Read Online Sinbad and The Eye of the Tiger by John Ryder Hall - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John Ryder Hall
Ads: Link
expensive glass set in frames, were open and the sailor could see and hear easily.
The cabin was cluttered with inlaid boxes and brass-bound chests that housed the more fragile of Balsora’s treasure-payment to Melanthius and some of Farah’s clothing. Along with the princess’s wardrobe chests, the containers so filled the cabin that there was little room to move. But a space had been cleared, and a small table set between the bunk and the lashed-down treasure pile. On the table was a chess set. On the bunk, with her back to the windows, was Princess Farah, intent upon the chessboard. Across from her was the cage, its broken slats now mended, and within it was the baboon.
And the baboon was playing chess with Farah.
Hassan’s brow became deeply furrowed and his curiosity overcame his caution, as it had many times before—not always to his credit. He peered closer to certify that what he had thought he had seen was indeed what he was seeing.
To himself Hassan muttered, “A baboon that can play chess?”
But his words were heard by Farah and she leaped to her feet, startled and wide-eyed, peering at the suspended sailor as though he were some sort of savage apparition. She threw herself between the windows and the baboon, but not before the baboon had reached out from between the bars of his cage to wave his hairy hands and utter wild screeching noises at Hassan.
In self-protection—and with a bit of embarrassed nerve at being caught eavesdropping—Hassan waved his paintbrush at the baboon and uttered a screech himself.
Farah motioned him away. “Go away! He is frightened of you!”
Hassan blinked. “I am frightened of him! Baboons can turn savage!”
Farah seized the discarded scarlet covering and threw it over the cage. The baboon continued to chatter and mutter but his rage was disappearing. “He is not savage!” Farah cried at him.
“With those teeth? Those nails or claws or whatever you call what he has?” Hassan did not want to dispute a princess, but after all, sense was sense. He had seen a tribe of baboons kill one man and scar two others for life.
Farah pointed at him imperiously. “I command you to go away!”
But the chattering of the baboon had died away and Hassan came boldly into the cabin, untying his rope and dropping onto the bunk. “Is he a gift for the wiseman of Casgar? Something for Melanthius to play chess with?”
The cabin door was flung open and Sinbad entered, his face dark with both anger and concern. “Hassan!” He pointed. “Get back to your work!”
Hassan pointed at the scarlet-shrouded cage. “But the beast was playing . . .”
“Chess,” Sinbad finished for him. “I know. He has beaten me twice.”
“What kind of pet is it that . . . ?”
“He is not a pet.” Sinbad looked at Farah. “He . . . he is not really a baboon.”
“Not a . . . ?” Hassan frowned. It was all too much for him.
Sinbad nodded. “I owe you an explanation. I thought to keep it a secret as long as possible. Some of the crew are superstitious to the point . . .” Sinbad stopped himself. “He has been transformed by the black art of Zenobia’s witchcraft.” He pointed at the cage. “He is Prince Kassim.”
Hassan blinked. There was a stunned silence, broken only by the sound of the sea and Aboo-seer’s distant shouted command to someone in the shrouds. “Can . . . can you be certain that it is not the princess who has been bewitched . . . to believe that . . .” He pointed at the cage. “That this ugly animal is . . . the prince?”
Farah burst into tears and cried out, “He is my brother!”
The baboon was tugging at the cloth covering his cage and Hassan watched with a stunned disbelief as the long arm came through the bars and grasped a piece of charcoal from a nearby basket. He pulled more of the covering away and Hassan saw his simian face and the ugly, protruding muzzle. With incredible slowness and with much difficulty the baboon scrawled words on the wall of
The cabin was cluttered with inlaid boxes and brass-bound chests that housed the more fragile of Balsora’s treasure-payment to Melanthius and some of Farah’s clothing. Along with the princess’s wardrobe chests, the containers so filled the cabin that there was little room to move. But a space had been cleared, and a small table set between the bunk and the lashed-down treasure pile. On the table was a chess set. On the bunk, with her back to the windows, was Princess Farah, intent upon the chessboard. Across from her was the cage, its broken slats now mended, and within it was the baboon.
And the baboon was playing chess with Farah.
Hassan’s brow became deeply furrowed and his curiosity overcame his caution, as it had many times before—not always to his credit. He peered closer to certify that what he had thought he had seen was indeed what he was seeing.
To himself Hassan muttered, “A baboon that can play chess?”
But his words were heard by Farah and she leaped to her feet, startled and wide-eyed, peering at the suspended sailor as though he were some sort of savage apparition. She threw herself between the windows and the baboon, but not before the baboon had reached out from between the bars of his cage to wave his hairy hands and utter wild screeching noises at Hassan.
In self-protection—and with a bit of embarrassed nerve at being caught eavesdropping—Hassan waved his paintbrush at the baboon and uttered a screech himself.
Farah motioned him away. “Go away! He is frightened of you!”
Hassan blinked. “I am frightened of him! Baboons can turn savage!”
Farah seized the discarded scarlet covering and threw it over the cage. The baboon continued to chatter and mutter but his rage was disappearing. “He is not savage!” Farah cried at him.
“With those teeth? Those nails or claws or whatever you call what he has?” Hassan did not want to dispute a princess, but after all, sense was sense. He had seen a tribe of baboons kill one man and scar two others for life.
Farah pointed at him imperiously. “I command you to go away!”
But the chattering of the baboon had died away and Hassan came boldly into the cabin, untying his rope and dropping onto the bunk. “Is he a gift for the wiseman of Casgar? Something for Melanthius to play chess with?”
The cabin door was flung open and Sinbad entered, his face dark with both anger and concern. “Hassan!” He pointed. “Get back to your work!”
Hassan pointed at the scarlet-shrouded cage. “But the beast was playing . . .”
“Chess,” Sinbad finished for him. “I know. He has beaten me twice.”
“What kind of pet is it that . . . ?”
“He is not a pet.” Sinbad looked at Farah. “He . . . he is not really a baboon.”
“Not a . . . ?” Hassan frowned. It was all too much for him.
Sinbad nodded. “I owe you an explanation. I thought to keep it a secret as long as possible. Some of the crew are superstitious to the point . . .” Sinbad stopped himself. “He has been transformed by the black art of Zenobia’s witchcraft.” He pointed at the cage. “He is Prince Kassim.”
Hassan blinked. There was a stunned silence, broken only by the sound of the sea and Aboo-seer’s distant shouted command to someone in the shrouds. “Can . . . can you be certain that it is not the princess who has been bewitched . . . to believe that . . .” He pointed at the cage. “That this ugly animal is . . . the prince?”
Farah burst into tears and cried out, “He is my brother!”
The baboon was tugging at the cloth covering his cage and Hassan watched with a stunned disbelief as the long arm came through the bars and grasped a piece of charcoal from a nearby basket. He pulled more of the covering away and Hassan saw his simian face and the ugly, protruding muzzle. With incredible slowness and with much difficulty the baboon scrawled words on the wall of
Similar Books
