of oily liquid.
The language written upon most of the scrolls was Greek, although there were fragments of ancient clay tablets punched with cuneiform, and a few flat stones carved in symbols of tongues no longer spoken.
Melanthius nodded his head. “Very interesting.” He tapped the chest of the baboon. “What we have here is an excellent specimen of a full-grown male baboon of the mandrill variety . . .”
He looked up shrewdly, peering at Farah through his thick eyebrows. “You claim it can write? And play chess?”
“Yes.” She paused and wet her lips. “You see . . . he is my brother, Kassim. He was a brilliant chess player from the age of seven.”
Quizzically, the old Greek looked from the princess to the passive, nuzzling baboon. “Very interesting . . . yes, very interesting,” he said softly. He looked up at her again. “My diagnosis is far from complete.” He pointed again at the baboon. “But this far, my examination has revealed certain curious physiological features which intrigue me.” He looked thoughtfully at the animal imprisoned on the table. “He plays chess,” he said thoughtfully.
Farah spoke impatiently. “He wants to play but he cannot seem to concentrate for very long. This makes him angry.” The baboon rattled his straps and made a chittering, whimpering sound.
Melanthius frowned. “It’s capable of primitive emotion then, and anger as well . . .”
Sinbad spoke up. “And pity. I have seen him cry.”
Melanthius raised his eyes to Sinbad and searched his face. “Remarkable,” he said. “If true . . .”
“You must believe us!” Farah said quickly, reaching across to grip the old man’s forearm.
He gently disengaged her hand. “I have spent my long life searching for the Truth.” He shrugged. “I am a scholar, a scientist.” His impish grin appeared faintly. “Some call me an alchemist, a magician, but I’ve been trained to believe in factual evidence.” His smile faded and he stroked his chin as he studied the baboon. “Before I reach a positive conclusion, I will have to make further tests.” His eyes rose to Farah’s. “Then we can ‘interpret’ the Truth.”
The princess licked her lips, then looked at the baboon. She lowered her head and rubbed her cheek against the ugly snout of the animal. Then she nodded. “What do we do?”
The old man began unfastening the straps. “Tests, my dear, tests. Scientific observation—it’s the only way.”
The baboon was taken from the table to another cluttered table in the laboratory. Sinbad helped clear away a dry cauldron, covered inside with peeling flecks of green, and a vat of dark, sluggish liquid. He set them next to a cold forge, over which was suspended a pot containing cold lead. Farah gathered up scrolls and a metal box which rattled and dumped them on the floor nearby. Dione wiped down the table and Melanthius rummaged through another chest, this one with bronze bosses of lion’s heads, to pull from it a board in which holes had been cut.
The old Greek set the board on the table, dumped next to it several blocks of wood, each of which had been fashioned to fit into the holes. One was round, another square, still another triangular, and so on. Sinbad took a pewter urn from a stool and set it before the table. Farah took the baboon’s hand and brought him up on the stool.
Melanthius pointed at the blocks, then at the holes. He reached down and swiftly put each of the pegs into the proper hole. He let the baboon get a good look, then he tipped the board and the pegs fell out. He gestured for the animal to do as he had done.
The long, spidery fingers of the baboon reach out almost shyly, picking up a peg. Sinbad leaned back against a cabinet with a design of inlaid dragons, folded his arms, and watched. The baboon at first failed to get any of the shapes in the proper holes. He chittered angrily and threw a peg across the laboratory, which broke a test tube, releasing a faint perfume into the
The language written upon most of the scrolls was Greek, although there were fragments of ancient clay tablets punched with cuneiform, and a few flat stones carved in symbols of tongues no longer spoken.
Melanthius nodded his head. “Very interesting.” He tapped the chest of the baboon. “What we have here is an excellent specimen of a full-grown male baboon of the mandrill variety . . .”
He looked up shrewdly, peering at Farah through his thick eyebrows. “You claim it can write? And play chess?”
“Yes.” She paused and wet her lips. “You see . . . he is my brother, Kassim. He was a brilliant chess player from the age of seven.”
Quizzically, the old Greek looked from the princess to the passive, nuzzling baboon. “Very interesting . . . yes, very interesting,” he said softly. He looked up at her again. “My diagnosis is far from complete.” He pointed again at the baboon. “But this far, my examination has revealed certain curious physiological features which intrigue me.” He looked thoughtfully at the animal imprisoned on the table. “He plays chess,” he said thoughtfully.
Farah spoke impatiently. “He wants to play but he cannot seem to concentrate for very long. This makes him angry.” The baboon rattled his straps and made a chittering, whimpering sound.
Melanthius frowned. “It’s capable of primitive emotion then, and anger as well . . .”
Sinbad spoke up. “And pity. I have seen him cry.”
Melanthius raised his eyes to Sinbad and searched his face. “Remarkable,” he said. “If true . . .”
“You must believe us!” Farah said quickly, reaching across to grip the old man’s forearm.
He gently disengaged her hand. “I have spent my long life searching for the Truth.” He shrugged. “I am a scholar, a scientist.” His impish grin appeared faintly. “Some call me an alchemist, a magician, but I’ve been trained to believe in factual evidence.” His smile faded and he stroked his chin as he studied the baboon. “Before I reach a positive conclusion, I will have to make further tests.” His eyes rose to Farah’s. “Then we can ‘interpret’ the Truth.”
The princess licked her lips, then looked at the baboon. She lowered her head and rubbed her cheek against the ugly snout of the animal. Then she nodded. “What do we do?”
The old man began unfastening the straps. “Tests, my dear, tests. Scientific observation—it’s the only way.”
The baboon was taken from the table to another cluttered table in the laboratory. Sinbad helped clear away a dry cauldron, covered inside with peeling flecks of green, and a vat of dark, sluggish liquid. He set them next to a cold forge, over which was suspended a pot containing cold lead. Farah gathered up scrolls and a metal box which rattled and dumped them on the floor nearby. Dione wiped down the table and Melanthius rummaged through another chest, this one with bronze bosses of lion’s heads, to pull from it a board in which holes had been cut.
The old Greek set the board on the table, dumped next to it several blocks of wood, each of which had been fashioned to fit into the holes. One was round, another square, still another triangular, and so on. Sinbad took a pewter urn from a stool and set it before the table. Farah took the baboon’s hand and brought him up on the stool.
Melanthius pointed at the blocks, then at the holes. He reached down and swiftly put each of the pegs into the proper hole. He let the baboon get a good look, then he tipped the board and the pegs fell out. He gestured for the animal to do as he had done.
The long, spidery fingers of the baboon reach out almost shyly, picking up a peg. Sinbad leaned back against a cabinet with a design of inlaid dragons, folded his arms, and watched. The baboon at first failed to get any of the shapes in the proper holes. He chittered angrily and threw a peg across the laboratory, which broke a test tube, releasing a faint perfume into the
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