Magical Mechanications Read online

  Aladdin and His Wonderfully Infernal Device

  by Tee Morris

  One

  Perhaps the marketplace at noon was not the best place to be—at least when you were poor. Since you had no goods to trade, no money for food, nothing more than your wits and the clothes upon your back, you tended to notice the more unpleasant smells, sounds, and sights of the bazaar. Instead of succulent smoked meats or the brilliance of silks both catching the hot Arabian breeze, you tended to notice the smell of goat shit and the pleas of blind beggars.

  For Aladdin, however, while hunger roiled in his belly, his senses were trained upon one shop, one keeper, and one essential item. As if it were the Tear of Allah itself the polished wheel sat before the workbench, amidst the other parts of the desk clock. Obviously the artisan felt this morning a need to attract attention to his skills and his business, as he had elected to work in the sunshine. Aladdin had anticipated this, thus he waited in the coolness of the shadows, watching for the moment that would appear. As the sun rose and set, as stars winked to life in the night, and as people bustled about in between these natural regimens, so would Opportunity—the friend and ally of a thief—present itself.

  What was important—as an exceptional thief such as Aladdin would say—was to recognize the right opening. Too many times, Opportunity would try to lure him out of hiding to play an unkind trick and threaten his capture. Capture would mean the end of his wicked ways, and—provided he survived—a life reliant on generosity. He saw many beggars in the streets, sentenced to one-handed servitude.

  Perhaps his fellow vagrants would scoff, “Serves them right. They were too slow”, but Aladdin knew the truth. They had been too quick. Too quick to judge. Quick to think that Opportunity was beckoning, when in fact it was merely a deceptive shade. Already Aladdin had seen two such false openings, so in the darkness of his favorite hiding place he remained.

  There. A customer, fascinated with the clockmaker’s work. A conversation struck.

  Aladdin’s eyes returned to the palm-sized wheel; its cogs glinting in the light of a Persian sun. The merchant’s attention was preoccupied, but the timing—and that made Aladdin smile a bit—remained off. He needed to wait. Just a few more seconds…

  Then came applause, followed shortly by a small crush of people. Aladdin slipped deftly between children, mothers, and men, all chattering pleasantly about the magician’s talents, and how his reputation had more than been upheld. Most impressive; even from as far as Africa, the Great and Powerful Jaha had found such devoted followers.

  Aladdin emerged on the other side of the corporeal flow, and soon his palm was bathed in the sun-baked warmth of a polished brass gear.

  He saw no shadow or swath of linen stir, he felt no vice grip around his arm; there was nothing but the throng of people, and the movement reminding him of the Karun after a heavy rain.

  However, the rushing river never made a sound like this: “Stop! Thief!”

  Time to run, whispered Opportunity’s deceptive twin.

  The gear’s teeth bit into his hand as his fingers tightened around it. His shoulder pressed against the mass of flesh around him. Women called out, and children cried as they were shoved aside. He couldn’t look back—at least not straight away. First, he needed distance, and then he could formulate a way out of the city.

  Aladdin felt a couple push into him from behind, alerting him that there was someone on his heels. He now ducked lower and weaved like a thread through the eyes of many needles. He could hear some people in his wake losing their balance, which was good—obstacles for his pursuers—until the crowd suddenly thinned and his steps grew wider. He pumped his legs and darted into an alleyway. The more he ran, the stronger the smell of fish grew. He could hear the calls of dockhands. He was close.

  The walls on either side of him disappeared, and he now ran alongside the collection of junks and dhows expelling their riches. Aladdin ducked underneath palettes slowly rising into the air, his eyes still looking for the right cargo. Behind him, the rhythmic pounding of footsteps grew louder and closer.

  Aladdin glanced to the right and then followed his gaze. His sudden turn was matched, but he had anticipated they would keep pace with him.

  It would be his next move that would test their mettle.

  His legs continued to pedal even after he had leaped off the dock. The world opened up around him, then suddenly cool air off the water caressed his skin. His stomach lurched as he tried to catch his breath. Aladdin was falling. Such a curious sensation.

  His fingers caught netting and his other hand, still clinging onto the gear wheel, swung up. The treasure’s teeth dug into the thick hemp of the cargo net as his legs found purchase. Over the sound of his own deep breaths, he heard the whine of motors compensating for the sudden change in weight, but still Aladdin climbed. He leaned to one side and felt the cargo list. Luckily, it turned him away from the four men now lowering rifles as he ascended over them and into the rooftops.

  Aladdin looked around him and watched as the cargo now swung over a building. The men below began calling for the guards still on the ground. With his breathing now under control and his muscles burning, he started to scale down the bulbous collection of crates. The dockhands were gathering under Aladdin, perhaps hoping to earn an extra coin or two from his capture. His arms trembled, but still he waited.

  When two men reached for him, the young boy pushed, tucking his legs up to his chest. He rolled back and when his legs shot out, he sent one dockhand sprawling into his comrades. The hand clutching the gear swung before him, slicing into the cheek of the other closing on him. When he too fell away, Aladdin sprang forward, through the opening in the men and across the space to another rooftop. He continued across the rooftop and jumped again. It was when he reached the sole door on this rooftop that he stopped and looked back.

  The guards were now on the edge of the first building, their eyes madly darting back and forth.

  With a grin, Aladdin wrenched the door open and thundered down the stairs. Perhaps a head turned to follow his descent, but at this point he didn’t care; let them look. He was merely a shadow now, and soon he would be nothing but a wisp of sand disappearing in the wind.

  He stopped at the door, took a breath, and tucked the still-warm gear wheel inside his sash.

  Now it was time to find something to eat. He turned.

  The man standing in the doorway did not wear the stern look or the standard uniform of the Sultan, but he looked large enough to be a part of the army. The boy could see a thick, sturdy frame under his robes, especially as his arms were crossed over his chest. His dark eyes considered Aladdin; the longer he looked at him the broader his smile became.

  “After an impressive escape like that,” he said, his voice rumbling like a distant thunderstorm from off the sea, “you must be hungry.”

  “Famished,” Aladdin answered.

  The stranger nodded. “You have his spirit—that is most evident.” He stepped back and motioned down the street, in the opposite direction from the docks. “Come. Let us find some lunch.”

  As they walked through the street, Aladdin noticed that the many people of the marketplace were pausing. In fact many of them were staring. In a few instances gatherings actually parted to make way for the two of them. Aladdin looked over his shoulder for soldiers or even an honor guard, but all he saw were people in their wake, pointing at them, and wearing the most brilliant of smiles.

  Sweet, savory scents of cardamom, curry, and garlic now filled his nostrils. On cue, his stomach rumbled impatiently. Aladdin was indeed famished. He considered making an escape only after this stranger paid for a meal.

  “Ah, Great Jaha,” a gentleman gabbled as they walked into his dining establishment, “you honor me with your patronage!”

  Aladdin blinked. “Jaha? The magician?”

  His companion didn’t respond to Aladdin but kept his attention on the shopkeeper. “Yes, Karim, such a pleasure to step into your fine establ
ishment.” Jaha motioned to Aladdin, as if presenting him formerly. “My associate and I are more than ready for a meal. Please, only your best.”

  Karim recognized Aladdin straightaway—as Aladdin recognized him—but the café owner’s outward disdain disappeared as quickly as water under the noonday sun. His eyes went from Aladdin to the magician.

  “This is your associate?” His brow creased in confusion.

  Jaha lifted an eyebrow. “There is no problem with the company I choose to keep, is there?”

  The restaurant owner shuddered. “Magister, forgive my impertinence, please,” he replied with a flourish, bestowing formal obeisance.

  Aladdin followed Jaha to a small booth that isolated them from the rest of the patrons. Several took a pause in eating to watch them. Once they had taken their seats, the wooden pillar set within the wall of the establishment opened up. Mechanical arms presented a tea that was tepid enough to be soothing but not uncomfortable when combined with the day’s heat. They had only taken a few sips when a chime rang softly. From above their heads, a tray lowered and the mechanical arms now offered “manna from Heaven”—as the infidel crusaders from Europe would say—in the form of jasmine rice, soft flatbread, lamb and goat, seasoned by spices Aladdin only knew from scraps he scavenged.

  “And they call me a magician,” Jaha chortled as the metal arms retracted from their table and returned to the kitchen above their heads. They both watched as the staff there replaced the hole in the ceiling with a new plate. “I suppose the Europeans are good for some things after all.” He then motioned to the food before them. “I don’t stand on ceremony, boy. Eat!”

  It did not take long for Aladdin to stuff his mouth with bread and lamb. He only paused when he realized that Jaha was looking at him disapprovingly.

  “I said ‘eat’ not ‘devour.’ Finish what food you have in your mouth,” he said, tearing off a piece of bread and dipping it into a small bowl of yogurt, “and then watch and learn, boy.”

  Aladdin doubted the magician had ever known what it was like to be hungry. That did not mean Jaha had been wrong in correcting him; Aladdin had been fairly gluttonous. As he chewed and chewed at the huge amount of food stuffed in his mouth, his cheeks burned with embarrassment as Jaha continued to slowly, meticulously savor the food before them. The magician seemed highly amused by Aladdin’s struggle.

  When he finally managed to choke down his mouthful, Aladdin asked, “Why are you helping me?”

  Jaha’s smile—the one he had worn when he had met him in the street—returned. “Why wouldn’t I wish to treat my own family to a much-needed, well-earned meal?”

  Aladdin felt a sharp twinge in his chest. “Family?”

  The magician stopped his hand half-raised to his mouth. “What is your name, boy?”

  “Aladdin.”

  “A good name, most fitting for our family,” he said with a hint of warmth in his voice. “Well, Aladdin, I will not mince words with you—I am your father’s brother, finally come home.”

  An invisible hand felt as if it had clasped around his neck. His mother had never mentioned an uncle, let alone any sort of remote connection with the famous magician, the All-Powerful Jaha. They had a simple life—as simple as any of those who served at the Sultan’s pleasure. Aladdin knew he complicated that life with his antics; his mother always scolded him for his reckless ways. She cursed his lost father’s name, especially at moments when Aladdin would arrive home short of breath and wearing the sweat of a day’s mischief on his skin.

  Never had his mother told him of an uncle. Never had she hinted that uncle was the All-Powerful Jaha.

  “I was sold into bondage when your father was only three,” Jaha began, “so it comes as no surprise that he did not remember or speak of me. He knew me by a different name, of course.”

  Aladdin tipped his head to one side. “Your name isn’t really Jaha?”

  “A story we should save for another time, but in brief,” he said popping a few small berries into his mouth, “I was taught to pick locks by another slave. He had been quite clever this gent; he taught me sleight-of-hand and other illusions to pass the hours.”

  “He could pick locks? Then why did he not escape?”

  Jaha took a sip of tea, and continued. “He had for some reason he never explained, made me a ward of sorts. This meant we would escape together and split a small fortune that he had amassed before his own misfortune.”

  “A likely story,” Aladdin snorted before helping himself to a piece of goat. He wrapped a piece of the soft bread around it. “So what happened to your teacher?”

  “He died in the midst of our escape.”

  Aladdin looked up from his morsel in mid-bite. Jaha was staring out of a window at the far end of the restaurant.

  “Nassir gave me the location of his fortune with his dying breath, and I went in search of it, our master and his dogs on my heels. I knew if I wanted to truly be free, I needed a new life and that day Jaha was born.” He chuckled as he picked up his own tea. “The All-Powerful bit did not come to be until I began to travel. I had the skills of a talented thief, but instead I found a more ‘honest’ life in the pursuits of an illusionist.”

  “A magician, you mean,” Aladdin pressed.

  “Come, come, Aladdin,” Jaha chided. “You hardly believe in such nonsense as magic, séances, and the like, do you?” He shook his head. “In my travels I have met many interesting people, but it was a Frenchman named Robert-Houdin that opened my eyes at what many perceived as ‘magic.’ He helped refine and sharpen my skills; not only in my illusions but also in my relationships with my fellow man. You saw how I knew the master of this house?”

  Aladdin nodded.

  “In fact I only knew of his name—but knowing a man’s name can grant you entrance into his home. It is these talents of society that aided me in my advancement. Something I would very much like to pass unto you—when you are ready,” he said to Aladdin with a wink before continuing his story. “Once I had made a name for myself, I set out to fulfill a promise; to reunite with my brother.”

  Aladdin hung his head.

  Jaha nodded. “As I feared.” He looked Aladdin over, “You are what—fourteen?”

  “Sixteen,” Aladdin insisted.

  “Of course, your smaller size—I should have known.” He nodded, finished his tea, and rose from the table. “What of your mother?”

  “She still makes carpets for the palace,” he replied, tearing another slice of flatbread in half as he stood.

  “Take me to her,” he said. “It is time I make amends to my lost family.”

  Aladdin watched in awe as the magician thanked the owner without paying a single coin for the fine meal.

  Jaha tilted his head. “His payment is in my presence there. People saw us go in, people saw us leave, our bellies full, our faces smiling contentedly. His business will prosper.” His smile glowed against his darkened skin. “That is not magic, but something far more powerful—the testimony of the All-Powerful Jaha.” He winked at him and then nodded. “Now, I wish to see my sister.”

  Two

  “Mother!” Aladdin cried. “Mother!”

  Her hands lowered from the lamp above her head as he entered the humble dwelling. The second lamp already burning signaled she was anticipating a long night and a large amount of work.

  “Well, well, my clever son, what steals your breath so at the end of the day?” Her tone grew mirthless as she added, “I heard a story about some commotion by the docks. A young thief swift of foot enjoyed a quick escape from the Sultan’s guards.”

  Aladdin felt his throat tighten, but hearing footsteps behind him, he quickly rediscovered his voice. “Mother, I have a surprise. A blessing! My uncle has found me!”

  “Uncle?” His mother barked out a laugh. “Boy, what mischief are you—”

  Her words halted at the sight of Jaha. He touched his fingertips to his forehead, his lips, and then his heart.

  Jaha’s arms opened as he
said, “Dearest sister, I present myself to you as your humble servant.”

  Aladdin’s mother stumbled back. “You—you—” she stammered, “—you are the All-Powerful Jaha!”

  “And your departed love’s brother. Lost for many a year, but sadly come too late after his death.”

  Aladdin hugged his mother as she fought to catch her breath. “He’s not really a magician, but an illusionist,” he assured her.

  The woman’s eyes darted between him and Jaha. “Mustapha never mentioned a brother...”

  “As I told your industrious son here, I was taken from our family when he was very young. Perhaps he remembered me as a shade, a distant memory, but I never forgot him.” He motioned to a seat and smiled warmly. “May I?”

  Both Aladdin and his mother scrambled to clear a place for him at their small table. With a whisper to his mother, the boy turned to a small hearth and began to boil water for tea.

  Behind him, Jaha continued. “My own life, while of late has been quite blessed with fortune, was formerly a tale of misery and woe. Aladdin has heard much of it already. As I was lost to my brother, please forgive me as I ask your name.”

  Aladdin watched his mother blush; truly a rare sight to behold. “Farrin.”

  “Farrin,” he repeated, his eyes seemed to catch the light of the nearby lamp. “I can only beg you to forgive me for my failure in not contacting you sooner. I hope you do not mind that I called upon young Aladdin here first.”

  Her hand went to her mouth. Aladdin paused when a muffled sob escape his mother. When she spoke, he felt his skin prickle. “Oh dear brother, it is I who must beg of forgiveness for the shame that haunts our family is all on account of my boy.”

  Her son spun around. “Mother, no! You make so very little as a rug maker for the Sultan and for the merchants of Bagdad! What I do I must so that we can survive!”

  “You shame your father’s name with your mischief!” Farrin spat over her shoulder.