Free Haroun and the Sea of Stories by Salman Rushdie Page B

Khalifa on the back, making him blow soup out of his mouth. ‘A wit as well as an adventurer,’ he said. ‘Good show! Fellow, I like you well.’ And with that he slapped his thigh.
    ‘What credulous souls these Guppees are,’ Haroun mused. ‘And gentle, too. Iff could have fought me for his Disconnecting Tool, but he made no attempt to get it, not even when I was out cold. And if they would sentence a real spy to no more than a thousand and one lines, then they are peaceful people indeed. But if they have to fight a war, what then? They’ll be completely hopeless, a lost cause …’ And here his thoughts tailed off, because he had been on the verge of adding, ‘ Khattam-shud .’
    ‘In the Twilight Strip,’ Rashid Khalifa was saying, ‘I have seen bad things, and heard worse. There is an encampment there, of the Chupwala Army. Such black tents, wrapped in such a fanatical silence! —Because it’s true what you have heard rumours of: the Land of Chup has fallen under the power of the “Mystery of Bezaban”, a Cult of Dumbness or Muteness, whose followers swear vows of lifelong silence to show their devotion. Yes; as I moved stealthily among the Chupwalas’ tents I learnt this. In the old days the Cultmaster, Khattam-Shud, preached hatred only towards stories and fancies and dreams; but now he has become more severe, and opposes Speech for any reason at all. In Chup City the schools and law-courts and theatres are all closed now, unable to operate because of the Silence Laws. —And I heard it said that some wild devotees of the Mystery work themselves up into great frenzies and sew their lips together with stout twine; so they die slowly of hunger and thirst, sacrificing themselves for the love of Bezaban …’
    ‘But who or what is Bezaban?’ Haroun burst out. ‘You may all know, but I don’t have a clue.’
    ‘Bezaban is a gigantic idol,’ Rashid told his son. ‘It is a colossus carved out of black ice, and stands at the heart of Khattam-Shud’s fortress-palace, the Citadel of Chup. They say the idol has no tongue, but grins frightfully, showing its teeth, which are the size of houses.’
    ‘I think I wish I hadn’t asked that,’ said Haroun.
    ‘Chupwala soldiers were flitting around in that murky Twilight,’ Rashid resumed his story. ‘They wore long cloaks through whose swirlings I sometimes caught sight of a cruel, dully glinting dagger blade.
    ‘But, sirs, you all know the stories about Chup! —That it is a place of shadows, of books that wear padlocks and tongues torn out; of secret conspiracies and poison rings. —Why should I wait near that awful camp? With bare feet, blue with cold, I went towards the distant light on the horizon. As I walked, I came to Chattergy’s Wall, the Wall of Force; and, sirs, it is in bad repair. There are many holes, and movement through it is easily achieved. The Chupwalas know this already—I saw them across the Wall—I witnessed the kidnapping of Batcheat with my own eyes!’
    ‘What’s that you say?’ shouted Bolo, leaping to his feet and striking a dashing and slightly foolish pose. ‘Why have you waited so long to tell us? Zounds! Proceed; for pity’s sake, proceed.’ (When Bolo spoke like this, the other Dignitaries all looked vaguely embarrassed and averted their eyes.)
    ‘I was struggling through the tangles of thorn-bushes towards the Ocean’s rim,’ Rashid continued, ‘when a swan-boat of silver and gold approached. In it was a young woman with long, long hair, wearing a circlet of gold, and singing, please excuse, the ugliest sounding song I have ever heard. In addition, her teeth, her nose … ’
    ‘You needn’t go on,’ the Speaker of the Chatterbox interrupted. ‘That was Batcheat all right.’
    ‘Batcheat, Batcheat!’ lamented Bolo. ‘Shall I never hear your sweet sweet voice, or gaze upon your delicate face again?’
    ‘What was she doing there?’ the Walrus demanded. ‘Those are dangerous parts.’
    Here Iff, the