broke free from the shade, he caught sight of the jinn’s features – and wished he had never seen them at all.
‘I am a clockmaker, your jinnship,’ he said. ‘And it was I who called you to meet me in this place.’
The monster grunted.
‘And by whose authority did you dare to summon me?’
‘On the authority of the ivory king!’ the clockmaker stammered, his neck craning back.
‘Then where is his sword, thou feeble human?’
Holding up the narwhale’s tusk, the clockmaker gritted his teeth and snarled as he had been told to do.
The ground shook as never before, as the jinn, Mezmiss, collapsed to his knees. Without wasting a moment, the clockmaker ran forwards, and threw the chillies into the monster’s eyes. And, as he was floundering in pain, the clockmaker climbed onto the creature’s head and dug his thumbs into its nostrils.
‘I am your master now!’ he declared. ‘I and only I!’
Mezmiss lowered his head in subservience.
‘So be it,’ he uttered reticently. ‘What is your wish, O human?’
Climbing down, the clockmaker held the ivory tusk up high.
‘My wish is for you to travel to another time, and to take me with you.’
The Master of all Jinn snarled his most diabolical snarl, enraged that the mortal knew of the secret formula to harness a jinn’s inner strength.
Reciting an incantation as he burned another block of camphor, the clockmaker wore the monster down, until he was no more than a grey fleshy lump of pulp.
‘So be it,’ whimpered the jinn, his menacing tone now gone, ‘I will lend you my soul, so long as you promise me to return it.’
The clockmaker made a solemn guarantee and, before he knew it, a hoopoe was singing before him in a cage.
‘There it is,’ said the jinn, his strength all spent. ‘There is my soul.’
Leaving the desert, the clockmaker hastened back to his workshop, where he hung the cage on a hook, and got to work. He devised an interlocking gearing system, using hydraulics and dials, astrolabes and cogs, a mechanism that would harness the power of the jinn’s soul.
The only thing on the craftsman’s mind was preserving his throat.
On the morning of the deadline, the sultan sat perched on his throne, waiting for the clockmaker to arrive, fingertips pressed together in contemplation.
‘Perhaps he has fled, Majesty,’ said the chief minister.
‘Or has taken his own life,’ taunted another courtier.
The sultan glanced at his favourite clock, as it struck the midday hour.
At that moment, there was the sound of iron wheels moving over wood.
The clockmaker stepped cautiously into the throne room. He was holding a square cage, in which the hoopoe was chirping. Behind him was wheeled a large mechanical device covered in a silky cloth.
The sultan craned forwards, squinting to focus on the bird.
‘What is a hoopoe doing here?!’ he bellowed.
The clockmaker smiled politely.
‘It is more than a mere bird,’ he said. ‘It is the soul of a jinn, a jinn who can travel back and forwards in time.’
Jerking away the cloth, the clockmaker revealed his creation.
Elaborate in every way, the intricate and interwoven mechanism was encased in glass, so that every moving part could be clearly seen and admired.
At the front, upholstered in crushed vermilion velvet, was a grand fauteuil.
The clockmaker opened a door in the contraption, slotted the bird’s cage into position, and bowed deeply.
As he did so, the machine came to life.
The dials began to revolve, the cogs rotate, and the astrolabes flash, as they caught light from the crystal chandelier above. In the middle of it all, alarmed by the mechanism around it, the little hoopoe tweeted fitfully.
‘It is ready, Your Majesty,’ said the clockmaker, a tone of anxiety in his voice, for he had not yet had the time to test his machine.
The sultan got to his feet, and stepped over.
‘Are you certain that it works?’
The clockmaker looked at him hard, their eyes locked onto each
‘I am a clockmaker, your jinnship,’ he said. ‘And it was I who called you to meet me in this place.’
The monster grunted.
‘And by whose authority did you dare to summon me?’
‘On the authority of the ivory king!’ the clockmaker stammered, his neck craning back.
‘Then where is his sword, thou feeble human?’
Holding up the narwhale’s tusk, the clockmaker gritted his teeth and snarled as he had been told to do.
The ground shook as never before, as the jinn, Mezmiss, collapsed to his knees. Without wasting a moment, the clockmaker ran forwards, and threw the chillies into the monster’s eyes. And, as he was floundering in pain, the clockmaker climbed onto the creature’s head and dug his thumbs into its nostrils.
‘I am your master now!’ he declared. ‘I and only I!’
Mezmiss lowered his head in subservience.
‘So be it,’ he uttered reticently. ‘What is your wish, O human?’
Climbing down, the clockmaker held the ivory tusk up high.
‘My wish is for you to travel to another time, and to take me with you.’
The Master of all Jinn snarled his most diabolical snarl, enraged that the mortal knew of the secret formula to harness a jinn’s inner strength.
Reciting an incantation as he burned another block of camphor, the clockmaker wore the monster down, until he was no more than a grey fleshy lump of pulp.
‘So be it,’ whimpered the jinn, his menacing tone now gone, ‘I will lend you my soul, so long as you promise me to return it.’
The clockmaker made a solemn guarantee and, before he knew it, a hoopoe was singing before him in a cage.
‘There it is,’ said the jinn, his strength all spent. ‘There is my soul.’
Leaving the desert, the clockmaker hastened back to his workshop, where he hung the cage on a hook, and got to work. He devised an interlocking gearing system, using hydraulics and dials, astrolabes and cogs, a mechanism that would harness the power of the jinn’s soul.
The only thing on the craftsman’s mind was preserving his throat.
On the morning of the deadline, the sultan sat perched on his throne, waiting for the clockmaker to arrive, fingertips pressed together in contemplation.
‘Perhaps he has fled, Majesty,’ said the chief minister.
‘Or has taken his own life,’ taunted another courtier.
The sultan glanced at his favourite clock, as it struck the midday hour.
At that moment, there was the sound of iron wheels moving over wood.
The clockmaker stepped cautiously into the throne room. He was holding a square cage, in which the hoopoe was chirping. Behind him was wheeled a large mechanical device covered in a silky cloth.
The sultan craned forwards, squinting to focus on the bird.
‘What is a hoopoe doing here?!’ he bellowed.
The clockmaker smiled politely.
‘It is more than a mere bird,’ he said. ‘It is the soul of a jinn, a jinn who can travel back and forwards in time.’
Jerking away the cloth, the clockmaker revealed his creation.
Elaborate in every way, the intricate and interwoven mechanism was encased in glass, so that every moving part could be clearly seen and admired.
At the front, upholstered in crushed vermilion velvet, was a grand fauteuil.
The clockmaker opened a door in the contraption, slotted the bird’s cage into position, and bowed deeply.
As he did so, the machine came to life.
The dials began to revolve, the cogs rotate, and the astrolabes flash, as they caught light from the crystal chandelier above. In the middle of it all, alarmed by the mechanism around it, the little hoopoe tweeted fitfully.
‘It is ready, Your Majesty,’ said the clockmaker, a tone of anxiety in his voice, for he had not yet had the time to test his machine.
The sultan got to his feet, and stepped over.
‘Are you certain that it works?’
The clockmaker looked at him hard, their eyes locked onto each
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