“No one is exactly certain what the seal looked like,” Rami went on. “But there is a very interesting account in ‘The City of Brass’ about the djinn said to be trapped by Sulayman. It tells of a ring. Some say the ring is engraved with the seal, placed there by God. Others, that the ring itself is the seal. The one claim they all agree upon is that the ring granted Sulayman power over spirits. In Islamic tradition, that meant control over the djinn!”
Fatma glared at the bookseller. A ring that could control djinn! A ring that would make one the Master of Djinn!
“Why haven’t we heard of this before?” Hadia asked. Fatma wanted to know that as well. It seemed impossible the Ministry could have overlooked something so important.
“The other side of the coin,” Rami pronounced. He looked intently at Hadia. “That is a beautiful hijab. So very modern. Forgive an old man for being so forward, but it goes well with your eyes.” He next turned to Fatma. “I could say as much for your tie. That color is red?”
“Magenta,” Fatma replied, looking as uncertain as Hadia. What was he getting at?
The bookseller leaned forward. “What were we just talking about?”
Fatma opened her mouth to answer. Then stopped. Her mind had gone inexplicably blank. She quickly recounted the past few minutes. They’d sat down to talk about The One Thousand and One Nights, he mentioned “The City of Brass,” asked them to read a page and … and … She looked to Hadia for help, but the woman seemed equally perplexed. Fatma’s eyes went down to the book, scanning the page. Just the story. And those words her mind slipped around that she ignored.
“We were talking about the Seal of Sulayman,” Rami said helpfully. “A talisman with the power of control over the djinn.”
Memories flooded back in an instant. As Fatma watched, the blurring words on the page turned firm. And the symbol reappeared. She almost jumped from her chair.
“What just happened?” Hadia whispered, looking like she might also bolt to her feet.
“Drink your tea,” Tsega told them, waving her slender fingers encouragingly. “The leaves it’s brewed from bring calm. You’ll need a bit of that for what comes next.”
Fatma had only taken slight sips, because the tea was actually rather bitter—with a nutty taste. She found herself now, however, downing a whole gulp. After she’d swallowed, she eyed the bookseller firmly. “Explain.”
The small man sat back, choosing his words before speaking. “You know, they call al-Jahiz the Master of Djinn. But it’s a misnomer. He never used such a title. It was given to him after he disappeared—part of the myths and legends that swirl about him.” He moved a hand as if clearing the stories away. “In truth, al-Jahiz was known to abhor slavery. He himself may have once been a slave and preached against it at every turn. So I cannot believe he would ever own a ring that would rob from djinn their free will. That would make them little more than slaves.”
“But you said the ring was given to Sulayman by God,” Hadia countered.
Rami held his palms open before him. “So the stories say. Sometimes gifted to him for his wisdom. In other accounts to bind and punish disobedient djinn. But it later became a talisman to be wielded over all djinn. That hardly seems fair, or just. I’m sure djinn might tell their own version of events. Who can even know if it was first held by Sulayman. Or if it is a thing far older, perhaps not even of this world. Whatever the truth, if I were the djinn of today, returned, would I want anyone to know of a ring that could grant power over me? That could once again make me a slave?”
Fatma stared, incredulous. “You’re saying that someone created a type of magic, a spell, to make everyone forget about this Seal of Sulayman?”
“Not just forget,” Tsega corrected. “To hide it from our eyes in books. To banish it from our histories.” She tapped her temple. “To make it slip from our very minds.”
“All our books,” her husband added. “All our writings. Anywhere the Seal of Sulayman is mentioned, it becomes hard to read. We are left with gaps we aren’t even aware are there. Do you understand what I’m saying? This magic doesn’t just conceal the truth, it makes us accept the absence! The silence! It forces our minds to work to make those gaps make sense!”
Fatma looked to Hadia, who appeared just as stupefied. The type of magic required to accomplish such a thing was mind-boggling. It staggered any concept of sorcery they understood. It made the Ministry and all their studies seem like the tinkering of children in the face of forces that defied comprehension.
“Then how did you know?” she asked the bookseller. “How did you see it?”
He put on a smug smile. “I’m a very curious man. It has gotten me in more than a bit of trouble in life. But it has its uses. When I encountered those gaps, they bothered me. It was as if the silence they were trying to create was too loud.”
“He’s just stubborn,” Tsega interjected tersely. “A head like stone.”
The bookseller ignored his wife, continuing. “I would go back to read a page again and again, feeling I was missing something. Then one day, I caught a peek. The magic, it turns out, has its own gaps—spaces that can’t account for every mind. Once I was given that glimpse, it was
