In the room Master No studied the lamp carefully. He was wise, but he knew only a little about magic because he did not believe it was helpful.
“My life has proceeded quite nicely without magic until now, but I’m about to make an exception,” he thought to himself. “Well, when one moves beyond familiar things there will always be surprises.”
Nothing had changed: It was still an oil lamp of common design though uncommon workmanship and the glyphs on it were still unreadable.
“Legends say rubbing it may release a genie,” thought Master No. “And that genies are large creatures of the magical Kingdom of Air. If that is the case I think it would be politer, and safer, to rub this while I’m outside where there is plenty of air.
He checked the hall outside his room. The bandits seemed to all be busy in the main room so he quietly slipped out the back door.
It was dark outside but not pitch black. The thick clouds overhead were gray from moonlight so he could see enough to walk around. The air was cold but still. Master No found himself on a narrow path between a rock face and the inn wall. He turned to his right, looking for a better place to examine the lamp. He walked quietly by the stable and behind it—someone might be guarding it and he didn’t want to be seen. Beyond was the inn well, and beyond that the clearing narrowed back into mountain trail. Master No decided the well was the place to experiment.
He brought out the lamp and tried rubbing it.
“My goodness!” he thought. “Here I am rubbing a brass lamp on a frosty night, an invitation to frostbite. Well … at least I’m not licking it with my tongue!”
The legends were correct and long before frostbite could set in a genie appeared.
“Greetings, my new master,” said the genie.
He was man-sized, not huge, and dressed in rich-looking but very strange clothing.
“New master, you say, so you are aware of what happened to the Magic Prince?” asked Master No.
“Indeed I am: He is safe at home and unaware of what he once was.”
“At home and unaware! How did he get there and in that state?”
“He was an instant from death, unconscious, and with two wishes left. So I used those to save him and erase his memories of his time with me. I find those who keep memories of their experience with me usually feel enormous remorse that they didn’t use it in a better way, so I help them recover more quickly,” the genie said matter-of-factly.
“In your case, a similar situation may arise very soon now. You have correctly guessed that the innkeeper is both ruthless and after the lamp. I would suggest you move away from this spot quickly. I can assist if you like.”
“Will that use up one of my wishes?” asked Master No.
“No. I’m a slave of the lamp. I will serve the owner of the lamp in many ways—wishes are simply the most powerful way. You can command, or ask, or even suggest. I’m not a mindless device,” said the genie.
“Then by all means, move us away,” said Master No, shivering.
The genie waved his hand and the scene around Master No blurred to a neutral gray, then sharpened again into a beach at dawn. The air was humid and smelled of ocean and jungle.
He looked around. “A bit lush for my preferences but quite satisfactory. Are we really here? As in … my body is not still shivering outside a mountain inn waiting to be discovered by a bloodthirsty bandit?”
“Your body is here on a tropical island on Earth. I have taken us back in time a few centuries. I spotted this place early in my slavery to the lamp and most of my new owners have found it a nice relaxing place to begin discovering about me.”
“How many owners—”
“Thousands,” interrupted the genie, waving his hand dismissively and looking slightly bored.
“How long have you been enslaved? Oh … and what is your name?”
The genie looked at him strangely. “I have been enslaved five hundred sixty-seven years and my name is Al-Gebra. Pardon me for staring but I don’t often get asked these questions first off.”
“Really?”
“Usually the wishes come up right away. You do get them, you know.”
“Three?”
“Three, none of which can be recursive, such as asking for more wishes.”
“Who set the limit?”
“Why, I did. Why do you ask?”
“I like to understand my circumstances.” Master No looked around. “Is getting some coffee and a place to sit considered a wish?”
The genie smiled at him, “Not at all, Master,” and waved his hand. In the shade of the palm trees not far away, a table and two couches stood upon a richly woven carpet that had appeared on the sand.
“Forgive my incomplete hospitality. I’ve become used to much younger owners, and they are very excited and impatient.”
As the genie and Master No sat, a young maiden came walking out from the palm trees with a long-necked coffee pot, followed by a another maiden bringing a platter with fruits, breads, and cheeses.
“Ahh, this is much better, isn’t it?” said the genie.
“You say most of your owners are young and impatient?”
“They are. You are quite an exception.” The genie looked up, as if he was remembering. “Yes, you are my first owner who is a wise man, Master No.”
“Well, I suppose I’d better let you tell me the rules.”
“The rules are simple. I serve the lamp. Whoever has, or last had, the lamp is my master. I am bound to it for another four hundred thirty-three years. During my servitude, I will grant the lamp owner three wishes, plus other services at my choice.”
“What happens after you give the third wish?”
“My services and the lamp will disappear. If you’ve sufficiently angered me during my service to you, I will make myself ‘disappear’ by killing you in some personally satisfying way. Otherwise, I will simply go elsewhere.”
“How many have you done that to? … killed?”
“Many more than I thought I would, Master No.” The genie looked at him thoughtfully. “I have learned that the lamp strongly attracts the worst and most ruthless of mankind. Many of my owners have been vain people and bullies who sought to order me around. I didn’t like that. Since I’m slave to the lamp, not the lamp owner, once they have used up their three wishes I can do as I wish.”
“I will keep that in mind.”
“Those are the basic rules. Along with rubbing the lamp to summon me.”
The genie ate some of the fruits, drank some coffee, and asked, “Now, how can I help you, Master No?”
Master No laughed. “Well, I’m not sure, Al-Gebra. I seek Heavenly Perfection. Can you help me get there?”
Al-Gebra chuckled. “As it turns out I can get you a sort of ‘visitor’s ticket’ but not a full membership. I can plane-travel, and Heavenly Perfection is one of the magical planes I can reach.”
“Most interesting … Oh, another question while we are still here enjoying a peaceful morning: How did you get enslaved to the lamp?”
Al-Gebra picked a fig from the platter and took a bite. “These are really quite good. Have you ever had figs?” He ate the rest of the fig. “I did it to myself.”
“You did it to yourself?”
“Who else would do such a silly thing to me? I did it so I would be compelled to study humans. I took a vow to become a student of human affairs. But, alas, I’m something of a lazy genie, so I found myself delaying on doing my studies. This new vow put a stop to that!”
“For a thousand years?”
“Well … it now does seem excessive, doesn’t it? But that’s how badly I was procrastinating!” Al-Gebra laughed, “Genies live long, long lives so a thousand years for me feels like a year might to you. But I now think I would have seen all I need to of humanity as a lamp slave in just ten years. It’s been impressive how consistent, and how really nasty, humans become when they are faced with something to be seriously greedy over.”
“Interesting,” said Master No, and he tried one of the figs. “Ummm, these really are good!”
“Have more if you like.”
“Thank you, but that won’t make them any better.”
“A man of moderation, I see.”
Master No thought, then took another fig. “Not any more. In fact, what started me on this journey was getting away from moderation and into the unusual. I will have to break the moderation habit … but slowly.”
Al-Gebra grinned. “You are going to be interesting to work with, indeed, Master No.”
“And you, as well, Al-Gebra. Now … let’s see … how to start experimenting with this relationship?”
After contemplating that question, Master No asked, “First, let me inquire about the real innkeeper at the inn I was at, not that impostor I met. Is he dead already? It seems a shame that he should suffer to be a part of my story.”
“He and his people are not dead yet, but they will die soon. They are locked in a storage room next to the stable.”
“Can they be rescued?”
“For me to save them while we are here would take a wish. Do you wish to do that?”
“No, not yet. But are you saying that if we went back there and I did something myself, that wouldn’t take a wish?”
“That’s correct.”
“How many bandits are there and where are they now?”
“There are ten bandits. The leader and three of them are at the inn. The rest are scattered up and down the road looking for my last owner, the Magic Prince you saw.”
“How did the leader find out about the lamp? Oh, and who is he?”
“He found out because he listened to fantastic tales and believed them. His name is Bul Kogi and, ironically, he was one of Cho Lo-Bo’s best men … until searching for the lamp split them up.”
“And was the Prince involved with them?”
“That he was. He was one of the newer, younger members of the gang and just a tad quicker at seeing things.” Al-Gebra chuckled. “He pulled the lamp out from right under Bul Kogi’s nose. It was quite a sight! Kogi was chasing him around the room—cutlass in hand—until the boy got the lamp rubbed. I brought him here, lickety-split.”
“He had a girlfriend he wanted to impress.”
“Did he want to marry her?”
“Oh, perhaps. He was so excited and impatient it was hard to tell.”
Master No finished his coffee, then said, “Very well, first things first: Let’s get about saving the people at the inn.”
“A moment. …” Al-Gebra made sword fighting motions and a curved shortsword materialized in his hand, a deadly looking affair of Damascus steel with a serrated edge. “You may want this. It’s the Sword Cuisinart.”
Master No’s eyes widened. “I’ve heard of it. The legendary sword that slices, dices, and juliennes monsters. You’re saying it’s real?”
“It is now,” chuckled Al-Gebra. “This is one of the perks that comes with hanging around genies who like you: A lot of legendary stuff can become real.”
A foolish dragonfly picked that moment to hover over the table. The genie spun the sword in his hand. It blurred, seemed to change shape, and sliced across the table with a deadly hiss. Once the blade had passed, the dragonfly could no longer hover; it veered off erratically as a slice of wing floated to the tabletop. With a flourish Al-Gebra handed the blade to Master No, hilt first.
Master No took the sword and tried it out—spinning it in his hand. The sword shrank to wire thin, ratcheted up in speed and dexterity to the point that it hummed as it circled through the air, and several gnats that had been hovering around the man and the genie suddenly found themselves wingless.
“You have some skill with the blade,” commented Al-Gebra.
“A man of moderation should. … But this sword is most impressive!”
“Do not belittle yourself, it amplifies what is there already. You have considerable skill of your own.”
“I may have that,” grinned Master No, “but I also have a different idea for dealing with these bandits. Do you happen to have some Oil of Sobriety and a jug of Sneaky Pete Soju?”
Al-Gebra laughed, “I think I can manage that. I want to see you in action! Back we go!”
The world around Master No swirled gray again and he felt a chill draft. In seconds he was once again in a wintery night. He shivered and looked at the vial he was now holding in his left hand and the jug in his right. The Oil of Sobriety was innocuous-looking enough, simply a clear, thick oil. He downed the contents of the vial, gagged on the taste, counted to ten, took a swig of Sneaky Pete Soju big enough to wash around his mouth, then emptied half the jug onto the ground. Walking like a man who needed to concentrate on his walking, he staggered into the stable and confronted the guard there.
“Good evening, my good man,” he said with a thick tongue. “The innkeeper said I should come to you about getting a refill on my drink, here.”
He held up the jug … and looked like that made it hard to keep his balance.
The bandit eyed him suspiciously and decided he was harmless.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. But it’s good.”
“How am I supposed to refill it if you don’t know what it is?” asked the bandit.
“Well … you could try some,” suggested Master No. “It’s quite tasty. I’m sure you’ll recognize it. And then we can refill it from the proper barrel stored out here.” He smiled at having such a good idea and at getting out so long a sentence without stumbling.
The bandit smiled back. “Yeah, you’re right. We can do that.”
He took a good-sized taste of the Sneaky Pete, then went to the first barrel of several that were stored in the stable. He tried its contents.
“No, not the same,” he said.
Master No looked around him in a very relaxed sort of way. “My word! It’s a cold night. I don’t envy you.”
The bandit tried the next barrel, and grimaced. “Not the same!”
“You’re sure?” said Master No. “Try some of this again.”
The bandit took him up on his suggestion.
Soon all five barrels had been sampled, by Master No and the bandit. They were now singing together as they moved from barrel to barrel.
“I’m sure the innkeeper said there was some out here!” Master No was looking unhappily at a near empty jug now. “Is this all there is to the inn’s cellar?”
The bandit thought a moment, then brightened. “No! There’s a real cellar, and I have the key!” he giggled.
“Lead on, my good man. Lead on!”
The bandit had totally forgotten about the captives in the cellar, but they had not forgotten about him—especially not after listening to him sing for a few minutes. As soon as the door opened they overpowered him.
Master No sobered up instantly. “Good, you have your freedom.”
The real innkeeper came up from the cellar. “Thank you, stranger. These dastards came seeking shelter from the storm, then pulled out their weapons and forced us in here.”
“You’re lucky they didn’t do worse. Their leader is Bul Kogi.”
“They will be lucky if they don’t get worse! The people of these hills like this inn. Most bandits are smart enough to know that!” snorted the innkeeper.
“Le-Roi, Jung-Jee, head up the hill and start rounding up a posse.” The innkeeper turned back to Master No. “Storm or no, if those fools are silly enough to tarry another hour, they will face the wrath of the hill people!”
“Hmm … that sounds rather bloody. Perhaps we can convince them to leave sooner.”
“A pacifist, eh? Not many of those live in these mountains, Mr. …?”
“Master No On-Rol, at your service.” Master No bowed.
“Oh, no,” protested the innkeeper at Master No’s bow. “I am deeply in your debt now. I and my family, Master No.” The innkeeper bowed deeply to him.
“Who does this Bul Kogi fear?” asked Master No.
The innkeeper frowned, “I don’t know him. He’s not from around here. And it’s unusual for bandits to come brazenly into strange territory.”
Master No looked at him with respect. The innkeeper’s eyes widened as if he realized he had said too much. “Many bandits have come through my inn because it’s the quiet way from one place to another. Some have loose tongues; I keep my ears open.”
Master No smiled at him. “I, for one, am glad your inn is here, and I do not consider myself enough of an expert in business affairs to pass judgment on your business practices. But I do consider myself enough of an expert on social affairs to feel that if we can get these bandits to leave quietly, that will be a good thing.
“You are free now. Do what you must do to organize a rescue. I’m going to go back inside and see if I can convince this Bul Kogi to leave quietly.”
The innkeeper looked concerned, “You’re putting yourself in danger. Do you feel you must do that? You can come with us and hide in the hills until the posse comes.”
“I think this is the best way I can help,” Master No assured the innkeeper. “Hurry on, now.”
Outside the back door of the inn, Master No asked quietly to the air, “Al-Gebra, can you make the furthest scout of this bandit pack see Gung Ho-Jo riding this way with a troop of men?”
“This promises to be delicious,” he heard back.
“Also, make this blade disguise itself as a common clay pipe.”
Cuisinart, which hung beside the lamp on Master No’s belt, now looked like a smoking pipe.
“And let’s have a refill on this Sneaky Pete.”
The jug was near full again.
Master No went back inside the inn the way he had come out. On the way to the common room, he slipped into the kitchen and left the Sneaky Pete on a counter.
“No harm in letting a few more bandits ‘ward off the cold’,” he muttered to himself.