Ollie's Cloud by Gary Lindberg Read Free Book Online

manufacture down to Assad’u’llah’s etched signature, was so perfect that no expert could discern the fraud. One evening, the employer had planted the sword in Baqir’s house, reporting its “theft” and suggesting that Baqir had been behaving suspiciously. He had hoped to accomplish two things: avoid payment, and ensure that Baqir could never again counterfeit another sword that might devalue the employer’s treasure. After the arrest, Baqir could not explain the true circumstances for fear of even harsher punishment. After all, he had committed a crime.
    A few months after Baqir’s drunken confession, while ‘Abdu’llah had been pondering alternatives for a gift for his son, the idea of a sword had come to him. Yes, this was it! He would commission Baqir to create an instrument equal to the Assad’u’llah sword. This one would be no counterfeit, however. He would have Baqir inscribe the sword with his son’s name.
    Baqir had brought with him to Bushruyih several koors , cakes of Indian steel, from which the finest blades are made, dreaming that one day he would have reason to use them. That day had finally arrived. With great determination, he’d hammered a gently curving blade out of the koors and then placed it over a low fire all night. The next morning he had removed the blade, smoothed the surfaces, filed it expertly, and then heated it again. At last he had plunged the blade into a trough of castor oil. Over the next several days he had tenderly polished the blade, sharpened it, and fitted the hilt.
    His next step had been to bring out the jowher , the damask pattern of the blade, a natural design of dark wavy lines produced by the crystallization of the steel. The true quality of a blade is known by the arrangement and closeness of the pattern and the bell-like chime it emits when struck by another hard object. To reveal the jowher, Baqir had cleansed the blade from oil and grease. Then, using sword-cutler’s alchemy, he had unwrapped a strange yellow stone mysteriously called záji shámi and ground it to a powder in a china cup containing hot water. With a piece of cotton he had painted the solution onto the blade and let it dry, then repeated the process twice. Each time the black jowher had grown more vivid. The pattern was unusually dark and tight, the design exotic. Finally it had been time to engrave the name of Jalal of Bushruyih in gold upon the blade.
    Baqir next had turned his attention to the scabbard, which he had fashioned from thin wood laminate, fitting it precisely to the blade. Then he had joined and covered this hardwood skeleton with black leather on which he had stamped a verse from the Qu’ran rendered in his wife’s expert calligraphy. On the finished scabbard he had mounted a pattern of gold and gems that he had purchased with the money ‘Abdu’llah had paid him for the sword. He had needed no incentive to produce this masterpiece. The opportunity to again apply his artistry had been its own reward. And in his opinion, the quality of this piece exceeded the fraudulent Assad’u’llah sword he had created years ago.
     
     
    ‘Abdu’llah strides into the blacksmith shop, beaming with expectation. He looks at Baqir, who smiles broadly.
    “It is finished, then?” ‘Abdu’llah asks.
    “It is ready for its first breath.”
    The gleaming object rests in a locked cabinet within the blacksmith’s shop. Baqir unlocks the cabinet and removes a burgundy satin pouch the length of a sword. The pouch is rigid as Baqir hands it to ‘Abdu’llah, who can vividly remember his first sword, pale and lifeless by comparison.
    The other workers, none of whom have seen Baqir’s project until now, gather around ‘Abdu’llah as he anxiously opens the tie that closes the end of the pouch. ‘Abdu’llah’s hands are trembling with anticipation. Slowly he removes the bejeweled scabbard. The entire group gasps with delight at the exquisite beauty of this object. ‘Abdu’llah is