD noise.

In fact, to call this noise ‘loud’ was like saying that a tsunami was just a big wave. To describe how loud this loudness was, Luka thought, he would have to say, for example, that if the Himalayas were made of sound instead of stone and ice then this noise would have been Mount Everest; or maybe not Everest, but definitely one of the Eight Thousand Metre Peaks. Luka had learned from Rashid Khalifa, the least mountaineering of men, but a man who liked a good list, that there were fourteen Eight Thousand Metre Peaks on Earth: in descending order, Everest, K2, Kanchenjunga, Lhotse, Makalu, Cho Oyu, Dhaulagiri, Manaslu, Nanga Parbat, Annapurna, Gasherbrum I, Broad Peak, Gasherbrum II and the beautiful Xixabangma Feng. It wasn’t so easy to list his Fourteen Loudest Sounds, Luka thought, but he was quite sure this one was in the top three. So it was at the Kanchenjunga level, at the very least.

The sound went on, and on, and on, and Luka covered his ears. All around them pandemonium had broken out in the Heart of Magic. Crowds were running in all directions, flying creatures were taking to the air, swimming things to the water, riders to their horses. It was a general mobilisation, Luka thought, and then in a flash he understood what the sound was. It was a call to arms.

The game just changed, muchacho, Coyote trotted over to shout in Luka’s ear. You need help now, big time. Aint nobody heard that noise round here in hunnerds of years. That’s the Big Noise. That’s the Fire Alarm.

‘It must have been that Fire Bug who raised the Alarm,’ Luka realised at once, disgusted with himself for having forgotten about that little tale-telling flame, the World of Magic’s tiniest Security operative, but, it seemed, one of the most dangerous. ‘It was hovering by Captain Aag’s shoulder and then it disappeared. We didn’t pay attention to it, and now we’re paying the price for our carelessness.’

At long last the siren of the Fire Alarm died down, but the hysterical activity all around them became, if anything, even more frenzied. Soraya dragged Luka behind the rhododendron bushes. ‘When the Fire Alarm sounds it means two things,’ she said. ‘It means that the Aalim know that someone is trying to steal the Fire of Life. And it means that all the residents of the Heart of Magic are rendered capable of seeing intruders until the All-Clear, which doesn’t sound until the thief is caught.’

‘You mean everyone can see me now?’ Luka said in horror. ‘And Bear and Dog as well?’ When they heard that, the dog and the bear ran and hid behind the rhododendrons as well. Soraya nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘There’s only one course of action. You must abandon your plan, and climb aboard Resham, and I will fly as high as I can rise and as fast as I can ride and I will try to get you back to the Starting Point before they find you, because if they catch you they may Perminate all three of you on the spot, without asking for an explanation of your presence or giving a reason for their drastic measures. Or else they’ll put you on trial and Perminate you after that. The adventure is over, Luka Khalifa. It’s time to go home.’

Luka was silent for a long moment. Then he said simply, ‘No.’

Soraya smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. ‘Backchat he’s giving me now. “No,” he says. Tell me your grand plan, hero boy. No, no! Let me guess! You’re going to take on all the gods and monsters of the Heart of Magic, with a dog, a bear and four dragons as the sum total of your attack force; and you’re going to steal what has never been stolen, what nobody has tried to steal for hundreds of years, and then you’re going to get home? How? I’m supposed to wait around and give you a ride, is that it? Well, by all means. Go right ahead. That masterly scheme sounds like it will definitely work.’

‘You’re almost right,’ Luka said. ‘But you forgot I’ll have Coyote’s decoy run helping me as well.’

Hold it, chico, said Coyote, looking alarmed. Hold it there one minute. Didn I say the game jus changed? That offer aint no longer on the table.

‘Listen,’ said Luka. ‘What do thieves do when the Fire Alarm sounds?’

They run for their life. Aint nobody done it for hunnerds of years but that’s what they done then. Warnt no use. Even the old Titan back in the day, he got taken an tied to a rock and an old vulture started chewin –

‘Eagle,’ said Luka. ‘You said it was an eagle.’

’Pinions differ as to the species of bird. Aint no doubt about the chewin.

‘So,’ said Luka determinedly, ‘running isn’t any use, unless you run in an unexpected direction. And, now that the Fire Alarm has sounded, which is the one direction in which nobody will expect us to flee?’

Nobodaddy was the one who answered Luka’s question. ‘Towards the Fire of Life,’ he said. ‘Into the Heart of the Heart. Towards the danger. You’re right.’

‘Then,’ said Luka, ‘that’s the way we’re going.’

7

The Fire of Life

The whole World of Magic was on Red Alert. Jackal-headed Egyptian deities, fierce scorpion- and jaguar-men, giant one-eyed, man-eating Cyclopes, flute-playing centaurs, whose pipes could entice strangers into cracks in rocks where they would be imprisoned for all time, Assyrian treasure-nymphs made of gold and jewels, whose precious bodies could tempt thieves into their poisoned whipcord nets, flying griffins with lethal claws, flightless basilisks glaring in all directions with their deadly eyes, Valkyries on cloud-horses in the sky, bull-headed minotaurs, slithering snake-women; and huge rocs – larger than the one that bore Sinbad the Sailor to its nest – charged wildly across the land and through the air, answering the Fire Alarm, hunting, hunting. In the Circular Sea, after the Alarm sounded, mermaids rose from the waters singing siren songs to lure the foul intruders to their doom. Enormous island-sized creatures – krakens, zaratans and monstrous rays – hung motionless on the Sea’s surface; if an intruder were to pause on the back of one of the beasts for a rest, it would dive and drown him, or flip over to reveal its giant mouth and its sharp triangular teeth, and swallow the trespasser down in bite-sized chunks. And most terrible of all was the gigantic Worm Bottomfeeder, who rose blind and roaring from the Sea’s usually silent depths, in a rage to consume the scoundrels who had triggered the Fire Alarm and disturbed its two-thousand-year sleep.

Amid the chaos of that World the Fire Gods rose in all their majesty to defend Vibgyor, the One Bridge to the Heart of the Heart, the rainbow arch that crossed the sundering Sea and enabled the favoured few to enter the Aalim’s lands. Amaterasu, the Japanese sun goddess, emerged from the cave where she had sulked for two millennia after quarrelling with her brother, the storm god, with the magic sword Kusanagi in her hand, and rays of sunlight flying outwards from her head like spears. Beside her was the flaming child Kagutsuchi, whose burning birth had killed his mother, Izanami the Divine. And Surtr with his fiery sword and at his elbow his female companion, Sinmara, also bearing a lethal sword of fire. And Irish Bel. And Polynesian Mahuika with her fingernails of flame. And lame Hephaestus, the smith of Olympus, with his pale Roman echo Vulcan at his side. And Inti of the Incas, the Sun with the Human Face, and the Aztec Tonatiuh, thirsty for blood, Tonatiuh the former Lord of the Fifth World, to please whom twenty thousand people used to be sacrificed each year. And towering above them all like a giant pillar in the sky was falcon-headed Ra of Egypt, his piercingly sharp bird-eyes searching for the would-be thieves, with the Bennu bird sitting on his shoulder, the grey heron that was the Egyptian phoenix, and his mighty weapons, the wadjets, the disks of the sun, held urgently in his hands. These great colossi guarded the Bridge and waited with clouds at their foreheads and murder in their eyes.

Inhabitants of the Heart of Magic rushed freely across the Bridge in both directions, hunting, hunting; but for the hunted intruders, Luka thought, there appeared to be no way past the falcon eyes of Ra. Luka, hiding with his companions behind the rhododendron bushes, had the feeling that the thicket was shrinking, dwindling away and becoming a less and less adequate shelter. His heart was beating too rapidly. Things were definitely getting scary.

‘The good thing about all these ex-gods,’ said Soraya comfortingly, ‘is that they’re all stuck in their old stories. I’m sure the Fire Bug will have reported accurately to the Aalim – a boy, a dog, a bear, he will have said – but when the Fire Alarm goes off, everyone here inevitably starts hunting for the Usual Suspects.’

‘Who are the Usual Suspects?’ Luka wanted to know. He realised he was whispering, and that he wished Soraya would lower her voice as well.

‘Oh, the ones who were Fire Thieves in the times and places in which these gods were the gods,’ Soraya said, waving an arm airily. ‘You know. Or,’ she added, reverting to her old Insultana habits, ‘maybe you’re too ignorant. Maybe your father didn’t teach you as much as he should have. Maybe he didn’t know himself.’ Then, seeing the expression on Luka’s face, she softened her voice and relented. ‘The Algonquin Indians got Rabbit to steal Fire for them,’ she said, ‘and you know about Coyote already. Beaver and Nanabozho the Shape-Shifter did the same for other tribes. Possum tried and failed, but then Grandmother Spider stole Fire for the Cherokee in a clay urn, which reminds me’ – Soraya paused for a moment – ‘that you will need this.’

She was holding a little clay pot in her hands. Luka looked inside it. A small group of what looked like half a dozen black potatoes nestled on a bed of twigs. ‘This,’ said Soraya, ‘is one of the famous Ott Pots, and there inside it are a few of the famous Ott Potatoes. Once the Fire of Life touches them, they’ll burn brightly, and they won’t easily be put out.’ She hung the pot around his neck by its leather strap. ‘Where was I?’ She thought for a minute, then resumed. ‘Oh yes. Maui – that’s Maui-tikitiki-a-Taranga to you – stole Fire from the fingernails of the fire goddess Mahuika and gave it to the Polynesians. She’ll definitely be on the lookout for him. And so on.’

You neglected to include the First Thief, Coyote said. Oldest and greatest. King of the Hill. Inspiration to us all. Stole it for all mankind.

‘The Titan Prometheus,’ Soraya said, ‘was the brother, oddly enough, of your friend, the late, unlamented Captain Aag. Not that they ever got on. Couldn’t stand each other, in fact. Anyhow: three million four hundred thousand years ago the Old Boy was indeed the first of the Fire Thieves. But after what happened to him back then, the searchers will probably not be on the lookout for another Fire Run by the old fellow.’

‘He lost his nerve,’ Luka remembered.

That warnt right of me to mention, Coyote said. Taint proper to dishonour the great. But since Hercules shot the eagle the Old Boy lives pretty quiet.

‘Or the vulture,’ Luka said.

Or the vulture. Warnt none of us there at the time to verify, and the Old Boy, he dont talk so much no more.

‘And another good thing about all this rushing about,’ Soraya murmured in Luka’s ear, ‘is that it will allow you to get close to the Bridge, if you rush about too and look like you’re searching for yourselves.’

Theyll be looking for me an my associates, Coyote said. Best we part ways. It’s fixin to get kindly heated in my vicinity. But look for me to make my run and then you put your best foot forward an make yours. He loped away without another word.

All at once Luka realised that Nobodaddy had disappeared. One minute he had been there, listening, fidgeting with his panama hat, and then without so much as a poof, he was nowhere to be seen. ‘What’s he up to, I’d very much like to know?’ Luka thought. ‘I don’t feel good about him vanishing like this.’ Soraya put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You’re better off without him,’ she said. Then Nuthog the red dragon had her idea, and Luka put Nobodaddy out of his mind.

‘Once upon a time our sister Gyara-Jinn helped the King of the Horses escape from Sniffelheim,’ said the red dragon, nodding at her golden sibling. ‘Yes! The mighty Slippy, that gigantic, white, eight-legged steed – with two legs at each corner, so to speak – had been arbitrarily, unfairly imprisoned there by the Aalim, just as my sisters were until Queen Soraya here set them free by her own powerful magic. The Three Jos had decided there was no place in all of Time for an eight-legged wonder-horse. Just like that – decided it, without any discussion, like tyrants; with no consideration for anyone’s feelings, Slippy’s feelings included. They can be cruel and wanton and wilful when they want to be, even though they pridefully call themselves the Three Inevitable Truths! Anyhow, it was Jinn here who freed Slippy with her dragon-fire – her breath is hotter than mine or Badlo’s or Sara’s, and proved hot enough to melt the Eternal Ice, which ours did not. In return, the King of the Horses gave her a magnificent gift: the power to Change, just once, whenever the need might be very great, into an exact replica of Slippy himself. No god will dare to search Slippy the King of the Horses as he passes over Vibgyor. We’ll strap in each of you – you, Luka, and your dog and bear – between one of the pairs of legs, which leaves one pair of legs for you, Queen Soraya, if you would like …’

‘No,’ Soraya said sadly. ‘Even with the Flying Carpet of King Solomon folded away, I’m afraid the presence of the Insultana of Ott will not help you, Luka. I have been too offensive about those cold, stuffy, punishing, implacable, destructive old Jos for too long, and they have no Time for me. It will go worse for you if I’m at your side. I will not enter the Heart of the Heart ever again, that’s the truth. I have no wish to end up in Sniffelheim, imprisoned in an Ice Sheet. But I will wait for you and speed you to safety if, that is to say when, you return with blazing Ott Potatoes in that little Ott Pot.’

‘You’d do this for me?’ Luka said to the golden dragon. ‘You’d use up this one-time Change just to help me win through? I don’t know how to thank you enough.’

‘We owe everything to Queen Soraya,’ said Gyara-Jinn. ‘That is the person whom you need to thank.’

‘Who could have imagined,’ Luka told himself ruefully, ‘that I, Luka Khalifa, aged only twelve, would be crossing the great bridge Vibgyor, the most beautiful bridge in the entire Magical World, a bridge built entirely of rainbows and brushed by the west wind, gentlest of all the winds, blown softly from the lips of the god Zephyr himself; and yet the only thing I can see and feel is the bristly hair on a giant horse’s inner thighs. Who would have thought that out there are some of the greatest names in the history of the Unseen World, the names of the once-worshipped, once-omnipotent Divinities with whom I grew up, about whom I heard each night in my father’s endless supply of bedtime stories, the sword Kusanagi, the ex-gods Tonatiuh, Vulcan, Surtr and Bel; and the Bennu bird, and Ra the Supreme; and yet I can’t catch even a glimpse of them, or allow them to get the tiniest glimpse of me. Who would have believed that I, Luka, would be entering the Garden of Perfect Perfumes which circles the Lake of Wisdom and is the sweetest-smelling place in all of Existence, and yet the only thing I can smell is horse.’

He could hear noises such as he had never heard in his life: the shriek of a falcon, the hiss of a snake, the roar of a lion, the burning of the sun, all magnified beyond imagining and almost beyond endurance, the war cries of the gods. The Changer Gyara-Jinn in the form of the King of Horses whinnied, neighed, stamped her (or, for the moment, his) eight feet in response, and the intruders concealed between her (or, for the moment, his) legs shook and cringed. Luka didn’t like to imagine how Bear and Dog were feeling. Underneath a horse, wedged in between its legs, was no place for a dog, or a bear. There must be a certain loss of pride involved, and he was upset to be the reason for their feelings of shame. He was leading them into great danger, too, he knew that, but he had to close his mind to that thought if he was to stand any chance of doing what needed to be done. ‘I am exploiting their love and loyalty,’ he thought. ‘It seems there is no such thing as a purely good deed, a completely right action. Even this task, which I took on for the very best of reasons, involves making choices that are not that “good”, choices that might even be “wrong”.’

In his mind’s eye he saw again the faces of Queen Soraya and the Memory Birds, as they had looked when he said his farewells. Their eyes were moist with tears, and he knew it was because they feared they would never see him again. To this thought, too, he needed to close his mind. He was going to prove them all wrong. If a thing had never been done before, that only meant it was still waiting for the one who could pull it off. ‘See how narrow I have become,’ he thought. ‘I have turned myself into a single, inevitable thing. I am an arrow speeding towards a target. Nothing must deflect me from my chosen course.’

Somewhere in the sky up above him were Nuthog, Badlo and Sara, flying in formation in their dragon incarnations. There was no turning back now. The seven of them had entered the inner sanctum of the Aalim with crime in their hearts. The country below them was filled with wonders, but there was no time for sightseeing. All his life, ever since Rashid Khalifa started telling him stories, Luka had wondered about the Torrent of Words that fell to Earth from the Sea of Stories, which was up above the world on its invisible second moon. What would that look like, that waterfall tumbling from space? It must be wonderful to behold. Surely it would splash like an explosion into the Lake of Wisdom? Yet Rashid had always said that the Lake of Wisdom was calm and still, because Wisdom could absorb even the largest Rush of Words without being disturbed. There at the Lake it was always dawn. The long, pale fingers of the First Light rested quietly on the surface of the waters, and the silver sun peeped over the horizon but did not rise. The Aalim who controlled Time had chosen to live at the Beginning of it for ever. Luka could close his eyes and see it all, he could listen and hear his father’s voice describing the scene, but now that he was actually there it was very frustrating not to be able to take a look.

And where was Nobodaddy? ‘Still Noplace to be seen,’ thought Luka, who was surer with every passing minute that the missing phantom was up to no good, wherever he was. ‘I will have to face him before the end, I’m sure of that,’ he thought, ‘and it isn’t going to be easy, but if he thinks I’ll give up my dad to him without a fight, he’s going to be very much surprised.’ Then he was struck, as if by a powerful fist, by the worst thought in the world. ‘Had Nobodaddy gone because Rashid Khalifa had already … already … had finally … before Luka could save him … gone, too? Had the phantom who was absorbing his father vanished because its purpose had been achieved? Was all of this in vain?’ Luka began to tremble at the thought and his eyes grew wet and prickly and grief began to flood over him in great shuddering waves.

But then something happened. Luka became aware of a change within himself. He felt as if something more powerful than his own nature had taken control of him, some will stronger than his own that was refusing to accept the worst. No, Rashid’s life was not over. It could not be, therefore it was not. The will-stronger-than-Luka’s-own rejected that possibility. Nor would it allow Luka to give up, to flinch in the face of danger or cower in the face of terror. This new force that had gripped him was giving him the strength and courage he would need if he was going to do what needed to be done. It felt like something not-himself, something from outside, and yet he also knew that it was coming from within him, that it was his own strength, his own determination, his own refusal of defeat, his own strong will. For this, too, Rashid Khalifa’s storytelling, the Shah of Blah’s many tales of young heroes finding extra resources within themselves in the face of horrible adversity, had prepared him. ‘We don’t know the answers to the great questions of who we are and what we are capable of,’ Rashid liked to say, ‘until the questions are asked. Then and only then do we know if we can answer them, or not.’

And above and beyond Rashid’s stories lay the example of Luka’s brother Haroun, who had found such an answer in himself, afloat on the Sea of Stories, once upon a time. ‘I wish my brother was here to help me,’ Luka thought, ‘but he isn’t, not really, even though Dog the bear is speaking in his voice and trying to take care of me. So I’m going to do what he would have done. I’m not going to lose.’

‘The Aalim are set in their ways and dislike people who try to rock the boat,’ Rashid Khalifa had told the sleepy Luka one night. ‘Their view of Time is strict and inflexible: yesterday, then today, then tomorrow, tick, tock, tick. They are like robots marching along to the beat of the disappearing seconds. What Was, Jo-Hua, lives in the Past; What Is, Jo-Hai, simply is right now; and What Will Come, Jo-Aiga, belongs to a place we cannot go. Their Time is a prison, they are the jailers, and the seconds and minutes are its walls.

‘Dreams are the Aalim’s enemies, because in dreams the Laws of Time disappear. We know – don’t we know, Luka? – that the Aalim’s Laws do not tell the truth about Time. The time of our feelings is not the same as the time of the clocks. We know that when we are excited by what we are doing, Time speeds up, and when we are bored, it slows down. We know that at moments of great excitement or anticipation, at wonderful moments, Time can stand still.

‘Our dreams are the real truths – our fancies, the knowledge of our hearts. We know that Time is a River, not a clock, and that it can flow the wrong way, so that the world becomes more backward instead of less, and that it can jump sideways, so that everything changes in an instant. We know that the River of Time can loop and twist and carry us back to yesterday or forwards to the day after tomorrow.

‘There are places in the world where nothing ever happens, and Time stops moving altogether. There are those of us who go on being seventeen years old all our life, and never grow up. There are others who are miserable old wretches, maybe sixty or seventy years old, from the day they are born.

‘We know that when we fall in love, Time ceases to exist, and we also know that Time can repeat itself, so that you can be stuck in one day for the whole of your life.

‘We know that Time is not only Itself, but is an aspect of Movement and Space. Imagine two boys, let’s say you and young Ratshit, who both wear wristwatches that are perfectly synchronised, and that both keep perfect Time. Now imagine that that lazy rascal Ratshit sits in the same place, let’s say right here, for one hundred years, while you run, never resting, all the way to school and back here again, over and over, also for one hundred years. At the end of that century, both your watches would have kept perfect Time, but your watch would be six or seven seconds slower than his.

‘There are those of us who learn to live completely in the moment. For such people the Past vanishes and the Future loses meaning. There is only the Present, which means that two of the three Aalim are surplus to requirements. And then there are those of us who are trapped in yesterdays, in the memory of a lost love, or a childhood home, or a dreadful crime. And some people live only for a better tomorrow; for them the Past ceases to exist.

‘I’ve spent my life telling people that this is the truth about Time, and that the Aalim’s clocks tell lies. So naturally the Aalim are my mortal enemies, which is just fine, because as a matter of fact I am their deadly foe.’

The Changer Gyara-Jinn stopped galloping, slowed down to a walk, then stopped completely and began to change. The giant eight-legged horse started becoming smaller; its hairy skin vanished and was replaced by a smooth shiny surface; the smell of horse faded away and Luka’s nostrils were filled, instead, by the far less palatable odour of the pigpen. Finally the eight legs became four, so that Luka, Bear and Dog slipped out of their bindings and tumbled what was now only a short distance to the admittedly stony ground. Gyara-Jinn’s once-in-a-lifetime transformation into the King of Horses had come to an end, and she was a tin sow once again. But Luka wasn’t paying any attention to that dramatic Change, because he was staring open-mouthed at the heart-stopping sight he had come so far to see. He was standing at the foot of the vast massif of the Mountain of Knowledge, and just a few feet away, lapping at the Mountain’s feet, was the Lake of Wisdom itself, its water clear, pure and transparent in the pale, silvery light of the Dawn of Days, which never brightened into morning. Cool shadows stretched across the water, as always, caressing and smoothing it. It was a ghostly scene, at once haunted and haunting, and it was easy to imagine music in the air, a tinkling crystal melody: the legendary Music of the Spheres that had played when the World was born.

The Shah of Blah’s description of the Lake and its inhabitants, which Luka had heard so often that he knew it by heart, proved to be startlingly accurate. Shining schools of little canny-fish could be seen below the surface, as well as the brightly coloured smartipans, and the duller, deep-water shrewds. Flying low over the water’s surface were the hunter birds, the large pelican-billed scholarias and the bald, bearded, long-beaked guroos. Long tendrils of the lake-floor plant called sagacity were visible waving in the depths, and Luka recognised the Lake’s little groups of islands, too, the Theories with their wild, improbable growths, the tangled forests and ivory towers of the Philosophisles, and the bare Facts. In the distance was what Luka had longed to behold, the Torrent of Words, the miracle of miracles, the grand waterfall that tumbled down from the clouds and linked the World of Magic to the Moon of the Great Story Sea up above.

They had given the hunters the slip and arrived at the notorious South Face of Knowledge without being caught, but looming above Luka was an obstacle far more forbidding than he had imagined, the sheer cliff of the Mountain, a rugged wall of black stone upon which no plant had managed to find a foothold. ‘If a plant can’t do it, how can I?’ Luka wondered in dismay. ‘What sort of mountain is this, anyway?’

He knew the answer. It was the Magic Mountain, and it knew how to protect itself. ‘Knowledge is both a delight and an explosive minefield; both a liberation and a trap,’ Rashid used to say. ‘The way to Knowledge shifts and changes as the world changes and shifts. One day it is open and available to all, the next it is closed and guarded. Some people skip up that Mountain as if it were a grassy slope in a park. For others it is an impassable Wall.’ Luka scratched the top of his head, just the way his father liked to do. ‘I guess I’m one of the others,’ he thought, ‘because that doesn’t look like any grassy slope I’ve ever seen.’ To be blunt, the Mountain looked impossible to climb without serious mountaineering equipment, to say nothing of the proper training, and Luka lacked both. Somewhere above him, at the top of that world of stone, the Fire of Life burned in a temple, and there was no way of knowing where that cave might be, or how to go about finding it. Luka’s principal advisers were no longer at his side. Queen Soraya of Ott had not crossed the Rainbow Bridge, and the much less trustworthy (but formidably well informed) Nobodaddy had evidently decided – for whatever reason, and no not that one! – to withdraw his support.

‘Might I remind you,’ said the voice of Nuthog, in gentle tones, ‘that you do still have help available, and that that help possesses – may I point out? – wings.’

Nuthog, Badlo and Sara were still in dragon-mode, and Jinn quickly dragonised herself as well. ‘With four fast dragons at your service you should be able to reach the Fire Temple quickly enough,’ Nuthog said. ‘Particularly if those four fast dragons happen to know where on the summit the Temple actually is.’

‘To know approximately,’ said Badlo, rather more modestly.

‘We think, anyway,’ said Sara, and that didn’t sound convincing at all.

‘At any rate,’ added Jinn, more helpfully, ‘before we get going, it would probably be a good idea if you punched … that.’

That was a silver knob embedded in the stone wall of the South Face. ‘It looks like a saving point,’ Luka said, ‘but why is it silver, not gold?’

‘The gold button is in the Temple,’ said Nuthog. ‘But at least you can save the progress you’ve made so far. And be careful. From now on, every mistake you make could cost you a hundred lives.’

That was alarming, Luka thought as he punched the silver button. It left almost no room for mistakes. Four hundred and sixty-five lives allowed him four slip-ups, maximum. Besides, while Nuthog’s offer of flying him up to his goal was certainly generous, and practical, too, Luka clearly remembered his father’s words about the Mountain of Knowledge: ‘If you want to reach the summit of the Mountain and discover the Fire of Life, you must make the final ascent alone. The Heights of Knowledge are reached only if you earn the right to do so. You have to put in the hard work. You can’t cheat your way to the Top.’ He had said something else after that, and Luka remembered thinking that that last bit was the really important part, but he couldn’t call it to mind. ‘That’s the trouble,’ he thought, ‘with being told all this stuff at night, when you’re always dead tired and falling asleep.’

‘Thank you very much,’ said Luka to Nuthog, ‘but I think I’m supposed to solve this riddle and get there by myself. To fly up on your back … well, it just wouldn’t be right.’

For some reason that idea, not right, stuck in his head. The words kept replaying, again and again, as if his thoughts had become stuck like a scratched record, or caught in some sort of loop. Not right. Not right. What was a thing if it was not right? Well, yes, wrong, that was what most people would say, but it could also be –

‘Left,’ he said aloud. ‘That’s the answer. I went right, and fell into the World of Magic. Now maybe if I somehow go left, I’ll find my way through it.’

Luka remembered his big brother Haroun’s many teasing warnings, back home in Kahani, which felt, just at that moment, very far away indeed. Just be careful not to go down the Left-hand Path. That’s what Haroun had said. ‘But I don’t like to be teased,’ Luka reminded himself, ‘and so maybe I should do the opposite of what he said. Yes! Just this once, I’m not going to listen to my brother’s advice, because Right-thinking people can never really understand what it is to be on the Left, and that hidden Path is exactly the Path that will get me where I need to go.’

After all, his mother Soraya would be on his side. Maybe you are correct to believe that the left way round is the right way, and that the rest of us are not right, but wrong. That’s what she had said, and that was more than enough for him.

‘I’ll go with you,’ said Bear the dog loyally.

‘I’ll go too,’ said Dog the bear, not quite as enthusiastically.

And then Luka recalled the really important part of what Rashid Khalifa had told him about the Mountain: ‘To climb Mount Knowledge, you have to know who you are.’ Luka, sleepy, bedtime Luka at home far away and long ago, hadn’t really understood. ‘Doesn’t everyone know that?’ he had asked. ‘I mean, I’m just me, right? And you’re you?’ Rashid had caressed his hair, which always soothed Luka and made him drowsy. ‘People think they’re all sorts of things they aren’t,’ he had said. ‘They think they’re talented when they’re not; they think they’re powerful when they’re actually just bullies; they think they’re good when they’re bad. People fool themselves all the time, and they don’t know that they’re fools.’

‘Well, I’m me, anyway; that’s all there is to it,’ Luka had said, just as he had fallen asleep.

‘There he is! There’s the Fire Thief! There he goes!’

‘It’s Coyote! He has a burning brand between his teeth!’

‘Look at him go! See him dodge and swerve!’

‘Stop him! – Oh, they’ll never catch him! – Stop that Coyote! – Oh, he’s like hairy lightning! – Stop, thief! Stop the Fire Thief!’

Luka snapped out of his reverie and saw Coyote emerging from the shadows at the foot of Mount Knowledge with fire blazing from his mouth, and streaking round the Mountain towards its far side, running faster than Luka would have believed it was possible for a coyote to run. He was heading across stony ground in the opposite direction from the Rainbow Bridge, leading his pursuers deliberately away from Luka’s probable escape route and into the Wild Waste that lay beyond the Lake. This was an area of semi-desert, more properly known as the Waste of Time, a large expanse of arid land which had been overrun, long ago, by a virulent outbreak of Slackerweed. This rapidly spreading weed, previously unknown in the Magic World, had first choked and destroyed all other plant life – except for a few of the hardiest cacti – and then bizarrely self-destructed, as if it had no idea what to do with itself, and no real desire to find out. It just lay apathetically on the ground until it withered away, leaving behind this yellow wilderness dotted with the skulls of long-dead creatures. Snakes slithered out from under rocks and buzzards wheeled overhead, and it was well known that the gods, accustomed as they were to luxury and opulence, were not fond of entering this zone, where, Rashid Khalifa had told Luka, the air moved slowly, the breeze blew without any real sense of direction, and there was something in that wind that induced carelessness, laziness and sleep. Only a few of the guardian deities who had answered the Fire Alarm had been willing to follow Coyote into the Waste, and their pursuit of the fleeing animal seemed slower, groggier and less purposeful than it should have been. Coyote, however, seemed immune to the infectious lethargy in the air. ‘The Wild Waste is his natural habitat,’ Luka thought. ‘He’ll give those gods a good run for their money there.’ And positioned at intervals along the route Coyote had chosen were the Lion, the Big Bear, the Little Bear, the Wolf, the Squirrel and the Frog. Would the Waste of Time affect them, Luka wondered, or had Coyote discovered an antidote? It wasn’t important. The decoy relay had begun.

He heard Coyote’s voice in his head, saying, Put your best foot forward an make your glory run. And all around him were excited dragons and a barking dog and a roaring bear, and Nuthog was saying, ‘It’s now or never, young Luka, and if you can’t find the way Left, as you say, then you’d best let us fly you up there and take your chances. Move! This is the moment of Truth!’

‘Who are those monsters chasing Coyote?’ Luka needed to know. ‘If you don’t act fast,’ Nuthog harrumphed, panicked, ‘they’ll be chasing you instead, soon enough. Saturn’s out there, as savage and violent as any immortal. He eats children, by the way. He’s done it before, with his own. And the bearded fellow with the snake wound around him is Zurvan, the Persian time god – you don’t want that snake to get within snapping distance, let me tell you! There goes the Dagda, look, that wild Irish fellow with the enormous club! And Xiuhtecuhtli too, though he usually only roams about at night. And even Ling-pao T’ien-tsun – they got him out of the Gossamer Library for once! Looks like they really want to stop the Fire Thief, and when they find out that the fire in Coyote’s mouth is a fake – that it’s just fire, and not the Fire of Life – then they’ll know he was only a decoy, and they’ll come after the real Fire Thief in all their fury. So if you know how to climb up this Mountain under your own steam, it would be a good idea to get on with it.’

To decide to do a thing was decidedly not the same thing as actually doing the thing, Luka quickly understood. He really had no idea of exactly how he was supposed to take the little tumble to the left that would shift him into the Widdershins Dimension in which the whole world, including the World of Magic, would morph into Planet Wrongway, the left-handers’ home, the southpaw variation of Planet Earth. He tried falling, jumping and rolling to the left; he attempted to trip over his own feet; he asked Bear and Dog to knock him over; and finally, closing his eyes, he tried to feel the Left World pushing at his left shoulder, so that, by pushing back, he could fall through the invisible frontier and get to where he needed to be. None of it worked. His many falls left him considerably the worse for wear, bruised of shoulder and of hip, and with a battered and scratched left leg.

‘It beats me,’ he admitted, almost in despair.

‘The thing about the Left-Hand Path,’ said Nuthog gently, ‘is that you have to believe it’s going to be there.’

Just then a triumphant blast of the Fire Alarm announced the capture of the Fire Thief, followed by two blasts of renewed anguish that announced the hunt was still on. Nuthog whizzed off to investigate as soon as she heard the first blast, and returned to report that after the decoy fire had been passed from Coyote to Lion, and then all the way down the old relay team until it reached Frog, that doughty amphibian had swallowed it and dived into the Circular Sea; whereupon the enraged Worm Bottomfeeder had ended the carrera de distracción by swallowing Frog in a single greedy gulp. Four seconds later, Bottomfeeder spat the saliva-covered Frog out again, and roared with all its might to announce to the entire Magical World that this particular Fire Thief was a Common Fraud.

‘They’re all coming this way now,’ Nuthog panted, ‘and, to be frank, they’re mad as hell, so if you won’t let us fly you away from here, then at least run. Run for your life.’

‘Yes, I probably should start running,’ Luka thought. ‘After all, I was running before, when I stumbled the first time and took that magical step to the right.’ It was hard to be certain of the laws of Magical Physics; ordinary physics was difficult enough. But what was it Rashid had said? ‘Time is not only Itself, but is an aspect of Movement and Space.’ That was the point, wasn’t it? ‘So, umm, errr,’ Luka thought, ‘if T is affected by M and S, then, ahhh, therefore, it follows – doesn’t it? – that S, which is to say Space, including the Space between the Right-Handed and the Left-Handed Dimensions, must – probably, right? – be an aspect of T and M, i.e. Time and Movement. Or, urrgghh, to put it in English, it makes a difference how long it takes you to make your move, or, in other words, how fast you run.’

The ground began to tremble. ‘Is it an earthquake?’ Luka cried. ‘No,’ said Nuthog sadly. ‘It’s much worse than that. It’s the sound of several hundred angry gods moving at speed. It will take a lot more than four dragons to stop that crowd.’

Dog the bear stepped forward with sudden resolution. ‘You go,’ he said to Luka. ‘Go this minute. Take off, bhag jao, amscray, vamoose. Go and do the deed. Bear and I can hold them up for quite a while.’

‘How?’ asked Nuthog sceptically.

‘By doing what we do best,’ said Dog the bear. ‘Are you ready, Bear?’

‘Ready,’ said Bear the dog.

Luka knew there was no time to discuss the matter. He turned to his left, tilted his left shoulder down a bit, put his left foot forward, and set off at a gallop, as if his life depended upon it. Which, in point of fact, it did.

He ran without looking back. He heard the noise behind him, already loud, getting closer, growing much louder and becoming deafening, like the sound of a thousand jet engines roaring next to his eardrums; he felt the ground beneath his feet, which had already been trembling, begin to shake as if it had been seized by an uncontrollable terror; he saw the sky above him darken, and white lightning begin to stab through the black clouds. ‘Okay, so they can put on a show, these gods,’ he told himself, to keep his courage up, ‘but remember, they aren’t gods of anywhere or anyone any more. They’re just circus animals, or caged creatures in a zoo.’ But a less confident voice whispered into his right ear, ‘That may be so, but even in a zoo you shouldn’t jump into the middle of the lions’ den.’ He shook this thought off, put his head down and sprinted harder. Nuthog’s advice was the only thing in his head. The thing about the Left-Hand Path is that you have to believe it’s going to be there. Then all at once the noise seemed to stop, the earth no longer shook, he felt as if he were floating at high speed rather than running, and that was when he saw the abyss.

‘Behind the Mountain of Knowledge,’ Rashid Khalifa used to say, ‘if you are very unlucky, you will find the Bottomless Pit known as the Abysm of Time. And that, by the by, is a rhyme. You pronounce it abime and it rhymes with rhyme, which also rhymes with time. But if you fall into that rhyming Abysm it isn’t rhyme that you’ll have on your mind.’

Meanwhile, the thundering herd of ex-gods arrived at Mount Knowledge, and found two of the brightest stars of the Great Rings of Fire, the defunct circus of Captain Aag, waiting for them as calmly as the experienced artistes they were, and gesturing courteously to their outside audience to settle down. Bear the singing dog and Dog the dancing bear had taken up their starting positions, along with their backing singers, the Changers, a quartet of giant metallic sows. The sight was unusual enough to stop the discarded deities in their tracks. Ra the Supreme held up his hand and all the ranks of all the former gods, Egyptian, Assyrian, Norse, Greek, Roman, Aztec, Inca and the rest, came clattering to a clumsy halt, full of screeches, collisions and oaths. The Cyclopes accidentally elbowed one another in the eye, the fire gods’ burning swords singed the hair of the treasure-nymphs, a basilisk glared at a griffin and accidentally turned it to stone. The beauty goddesses – Aphrodite, cow-eared Hathor and the rest – complained loudest. It appeared that the lower-ranked supernatural entities were taking advantage of the crowd of immortals to squeeze the Beauties’ bottoms, accidentally-on-purpose. Also, why exactly were minotaurs stepping on the Lovely Ladies’ feet? And, no, the Beauties absolutely did not appreciate snake-headed deities from rival mythological traditions looking up their togas. A little space, please, they demanded, a little respect. And shh, by the way, they hissed. There were performers here, and they were ready to begin.

‘,’ said Ra, ‘.’

‘What on earth was that?’ asked Bear the dog.

‘He’s speaking Hieroglyph,’ said Nuthog, ‘and what he says is, “Okay, this had better be good.”’

‘Start dancing,’ murmured Bear the dog to Dog the bear. ‘And dance as you’ve never danced before.’

‘And you start singing,’ growled Dog the bear to Bear the dog. ‘Sing as if your life depended upon it.’

‘Which, in point of fact, it does,’ chorused Nuthog, Sara, Badlo and Jinn. ‘And ours too, by the way,’ Nuthog added. ‘No pressure, though. Break a leg.’

So Dog the bear began to dance, first a soft-shoe shuffle, then a rhythm tap, and then the African Gumboot Dance. Once he had warmed up, he went into the Broadway Style and at last his show-stopping speciality, the Caribbean Juba, the most energetic tap dance of them all. The audience went crazy. He had them right where he wanted them; as his feet tapped, so did the feet of the ex-gods; as his hands clapped, so the junked deities clapped along; and when he twirled the Juba Twirl, well, those ancient relics discovered they could still get down and boogie! Ra the Supreme clapped right along with everyone else. ‘,’ he roared, and Gyara-Jinn translated, ‘He says, “You make my pants want to get up and dance.”’ Dog the bear shook his head in wonder. ‘But he isn’t wearing any pants,’ he pointed out. ‘Just that little loincloth sort of thing which doesn’t exactly hide very much,’ agreed Bear the dog, ‘but let’s not argue.’

‘Your turn now,’ said Dog the bear to Bear the dog, and the dog murmured back, ‘Let’s try a little flat-out flattery. After all, it’s been a while since anyone worshipped these folks properly.’ Then he cleared his throat and burst into howlful melody, singing a series of honeyed odes to the gods of Babylon, Egypt, Asgard, Greece and Rome, improvised from less specifically reverential tunes: ‘When I Wish upon Ishtar’, ‘It’s a Beautiful Frey’, ‘Long-winded Adulation Goes to Memphis on the Nile’, and so on. The show seemed to go well, and as he launched into his big finish, the metal sows oohed and clanged behind him.

‘You’re dee-vine,’ sang Bear the dog, and the Clangers chorused, ‘Ooh (clang), ooh (clang), ooh (clang).’

‘You’re Level Nine,’ sang Bear the dog. ‘Ooh (clang), ooh (clang).’

‘You gorgeous gods of mine,

I really wanna praise you!

Really am amazed by you!

Really wanna praise you now

Cause you look so fine, my gods …’

‘Ooh (clang), ooh (clang), ooh (clang),’

‘My sweet gods …’

‘Ooh (clang), ooh (clang), ooh (clang).’

‘O, my gods –’

Bear was interrupted by an angry roar and a golden blaze of light. Ra the Supreme broke the spell of the music, rose into the sky, glowing furiously, and shot like a bullet towards the summit of Mount Knowledge. All the other ex-gods soared after him, looking like the grandest fireworks display in world history. Bear the dog looked disconsolate. ‘I lost my audience,’ he said sadly. Dog the bear comforted him. ‘It wasn’t you. Something just happened up there,’ he said. ‘Maybe it was something good. Let’s hope we bought young Luka enough time.’

An enormous white horse with eight legs galloped towards them, snorting angrily. ‘Let’s go and see if you did, shall we?’ he said. ‘By which I mean, you’re both under arrest.’ This was the real Slippy, King of the Horses, and he didn’t look at all pleased to see them. ‘As for you and your sisters,’ he said to Gyara-Jinn and the other Changers, ‘you should consider yourselves seized as well. We’ll decide what to do about you later, but treason, may I remind you, is not a minor offence.’

When Luka saw the rhyming Abysm of Time ahead of him he didn’t slow down, because now, at last, he could feel the ghostly pressure on his left shoulder that told him the Left- Hand Dimension was right there, right beside him, so he ran even faster, and then, at the very edge of the Abysm, he hurled himself to the left …

… and fell into the Bottomless Pit, and, as he plummeted through the blackness, flew apart into a million shiny fragments. When he came to his senses, his life-counter had subtracted one hundred lives, and he was running at the Abysm again; and again throwing himself left at that area of soft pressure; and again toppling into blackness and disintegrating.

And the third time, the same thing happened again. This time, when the shiny fragments of himself re-formed, and he saw that a total of three hundred lives had evaporated in just these few instants, leaving him with only 165, he lost his temper. ‘That’s pathetic, Luka Khalifa, to be honest with you,’ he scolded himself. ‘If you can’t be serious now, after coming so far, then you deserve the Final Permination you are about to receive.’

Just then a red squirrel ran across his path from right to left, at the very edge of the Abysm, and simply disappeared into thin air. ‘Oh, my goodness,’ Luka thought, ‘I don’t even know if there are such things as left-handed – left-footed? – squirrels, – but if there are, then this was surely one of them, and it’s amazing how easily it hopped across onto the Left-Hand path, without even trying. Obviously when you really and truly believe it’s there you can scurry across onto it without the slightest difficulty, whenever you feel the urge.’ Whereupon, following the squirrel’s example, Luka Khalifa simply turned to the left and took a step, and, without even needing to stumble, stepped into the left-handed version of the Magic World …

… in which the Mountain was completely different! As a matter of fact, it was no longer a Mountain at all, but a low green hill dotted with oaks and elms and chinar trees and stands of poplars, and flower bushes around which honeybees buzzed, hummingbirds hummed and larks warbled melodiously, while crested orange hoopoes strutted like princes on the grass; and there was a pretty path curling around it to the left, a path which looked like it might take Luka all the way to the top.

‘I always knew the Left-Hand World would be much easier for me to handle than the Right-Hand one, if I could just find my way there,’ Luka thought happily. ‘I bet you that if there was a doorknob anywhere around here, it would turn to the left. It seems that even Knowledge itself is not such a huge, frightening Mountain when the world is arranged to suit us lefties for a change.’

The red squirrel was waiting for him on a low tree stump, nibbling at an acorn. ‘Greetings from Queen Soraya,’ she said, bowing formally. ‘Ratatat’s the name. Oh yes. Her Majesty the Insultana thought you might appreciate a little guidance.’

‘She certainly has friends everywhere,’ Luka marvelled.

‘We redheads like to stick together,’ said Ratatat, bristling with pleasure. ‘And some of us (I don’t want to boast, but there it is) are Honorary Otters of long standing – oh yes! – members of the highly confidential Ott List, the Insultana’s emergency undercover squadron – sleeper agents, if you will, lurking in our secret Ott Beds and available to the lady twenty-four/seven on her personal Ott Line, just in case she needs to activate us. But, much as I’d like to stop and chat about these Ott Topics, I do believe you might be in something of a hurry. So,’ she went on quickly, noticing that Luka had opened his mouth to reply, and obliging him to shut it again, ‘let’s Ott-foot it up this so-called Mountain while we can.’

Luka almost skipped up that hill, so great was his determination and joy. He had Jumped to the Left, from a Mountain of Difficulty to a Hill of Ease, and the Fire of Life lay within his grasp. Soon he would be rushing home as fast as he could go, to pour the Fire into his father’s mouth, and then Rashid Khalifa would surely Awake, and there would be new stories told, and Soraya his mother would sing – ‘You do know,’ said Ratatat the squirrel, ‘that there will be guards?’

‘Guards?’ Luka stopped dead in his tracks and almost shrieked the word, because somehow he hadn’t been expecting to encounter any further obstacles – not here in the Left-Hand Dimension, surely not! Happiness drained from him like blood from a wound.

‘You wouldn’t expect the Fire of Life to be left unguarded, would you?’ said Ratatat sternly, as if lecturing a slightly dim-witted student.

‘Are there Fire Gods in this Magic World, too?’ asked Luka, and then felt so foolish he actually blushed. ‘Well, yes, I suppose there must be – but aren’t they all somewhere else right now, guarding the Rainbow Bridge or searching for … well, for me, I suppose?’

‘As well as Fire Gods,’ said Ratatat, ‘there are Fire Guards. Oh yes.’

Nowadays, the squirrel explained, the job of guarding the Fire of Life had been given to the most powerful Guard Spirits from all the world’s dead religions, aka mythologies. Spotted Kerberos, the fifty-headed dog of Greece and the former gatekeeper of the Underworld; Anzu, the Sumerian demon with the face and paws of a lion and an eagle’s claws and wings; the decapitated but still living head of the Nordic giant Mimir, which had been guarding the Fire for so long that it had grown into, and become part of, Mount Knowledge itself; Fafnir the superdragon, as big as the four Changers combined and a hundred times as powerful; and Argus Panoptes, the cowherd with the hundred eyes, who saw everything and missed nothing, were the five appointed guardians, each of them more ferocious than the last.

‘Ah,’ said Luka, feeling cross with himself. ‘Yes, I should have expected that. So, as you know everything, can you tell me how am I supposed to get around that little lot?’

‘Cunning,’ said Ratatat. ‘Do you have that? Because a good supply of that is what is recommended. Hermes, for example, tricked Argus once by cunningly singing him lullabies until all his hundred eyes closed and he fell asleep. Oh yes. To steal the Fire of Life, you’ll need to be the cunning, devious, sneaky, tricky, weirdly twisted type. Is that, by any chance, the type of type you are?’

‘No,’ said Luka disconsolately, and sat down on the grassy slope. ‘I’m sorry to say that I’m not.’

As he spoke the sky darkened; storm clouds, black and lightning-lit, thickened overhead. ‘,’ said a terrifying voice emanating from the heart of the clouds, ‘.’

‘“In that case,”’ little Ratatat translated through teeth that were chattering with fear, ‘“you might find this last step a trifle tough.”’

As the gods rose like a swarm of hornets towards the summit of Mount Knowledge, the Fire Alarm sounded the all-clear, announcing the capture of the Fire Thief to the whole Heart of Magic. Bear the dog and Dog the bear, who were being carried up to the top on the Horse King’s back, heard the triumphant notes of the siren and were plunged into gloom. Nuthog and her sisters were flying alongside them with their tails very much between their legs. ‘The jig is up, I’m sorry to say,’ Nuthog told Bear and Dog, confirming their fears. ‘It’s time to pay the piper.’

At that instant the entire swarm of gods swerved sharply to the left – and, to Bear and Dog’s amazement, actually tore through the blue sky itself, as if it were made of paper, and charged through into another sky, which was full of storm clouds. The Horse King and his prisoners followed the swarm through the gigantic rip into the Left-Hand World, and Bear and Dog saw for the first time the transformed version of Mount Knowledge, which they both immediately thought to be the loveliest of green hills, even though the sky was dark and menacing, and the moment so forlorn. At the summit of Knowledge was a flower-strewn meadow crowned by a fine, spreading ash tree. In spite of the tree’s beauty, however, its name was the Tree of Terror, and under its boughs stood Luka Khalifa with a red squirrel on his shoulder and the Ott Pot hanging from his neck, guarded by his captor, Anzu the Sumerian thunder demon with his lion’s head and eagle’s body, who looked as if he was only just managing to restrain himself from ripping the boy to bits with his enormous claws. The rest of the Fire Guards – many-headed Kerberos, Mimir the head without a body, Fafnir the superdragon and Argus Panoptes of the hundred eyes – were also angrily at hand. And beside the great tree was a small, slender-columned marble temple, scarcely larger than a humble garden shed. Inside the Temple was a light that glowed with an almost shocking intensity, filling the air around the Temple with warmth, radiance and a crackle of energy, even in the thunderous mood of that time of failure, captivity and imminent judgement; and above the pillared entrance to the Temple stood a golden ball, the Saving Point at this impossible Level’s End. ‘That’s the glow of Fire of Life,’ Dog the bear growled quietly to Bear the dog. ‘What a simple home it has, at the end of such a grand journey; and how close we came, and how sad that we didn’t –’ Bear the dog interrupted sharply: ‘Don’t say that,’ he barked. ‘This isn’t over.’ But in his heart he believed it was.

The trial began. ‘’ roared Ra the Supreme, who seemed to have taken charge of events.

‘Maat!’ the crowd of gods roared back – which is to say roared, or shouted, or chirped, or hissed, depending on the god in question.

‘’ shouted Ra.

‘Maat has been disrupted and must be restored,’ echoed the divine mob.

‘’ Ra bellowed.

‘Therefore let Maat be done.’

‘What’s Maat?’ Luka asked Ratatat the squirrel.

‘Ahem,’ said Ratatat, raising her eyebrows and twitching her whiskers professorially. ‘It is a reference to the divine music of the Universe – oh yes! – and the structure of the World, and the nature of Time, the most basic of all Forces, which to interfere with is a crime –’

‘In short?’ Luka requested.

‘Oh,’ said Ratatat, looking a little disappointed. ‘Well, then, in brief, Ra means that order has been disturbed, and justice must be done.’

Luka discovered all at once that he was feeling extremely annoyed. How dare this posse of has-beens judge him? Who were they to tell him he should not try to save his father’s life? This was the moment at which he saw his companions arriving on the scene, and the sight of his beloved dog and bear and the four loyal Changers under arrest increased his irritation. These supernatural pensioners had some nerve, he thought. He would have to show them what was what.

‘’ cried Ra the Supreme,

‘

’

‘Do I have to translate all that?’ said Ratatat reluctantly.

‘Yes,’ Luka insisted.

‘Fortunately for you,’ said Ratatat, sighing a little, ‘I have an excellent memory, and an obliging nature as well. You won’t like it, though. “Once and for all,”’ she began, ‘“members of the Real World must be shown that they are not permitted the use of the Fire of Life. It cannot revive the Dead, for they have entered the Book of the Dead and are no longer Beings, but only Words. But to the Dying it gives new life, and in the healthy it can induce great longevity, even immortality, which belongs to the gods alone. The Fire of Life must not cross the boundary and enter the Real World, and yet here is a Fire Thief who plans precisely to take it across that forbidden frontier. An example must be made.”’

‘Oh, is that so?’ said Luka. A fire of his own making had risen in his breast, and blazed through his eyes. The strange inner force that had gripped him after Nobodaddy’s disappearance rose up again and gave him the strength he needed. ‘As it happens,’ he realised, ‘I know exactly what to say.’ Then he called out so loudly to the assembled ex-gods that they stopped roaring and hissing and chirping and whinnying and making all the other weird noises they habitually made, and fell silent, and listened.

‘It’s my turn to speak now,’ Luka hollered at the assembled Supernatural Beings, ‘and, believe you me, I have a lot to say about all this poppycock, and you had better listen closely, and listen well, because your future depends upon it as much as mine does. You see, I know something you don’t know about this World of Magic … it isn’t your World! It doesn’t even belong to the Aalim, whoever they are, wherever they are lurking right now. This is my father’s World. I’m sure there are other Magic Worlds dreamed up by other people, Wonderlands and Narnias and Middle-earths and whatnot – and I don’t know, maybe there are some such Worlds that dreamed themselves up, I suppose that’s possible, and I won’t argue with you if you say it is – but this one, gods and goddesses, ogres and bats, monsters and slimy things, is the World of Rashid Khalifa, the well-known Ocean of Notions, the fabulous Shah of Blah. From start to finish; Level One to Level Nine and back again; lock, stock and barrel; from soup to nuts, it’s his.

‘He put it together this way, he gave it shape and laws, and he brought all of you here to populate it, because he has learned about you, thought about you, and even dreamed about you all his life. The reason this World is the way it is, is because, Right-Handed or Left-Handed, Nobody’s World or the World of Nonsense, this is the World inside his head! And I know about it – probably that’s why I was able to stumble to the right and step to the left and get here – because I’ve been hearing about it every day of my life, as bedtime stories and breakfast sagas and dinner-table yarns, and as tall tales told to audiences all over the city of Kahani and the country of Alifbay, and also as little secrets he whispered into my ears, just for me. So in a way it’s now my World, too. And the plain truth is that if I don’t get the Fire of Life to him before it’s too late, he isn’t the only one who will come to an end. Everything here will vanish, too; I don’t know what will become of you all exactly but, at the very least, you won’t have this comfortable World to live in any more, this place where you can go on pretending you matter when actually nobody gives a hoot. And in the worst-case scenario you will disappear completely – poof – as if you had never been, because let’s be frank, how many people other than Rashid Khalifa are really bothering to keep your story going nowadays? How many people know any more about the Salamander that lives in Fire, or the Squonk that is so sad about being ugly that it actually dissolves into tears?

‘Wake up and smell the coffee, old-timers! You’re extinct! You’re deceased! As gods and wonderful creatures, you have ceased to be! You say the Fire of Life mustn’t cross into the Real World? I’m telling you that if it doesn’t reach one particular member of the Real World double-quick, you’re done for. Your golden eggs have been fried, and your magic goose is cooked.’

‘Wow,’ Ratatat the squirrel whispered into his ear. ‘You’ve certainly got their attention now.’

The entire army of discarded divinities had been shocked into amazed silence. Luka under the Tree of Terror knew that he mustn’t let anything break the spell. And besides, he had plenty more to say.

‘Shall I tell you who you are now?’ he shouted. ‘Well, first I’ll go on reminding you who you aren’t. You aren’t really the gods of anywhere or anyone any more. You no longer have the power of life and death and salvation and damnation. You can’t turn into bulls and capture Earth girls, or interfere in wars, or play any of those other games you used to play. Look at you! Instead of real Powers, you have Beauty Contests. It’s a bit on the feeble side, to be honest with you. Listen to me: it’s only through Stories that you can get out into the Real World and have some sort of power again. When your story is well told, people believe in you; not in the way they used to believe, not in a worshipping way, but in the way people believe in stories – happily, excitedly, wishing they wouldn’t end. You want Immortality? It’s only my father, and people like him, who can give it to you now. My father can make people forget that they forgot all about you, and start adoring you all over again and being interested in what you’ve been getting up to and wishing that you wouldn’t end. And you’re trying to stop me? You should be begging me to finish the work I came here to do. You should be helping me. You should be putting the Fire into my Ott Pot, making sure it lights up my Ott Potatoes, and then escorting me all the way home. Who am I? I’m Luka Khalifa. I’m the only chance you’ve got.’

It was the greatest speech of his life as a performer, delivered on the most important stage on which he had ever set foot; and he had used every ounce of skill and passion in his body, that was true – but had he carried his audience with him? ‘Maybe so,’ he thought worriedly, ‘and maybe no.’

Bear the dog and Dog the bear, still on the Horse King’s back, were shouting out supportively, yelling, ‘That’s telling them!’ and so on, but the silence of the gods grew so dense, so oppressive, that in the end even Bear held his tongue. That awful silence went on thickening, like a fog, and the dark skies grew darker until the only light Luka could see was the glow from the Fire Temple, and in that flickering radiance he saw the slow movements of giant shadows all around him, shadows that looked like they were closing in on the Tree of Terror and the boy who stood captive beneath it with a Sumerian thunder demon as his guard. Closer and closer the shadows came, forming themselves into a single giant fist that was closing around Luka, and would, any minute now, squeeze the life out of him like water from a sponge. ‘This is it, then,’ he thought. ‘My speech didn’t work, they didn’t buy it, and so here’s an end to it all.’ He wished he could hug his dog and his bear once more. He wished the people he loved were there to hold his hand. He wished he could wish himself out of this jam. He wished …

The Mountain of Knowledge began to shake violently, as if some invisible colossus were jumping up and down on its slopes. The trunk of the Tree of Terror cracked from top to bottom, and the Tree fell in ruins to the ground, its crashing branches narrowly missing Luka and the thunder demon. One falling branch struck Mimir the Head, and he unleashed an injured yelp. From among the ranks of the gods and monsters there were many more cries, of anguish, bewilderment and fear. Then came the most terrifying events of all. There were instants, very brief, fractions of seconds, when everything completely disappeared, and Luka, Bear and Dog – the three visitors from the Real World – remained suspended in an appalling, colourless, soundless, motionless, lawless, everything-less absence. Then the Magic World came back again, but a horrible realisation began to dawn on everyone and everything there: the World of Magic was in trouble. Its deepest foundations were shaking, its geography was becoming uncertain, its very existence had begun to be an intermittent, on–off affair. What if the ‘off’ moments started getting longer? What if they began to last longer than the ‘on’ ones? What if the ‘on’ moments, the periods of the World’s existence, diminished to split seconds, or even vanished entirely? What if everything the Fire Thief had just told them was the naked truth, in which they had until now refused to believe, clothed as they all were in the tatters of their old divine glory and the remnants of their pride? Was this the bare, unvarnished reality: that their survival was tied to the ebbing life of a sick and dying man? These were the questions plaguing all the inhabitants of the Magic World, but in Luka’s panicked, racing mind there was a simpler, more horrifying query.

Was Rashid Khalifa about to die?

Anzu the thunder demon fell to its knees and began to plead with Luka in a soft, sad, piteous voice, ‘

.’

Ratatat was so scared that her voice shook as she translated the Sumerian. ‘“Save us, sir! Only, please, sir, we don’t want to be just fairy tales. We want to be revered again! We want to be … divine.”’

‘Sir, huh?’ Luka thought. ‘That’s a change of tone if ever I heard one.’ Hope surged through his body, fighting against his despair; he rallied all his strength to make one last effort, and said with all the force he could command, ‘Take it or leave it, all of you. It’s the best offer you’re going to get.’

The darkness stopped closing in around him; the wrath of the gods wavered; overcome by their fear, it broke into pieces and dissipated completely, to be replaced by abject terror. The clouds of anger parted, the daylight returned, and everyone could see that the rip in the sky through which the god-swarm had poured had grown ten times as large as before; that there were actually cracks running across the heavens from horizon to horizon; and that the army of mythological figures was itself deteriorating – ageing, cracking, fading, weakening, diminishing and losing the ability to be. Aphrodite, Hathor, Venus and the other Beauty goddesses looked at the wrinkled skin on their hands and arms and shrieked, ‘Smash all the mirrors!’ And the immense figure of the falcon-headed Egyptian Supreme Deity fell to its knees just like Anzu had, its body beginning to crumble like an ancient monument; and all the other gods followed Ra’s lead – or at least those of them who had knees. In a low, respectful, frightened voice, Ra the Supreme said, ‘

’

‘What did he say?’ Luka asked Ratatat, who had started jumping up and down on his shoulder, squeaking loudly.

‘He says they’ll take it – your offer, that is,’ squeaked Ratatat, in a voice that was simultaneously relieved and terrified. ‘You can take the Fire now. Hurry! What are you waiting for? Save your father! Save us all! Don’t just stand there! Move!’

Shadows rushed across the sky above their heads. ‘Well, will you look at that!’ said the welcome voice of the Insultana of Ott. ‘I thought I was leading my loyal Otter Air Force on a doomed-but-gallant rescue attempt of an incompetent but oddly likeable young fellow, because, in spite of your foolhardiness, in the final analysis I couldn’t stand by and leave you to your fate with only my Honorary Otter Ratatat to represent me; but I see – to my considerable surprise, considering what a foolish boy you are – that you have managed pretty well on your own.’ There in the newly cloud-free, but also decaying, sky above the Mountain of Knowledge was the entire OAF on its flying carpets, with quantities of rotten vegetables and itching-powder paper planes at the ready, and Queen Soraya at their head aboard Resham, the Flying Carpet of King Solomon the Wise, along with Coyote the decoy runner, the Elephant Birds – ‘We came too!’ they shouted down. ‘We don’t just want to remember stuff! We want to do stuff too!’ – and a male stranger of great age and improbable size, who was also completely naked, with a heavily scarred midriff.

Luka didn’t have time to reply to anyone, or to ask who the naked stranger was, or even to embrace Bear and Dog, who had jumped off the Horse King’s back and rushed to his side. ‘I have to get to the Fire,’ he cried. ‘Every second counts.’ Bear the dog reacted at once, and charged at breakneck speed into the Fire Temple, to return a few seconds later with a burning wooden brand between his teeth, ablaze with the brightest, most cheerful, most attractive, most hopeful fire Luka had ever seen; and Dog the bear climbed the columns of the Fire Temple and, with one great paw, hammered the golden ball over the entrance as hard as he could. Luka heard the telltale little ding, saw the number in the top right-hand corner of his field of vision click up to 8, grabbed the burning wood from Bear’s jaws and plunged it into the Ott Pot, whereupon the little Ott Potatoes began to burn with the same heart-warming, optimistic cheeriness as the stick.

‘Let’s go!’ yelled Luka, hanging the Pot around his neck again. Its warmth felt comforting; and Soraya swooped down to allow Luka, Bear and Dog to leap up onto King Solomon’s Carpet. ‘No faster mode of transport in the whole Magic World,’ she cried. ‘Say your farewells and let’s be on our way.’ Then Nuthog and her sisters and the squirrel Ratatat shouted, ‘No time for that! Goodbye! Good luck! Go!’ And so they did. Soraya’s carpet hurtled back through the rip in the sky. ‘You came in from the Right-Hand World, so that’s the way you’ll have to go back out,’ she told him. The rest of the Otter Air Force followed, but the Carpet of King Solomon was flying at its very fastest, and the others were soon left behind.

‘Don’t you worry,’ said Soraya in her most determinedly cheerful voice. ‘I’ll get you back in time. After all, it turns out that you have our whole World to save as well as your dad.’

8

The Race Against Time

The sky was falling. They were flying through the hole in the sky, and parts of the heavens were dropping off and crashing down on to the Heart of Magic below. Luka (once again wrapped up for warmth in Soraya’s charmed blanket) could not feel the wind inside the defensive bubble Soraya had erected around the flying carpet, but he could see its effects on the world below. Whole trees had been uprooted and went flying through the air as if they had been blown off a huge dandelion clock; fierce leather-winged dragons were being tossed hither and yon like children’s toys; and the Gossamer Net Heaven, the most fragile area of the Heart of Magic, made up of fifty-five layers of glistening webs, had been torn to shreds. The ‘Great Pure Realm’, the legendary Library of Ling-pao T’ien-tsun, which had survived for thousands of years in the Gossamer Nets, was no more. Its ancient volumes were borne aloft, their torn pages fluttering like wings. ‘The Winds of Change are blowing,’ cried the Elephant Drake, and the Elephant Duck mourned, ‘Our little knowledge counts for nothing when you compare it to the wisdom that is being destroyed today.’ It was almost impossible for Luka to hear what they were saying because there was a screaming in the wind that seemed, well, alive. It was Coyote, his hair standing on end, who explained that the Wind Shriekers are loose, an when they get to shriekin, why the whole of creation is fit to come apart at the seam. Luka decided he didn’t want to ask who or what the Wind Shriekers might be.

Luka, along with Coyote, the Elephant Birds, Bear the dog and Dog the bear, sat tensely near the leading edge of the flying carpet, watching the turbulent World flash past. Behind them, at the carpet’s centre, Soraya stood with her eyes closed and her arms outstretched, forcing Resham to achieve speeds it had never touched before; and behind her, with his hands on her shoulders, lending her his strength, knelt the gigantic old naked man whom Luka had never met. It’s him, Coyote hissed into Luka’s ear. The Old Boy. First an greatest. Heard bout your run an came out to lend a hand. The Old Boy. After all this time. It’s a fine thing, kid. It honours us all.

They flew out of the Heart of Magic and the Forking Paths were below them, their waters boiling, leaping into the air to form hanging walls of liquid, then falling back again in floods. ‘So this is Level Nine,’ Luka heard himself saying, and Soraya answered grimly, ‘No, this is the End of the World.’

The Inescapable Whirlpool and the El Tiempo time-trap were swirling around faster and faster, sucking material into their mouths with ever greater force, and Soraya had to take the flying carpet dangerously high, sixty-one miles above the Earth’s surface, less than a mile from the Kármán Line, but there was still a moment when Soraya had to take the flying carpet dangerously high, sixty-one miles above the Earth’s surface, less than a mile from the Kármán Line, but there was still a moment when Soraya had to take the flying carpet dangerously high, sixty-one miles above the Earth’s surface, less than a mile from the Kármán Line, but there was still a moment when Soraya had to take the flying carpet dangerously high, sixty-one miles above the Earth’s surface, less than a mile from the Kármán Line, but there was still a moment when – They were almost trapped, and then they broke free and flew like a missile from a boy’s slingshot in a direction which Soraya was unable to control. The flying carpet was spinning round and round like a coin and its passengers clung to one another for dear life. Luka didn’t notice the Great Stagnation below them, and then they were at the Mists of Time. The Mists were in trouble too: large holes and tears had appeared in that formerly impenetrable wall of grey. Inside the Mists the carpet was still spinning and the Memory Birds wept with the fear of Oblivion and Coyote howled and things could have become unbearable if the ‘Old Boy’, the Titan Prometheus, had not risen to his feet and spoken for the first time, using words of Power. ‘Khulo!’ he roared at the swirling fog of nothingness. ‘I did not escape the Bird of Zeus to perish in a fog! Dafa ho! Begone, foul Curtain, and let us be on our way.’ And at once the flying carpet emerged from the Mists, and Luka could see where they were.

It was not a cheerful sight. They had been blown far away from the River. The City of Dreams was below them now, and as Soraya fought to steer the flying carpet in the right direction, Luka could see the towers of the Dream City toppling like card palaces, its homes lying in roofless ruin, and he saw, too, many of the unhoused Dreams, which only flourished behind drawn curtains in comfortable darkness, staggering into the bright streets to collapse and wither in the light. Nightmares galloped blindly down the City’s roads, and only a few citizens seemed unaffected; but even these were wandering about vaguely, not paying attention to the chaos around them, as if they lived in worlds of their own. ‘Those must be Daydreams,’ Luka guessed.

The collapse of the World of Magic terrified him, because it could only mean that Rashid Khalifa’s life was sliding down its last slope, and so, while Luka watched in horror the crumbling of the fields and farms of the Land of Lost Childhood, while he saw the smoke rising from the forest fires burning on the Blue Remembered Hills, while he witnessed the collapse of the City of Hope, all he could think was: ‘Get me back in time, please don’t let me be too late, just get me back in time.’

Then he saw the Cloud Fortress of Baadal-Garh heading towards them at high speed, its massive fortifications intact, the Cloud upon which it stood boiling and bubbling like a sped-up film of itself, and with a sinking heart he understood that his final battle still lay ahead. His left hand clutched at the Ott Pot hanging round his neck, and its warmth gave him a little strength. He crawled on all fours along the flying carpet until he reached Soraya – it was impossible to walk on that rippling, zooming, wind-tossed rug – and he asked, already knowing the answers, ‘Who is in charge of that Fortress? Do they mean us any harm?’ Soraya’s face and body were filled with tension. ‘I wish we hadn’t outrun the Otter Air Force,’ she said, almost to herself. ‘But, anyway, they wouldn’t have been much use against this enemy.’ Then she turned sadly to Luka and answered him. ‘In my heart of hearts I knew this would happen,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know where or how or when, but I knew they would not stand back. It is the Aalim, Luka – the Guardians of the Fire, the Lords of Time. Jo-Hua, Jo-Hai, Jo-Aiga. A harsher Trinity you never will see. And with them, just as I suspected, there is a traitor and a turncoat. Look, there, upon the battlement. That vermilion bush shirt. That battered panama hat. There is the scoundrel, among the ranks of your deadliest foes.’

Yes, it was Nobodaddy, no longer a transparent spectre, but looking as solid as any man. Rage and misery wrestled with each other in Luka’s heart, but he fought them both back. This was a situation for calm minds. The Fortress City of Baadal-Garh was upon them, and as it neared, it grew. The Cloud upon which it stood spread around the Flying Carpet of King Solomon the Wise, and as it encircled them so did the Fortress’s lengthening walls. They were in a prison in the sky, Luka realised, and even though the air above them was clear he was sure that some unseen barrier would block their way if they attempted to escape. They were the prisoners of Time, and the flying carpet came to a halt right below the battlement where the creature Luka had known as Nobodaddy stood, looking down at them with scorn.

‘Look at me,’ he said. ‘As you see, you are already too late.’

Luka had to fight for self-control then, but he managed to shout back, ‘That can’t be true, otherwise you’d no longer be around, would you? If you were telling the truth about what happens when your work is done, then you’d have done that opposite-of-the-Bang thing, you’d – whatever you called it – un-become, and you told me you didn’t want to do that –’

‘Un-Be,’ Nobodaddy corrected him. ‘You should know the terminology by now. Oh, and when I said I didn’t want to do that? I lied. Why would any creature not want to do the thing it was created for? If you’re born to dance, you dance. If you’re born to sing, you don’t sit around keeping your mouth shut. And if you come into being in order to eat a man’s life, then finishing the job and Un-Being after it’s done is the supreme achievement, the absolutely satisfying climax. Yes! A thing of ecstasy.

‘It sounds like you’re in love with death, to be honest with you,’ said Luka, and then understood the meaning of what he’d said.

‘Quite,’ said Nobodaddy. ‘Now you get it. I do confess to a measure of self-love. And that is not a noble quality, I readily concede the point. But, I repeat: ecstasy. All the more so in a case like this one. Your father has fought me with all his might, I should tell you. My compliments to him. He clearly feels he has powerful reasons to stay alive, and maybe you are one of those reasons. But I have my hand on his throat now. And you are right: when I said you were too late, I lied again. Look.’

He held up his right hand, and Luka could see that half of the middle finger was missing. ‘That’s all the life he has left,’ said Nobodaddy. ‘And while we’re talking, he’s emptying out, and I am filling up. Who knows? Maybe you’ll still be around to witness the great event. You can certainly forget about getting home in time to save him, even if you do have the Fire of Life in that Ott Pot around your neck. Congratulations on getting that far, by the way. Level Eight! Quite an achievement. But now, let’s not forget, Time is on my side.’

‘You turned out to be a nasty piece of work, and no mistake,’ said Luka. ‘What a fool I was to be taken in by you.’ Nobodaddy laughed a cold laugh. ‘Ah, but if you hadn’t gone along with me, there would have been none of this fun,’ he said. ‘You’ve made the wait so much more enjoyable. I really have to thank you for that.’

‘It’s all been just a game to you,’ Luka shouted, but Nobodaddy wagged the half-finger at him. ‘No, no,’ he said reprovingly. ‘Never just a game. It’s a matter of life and death.’

Dog the bear stood up on his hind legs and growled, ‘I can’t stand this fellow any more. Let me at him.’ But Nobodaddy was out of Dog’s reach up there on his rampart, and there seemed to be no way up. Then, in his deep, deep voice, the Titan spoke, the scarred Old Boy himself. ‘Leave him to me,’ he said, and got up from his kneeling position behind Soraya; and rose; and rose; and rose. When a Titan grows to his full size the Universe trembles. (The Universe also tries to look away, because nakedness enlarged in this way is much, much bigger than regular-sized nakedness, and harder to ignore.) Long ago, the Old Boy’s uncle had risen up like this and destroyed the sky itself. After that the battle of the Greek gods against the Twelve Titans had shaken the earth as the colossi fought and fell. The Old Boy, a veteran and hero of that war, scorning clothes as Greek Heroes and Ancients always had, rose up and grew so big that Soraya had to hurry to enlarge the flying carpet to its maximum size, before they were all pushed off it by the Old Boy’s enlarging feet. Luka was pleased to note the look of fear on Nobodaddy’s face as the Titan reached out an enormous left hand, grabbed him, and held him fast. ‘Let me go,’ squealed Nobodaddy – his voice was sounding inhuman now, Luka thought, it was goblinish, demonic, and, at this precise moment, it was shriekingly scared.

‘Unhand me,’ shrieked Nobodaddy. ‘You have no right to do this!’

The Old Boy grinned a grin the size of a stadium. ‘Ah, but I have a left,’ he said, ‘and we left-handers stick together, you know.’

With that, he drew back his hand as far as it would go, with Nobodaddy kicking and squeaking in his grip, and then he hurled that dreadful, deceiving, life-sucking creature far, far away, up into the sky, howling all the way to the edge of the atmosphere and then out beyond the Kármán Line, where the world ended and the blackness of outer space began.

‘We’re still trapped,’ Dog the bear pointed out grouchily, because he felt a little upstaged by the Titan’s titanic effort. Then, too loudly, and in too challenging a manner, he added, ‘Where are these Aalim, anyway? Let them show themselves, unless they’re too scared to face us.’

‘Be careful what you wish for,’ said Soraya hurriedly, but it was too late.

‘It is not known,’ said Rashid Khalifa, ‘if the Aalim have actual physical form. Perhaps they do have bodies, or perhaps they can simply take on bodily shapes when they need to, and at other times they are disembodied entities, spreading out through space – because Time is everywhere, after all; there’s nowhere that doesn’t have its Yesterdays, that doesn’t live in a Today, that doesn’t hope for a good Tomorrow. Anyway, the Aalim are known for their extreme reluctance to appear in public, preferring to work in silence and behind the scenes. When they have been glimpsed, they have always been hidden inside hooded cloaks, like monks. Nobody has ever seen their faces, and everyone is afraid of their passing – except for a few particular children …’

‘A few particular children,’ Luka said aloud, remembering, ‘who can defy Time’s power just by being born, and make us all young again.’ It had been his mother who had said that first, or something very like it – he knew this because she had made a point of telling him so – but soon enough the idea became a part of Rashid’s inexhaustible storehouse of tall stories. ‘Yes,’ he admitted to Luka with a shameless grin, ‘I stole that from your ma. Don’t forget: if you’re going to be a thief, steal the good stuff.’

‘Well,’ thought Luka the Thief of the Fire of Life, ‘I acted on your advice, Dad, and look what I stole, and you see where it’s got me now.’

The three hooded figures standing on the battlements of the Cloud Fortress of Baadal-Garh were neither large nor imposing. Their faces were invisible and their arms were crossed, as if they were cradling babies. They said nothing, but they didn’t need to. It was plain from the expression on Soraya’s face, and from Coyote’s cringing whine – Madre de Dios, if I warnt on a carpet in the sky right now I’d jus make a run for it an take my chances – and the quivering of the Elephant Birds – ‘Okay, maybe we don’t want to do stuff after all! Maybe we just want to live, and remember stuff, like we’re supposed to!’ – that their mere appearance struck terror into the people of the Magic World. Even the grizzled Old Boy, the great Titan himself, was fidgeting nervously. Luka knew that they were all thinking fearfully about Sniffelheim, about being imprisoned for ever in solid blocks of ice. Or possibly they were worrying about liver-eating birds. ‘Hmm,’ he thought, ‘it looks like our Magic Friends aren’t going to be much use in this situation. It’s up to the Real World team to pull this off somehow.’

Then the Aalim spoke, in unison, three low, unearthly voices whose triple coldness felt steely, like three invincible swords. Even courageous Soraya quailed at the sound. ‘I never thought I would be forced to hear the Voices of Time,’ she cried, and put her hands over her ears. ‘Oh, oh! It’s unbearable! I can’t stand it!’ and she fell to her knees in pain. The other magic beings were similarly distressed and writhed around on the flying carpet in evident agony, except for the Old Boy, whose tolerance for pain was obviously very great after that eternity at the mercy of the liver-munching Bird of Zeus. Dog the bear looked unimpressed, however, and Bear the dog, whose hackles were up, bared his teeth in an angry snarl.

‘You have taken us away from our Handloom,’ the soft sword-voices said. ‘We are Weavers, the three of us, and on the Loom of Days we weave the Threads of Time, weaving the whole of Becoming into the fabric of Being, the whole of Knowing into the cloth of the Known, the whole of Doing into the garment of the Done. Now you have taken us from our Loom and things are disorderly. Disorder displeases us. Displeasure displeases us also. Therefore we are doubly displeased.’ And then, after a pause: ‘Return what you have stolen and perhaps we will spare your lives.’

‘Look at what’s happening around you,’ Luka shouted back. ‘Can’t you see it? The calamity of this whole World? Don’t you want to save it? That’s what I’m trying to do, and all you have to do is get out of my way and let me get home –’

‘It is of no consequence to us whether this World lives or dies,’ came the reply.

Luka was shocked. ‘You don’t care?’ he asked disbelievingly.

‘Compassion is not our affair,’ the Aalim replied. ‘The ages go by heartlessly whether people wish them to do so or not. All things must pass. Only Time itself endures. If this World ends, another will continue. Happiness, friendship, love, suffering, pain are fleeting illusions, like shadows on a wall. The seconds march forward into minutes, the minutes into days, the days into years, unfeelingly. There is no “care”. Only this knowledge is Wisdom. This wisdom alone is Knowledge.’

The seconds were indeed marching forward, and at home in Kahani Rashid Khalifa’s life was ebbing away. ‘The Aalim are my mortal enemies,’ he had said, and so they were. Passion rose up in Luka, and a scream of angry love burst out of him. ‘Then I curse you, just as I cursed Captain Aag!’ he yelled at the Three Jos. ‘He caged his animals, and treated them cruelly, and you’re exactly the same, to be honest with you. You think you have everyone in your cage and so you can ignore us and torment us and make us do what you want, and you don’t care about anything except yourselves. Well, curse you, all three of you! What are you, anyway? Jo-Hua, the Past has gone and will never return, and if it lives on, it’s only in our memories – and the memories of the Elephant Birds, of course – and it’s certainly not standing up there on the ramparts of this Cloud Fortress, wearing a stupid hood. As for you, Jo-Hai, the Present hardly exists, even a boy my age knows that. It vanishes into the Past every time I blink an eye, and nothing as, um, temporary as that has much power over me. And Jo-Aiga? The Future? Give me a break. The Future is a dream, and nobody knows how it will turn out. The only sure thing is that we – Bear, Dog, my family, my friends and – we will make it whatever it is, good or bad, happy or sad, and we certainly don’t need you to tell us what it is. Time isn’t a trap, you phoneys. It’s just the road I’m on, and I’m in a real hurry right now, so get out of my way. Everyone here has been scared of you for too long. May they lose their fear and – and – and put you on ice for a change. Stop bothering me now. I – I snap my fingers at you.’

So there it was. He had defied Time’s power, just as his mother (and, later, his father) had said he could, and all he had at the end of it was his recently acquired ability to snap his fingers loudly. It wasn’t much of a weapon, really. But it was interesting, wasn’t it, that the Aalim had been stopped in their tracks by his curse, and that they had put their heads together and were muttering and murmuring – it seemed to Luka – helplessly? Was that possible? Might it be that they were powerless against Luka Khalifa’s famous Cursing Power? Could it be that they knew that he was one of the Particular Children who would not be the victims of Time? If this was Rashid Khalifa’s Magic World, then were the Aalim his creation, too, and therefore subject to his laws? Very deliberately, like a sorcerer casting a spell, Luka lifted his left hand high above his head and snapped his fingers with all his might.

Right on cue, the encircling Cloud Fortress of Baadal-Garh began to shake like cheap theatre scenery, and, as the prisoners on the flying carpet watched in astonishment, large sections of the crenellated walls of that aerial jail began to crack and fall. ‘It’s under attack from the outside!’ Luka yelled, and everyone on the flying carpet began to cheer as the Aalim disappeared from view to face the unexpected assault. ‘Who is it?’ Soraya asked, gathering her strength and looking extremely embarrassed about her moment of weakness. ‘Is it the Otter Air Force? If so, they’re on a suicide mission, I’m afraid.’ The naked Titan shook his head, and a slow grin spread over his huge face. ‘It’s not the Otters,’ he said. ‘The gods are revolting.’

‘Well, on the whole we agree about what the gods are like,’ said the Elephant Birds, ‘but there’s no need to be rude.’

‘I mean,’ said the Old Boy with a sigh, ‘that the gods have risen in revolt.’

And so they had. Looking back on these events later in his life, Luka was never sure if the Revolt of the Gods had been provoked by his speech under the Tree of Torment, when he had tried to persuade the forgotten deities that their survival depended on his father’s; or if it had been conjured up by his Curse, whose purpose had been to break the stranglehold of the Aalim over the affairs of both Worlds, the Real and the Magical; or if the retired immortals had decided that enough was enough, and Luka and his friends had just been around at the right time to witness the consequences. Whatever the reason, the hornet-swarm of the ex-gods of the Heart of Magic flew through the rip in the sky and descended in wrath upon the Cloud Fortress of Baadal-Garh. Bast the Cat Goddess of Egypt, Hadadu the Akkadian Thunder God, Gong Gong the Flood God of China whose head was so strong that it could crack the Pillar of Heaven, Nyx the Greek Night Goddess, the savage Nordic Fenris Wolf, Quetzalcoatl the Plumed Serpent of Mexico, and assorted Demons, Valkyries, Rakshasas and Goblins could be seen alongside the big fellows – Ra, Zeus, Tlaloc, Odin, Anzu, Vulcan and the rest – burning the Cloud Fortress, hurling tsunamis against its wall, blasting it with lightning, headbutting it, and, in the case of Aphrodite and the other Beauty goddesses, complaining loudly about the Ravages of Time on their complexions, their figures and their hair.

If there had been a force field protecting the Cloud Fortress, the Assault of Magic1 had been too much for it. And as the collected might of all the former deities demolished the Aalim’s stronghold, and a loud, strange, screechy, miaowing sound was heard, Luka shouted at Soraya, ‘This is our chance!’ and at once the flying carpet rose high into the sky and bore its passengers away at speed.

The getaway wasn’t easy. The Aalim were making their last stand; their day was ending, but they still had some loyal servants to call on. Soraya had only just set a course for the Bund, the embankment on the River Silsila where Luka would have to leap back into the Real World, when a squadron of bizarre one-legged birds, the fabled Shang Yang, or Rainbirds of China, assaulted the flying carpet from above. The Shang Yang carried whole rivers in their beaks and poured them over the Resham in an attempt to extinguish the Fire burning in the Ott Pot around Luka’s neck. The carpet lurched sideways and plunged downwards under the weight of the falling avalanches of water; but then, showing remarkable powers of recovery, it straightened itself out and flew onwards. The assault of the Rainbirds continued; five, six, seven times the floods fell from the sky, and the carpet’s passengers fell over, collided with one another, and rolled dangerously near the edges of the carpet. Still the defensive bubble held firm. At last the Shang Yang’s water supply ran dry and they flapped bad-temperedly away. ‘Yes, it’s good to have resisted this attack, but it’s not the end of the trouble,’ Soraya warned the cheering Luka. ‘The Aalim have made one more desperate effort to prevent the Fire of Life from crossing over into the Real World. You heard that dreadful, piteous miaowing sound that filled the air as we left the Cloud Fortress? That was the Aalim playing their final card. I’m sorry to tell you that that noise was the Summons that unleashes the deadly Rain Cats.’

1 Or, to give it its full title, the Overthrow of the Dictatorship of the Aalim by the Inhabitants of the Heart of the Magical World, and Its Replacement by a More Sensible Relationship with Time, Allowing for Dream-time, Lateness, Vagueness, Delays, Reluctances, and the Widespread Dislike of Growing Old.

The Rain Cats – for it is time, at last, to speak of catty matters! – started falling from the sky soon enough. They were large Cats, raintigers and rainlions, rainjaguars and raincheetahs, Water Felines of every spot and stripe. They were made of the rain itself, rain enchanted by the Aalim and turned into sabre-toothed Wildcats. They fell as cats fall, nimbly, fearlessly, and when they hit the flying carpet’s invisible security bubble they dug their claws in and held on. Soon there were Rain Cats all over the bubble, hundreds of them, then thousands, and their claws were long and powerful, and they slashed at the bubble to great and damaging effect. ‘I’m afraid they will break through the shield,’ cried Soraya, ‘and there are too many of them for us to fight.’

‘No, there aren’t! Come down here, Fraidy Cats! We’ll soon show you what’s what!’ Bear the dog barked bravely at the clawing, slashing Rain Cats above him, and the Old Boy prepared to grow to his full height again, but Luka knew all of that was just empty bravado. Thousands of feral enchanted felines would surely overpower even the great Titan, and while Bear and Dog (and maybe even Coyote) would fight for all they were worth, and no doubt Soraya had plenty of tricks up her sleeve, there could, in the end, be no victory against such unequal odds. ‘Every time I think we’ve cracked it,’ Luka thought, ‘there’s another impossible obstacle in my way.’ He took Soraya’s hand and squeezed it. ‘I only have one hundred and sixty-five lives left, and I don’t think they will be enough to get me through this last test,’ he said. ‘So if we lose here, I just want to say thank you, because I would never have come half this far without your help.’ The Insultana of Ott squeezed his hand back, looked over his shoulder, and burst into a wide smile. ‘No need to get sentimental on me just yet, stupid boy,’ she said, ‘because you’re not only making too many enemies, although you do seem to have no shortage of those. Look behind you. You’re also acquiring some pretty powerful friends.’

Enormous banks of cloud had piled up behind the Flying Carpet of King Solomon the Wise; but, Soraya pointed out with glee, those were not mere clouds. They were the assembled Wind Gods of the Magic World. ‘And their presence here,’ she said reassuringly, ‘means that the gods are definitely determined to get you home to do what you have to do.’

Now Luka saw the faces of the Wind Gods inside the cloud banks, cloud faces puffing up their cheeks and blowing with all their might. ‘Three Chinese Wind Gods are here,’ Soraya said very excitedly, ‘Chi Po, Feng-Po-Po and Pan-Gu! And you see that bunch of flying Wind Lions, the Fong-shih-ye from the Kinmen archipelago of Taiwan? The Chinese usually refuse to speak to them, or even to accept that they exist – but here they are, working together! It’s really amazing how everyone has united behind you! Fujin from Japan has come, and he never goes anywhere. Look there, all the American gods, the Iroquois deity Ga-Oh, and Taté of the Sioux, and, see, the ferocious Cherokee Wind Spirit, Oonawieh Unggi, over there! I mean, the Sioux and the Cherokee were never allies, and to join up with the Iroquois Confederacy – oh, my! And even Chup the Wind God of the Chumash tribe from California has stopped sunbathing and shown up; he’s usually too laid-back to rustle up much more than a light breeze. And the Africans are here as well – that’s Yansan the Yoruba Wind Goddess! And from Central and South America, Ecalchot of the Niquiran Indians, and the Mayan Pauahtuns, and Unáhsinte of the Zuni Indians, and Guabancex from the Caribbean … they’re so old, that lot, that frankly I thought they had blown themselves out, but it looks like they have plenty of puff left! And fat Fa’atiu the Samoan is over there, and bulgy Buluga of the Andaman Islands is over there, and Ara Tiotio the Tornado God of Polynesia, and Paka’a from Hawaii. And Ays the Armenian Wind Demon, and the Vila, the Slav Goddesses, and the Norse winged giant Hraesvelg who makes the winds just by flapping his wings, and the Korean Goddess Yondung Halmoni – she’d be blowing better if she wasn’t stuffing her mouth with rice cakes, the greedy creature! – and Mbon from Burma, and Enlil –’

‘Stop, please stop,’ Luka begged. ‘It doesn’t matter what they’re called – what they’re doing is more than enough.’ What they were doing was this: they were blowing away the Rain Cats. With many loud roars and yowls the Rain Cats lost their grip on the bubble around the flying carpet and were sent flying to nowhere, blown head over heels into the depths of the broken sky. A great cry of happiness went up from everyone aboard the Resham, and then the Wind Gods really got going, and the carpet began to travel at the most amazing speed. Even Soraya with all her skill could not have made it go half as fast. The Magic World below them and the sky above became a blur. All Luka could see was the carpet itself and the massed Wind Gods behind it, blowing him all the way home. ‘Get me back in time,’ he thought fervently once again. ‘Please don’t let me be too late, just get me back in time.’

The wind dropped, the carpet landed, the Wind Gods disappeared, and Luka was home: not on the bank of the Silsila as he had expected, but in his very own lane, in front of his very own house, in the very place where he first heard Dog and Bear speak, where he first met Nobodaddy and embarked on his great adventure. The colours of the world were still strange, the sky still too blue, the dirt too brown, the house much pinker and greener than usual; nor was it normal for a flying carpet to be parked here, with a Sultana of the Magic World, a Titan, a Coyote and two Elephant Birds aboard, all of them looking distinctly ill at ease.

‘The truth is we don’t belong here, at the Frontier,’ said Soraya, as Luka, Dog the bear and Bear the dog stepped off Resham into the dusty lane. ‘So, since you have to go, go quickly, so that we also can be off. Go to that other Soraya who lives in that house, and when you pop that Ott Potato into your father’s mouth, don’t forget it was the Insultana of Ott who gave it to you; and afterwards, as you grow into a young man, think about that Insultana sometimes, if you don’t completely forget.’

‘I’ll never forget you,’ Luka said, ‘but please, can I ask you one last question: can I pick up an Ott Potato with my bare hands? And if I put it into my dad’s mouth, won’t it burn him to bits?’

‘The Fire of Life does not wound those it touches,’ said Soraya of Ott. ‘Rather, it heals wounds. You will not find that glowing vegetable too hot to pick up. Nor will it do your father anything but good. There are six Ott Potatoes in that Pot, by the way,’ she concluded, ‘one for each of you, if that’s what you decide.’

‘Goodbye, then,’ said Luka, and then he turned to the Old Boy and added, ‘And I meant to say, I’m sorry about what happened to Captain Aag, because he was your brother, after all.’ The Old Boy shrugged. ‘Nothing to be sorry about,’ he said. ‘I never liked him anyway.’ Then, without further ado, the Insultana Soraya raised her arms, and the Flying Carpet of King Solomon the Wise rose into the sky and vanished with only a soft whoosh for farewell.

Luka looked at his front door, and saw, standing on the doorstep, glistening in the day’s first light, a large golden orb: the Saving Point for the end of Level Nine, the end of the ‘game’ that hadn’t been a game at all but, as Nobodaddy had said, a matter of life and death. ‘Come on,’ he shouted to Dog and Bear, ‘let’s go home.’ He ran towards the Saving Point and just as he reached it he stumbled, as he had known he would; he managed to kick the point with his left leg as he lurched awkwardly to his right; he heard, for the last time, the tell tale ding that confirmed his achievement; he saw all the numbers vanish from his field of vision; he felt oddly giddy for a moment; then he regained his balance, and saw that the golden orb had vanished, and the colours of the world had returned to normal. He understood that he had left the World of Magic behind, and was back where he needed to be. ‘And it looks like the same exact time it was when I left,’ he marvelled. ‘So all of that never happened, except, of course, that it did.’ The Ott Pot was still hanging from his neck, and he could feel its warmth on his chest. He took a deep breath and ran indoors and up the stairs as fast as he could run, and Bear the dog and Dog the bear came too.

The sweet smells of home welcomed him back: his mother’s perfume, the thousand and one mysteries of the kitchen, the freshness of clean sheets, the accumulated fragrances of everything that had happened between those walls during all the years of his life, and the older, more obscure scents that had hung in the air since before he was born. And at the top of the stairs was his brother Haroun, with a strange expression on his face. ‘You’ve been somewhere, haven’t you?’ Haroun said. ‘You’ve been up to something. I can see it on your face.’ Luka charged past him, saying, ‘I don’t have time to explain it right now, to be honest with you,’ and Haroun turned and ran after him. ‘I knew it,’ he said. ‘You’ve had your adventure! So come on, out with it! And by the way, what’s that hanging from your neck?’ Luka ran on without replying, and Bear the dog and Dog the bear pushed their way past Haroun as Luka rushed into his father’s bedroom. They had been part of the adventure, too, and they didn’t intend to miss the final scene.

Rashid Khalifa lay in his bed, Asleep with his mouth open, just as he had been when Luka had last seen him, and the tubes were still running into his arm, and the monitor by his bedside showed that his heart was still beating, but very, very faintly. He looked happy, though, he still looked happy, as if he were being told a story that he loved. And by his bedside stood Luka’s mother Soraya, with her fingers fluttering at her lips, and Luka understood, the moment he ran into the room and saw her, that she was about to kiss her fingertips and then touch Rashid’s mouth, because she was saying goodbye.

‘What on earth are you doing, running in here like a crazy person?’ Soraya cried, and then Bear the dog, Dog the bear and Haroun charged in as well. ‘Stop it, all of you,’ she demanded. ‘What is this? A playground? A circus? What?’

‘Please, Mum,’ Luka begged, ‘there’s no time to explain – please just let me do what I have to do.’ And without waiting for his mother’s reply, he popped an Ott Potato, glowing with the Fire of Life, into his father’s open mouth, where, to his amazement, it dissolved instantly. Luka, staring fiercely through his father’s lips, saw little tongues of fire dive down into Rashid’s insides; and then they were gone, and for an instant nothing happened, and Luka’s heart sank. ‘Aah,’ his mother was complaining, ‘what on earth have you done, you silly boy …?’ But then the scolding words died on her lips because she, and everyone else in the room, saw the colour return to Rashid’s face; after which a glow of health spread across his cheeks, almost as if he were blushing with embarrassment; and the monitor by the bedside began to drum out a firm, regular heartbeat.

Rashid’s hands began to move. His right hand darted out without warning and started tickling Luka, and Soraya gasped to see it, half with delight at the miracle of it, half with something like fear. ‘Stop tickling me, Dad,’ Luka said joyfully, and Rashid Khalifa said without opening his eyes, ‘I’m not tickling you – Nobody is,’ and then he turned over on his side to attack Luka with his left hand as well. ‘You are, you are tickling me,’ Luka laughed, and Rashid Khalifa, opening his eyes, and grinning widely, said innocently, ‘Me? Tickling you? No, no. That’s just Nonsense.’

Rashid sat up, stretched, yawned, and gave Luka a funny, inquisitive look. ‘I’ve been having the strangest dream about you,’ he said. ‘Let me see if I can remember it. You went adventuring in the World of Magic, I think that was it, and the whole place was falling apart. Hmm, and there were Elephant Birds, and Respecto-Rats, and a real, honest-to-goodness Flying Carpet, and then there was the little matter of becoming a Fire Thief and stealing the Fire of Life. You wouldn’t by any chance know anything about that dream, young Luka? You wouldn’t by some unlikely chance be able to fill in the blanks?’

‘Maybe so and maybe no,’ said Luka shyly, ‘but you should know already, Dad, because, to be honest with you, it felt like you were right there with me all the time, advising me and filling me in, and I’d have been lost without you.’

‘That makes two of us, then,’ said the Shah of Blah, ‘because I’d be lost right now if it wasn’t for your little exploit, that’s for sure. Or, your not-so-little exploit. Or, in fact, your super-colossal ultra-exploit. Not that I want you to grow a big head or anything. But the Fire of Life. Really. Quite a feat. Hmm, hmm. Ott Potatoes, is it? And could that thing hanging from your neck in fact be an actual Ott Pot?’

‘I don’t know what you two are talking about,’ said Soraya Khalifa contentedly, ‘but it’s good to hear the old rubbish being spoken in this house again.’

That wasn’t the end of the story, however. Just as Luka was relaxing, certain that his job was done at last, he heard an unpleasant bubbling noise welling up from a corner of his father’s bedroom and there, to his horror, was a Creature he thought he had seen for the last time when the Old Boy hurled him out into the deeps of space. It wasn’t wearing a vermilion bush shirt or a panama hat any more; it was colourless and faceless, because Rashid Khalifa had gone back into himself, and though this vile death-thing was plainly trying to gather itself into some sort of human shape, it succeeded only in looking twisted and hideous and sort of sticky, as if it were made out of glue. ‘You dont’ get rid of me as easily as that,’ it hissed. ‘You know why. Somebody has to die. I told you at the beginning there was a catch, and that’s it. Once I’ve been called into being, I don’t leave until I’ve swallowed a life. No arguments, okay? Somebody has to die.’

‘Go away,’ Luka shouted. ‘You lost. My father’s fine now. Just bubble off to wherever it is you go.’

Rashid, Soraya and Haroun looked at him in amazement. ‘Who are you talking to?’ Haroun asked. ‘There’s nothing in that corner, you know.’ But Bear the dog and Dog the bear could see the Creature all right, and before Luka could say any more it was Bear who interrupted. ‘How about,’ he asked the Creature, ‘if an immortal being gives up his Immortality?’

‘Why is Bear barking like that?’ Soraya asked, bewildered. ‘I don’t understand what’s happening.’

‘Remember?’ Bear asked Luka urgently. ‘I am Barak of the It-Barak, a thousand years old and more? Turned into a dog by a Chinese curse? You didn’t like it much when I told you that, because you wanted me to be your dog and nothing else. Well, now that’s all I want to be, too. After a thousand years, that’s it. To hell with the past! And who wants to live for another thousand years? Enough of all that! I just want to be your dog, Bear.’

‘That’s too big a sacrifice,’ said Luka, overwhelmed by his dog’s loyalty and selfless courage. ‘I can’t ask you to make it.’

‘I’m not asking you to ask me,’ said Bear the dog.

‘That dog is a lot noisier than I recall,’ Rashid said. ‘Luka, can’t you quieten him down?’

‘An Immortality,’ said the Creature in the corner hungrily. ‘Mmm! Yes, yes! To swallow an Immortality! To suck it out of the Immortal and fill up with it, leaving the ex-Immortal behind in mortal form! Oh yes. That would be very sweet indeed.’

‘Ahem,’ said Dog the bear suddenly. ‘There is something I would like to confess.’ At that moment, Luka thought, Dog looked sheepish, not bearish at all. ‘You know that story I told you – about being a prince who could spin air into gold? And Bulbul Dev the bird-headed ogre, and so on?’

‘Of course I remember,’ Luka said.

‘See, husband, now the bear is growling, and the boy is talking to the bear,’ said Soraya helplessly. ‘These animals – and your son as well – are really getting to be impossible to control.’

‘It wasn’t true,’ admitted Dog the bear, hanging his head in shame. ‘The only thing I spun out of thin air was that yarn, that shaggy-dog story – or shaggy-bear story, maybe I should say. I just thought I ought to have a good story to tell. I thought it was expected of me at the time, especially after Bear here sang that song about himself. I made it up to make myself look good. I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Luka. ‘This is a storyteller’s house. You should know what it’s like by now. Everybody here makes up stories all the time.’

‘That’s settled, then,’ said Bear the dog. ‘Only one of us has an immortal life to give up, and that one is me.’ And without waiting for any further discussion he ran to the corner where the Creature was crouching, and leapt; and Luka saw the Creature open a ghastly sort-of-mouth impossibly wide, and he saw Bear being swallowed up by that mouth; and then Bear was ejected again, looking the same, only different, and the Creature had become Bear-shaped too: No-Bear, instead of Nobodaddy. ‘Ohh,’ cried the Creature, ‘Ohh, ecstasy, ecstasy!’ And there was a sort of backwards flash, as if light were being sucked into a point instead of exploding out from a point, and the Bear-Creature imploded, whoommpppfff, and then it wasn’t there any more.

‘Woof,’ said Bear the dog, wagging his tail.

‘What do you mean, “woof”?’ Luka demanded. ‘Cat got your tongue?’

‘Growl,’ said Dog the bear.

‘Oh,’ said Luka, understanding. ‘The magic part really is over now, isn’t it? And from now on you’re just my ordinary dog and my ordinary bear, and I’m just ordinary me.’

‘Woof,’ said Bear the dog, and jumped up against Luka and licked his face. Luka hugged him tightly. ‘After what you just did,’ he said, ‘I’ll never let anybody think of dogs as bad-luck animals, because it was a lucky day for all of us when you became my dog.’

‘Will somebody please tell me what is going on?’ Soraya said faintly.

‘It’s okay, Mum,’ said Luka, hugging her as tightly as he could. ‘Calm down. Life is finally back to being ordinary again.’

‘There’s nothing ordinary about you,’ his mother answered, kissing the top of his head. ‘And, ordinary life? In this family, we know there’s no such thing.’

On the flat roof of the Khalifa house, that cool evening, a dinner table was set out under the stars – yes, the stars had come out again! – and a feast was eaten, a feast of delicious slowly roasted meat and quickly pan-fried vegetables, of sour pickles and sweetmeats and cold pomegranate juice and hot tea, but also of some rarer foods and drinks – happiness soup, curried excitement and great-relief ice cream. At the very centre of the table, in their little Ott Pot, were the remaining five Ott Potatoes, glowing softly with the Fire of Life. ‘So this other Soraya you became so fond of,’ said Soraya Khalifa to Luka, just a little too sweetly, ‘she said that if a healthy person eats one of these it can give them long life, and maybe even let them live for ever?’

Luka shook his head. ‘No, Mum,’ he said, ‘it wasn’t the Insultana of Ott who said that. It was Ra the Supreme.’

In spite of a life spent with the fabled Shah of Blah, Soraya Khalifa had never entirely liked this fanciful stuff, which she now had to put up with from both her sons as well as her storyteller husband. Tonight, though, she was making a real effort. ‘And this Ra…’ she began, and Luka finished the sentence for her, ‘… told me that personally, speaking in Hieroglyph, which was translated for me by a talking squirrel named Ratatat.’

‘Oh, never mind,’ said Soraya, giving up. ‘All’s well that ends well, and as for these so-called “Ott Potatoes”, I’ll just tuck them away in the pantry, and we can decide what to do with them on another day.’

Luka had just been wondering how it would be if he, his brother, his mother and his father could all live for ever. The idea struck him as more frightening than exciting. Maybe his dog Bear had been right, and it was better to do without Immortality, or even the possibility of it. Yes – maybe it would be better if Soraya hid the Ott Potatoes somewhere, so that all the Khalifas could slowly forget about their existence; and then maybe they, the Potatoes in their Pot, would finally get bored of waiting to be eaten, and would slip back across the Frontier into the World of Magic, and the Real World would be Real again, and life would be just that, life, and that would be more than enough.

The night sky was full of stars. ‘As we know,’ said Rashid Khalifa, ‘sometimes the stars start dancing, and then anything can happen. But some nights it’s good to see everything just staying put in its rightful place, so that we can all relax.’

‘Relax my foot,’ said Soraya. ‘The stars may not be dancing, but we’re certainly going to.’

She clapped her hands, and at once Dog the bear got up on his hind legs and began to stamp out the African Gumboot Dance, and Bear the dog jumped up and began to howl a Top Ten melody, and then the Khalifa family leapt to its feet and began to jig about energetically, and to join in the dog’s song as well. And we’ll leave them there, the rescued father, the loving mother, the older brother, and the young boy home from his great adventure, along with his lucky dog and his brotherly bear, up on the roof of their home on a cool night under the stationary, unchanging stars, singing and dancing.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title

Contents

Copyright

Also by Salman Rushdie

1 The Terrible Thing That Happened on the Beautiful Starry Night

2 Nobodaddy

3 The Left Bank of the River of Time

4 The Insultana of Ott

5 The Path to the Three Fiery Doughnuts

6 Into the Heart of Magic

7 The Fire of Life

8 The Race Against Time