The Flag on Gorbachev Crater

3. Az-Zahra’s Story

During the trip in the tube, she described in melodious antiquated Spanish her life in Cordoba. Beckwith listened in marveling disbelief.

Her father, Hasan ibn Masud, was a member of the highest class of nobles, with a genealogy that traced back to the Prophet. Additionally, he was a very rich merchant, and owned great estates and manufactories. His ships voyaged regularly to all ports of the Mediterranean, as well as through the Pillars of Hercules and north to France, England, and Scandinavia.

Her mother had been a very great beauty. When her parents were married, the caliph himself had sent a jeweled parasol to shield her mother from the July sun as her women escorted her to the Great Mosque.

“Ah, Sidi (she told Beckwith), when I was a child, life was good in Cordoba! I played in our gardens and in our orange and olive orchards. I had the run of father’s workshops. I watched them make delicate glassware in the glass shop. I rode my own pony out to the tanneries, where they made special leathers, and shoes, and jackets.

“As a child, I had no worries or fears. But as I grew older, I began to understand that there were grave threats to our idyllic existence. Over the centuries my ancestors had conquered most of Spain, but now the original owners were taking it back, city by city, province by province. They called it the reconquista.

“When I was twelve my father introduced me to an old man who had his own corner in the rear of one of our tapestry shops. This was al-Hakim, the wizard weaver. His eyes burned. I bowed respectfully, but I trembled, for I knew what was said of him. He was dumb from birth, yet he talked with djinns. He was going to teach me how to weave my own very special prayer rug. How to say? Mi alfombra de oración. Yes, this very rug that I hold here in my hands.

“Yes, very, very special. The gold and silver filaments are interwoven with other threads of special alloys. And the weave itself is of a very particular, very intricate pattern, a pattern that requires months to memorize, and which al-Hakim claimed to have invented. My father says that actually, a djinn gave it to al-Hakim in return for his soul. Be that as it may, I received all necessary instructions from him. Last year, with the help of al-Hakim I finally completed the rug. And last week, Father and I worked together, sewing the necessary jewels into the fabric. Yes, Sidi, these are real jewels. These two great star rubies, known as the Eyes of Ayesha, are valued at millions of golden dinars. And then there are the lesser emeralds, diamonds, sapphires, and so on. These have their own place in the rug pattern. In addition to these, I have a bag of other gems, which my father hung about my neck before I left.

“When all is ready, the rug is activated. One covers one’s body with the rug and whirls seven times. When the rubies begin to flash, one places the rug on the floor with the minrah pointing toward Mecca and stands on the rug. And now what happens depends upon certain loose threads in the rug. If one wishes to move backward in time, one merely waits. In a moment, the person simply… vanishes. On the other hand, if the person wishes to move forward in time, as I did, one makes certain changes in the threads. And if one wishes to take the rug along on the journey, one simply holds on to the rug edges with both hands, as I did. In that way, the person will bring the rug along to whenever… and wherever… the person goes.”

So she left Cordoba, thought Beckwith. Somehow. Somewhen. Maybe. But why? He sensed that she was about to tell him why. But just now was a bad time. “Ahora, hay que interrumpir,” he said. “Vamonos detras de los tubos, en las calles. Detras, hay muchos coches, hay que tengo cuidado. Comprende?” Have to interrupt, leaving the tubes and going out into traffic. I have to be careful.

“Si, Sidi.”

And next, the confrontation with Millie Rutherford, and no possible explanation. But at least Millie could stay for supper, and perhaps more importantly, explain to this young woman by a combination of demonstration and sign language, how to work the things in the bathroom.

Thank God the housekeeper would be in in the morning. There would be no credible explanation to offer Mrs. Kuiper, either, but at least she could be there for the day while he went off to the office. Maybe Kuiper could come in as a sort of live-in chaperone. Just temporary, of course. Until they could all decide what to do with this strange child of time.

Working together, Beckwith and Millicent Rutherford eventually got az-Zahra settled in the little guest room for the night. The office manager left, and sometime after midnight the lawyer retired to his own bed and drifted into fitful sleep.

He was awakened by a noise. He sat up, disoriented at first, but then everything came back with a rush.

The sounds were coming from the guest room. Az-Zahra? Singing? No, more like a muffled wailing.

“La… la… la…” No… no… no… Arabic, he thought as he grabbed his robe, was one of the few languages where “no” didn’t begin with “n.”

A moment later he was in her room, and bending over the bed. He didn’t turn on the light, but he could make out the outlines of her face from the hall luminar. Her cheeks were wet. As he crouched there, silent, her breathing subsided into something fairly regular. Obviously she had been having a nightmare. Dreaming of what horrors? He was glad he didn’t know.