Slaves of Sleep

  Slaves of Sleep

  Hubbard, L. Ron

  Published: 2009

  * * *

  A word... to the curious reader:

  There are many persons in these skeptical times who affect to deride everything connected with the occult sciences, or black art; who have no faith in the efficacy of conjurations, incantations or divinations; and who stoutly contend that such things never had existence. To such determined unbelievers, the testimony of the past ages is as nothing; they require the evidence of their own senses, and deny that such arts and practices have prevailed in days of yore, simply because they meet with no instances of them in the present day. They cannot perceive that, as the world became versed in the natural sciences, the supernatural became superfluous and fell into disuse; and that the hardy inventions of art superseded the mysteries of man. Still, say the enlightened few, those mystic powers exist, though in a latent state, and untasked by the ingenu足ity of man. A talisman is still a talisman, possessing all its in足dwelling and awful properties; though it may have lain dormant for ages at the bottom of the sea, or in the dusty cabinet of the antiquary. The signet of Solomon the Wise, for instance, is well known to have held potent control over genii, demons and enchantments; now who will positively assert that the same mystic signet, wherever it may exist, does not at the present moment possess the same marvellous virtues which distinguished it in olden time? Let those who doubt repair to Salamanca, delve into the cave of San Cyprian, explore its hidden secrets and decide. As to those who will not be at pains to make such investigation, let them substitute faith for incredulity and receive with honest credence the foregoing legend.

  So pled Washington Irving for a tale of an enchanted soldier. And in no better words could the case for the following story be presented. As for the Seal of Sulayman, look to Kirker's Cabala Sarracenica. As for genii (or more properly Jinns, Jinn or Jan) it is the root for our word 'genius', so widely are these spirits recog足nized. A very imperfect idea of the Jinn is born of the insipid children's translation of "The Arabian Nights Entertainment" but in the original work (which is actually an Arabian history interspersed with legends) the subject is more competently treated. For the ardent researcher, Burton's edition is recommended, though, due to its being a forbidden work in these United States, it is very difficult to find. There is, however, a full set in the New York Public Library where the wise librarians have devoted an entire division to works dealing with the black arts.

  And so Man is a very stubborn creature. He would much rather confound himself with "laws" of his own invention than to fatalis足tically accept perhaps truer but infinitely simpler explanations as offered by the supernatural-though it is a travesty to so group the omnipresent Jinn!

  I commend you to your future nightmares.

  L. Ron Hubbard

  The Pacific Northwest 1939

  the copper jar

  It was with a weary frown that Jan Palmer beheld Thompson standing there on the dock. Thompson, like some evil raven, never made his appearance unless to inform Jan in a some足how accusative way that business, after all, should supersede such silly trivialities as sailing. Jan was half-minded to put the flattie about and scud back across the wind-patterned Puget Sound; but he had already luffed up into the wind to carry in to the dock and Thompson had unbent enough to reach for the painter-more as an effort to detain Jan than to help him land.

  Jan let go his jib and main halyards and guided the sail down into a restive bundle. He pretended not to notice Thompson, using near-sightedness as his usual excuse-for although nothing was actually wrong with his eyes, he found that glasses helped him in his uneasy maneuvers with mankind.

  "The gentleman from the university is here to see you again, Mr. Palmer." Thompson scowled his reproof for such treatment of a man of learning. Everybody but Jan Palmer impressed Thompson. "He has been waiting for more than two hours."

  "I wish," said Jan, "I wish you'd tell such people you don't know when I'll be back." He was taking slides from their truck, though it was not really necessary for him to unbend his sail in such weather. "I haven't anything to say to him."

  "He seems to think differently. It is a shame that you can't realize the honor such people do you. If your father..."

  "Do we have to go into that?" said Jan, fretfully. "I don't like to have to talk to such people. They... they make me nervous."

  "Your father never had any such difficulties. I told him before he died that it was a mistake..."

  "I know," sighed Jan. "It was a mistake. But I didn't ask to be his heir."

  "A healthy man rarely leaves a will when he is still young. And you, as his son, should at least have the courtesy to see people when they search you out. It has been a week since you were even near the offices..."

  "I've been busy," defended Jan.

  "Busy!" said Thompson, pulling his long nose as though to keep from laughing. He had found long, long ago, when Jan was hardly big enough to feed himself, that it was no difficult matter to bully the boy since there would never be any redress. "Busy with a sailboat when fifteen Alaska liners are under your control. But you are still keeping the gentleman waiting."

  "I'm not going to see him," said Jan in a tone of defiance which already admitted his defeat. "He has no real business with me. It is that model of the Arab dhow. He wants it and I can't part with it and he'll wheedle and fuss and..." He sat down on the coaming and put his face in his palms. "Oh why," he wept, "why can't people leave me alone."

  "Your father would turn over in his grave if he heard that," said the remorseless Thompson. "There isn't any use of your sitting there like a spoiled child and wailing about people. This gentleman is a professor at the university and he has already looked for you for two hours. As long as you are a Palmer, people will continue to call on you. Now come along."

  Resentfully, well knowing he should slam this ancient bird of a secretary into his proper position, Jan followed up the path from the beach to the huge, garden-entrenched mansion.

  Theoretically the place was his, all his. But that was only theoretically. Actually it was overlorded by a whiskered grandaunt whose already sharp temper had been whetted by the recent injustice of the probate court.

  She was waiting now, inside the door, her dark dress stiff with disapproval, her needle-point eyes sighted down her nose, ready to pick up the faint dampness of Jan's footprints.

  "Jan! Don't you dare soak that rug with salt water! Indeed! One would think you had been raised on a tideflat for all the regard you have for my efforts to give you a decent home. JAN! Don't throw your cap on that table! What would a visitor think?"

  "Yes, Aunt Ethel," he replied with resignation. He wished he had nerve enough to say that the house was evidently run for no one but visitors. However, he supposed that he never would. He picked up his cap and gave the rug a wide berth and somehow navigated to the hall which led darkly to his study. At the end, at least, was a sanctuary. Whatever might be said to him in the rest of the house, his own apartment was his castle. The place, in the eyes of all but himself, was such a hideous mess that it dismayed the beholder.

  In all truth the place was not really disorderly. It contained a very assorted lot of furniture which Jan, with his father's indul足gent permission, had salvaged from the turbulent and dusty seas of the attic. The Palmers, until now, had voyaged the world and the flotsam culled from many a strange beach had at last been cast up in these rooms. One donor in particular, a cousin who now rested in the deep off Madagascar, had had an eye for oddity, contributing the greater part of the assembled spears and head足dresses as well as the truly beautiful blackwood desk all inlaid with pearl and ivory.

  This was sanctuary and it irritated Jan to find that he had yet to rid himself of a human bein
g before he could again find any peace.

  Professor Frobish raised himself from his chair and bowed deferentially. But for his following stretch, it might have been supposed that he had been two whole hours on that cushion. Jan surveyed him without enthusiasm. Indeed there was only one human being in the world whom Jan granted enthusiastic regard and she ... well... that was wholly impossible. The professor was a vital sort of man, the very sort Jan distrusted the most. It would be impossible to talk such a man down.

  "Mr. Palmer, I believe?"

  Jan winced at the pressure of the hand and quickly recovered his own. Nervously he wandered around the table and began to pack a pipe.

  "Mr. Palmer, I am Professor Frobish, the Arabianologist at the University. I hope you will forgive my intrusion. Indeed, it shows doubtlessly great temerity on my part to so take up the time of one of Seattle's most influential men."

  He wants something, Jan told himself. They all want something. He lighted the pipe so as to avoid looking straight at the fellow.

  "It has come to our ears that you were fortunate enough to have delivered to you a model-if you'll forgive me for coming to the point, but I know how valuable your time is. This model I understand was recovered from a Tunisian ruin and sent to your father..."

  He went on and on but Jan was not very attentive. Jan paced restively over to the wide windows and stood contemplating the azure waters backed by the rising green of hills and, finally, by the glory of the shining, snow-capped Olympics. He wished he had been sensible enough to stay out there. Next time he would take his cabin sloop and enough food to last a day or two-but at the same time, realizing the wrath this would bring down upon him he knew that he would never do so. He turned, puffing hope足lessly at his pipe, to watch the Arabianologist. Suddenly he was struck by the fact that though the man kept talking about and pointing to the model of the ancient dhow which stood upon the great blackwood desk, his interest did not lie there. On en足tering the room it might have but now Frobish's eye kept straying to the darkest corner of the room. What, Jan wondered, in all these trophies had excited this fervid man's greed? Certainly the professor was having a difficult time staying on his subject and wasn't making a very strong case of why the university should be presented with this valuable model.

  Jan's schooling, while not flattering to humanity, was never足theless thorough. His father, too engrossed in shipping to give much time to raising a son, had failed wholly to notice that the household used the boy to bolster up their respective prides which they perforce must humble before the elder Palmer. And, as a Palmer, it would not be fitting to give the boy a common education, he had even been spared the solace of youthful companionship. And now, at twenty-seven, he was perfectly aware of the fact that men never did anything without thought of personal gain and that when men reacted strangely they would bear much watching. This professor wanted something beside this innocent dhow.

  Jan strolled around the room with seeming aimlessness. Finally, by devious routes, he arrived beside the corner which often caught Frobish's eye. But there was no enlightenment here. The only thing present was a rack of Malay swords and a very old copper jar tightly sealed with lead. The krisses were too ordinary, therefore it must be the jar. But what, pray tell, could an Arabianologist discover in such a thing? Jan had to think hard-all the while with placid, even timid countenance, to recall the history of the jar.

  "And so," Frobish concluded, "you would be doing science a great favor by at least lending us this model. There is none other like it in existence and it would greatly further our knowledge of the seafaring of the ancient Arab."

  It had been in Jan's mind to say no. But the fellow would stay and argue, he knew. Personally he had rather liked that little dhow with its strangely indestructible rigging.

  "I guess you can have it," he said.

  Frobish had not expected such an easy victory. But even so he was not much elated. He told Jan he was a benefactor of science and put the model into its teak box and then, hesitantly, reached for his hat.

  "Thank you so much," he said again. "We'll not be likely to forget this service."

  "That's all right," said Jan, wondering why he had given up so easily.

  And still the professor lingered on small-talk excuses. At last he ran out of conversation and stood merely fumbling with his hat. Jan scented trouble. He did not know just how or why, but he did.

  "This is a very interesting room," said the professor, at last. "Your people must have traveled the Seven Seas a great deal. But then they would have, of course." He gave his hat a hard twist. "Take... er... take that copper jar, for instance. A very inter足esting piece of work. Ancient Arab also, I presume."

  Jan nodded.

  "Might I be out of order to ask you where it came from?"

  Jan had been remembering and he had the answer ready. And though he suddenly didn't want to talk about that copper jar he heard himself doing so.

  "My father's cousin, Greg Palmer, brought it back from the Mediterranean a long time before I was born. He was always bring足ing things home."

  "Interesting," said Frobish. "Must have been quite a fellow."

  "Everybody said he wasn't much good," said Jan. He added ruefully, "I am supposed to be like him, they say. He never held any job for long but they say he could have been a millionaire a lot of times if he had tried. But he claimed money made a man put his roots down. That's one thing he never did. That's his picture on the wall there."

  Frobish inspected it out of policy. "Ah, so? Well, well, I must say that he does look a great deal like you-that is, without your glasses, of course."

  "He-" Jan almost said, "He's the only friend I ever had," but he swiftly changed it. "He was very good to me."

  "Did-ah-did he ever say anything about that copper jar?" Frobish could hardly restrain his eagerness.

  "Yes," said Jan flatly. "He did. He said it was given to him by a French seiner on the Tunisian coast."

  "Is that all?"

  "And when he left it here Aunt Ethel told him it was a hea足then thing and that he had to put it in the attic. I used to go up and look at it sometimes and I was pretty curious about it."

  "How is that?"

  "He made me promise never to open it."

  "What? I mean-is that so?" Frobish paced over to it and bent down as though examining it for the first time. "I see that you never did. The seal is still firmly in place."

  "I might have if Greg hadn't been killed but..."

  "Ah, yes, I understand. Sentiment." He stood up and sighed. "Well! I must be going. That's a very fine piece of work and I compliment you on your possession of it. Well, good day." But still he didn't leave. He stood with one hand on the doorknob, looking back at the jar as a bird will return the stare of a snake. "Ah-er-have you ever had any curiosity about what it might contain?"

  "Of course," said Jan, "but until now I had almost forgotten about it. Ten years ago it was all I could do to keep from looking in it."

  "Perhaps you thought about jewels?"

  "No... not exactly."

  Suddenly they both knew what the other was thinking about. But before they could put it into words there came a sharp rap on the door.

  Without waiting for answer, a very officious little man bus足tled in. He stared hard at Jan and paid no attention whatever to the professor.

  "I called three times," he complained.

  "I was out on the Sound," said Jan, uneasily. "There are some papers which have to have your signature," snapped the fellow, throwing a briefcase up on the blackwood desk and pulling the documents out. It was very plain that he resented having to seek Jan out at all.

  Jan moved to the desk and picked up a pen. He knew that as general manager of the Bering Steamship Corporation, Nathaniel Green had his troubles. And perhaps he had a perfect right to be resentful, having spent all his life in the service of the late Palmer and then having not one share of the stock left to him.

  "If I could have your power of attorney I wouldn't
have to come all the way out here ten and twenty times a day!" said Green. "I have ten thousand things to do and not half time enough to do them in and yet I have to play messenger boy."

  "I'm sorry," said Jan.

  "You might at least come down to the office."

  Jan shuddered. He had tried that only to have Green brow足beat him before clerks and to have dozens and dozens of people foisted off on him for interview.

  Green swept the papers back into the briefcase and bustled off without another word as though the entire world of shipping was waiting on his return.

  Frobish's face was flushed. He had hardly noticed the char足acter of the interrupter. Now he came to the jar and stood with one hand on it.

  "Mr. Palmer, for many years I have been keenly interested in things which... well, which are not exactly open to scientific speculation. It is barely possible that here, under my hand, I have a clue to a problem I have long examined-perhaps I have the answer itself. You do not censure my excitement?"

  "You have researched demonology?"

  "As connected with the ancient Egyptians and Arabs. I see that we understand each other perfectly. If this was found in waters off Tunisia, then it is barely possible that it is one of THE copper jars, you know about them?"

  "A little."

  "Very few people know much about the Jinn. They seem to have vanished from the face of the earth several centuries ago though there is every reason to suppose that they existed in historical times. Sulayman is said to have converted most of the Jinn tribes to the faith of Mohammed after a considerable war. Sulayman was an actual king and those battles are a part of his court record. This, Mr. Palmer, is not a cupid's bow on this stopper but the Seal of Sulayman!" Frobish was growing very excited. "When several tribes refused to acknowledge Mohammed as the prophet, Sulayman had them thrown into copper jars such as this, stoppered with his seal, and thrown into the sea off the coast of Tunis!"

  "I know," said Jan, quietly.

  "You knew? And yet... yet you did not investigate?"