“It wasn’t very difficult to catch the beast. It was huge and vicious, and it had no intention of running away—it was guarding its nest. We waited until it charged at us, threw our nets over it, and tied it up,” the young, black-bearded man they had rescued was telling the merchant captain of the richly decorated baghlah and his companions. He had been pulled from the sea, clinging to a fragment of a yardarm, not far from the Moon Island, which the shipwrecked man had been trying to reach.
“It fought like a shaitan. Everyone ended up with bruises and bumps. But we’re used to that. We managed it and carried it aboard together with the eggs. Ah... the ship...” The storyteller lowered his head. The captain patted him on the shoulder and handed him a small, elegant silver flask filled with wine, allowed to sailors for medicinal purposes.
“And what kind of ship did you have, my friend?”
“A small shu’ai. Fast and stable—just the thing for that sort of work. You have to transport an elephant bird quickly, before it dies.” The storyteller spread his hands, and the captain’s gold signet ring flashed on his right hand. “There’s just one problem: you can only build a light, fast ship from very thin planks...” The rescued man paused to take a drink and slowly cast a meaningful glance over his listeners.
“My afternoon nap was shattered by a terrible crash. It sounded as though Jalut, slain by Dawud, had risen from the dead and was pounding the hull with a giant hammer! Jumping to my feet, I saw the elephant bird smashing my ship apart with all the force of its monstrous beak, while beside it lay the chief hunter’s little son, his skull crushed. In his hands was the sack we’d put over the monster’s head so it wouldn’t see the light and would sleep like a chicken. Looks like the boy got curious and wanted a closer look at the head of our prize. I grabbed an axe, but I never got the chance to kill the beast. Water came pouring through the hole it had smashed in the hull, and the shu’ai capsized. None of my companions survived, and I myself was spared only by the mercy of Allah, who sent me a piece of the yardarm to cling to.”
The storyteller spoke these last words almost in a whisper, lowering his head in mourning.
After waiting a little longer for him to continue, the crew, obeying a gesture from the captain, dispersed to their duties. The captain himself sat down beside his unwilling guest, took the flask from his hands, and drank a generous swallow.
“An astonishing tale, my friend. Terrible—and unbelievable. Yet, by the grace of the Almighty, it may help you escape poverty... perhaps even buy yourself a new ship.”
At these words, the rescued man’s gaze lifted. The dull, lost look in his eyes quickly became sharp and intent.
“As it happens, one of my friends is a scribe in the service of one of the Caliph’s wives. I have no idea why, but he collects unusual stories for her. And he pays very generously for them. From what I can see, you’re a first-rate storyteller. When we reach port, I’ll be sure to introduce the two of you. So my advice is this: rest, regain your strength, and try to remember as many adventures as you can.”
He smiled.
“Or other people’s. My friend doesn’t much care which.”
Viacheslav Sannikov "Almost True". Part I "Humans"
