Pandora Gets Angry (5 page)

“She is one of only two friends I ever had,” Pandy began. “The other is dead. Please, please don't let me lose this one, too.”

The captain, moved by the single tear coursing down her cheek, relented.

“He will be brought to you in chains and they are not to be removed,” he said. “The dancer's tent will be surrounded with a man every five paces and two at the entrance. Two will be inside the tent with their backs to the proceedings, as I am aware there may be some examination. If any of you attempts to help the Physician escape, you will regret it. Is all of this understood?”

“Yes, yes!” Pandy cried. “Thank you!”

She and Mahfouza bowed low and ran out of the tent.

“Well done, Pandora!” Mahfouza said.

“It was the truth that worked. Who knew?” Pandy replied. “And, please, call me Pandy.”

They burst into Mahfouza's tent to find Homer, sitting over Iole, fanning her with a small cushion.

“She's burning up,” he said.

“Douban is on his way,” said Mahfouza.

“Who's that?” asked Pandy.

“Douban,” Mahfouza replied, then she looked incredulously at Homer and Pandy. “Douban the Physician? Surely you have heard of him?”

Pandy and Homer shook their heads.

“He is the greatest physician in the known world. I cannot believe his fame has not traveled to Greece.”

“Well, we have Apollo,” Pandy replied.

“At any rate, he will be here soon,” Mahfouza said. “So now we will wait.”

Settling themselves close to Iole, the group was silent for a long time. Then Pandy looked at the lovely dancer, whose concern for Iole seemed to match her own.

“Mahfouza, why are you here? Now? Why aren't you with Wang Chun Lo? Did something happen? Where are you going?”

“Pandy, please,” Mahfouza said, smiling. “Let me answer these questions before you ask any more.”

“Oh, sorry,” Pandy said. “I'm just curious.”

“Wang Chun Lo's Caravan of Wonders is doing well, I must assume. Instead of four dancers, they now have only three. I received word of trouble at home, so I have left to be with my family.”

“I'm sorry,” Pandy said. “How far are you traveling?”

“To Baghdad.”

“That's where we are going,” Homer cut in.

“I thought you were Arabian,” Pandy said.

“That's only for advertising.” Mahfouza smiled. “Wang Chun Lo thought it would be simpler to bill us as four exotic Arabs, but in truth, we were from all over. Pandy, you are still on your quest to find the remaining evils, yes?”

Pandy nodded.

“Baghdad is such a small, backwater town on the Tigris. I cannot imagine a great evil taking up residence there. It was only my father's business, providing goods to ships in port, which forced my mother to make a home there. The house still stands, I believe, but I fear my parents are dead.”

“What?” Pandy cried. “How do you know? What was the message? Who told you?”

“No one told me. It was not that kind of message.”

Mahfouza rose off of her floor cushion and went to a wooden trunk from which she pulled a carved box, not unlike the box that Pandy carried in her leather pouch.

“The day I left to join Wang Chun Lo, my father gave me a dagger. He told me that no matter where I was, if the blade was clean when I pulled it from its sheath, all was well with him. But if the blade was bloody, he had been terribly injured or worse. On that same day, my mother gave me a string of pearls, saying that if the string remained loose and I was able to slide the pearls back and forth, she was fine, but if the string was fixed and unmovable, she too was either injured beyond hope or already dead. For several years I kept both items in this box. I had pulled the dagger from its sheath many times and found it clean, and I had draped the pearls around my neck. Then, for several months I actually forgot to do these things, thinking that all was and always would be well. Shortly after you came to us in Egypt and we all learned what had happened and why you were on your quest, I became frightened.”

Sitting again, she placed the box on the ground in front of her and lifted the lid.

“As it turns out, I had good reason to be.”

Mahfouza held up the dagger and slowly drew the blade from the sheath. Blood began dripping everywhere, staining the carpets and cushions. She sheathed the dagger again and put it in the box. Then she took out a strand of large pearls, frozen in a straight line, not one pearl loose.

“I don't even know the exact day these items became like this,” she murmured.

Replacing the pearls and closing the lid, Mahfouza looked at Pandy.

“Do you know what ‘Baghdad' means?” she asked.

“No,” Pandy said softly.

“
Bagh
means ‘God' and
dad
means ‘gift,'” she said. “It is a gift from God. That is how I always saw it. The city is a trash heap, really, but I loved it. It is my home. And now I fear it is my parents' grave.”

Once again, Pandy felt the tremendous weight of the responsibility of her actions. If Rage was in Baghdad and Mahfouza's parents had suffered because of it … it was all her fault.

“I'm sorry,” she began. “I'm so very sorry.”

But she was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching and encircling the tent. Seconds later, two guards entered and took up their posts. Shortly after that, four guards shoved their way through the entrance. They surrounded a small, frail man and a youth appearing to be only slightly older than Homer; both were clothed in simple white robes. Shoving them into the center of the room, the four guards departed.

“Don't try anything funny,” one guard said as the tent flap closed behind him.

The older man turned and looked from Mahfouza to Pandy to Homer, then his eyes came to rest on Iole.

“Did someone call for a physician?”

CHAPTER SEVEN
The Tale of Douban
the Physician

With his eyes trained on Iole, the man glided across the floor of the tent. Pandy noticed that neither he nor the boy were in chains, as promised. Perhaps even the captain realized there was nowhere to escape to. Mahfouza rushed across her tent.

“Thank you, Douban,” she began.

“Not now, my dear,” he said quietly, patting her arm as he passed her. “Come, my son.”

The youth, with only a glance at Pandy, followed his father. They knelt over Iole and studied her face, flushed and beaded with sweat.

“What do you see?” Douban asked the youth.

“There is no visible trauma,” the youth replied. “Her fever is high. Her lips are cracked, so she has lost much fluid. It is either an infection or digestive.”

“Good … for a start. And I concur,” said the elder man, and then he looked up. “Who can tell me of this girl?”

“I can,” Pandy spoke up. Then she looked at Homer. “We can.”

“Do so,” said Douban.

“We've been, uh, days in the desert,” Pandy started.

“Eleven,” said Homer.

“Eleven. And she was fine up until two days ago. Then she couldn't keep her food down, she can't drink.…”

“From where have you traveled?” asked Douban.

“From Greece,” said Pandy. “I mean, originally. But we were most recently in Aphrodisias.”

Douban looked up at Pandy.

“How are you called?”

“Huh?” asked Pandy. “Oh, you mean my name. I am Pandora of Athens.”

The youth's eyes widened and, suddenly, Douban's entire face became a mixture of pure astonishment, disbelief, concern, and joy; yet only the corner of his mouth moved, rising upward slightly.

“Can you believe it?” Mahfouza said suddenly. “And I was speaking of her only the other night!”

“Yes, my dear,” said Douban, speaking to Mahfouza but staring intently at Pandy. “But her fame preceded her long before you recounted the dancing lesson. This may explain much.”

He turned his attention back to Iole.

“What has been your diet?”

“Huh?” Pandy replied.

“Food.”

“Oh! Well, we started out with fresh supplies, but we ran out of those about a week ago. So we've been eating flatbread and dried fruit.”

“Show me your stores,” said the Physician.

“Well, we don't really have stores,” Pandy said, reaching for her leather pouch. “It's all in here.”

“You cannot possibly keep enough food in that small space.”

Inadvertently, Pandy looked to Homer.

“He's gotta know,” Homer said.

“Right,” Pandy said, turning back. “Athena, the goddess … she's Greek.”

“I'm acquainted with your pantheon,” Douban said.

“Oh, yeah, well, when we first started out, she enchanted my carrying pouch so that it would always give us dried fruit and flatbread. So that we wouldn't starve if we ever got into trouble.”

“Let me see what it can produce.”

Pandy reached in her pouch and brought out a handful of dried dates, apricots, and figs and several small pieces of flatbread, then handed everything to Douban. Carefully, the Physician turned the bits over in his hands, sniffing them in short bursts that wrinkled his nose like a squirrel's, examining each and every morsel in the filtered purple and crimson light of the tent. Then he handed them to his son, whose reaction, while slower, was the same.

“These are tainted,” Douban said at length. “In fact, they are spoiled to the point of being poisonous. I have no doubt that your friend succumbed before you because she is relatively small and seems rather frail, but the two of you would soon follow had you continued to consume this.”

“What? But Athena … ,” exclaimed Pandy.

“All will be explained,” Douban said. “Now, I require hot water, a small dish, and a little space. And quiet.”

Quickly, Mahfouza poured a cup of hot water from an urn nestled in a glowing pile of coals. Pandy watched as Douban pulled a few dark glass bottles from hidden pouches in the sleeves of his robes. He emptied tiny measured amounts of the oddly colored, foul-smelling contents of the jars into the dish: powders; blue, milky white, and amber liquids; seeds; crushed dried leaves. Occasionally, he would murmur an instruction to his son, or ask what the youth thought would be the next step. At last, he added some hot water and quickly mixed together a greenish-white paste. Then, opening Iole's mouth, he coated the inside of her cheeks and her tongue with the concoction.

“Do you see what I am doing?” Douban asked his son. “Mixing this with this. Do you understand why?”

“Yes, Father,” said the youth.

Then Douban brought out a small role of white gauze.

“Knife,” he asked of Mahfouza.

“Here,” she said, fetching a petite blade.

Douban cut several strips of the gauze and dipped them into the rest of the hot water, then laid them carefully across Iole's mouth and nose. As his son found a place to sit behind his father, Douban settled back onto a large black cushion and closed his eyes.

“So … ,” Pandy began after many moments had passed.

Douban opened his eyes.

“Is she going to be all right?” Pandy asked.

“Of course,” Douban said. Then he shook his head. “I humbly ask your forgiveness. I did not mean to keep you in suspense regarding your friend. I was simply giving in to a momentary love of the art of healing … and thinking how much I shall regret having to give it up. But of course, your friend will be perfect come sunrise. The poultice is being absorbed through the wet membranes of her cheeks and into her blood, where it will have a restorative effect, I promise you.”

“But the food?” Homer said.

“Yes,” Douban said. “Let me explain. You have left your native homeland of Greece, ruled by your own gods. You are now crossing the Arabian desert on your way to …?”

“Baghdad,” answered Pandy.

“Ah. As are we,” he said, his face falling slightly. “Oh! Be merciful! Again, forgive my rudeness: allow me to introduce my son Douban.”

The youth nodded toward Homer, who greeted him back. Then he looked at Pandy and smiled … and didn't look away.

“Are you called Douban the Younger?” she asked. “I mean … doesn't it get confusing?”

“At home we call him Dou-dou,” said the elder man.

At this, the youth pursed his lips and looked at the ground.

“Do not fret, my son,” said Douban. “Shortly, you shall have my name all to yourself. And my work shall become yours as the art of healing is handed to you as my father handed it to me, and his before that. It is only a little sooner than I expected.”

“I am sorry, Father,” said his son.

“I can't bear this,” said Mahfouza, causing Pandy to look at her with curiosity.

“At any rate, Pandora,” said Douban, with a wave to calm Mahfouza. “You need to know that the rules, the gifts, the enchantments of your lands and your gods have no sway here, and what was once beneficial can often become deadly. There is still an enchantment on your pouch and should you ever return to Greece, or someplace where your gods hold power, your pouch will start producing nutritious food once again. Until that time, well, we have our own higher powers here, and they must be respected.”

“But it gave me a lot of food just a few weeks ago when I was in the Atlas Mountains,” Pandy said. “That's not Greece!”

“Indeed,” Douban answered. “And those of us who have been hearing of your exploits were most impressed by the way you handled your uncle and captured Laziness.”

Pandy was suddenly aware that the younger Douban was again gazing at her.

“But you see,” his father continued, “Zeus banished your uncle to that high peak, forcing him to hold the heavens for eternity. Therefore, your Sky-Lord must have some sort of power trade with the other gods or spirits of that land, and the enchantments of other Greek gods would still be in effect. We have also heard of your adventures in Egypt. I am certain there must be an arrangement with those gods as well.”

Pandy thought of the enchanted rope and understood the reason it was behaving so strangely.

“But wait! Dido ate this food,” Pandy said with a sudden realization. “He's smaller than Iole. Kinda.”

“The unclean can eat anything,” Douban said.

Dido raised his head.

“Ex-
cuse
me?” Pandy said, dropping her voice.

“I am sorry,” Douban said. “I did not mean to offend. It is simply custom to call a dog—”

“Father,” interrupted his son, “if I may. In this part of the world, there are those who still cling to backward thinking. Dogs are considered unclean and some of the lowest of the low.”

Dido cocked his head to one side.

“However,” the young man continued, “there are others, such as myself, who understand that dogs are wonderful and loving companions. I know my father agrees; it was simply a slip of the tongue. And your dog, if I may say so, not only looks remarkable but seems to be a wonderful animal.”

The younger Douban looked at Pandy and smiled. Pandy felt her stomach drop toward the floor.

“He is,” she answered, quickly shifting her gaze back to Iole.

“How were you able to tell this food was bad just by sniffing it?” asked Homer.

“That is a gift I have been given,” Douban said, smiling wistfully.

“He is the greatest physician in the known world!” Mahfouza exclaimed, startling everyone.

“For the moment,” Douban said sadly.

“Then why did you say you have to give it up?” Pandy asked. Then she became bolder. “And why are you, um, a prisoner?”

Again, Douban stared at her for a long time. So long that she became uncomfortable and was about to speak, when he suddenly shifted against the cushion.

“I shall tell you my story,” he said. “I think there will be much benefit for you in it. But first let me tell you, Pandora, that you are to be greatly admired. Word of your quest has reached scholarly ears far and wide; you and your friends are much discussed in the libraries, senate halls, throne rooms, and, yes, even the gambling dens. Wagers on your success or failure are placed almost every moment.”

“For or against?” asked Homer.

“The majority against, I'm afraid.”

Pandy was silent. It was so much better when she thought that her quest was a big secret almost no one knew about. Now, to find out that most of the whole world already believed she was going to fail … Suddenly she felt very, very small. Smaller than she'd ever felt in her entire, miserable life.

“I don't seem to be saying the right things to you, do I, my dear?” Douban asked, reading Pandy's face. “Very well, then let me tell you a tale that might be of great interest.”

“I'm sorry,” Mahfouza said, pulling a small pillow to her side. “But this story makes me so mad that if I have to hear it again, I need to hit something.”

Pandy could not imagine what it was that Douban had to say.

“The current ruler of Baghdad,” Douban began, “Prince Camaralzaman, contracted leprosy several months ago. He tried every remedy at his disposal: baths, salves, burning the affected areas, freezing, but no cure could he find. The case was so severe that at last, having heard of my skill, he sent for me. When I arrived, the prince was close to death, but by means of various potions and herbs, cloth bandages soaked in special oils and the like, I was able to cure him completely. He was initially so grateful that he gave me wealth such as I had never known—jewels, land, fine garments, and a host of slaves to do my bidding. I told him that I was thankful for his kindness, but that I really wanted nothing more than to return home to my family. Yet the prince demanded that I remain as his personal physician; he built me a palace next to his and elevated me to a position at his court equal to that of his grand vizier.”

“What's that?” asked Pandy.

“The vizier is the most important, most trusted, and usually the wisest of the prince's advisers. Except in this case. The grand vizier, seeing me ensconced in my new palace and in such favor with the prince became extremely jealous and, I am convinced, began to whisper into the prince's ear that I was secretly plotting against him. The prince held a good opinion of me for many days but finally surrendered to the slander. One day, only a few weeks ago, the prince summoned me into his presence, but he did it with none of his usual graciousness: there were no roses strewn on the path before me; no lovely women leading me on, scenting the air with perfume; no musicians playing me along. This time, I was grabbed by my arms by two huge guards and dragged from my palace and thrown at the feet of the prince. The prince then said that he was aware that I was plotting to assassinate him and that he was going have me executed the next instant. I begged for only one thing.”

“What? What!” cried Pandy, horrified and completely rapt.

“That I be allowed to return home to my family for a stay of one week and set my affairs in order, arrange my funeral, bestow some charity, and acquaint my eldest son with the books and papers that he will need in his new position. I promised that I would return by the next caravan and he could carry out his sentence.”

“No
way
!” shouted Homer.

“You gotta be kidding!” cried Pandy.

“He's not,” said Mahfouza, punching the pillow.

“But you were, like, in the
clear
,” Homer said in disbelief. “You could have taken your family and run!”

“Your name is Homer, yes?” Douban asked.

“Yes,” said Homer.

“Well, Homer,” Douban said. “Yes, you're right, even though the prince sent a guard into my home, I could have easily made my escape anytime I wanted to. But I gave my word. In the end, it is the only thing that is ever wholly ours, and when we speak it must be only the truth. I said I would go back and back I am going. I am bringing my son so that he may return my remains to our home.”