Down in The Bottomlands (and Other Places)

Park knew the cult of Patjakamak had sprung up in the fourteenth century. Before he could answer, though, Ankowaljuu said proudly, “They date from the time of the creation of the world, thousands upon thousands of years ago.”

“Hmp.” The qadi gave an audible sniff. “There were many prophets before Muhammad. Maybe one did indeed visit your folk, unlikely as I would have thought it. Had you told me your religion grew up after the Prophet’s time, I would know it for a sure falsehood, as he was the seal of prophecy… You said something, Judge Scoglund?”

“Nothing, Excellency.” Park swallowed a gulp. He had forgotten about that detail. A good thing Ankowaljuu had been irritated enough to interrupt with that bragging, he thought, or all his plans would have gone down the drain.

“Please let us deliberate by ourselves for a time now, Judge Scoglund,” Muhammad ibn Nizam said.

“Why? I am judge, too.” Park was anything but happy at having the two qadis decide things without his being there to see to it they decided his way.

But the other religious judge said pointedly, “You may be a qadi of qadis among Christians, Judge Scoglund, but you are not a Muslim.” Park knew a warning to back off when he heard one. He got out, taking Ankowaljuu with him.

“Even if they do ontake us as Folk of the Book, they’ll still be as faithproud as ever,” the tukuuii riikook said while they waited and worried. “You are a Wick of the Book, and look how the qadi brushed you aside. We and they will still find grounds for ficking each other.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Park said.

“What then?”

“If you’re Folk of the Book, that makes you a civilized country-”

“What kind of country?” Ankowaljuu asked. “I don’t know that word.”

“Huh? Civi — Oh.” It was a wonder, Park thought, that he didn’t absent-mindedly use his native brand of English by mistake more often. “A burgish country, I mean, in Muslim eyes, not a bunch of savages to be fickt whenever the mood takes the Emir, and surely not a fit dumping ground for ghazis who’d likely be in jail if they weren’t out hunting heathens.”

“I hope you’re rick,” Ankowaljuu sald, “because if you’re not-”

Muhammad and the other qadi came out of the tent. The more senior judge looked as sour as if he’d been sucking on a lemon, but he said, “Come with us. We’ll lay your case before the Emir’s qadi, to let him make the final decision.”

Getting in to see the Emir’s qadi took most of the afternoon, though he did not seem that busy. He was one of those important people who show how important they are by making everyone else wait. His name, Muhammad ibn Nizam told Park, was Uthman ibn Umar.

Park’s heart sank when he was finally led into Uthman’s presence. The chief qadi was an ancient man whose hair and beard were white but whose bushy eyebrows somehow remained defiantly dark. The deep-set eyes that glittered beneath those brows were also dark, and as unyielding as any Park had ever seen. Convincing him of anything new was not going to be easy.

“Well, what is it?” Uthman asked peevishly.

By way of answer, Muhammad ibn Nizam handed him the sheets Ankowaljuu had composed. He put on spectacles and began to read. “You know Ketjwa?” Park said in surprise.

Those eyes, like an old hawk’s, lifted from the paper. “Why should I not?” Uthman said. “Even pagans may produce worthy thoughts. Surely the Greeks did. For all their wisdom, though, they burn in hell.” He read on, dismissing Park from consideration. Park glared at his turban, but did not interrupt again.

Finally Uthman set down the sheets. “So,” he said, “you claim the Tawantiinsuujans are People of the Book and not pagans?”

“Yes, excellent qadi,” everyone said together.

“From this, I might even believe it, but for one thing,” Uthman said.

“What?” Park asked, wondering how he would have to finagle with the shari’a next.

“This book is no Book.” Uthman tapped the pages with a ski

Park winced. The qadi had a point, one that could be stressed if the Emirate wanted to go on reckoning the Tawantiinsuujans pagans, wanted an excuse to fight their neighbors whenever they got the whim. “How fares the war, excellent qadi?” he asked tensely. If the Muslims were wi

But Uthman did not start to gloat. “Many souls have mounted to paradise, martyrs in the jihad,” he said. “On this earthly plane-” which he obviously thought of smaller importance “-gains are small on either side.”

“Then urge the Emir to call a truce,” Ankowaljuu said. “He loses little, and may gain much. Consider — perhaps we will be less harsh to the Muslims in our land if you stop tormenting those who follow Patjakamak in yours.

“If they are People of the Book, you may honorably stop tormenting them,” Park added.

Uthman ibn Umar plucked at his beard. “Let it be so,” he said at last. “I think you will fail in your effort, thus showing that Tawantiinsuuju’s faith truly is pagan. But if I am in error, if revelation did reach you in the ancient days, I would be si

A squad of soldiers soon appeared to take charge of Park and his companions. They led them to a bigger, fancier tent. One of the soldiers frisked them, quickly and efficiently, before they were allowed inside. A servant shouted, “Bend yourselves before the mighty Emir Hussein, beloved of Allah!”

Ankowaljuu and Waipaljkoon prostrated themselves as they might have before the Son of the Sun. Park and, following his lead, Eric Dunedin bowed from the waist. “Rise,” Hussein said. “Uthman tells me you have a curious tale for me. I would hear it.”

Hussein was not what Park had imagined an emir would be. He was short and thin and wore glasses. In the dark green uniform of the Dar al-Harb, he looked more like a corporal from the typing pool than a ruler.

He thought like a ruler, though. He proved that at once, asking, “Judge Scoglund, if I agree to seek a truce so you can try to show that the Tawantiinsuujans are in fact People of the Book, what is the advantage for me?”

Park carefully did not smile, but he felt like it. He approved of people who got down to brass tacks. He said, “If the followers of Patjakamak are People of the Book, you do not need to persecute the ones in your land any more. Make them pay jizya instead.”

“The tax for the privilege of keeping their religion in peace, eh?” Behind the lenses of his spectacles, Hussein’s eyes grew calculating. He was figuring out how much the tax would bring, Park thought — probably down to the last copper. He must have liked the sum, for he said, “Aye, that is interesting. What else?”

“If you stop persecuting those who worship Patjakamak, the Tawantiinsuujans likely will go easy on their Muslims. That gives you both one less thing to fight about.”

“This could be so.” Hussein was a cool one, all right. He steepled his fingers — a hell of a thing, Park thought, for a Muslim to do. “What else?”

“Damn,” Park muttered. If all that wasn’t good enough — He racked his brains. At last, carefully, he said, “Lord Emir, how do you feel about your ghazi raiders?”

“Why?” Hussein was cautious too, revealing nothing.

“If you want to be without them, hope the Tawantiinsuujans do show they are People of the Book. Then ghazis will have less excuse to come to your country from overseas, and you will not need to worry so much about what so many ruffians ru