Sinbad and The Eye of the Tiger (11 page)

“It is not much further,” Melanthius said.

Melanthius adjusted the bright lamp over the table. On the table, strapped down, was the baboon, with Dione, Farah, and Sinbad on the opposite side from the old man.

The laboratory of the old Greek was a vast cluttered cave, hewn out of the living rock, or perhaps an ancient cave that had been enlarged, the walls and floor smoothed and made more useful. It was crammed with extraordinary devices, both crude and complicated apparatus for the Greek’s experiments. There were tables and benches piled high with retorts, beakers, stoppered vials, geological specimens, and mortars filled with crushed rock. There were mounds of parchment scrolls, some new, some old, some
very
old, and some fallen to the floor. There were skulls, bones, and lead-glass bottles of ground bone. Some of the skulls were whole, others had their tops sawn off, and still others showed signs of crude surgery.

Against the wall were a few amphoras, some sealed with wax and showing the ring-seal impressions of long-dead kings. Others were open, but stoppered. Tucked here and there, under benches and in an untidy stack against one wall, were chests, boxes, lacquered cabinets, a brass-bound coffer with a curious design in silver, and leather cases of various sizes. A sarcophagus of ancient design was under one bench and was partially filled with a collection of glass eyes, dried insects, and polished stones.

There was a basket on one bench, filled with horns of various sorts. Sinbad recognized a rhino’s hard dark spear among them. Another chest, open and dusty, contained teeth, great curving predators’ fangs. A canister of gold dust stood next to a bag of dried bats. On one table were cages and jars buzzing with Melanthius’s entomological collections. Nearby the unborn fetus of some creature lay in silent suspension within a yellowish, murky jar of oily liquid.

The language written upon most of the scrolls was Greek, although there were fragments of ancient clay tablets punched with cuneiform, and a few flat stones carved in symbols of tongues no longer spoken.

Melanthius nodded his head. “Very interesting.” He tapped the chest of the baboon. “What we have here is an excellent specimen of a full-grown male baboon of the mandrill variety . . .”

He looked up shrewdly, peering at Farah through his thick eyebrows. “You claim it can write? And play chess?”

“Yes.” She paused and wet her lips. “You see . . . he is my brother, Kassim. He was a brilliant chess player from the age of seven.”

Quizzically, the old Greek looked from the princess to the passive, nuzzling baboon. “Very interesting . . . yes, very interesting,” he said softly. He looked up at her again. “My diagnosis is far from complete.” He pointed again at the baboon. “But
this
far, my examination
has
revealed certain curious physiological features which intrigue me.” He looked thoughtfully at the animal imprisoned on the table. “He plays chess,” he said thoughtfully.

Farah spoke impatiently. “He
wants
to play but he cannot seem to concentrate for very long. This makes him angry.” The baboon rattled his straps and made a chittering, whimpering sound.

Melanthius frowned. “It’s capable of primitive emotion then, and anger as well . . .”

Sinbad spoke up. “And pity. I have seen him cry.”

Melanthius raised his eyes to Sinbad and searched his face. “Remarkable,” he said. “If true . . .”

“You must believe us!” Farah said quickly, reaching across to grip the old man’s forearm.

He gently disengaged her hand. “I have spent my long life searching for the Truth.” He shrugged. “I am a scholar, a scientist.” His impish grin appeared faintly. “Some call me an alchemist, a magician, but I’ve been trained to believe in factual evidence.” His smile faded and he stroked his chin as he studied the baboon. “Before I reach a positive conclusion, I will have to make further tests.” His eyes rose to Farah’s.
“Then
we can ‘interpret’ the Truth.”

The princess licked her lips, then looked at the baboon. She lowered her head and rubbed her cheek against the ugly snout of the animal. Then she nodded. “What do we do?”

The old man began unfastening the straps. “Tests, my dear, tests. Scientific observation—it’s the only way.”

The baboon was taken from the table to another cluttered table in the laboratory. Sinbad helped clear away a dry cauldron, covered inside with peeling flecks of green, and a vat of dark, sluggish liquid. He set them next to a cold forge, over which was suspended a pot containing cold lead. Farah gathered up scrolls and a metal box which rattled and dumped them on the floor nearby. Dione wiped down the table and Melanthius rummaged through another chest, this one with bronze bosses of lion’s heads, to pull from it a board in which holes had been cut.

The old Greek set the board on the table, dumped next to it several blocks of wood, each of which had been fashioned to fit into the holes. One was round, another square, still another triangular, and so on. Sinbad took a pewter urn from a stool and set it before the table. Farah took the baboon’s hand and brought him up on the stool.

Melanthius pointed at the blocks, then at the holes. He reached down and swiftly put each of the pegs into the proper hole. He let the baboon get a good look, then he tipped the board and the pegs fell out. He gestured for the animal to do as he had done.

The long, spidery fingers of the baboon reach out almost shyly, picking up a peg. Sinbad leaned back against a cabinet with a design of inlaid dragons, folded his arms, and watched. The baboon at first failed to get any of the shapes in the proper holes. He chittered angrily and threw a peg across the laboratory, which broke a test tube, releasing a faint perfume into the air. Melanthius recovered the peg and tossed it back onto the table without changing expression. The baboon snatched it up and, in two tries, found the right hole. In the end, he managed to get two-thirds of the pegs in the proper holes.

Melanthius took away the peg board and Dione set three colored bowls on the table. One was red, one green, and one blue. The old alchemist brought a brass bowl of colored wooden beads, all mixed together, and set it before the baboon. The baboon did not seem to need coaching. He picked up two red beads and dropped them at once into the red bowl. But he confused blue and green, dropping three green beads into the blue bowl.

Melanthius frowned, then returned his face to its former blandness. None of the other humans responded or spoke. The baboon picked up another bead, a blue one, then seemed to realize its mistake. He picked up the blue bowl and dumped the contents into the green bowl.

Princess Farah was delighted, hiding her smile behind her hand. But the old Greek was openly smiling. He gestured for the bowls to be removed and searched through another box, this one with a design of stars and comets inlaid in mother-of-pearl. He produced a small, plain wooden box and set it on the table. He crossed the laboratory, found a banana in a bowl of fruit, and returned to the baboon’s test site. He put the banana inside the wooden box, then fastened down the lid with a complicated combination of padlock and key. With his face blank he handed the key to the baboon.

The baboon turned the key one way, then another, then tested it with his teeth. Without warning he threw the key over his shoulder. There was a crash behind them, then the slither of a powder falling from a shattered beaker. The baboon reached out to a nearby table, where a halved geode lay, the marvelous inner world of a rock exposed, snatched up the geological specimen and in one quick blow knocked the lock cleanly from the box. He flipped open the lid and casually plucked the banana from its interior. Without a look at the humans the baboon delicately peeled and ate the fruit.

“Like the Gordian knot,” Sinbad muttered to himself. He glanced at Melanthius covertly and saw the scientist’s eyes glimmering with mounting excitement. Sinbad leaned close to Princess Farah and whispered in her ear, “I think he’s beginning to believe.”

Farah gave him a sharp look. “And you?” she asked.

Sinbad shrugged. “It could be several things. I will let the Greek decide.” Sinbad turned away and saw Dione watching him with a curious expression. She quickly averted her eyes, watching her father removing the shattered box and setting out the new test.

It was an old one, and simple. Melanthius put out three walnut shells, old and brittle and polished with use. He found a small round pebble in a pot and capped it with a walnut shell. His hands quickly switched the position of the shells, back and forth, several times. Then he gestured to the baboon.

The black-furred animal looked at him, gibbered, a fingertip on his lips, then reached out and picked up a shell, exposing the pebble. Sinbad grinned to himself ruefully. He had thought it was another.

Deftly the old alchemist covered the pebble with a shell and switched the shell halves back and forth, then took away his hand. There was no hesitation at all this time. The baboon’s long, spidery fingers darted forth almost before the alchemist’s hand had left the shells. Again he uncovered the pebble.

And again.

And a fourth time, correctly.

As the old Greek started to do the shell game trick for a fifth time the baboon’s hands waved him away. He captured the pebble under the shell half and briskly shuffled the shells around. He stopped, looking up at Melanthius with dark, quick eyes. The old man hesitated, looking from the three shells to the baboon. Then his finger touched a shell half and raised it.

Empty.

The baboon raised a shell, exposing the pebble, then covered it and quickly mixed up the shells. Melanthius glanced up at Farah, frowning, then somehow delighted. When the baboon had stopped, the old Greek reached out, touched a shell, then switched his choice.

He was wrong.

He lost a third time. And a fourth. As a baboon started to arrange the pieces for a fifth bout the old Greek scientist laughed. He reached out and took the baboon’s paw and shook it heartily.

“Just one more test,” Melanthius said. “Dione . . . bring me that mirror.” She picked up a polished mirror from a nearby table and handed it to her father.

“As a scientist and alchemist,” Melanthius said, “I know that metals can be transformed . . . as a philosopher I can also believe in the possibility of metaphysical change.” He lifted the mirror and held it in front of the baboon’s face.

At first the baboon snarled and bared its fangs. Then the angry reaction lessened as it reached out to touch the reflection of itself. The baboon was still, with only its eyes moving in little short movements. Slowly there came over the creature an obvious sadness, a deeply moving regret for what it saw in the mirror. The dark-furred animal turned its head away and after a moment its eyes closed.

Melanthius nodded sagely. Gently he said, “A true baboon would have attacked its reflection, thinking it an enemy or another male transgressing on his territory. It would not have recognized itself and been moved to grief.”

Melanthius set down the mirror and studied the animal a moment. Then he took one of his hands and waited until the animal opened its eyes and looked at him.

With great courtesy the old Greek said, “I am very happy to meet you . . . Your Highness.”

The baboon moved its hands and they were shaking. Sinbad and Dione broke into delighted smiles as Farah wept with relief and unconcealed delight.

“M
ore wine, Captain Sinbad?” Melanthius asked.

“Aye,” said the sailor, and held out his goblet.

They were seated in a corner of the huge, cluttered laboratory, reclining on cushions before a low table on which were the remains of their evening meal. Dione was paring an apple for her father and Princess Farah was feeding grapes, one by one, through the bars of the cage to the baboon.

The old Greek sipped his wine and spoke thoughtfully on the subject they had been discussing all through their meal. “Whatever drug or elixir it was that this woman . . .” He paused and looked at Sinbad for a reminder.

“Zenobia,” he said.

“Ah, yes. Whatever it was that Zenobia used is beyond my knowledge.” He waved the hand with the goblet. “Oh, with time and after exhaustive study and experiments I could probably analyze the ingredients of the drug . . .” He paused and pursed his lips. “But an antidote?” He shook his head. “That would be beyond my powers.” He looked sharply at Sinbad as a thought struck him. “I could provide a catalyst that might effect a partial transformation, but I could never guarantee a complete cure.” The old man looked sorely at the baboon.

“What did Zenobia use as a catalyst?” Sinbad asked across his wine cup.

Melanthius nodded his head, his eyes moody. “Perhaps the most powerful of all
—black magic!”

Farah looked up at him in surprise. “But you are the wisest man in the world!” she protested.

Melanthius raised a hand against her words. “Modesty forbids me from agreeing with you, Princess,” he smiled. “Even the wisest of men is often helpless when faced with the evil results of witchcraft.” He rose stiffly and began pacing.

Farah’s lips trembled and her hands strayed to the polished bars of the baboon’s cage. “Then . . . then there is no remedy?” She looked in at the animal with tears in her eyes, and it reached out a long hairy paw to touch her.

Melanthius leaned against the edge of the table and crossed his arms, nodding. “There have been times when men have known how to combat it.” His gaze was far off and his voice low. “Nations and peoples of an intelligence far superior to anything we know today.”

Sinbad leaned forward, his question blunt. “Where are they now?”

The old Greek waved a thin hand in dismissal. “Long dead or destroyed,” he muttered, then waved his hand around to include their surroundings. “Like the civilization that built these temples here in Casgar.” The scholar sighed. “Some were defeated by natural disasters, such as Atlantis, now lost under the sea. Some are covered by desert sand, or shrouded in eternal ice and snow . . .”

The old man’s voice trailed away and Sinbad waited respectfully for him to continue. After several moments the sailor realized Melanthius was lost in thought. He hesitated, then asked another question. “Then all their wisdom is lost to us?”