Thoth likes to read ahead...

 

 Excerpt from Bread in Arabic: The Lost City of the Jinn by M.A. Nisubity (Horus Michael):

 

Chapter 5:

Palace of Sultan Saladin, Alexandria, Egypt

March 21, 11:00AM

 

          Courtiers raised the colorful banners of red, gold and blue to the tune of a complete orchestra.  Trumpets and Saxophones alerted the cheering populace to the Time of Day as Knights in polished steel armor rode bannered Mares across the entrance to the Palace.   Sultan Saladin rested on his ornate throne, wearing robes of State and holding a glittering Scepter of Amon-Ka in his gloved, manicured hands. 

          Ushering in single-file Emissaries of various countries, the Courtiers introduced the guests to His Royal Majesty, one-by-one as the Broom Herald announced each person by name and title (should they apply). 

          One group of seemingly well-to-do guests arrived by stretched-limousine.   The Guards accepted gifts and gestures as the royal guests entered the Throne room.  

          “Ah, Saladin’s family, what an honor it is to finally meet you!” said the Herald.

          A woman dressed in rayon and plaid silks motioned towards Saladin.

          “Who the Hell are you and what have you done with my son?” she demanded.   His family appeared depressed and glanced downwards mostly.

          Saladin’s eyes bulged in conceit.  “Ommah, let me explain!”

          The woman tried to pull Saladin by the ear but only unraveled his expensive turban.  “How do you explain this?” She pointed to her black silk purse that was filled with Lost City of the Jinn golden currency.   “It isn’t even from the United States! What trouble are you in this time?”

          Saladin stood up and ushered the guests to a side room.  “Okay.  I was in a tomb --,” I started. 

          “An Egyptian Tomb?! You do know that is still illegal, correct?” Mother told me.

          “Yes, yes of course it is.  We found a Map…”  I started to say.

          “We? Do you mean kind, considerate Mohammad the Overseer of Thieves?” Mother demanded.  “Does he still owe you money?”

 

          “The Map! We found a Map that led to this cave.  The Cave has this portal, uh, a Dimensional Fissure leading to the Lost City of the Jinn.  They gave me a relic and I wished to become… Sultan.  That is how this happened,” I replied honestly.

          “A Dimensional what? Have you been drinking or smoking?” Mother didn’t accept my answer.  “And Jinn? You’ve got involved with Jinn?”

          “The Jinn are nice people – er – Spirits, mostly.  They have a wonderful City with levitating cars, flying rugs, Infinite Wealth… you should visit it sometime,” I said as she slapped me on the face. 

          “We don’t need Infinite Wealth.  The Tax Man would want that.  He’s been asking about you,” Mother replied.  “Also, a camera person and the Antiquity Police from Channel 3 want to talk to you about something.”

          “I thought they stopped looking,” I said.

          “No, they started up last night after your spell or whatever you call it wore off,” Mother remarked candidly.   “Did you speak to Mohammad recently?”

 

          “No.  My Vizier mostly keeps to himself, why?” I said.

          “Well on Channel 3 he was arrested,” Mother informed me.  “It involved Artifact Smuggling at the airport.   He’s being held on $100,000 Egyptian Pounds in Bail at the local prison.”

          “Wait. I am the Sultan. I can release him,” I replied, confused.  

          “Whatever group you’re in, we’re still a Democracy.  Rules are rules.  Here is your postal mail from the last week (She hands over a pile of overdue bills, Charity offers, and business proposals).  Just don’t get over your head, Saladin.”  Mother walked back to the Throne room with the Family.

         

          “Herald, Broom? I want Vizier Mohammad released from prison,” I ordered.

          “Why not just wish for it?” The Herald said with his bristles. 

          I rubbed my silver ring with the crystal bezel.  “I command Mohammad, my Vizier and Overseer of Workers, to be released from jail and appear in my presence, at once!” 

 

          In a puff of white smoke or steam, Vizier Mohammad appeared in the room.  He was wearing an orange prison jumpsuit with shackles on his wrists and an ankle monitor, flashing red at present.  

          “Ah! I wish that the restraints on Vizier Mohammad disappear!” I shouted. 

          The shackles unlocked and hit the floor, as did the ankle monitor, now blinking green.  

          “Saladin, I think juggling the Command with the Wish part needs work,” Mohammad thanked me. 

          A Courtier handed Mohammad a change of clothing.  “Back to wearing silks it is then!”

          “Mohammad, how could you try that?” I asked him as he was dressing.

          “Well, I had a client in Morocco who wanted the golden mirror we found.  He didn’t get the Map.  He just wanted the mirror.  It turns out the client lied to me.  He actually worked for the Americans as an FBI Informant, for some undercover operation targeting stolen cultural property.  They know nothing about the hidden compartment or the Map.  So I packaged the Mirror as a replica with a real label from a tourist shop.” 

          “The Airport people hate that. Tourists come and go with replicas.  What else?” I asked him.

 

 MC 2023. Copyright 2023 M7C All Rights Reserved.

 Morocco had an Earthquake after a person called my book "garbage" without having read it (It was just published, "Judging a book by its cover" etc.).  Morocco is mentioned in page 42, Chapter 5.   (= Inshallah?). Peace be upon the people of Morocco. 

M7C 2023.