Haroun and the Sea of Stories Read Online Free PDF

called to his father. ‘Just this one thing. Think of the happiest times you can remember. Think of the view of the Valley of Κ we saw when we came through the Tunnel of I. Think about your wedding day. Please.’
    A few moments later that malodorous mist tore apart like the shreds of an old shirt and drifted away on a cool night breeze. The moon shone down once more upon the waters of the Lake.
    ‘You see,’ Haroun told his father, ‘it wasn’t only a story , after all.’
    Rashid actually laughed out loud in delight. ‘You’re a blinking good man in a tight spot, Haroun Khalifa,’ he said with an emphatic nod. ‘Hats off to you.’
    ‘Gullible Mr Rashid,’ cried Snooty Buttoo, ‘surely you don’t believe the lad’s hocusing and pocusing? Freak weather conditions came, and then went. No more to be said.’
    Haroun kept his feelings about Mr Buttoo to himself. He knew what he knew: that the real world was full of magic, so magical worlds could easily be real.
    ~ ~ ~
     
    The houseboat was called Arabian Nights Plus One , because (as Mr Buttoo boasted) ‘even in all the Arabian Nights you will never have a night like this.’ Each of its windows had been cut out in the shape of a fabulous bird, fish or beast: the Roc of Sindbad the Sailor, the Whale That Swallowed Men, a Fire-Breathing Dragon, and so on. Light blazed out through the windows, so that the fantastic monsters were visible from some distance, and seemed to be glowing in the dark.
    Haroun followed Rashid and Mr Buttoo up a wooden ladder on to a verandah of intricately carved wood and into a living room with crystal chandeliers and throne-like seats with ornately brocaded cushions and walnut tables carved to look like flat-topped trees in which you could see tiny birds and also what looked like winged children but were, of course, fairies. The walls were lined with shelves full of leather-bound volumes, but most of these turned out to be fakes, concealing drinks cabinets and broom cupboards. One shelf, however, bore a set of real books written in a language Haroun could not read, and illustrated with the strangest pictures he had ever seen. ‘Erudite Mr Rashid,’ Buttoo was saying, ‘you in your line of work will be interested in these. Here for your delectation and edification is the entire collection of tales known as The Ocean of the Streams of Story . If you ever run out of material you will find plenty in here.’
    ‘Run out? What are you saying?’ Rashid wildly asked, suddenly fearful that Buttoo had known, all along, about the terrible events in the Town of G. But Buttoo patted him on the shoulder: ‘Touchy Mr Rashid! It was only a joke, a passing lightness, a cloud blown away by the breeze. Of course we await your recital with full confidence.’
    But Rashid was down in the dumps again. It was time to call it a day.
    The uniformed boatmen showed Rashid and Haroun to their bedrooms, which turned out to be even more opulent than the lounge. In the exact centre of Rashid’s room stood an enormous painted wooden peacock. With little flourishes of the arms, the boatmen removed its back to reveal a large and comfortable bed. Haroun had the adjoining room, in which he found an equally outsize turtle, which likewise became a bed when the boatmen removed its shell. Haroun felt a little peculiar at the notion of sleeping on a turtle whose shell had been removed, but, remembering his manners, he said, ‘Thank you, it is very pleasant.’
    ‘ “Very pleasant”?’ hooted Snooty Buttoo from the doorway. ‘Inappropriate young person, you are aboard Arabian Nights Plus One ! “Very pleasant” does not cover it at all! Admit, at the very least, that it is all Super-Marvelloso, Incredibable, and wholly Fanta stick .’
    Rashid gave Haroun a look that said ‘We should have thrown this fellow into the Lake while we had the chance,’ and interrupted Buttoo’s screeches. ‘It is, as Haroun has stated, very pleasant indeed. Now we will sleep.