Sinbad the Sailor

August Entry to:

1572828

Alice's Curiosity Shop   [13+] A contest with prompts by AliceNgoreland

(Approx 5100 words)
***

Pierce Taylor radiated enthusiasm as he bowed to the audience, who were on their feet in continuous applause. Of the five performances so far, this was his strongest, and he could feel that he connected with the crowd. Although crowd, was an overstatement to describe the sparsely filled theatre. As he strutted off the stage and towards his dressing room, Adam, his agent, grabbed Pierce by the arm to arrest his progress.

"Pierce, we have to talk. I have some bad news. Tonight is the last performance of Sinbad the Sailor." Adam crunched his face in agony as he relayed this message.

"What in hell do you mean? We've just begun. Did you see that audience tonight? They loved Sinbad," Pierce protested.

"It's not up to me. The show's backer is upset with the small audiences and lack of attention by the critics. She isn't prepared to throw any more money at it. But we can talk more about that later. There's someone who wants to meet you. Why don't you head to your dressing room and I'll bring him there in a couple of minutes."

Pierce sulked off to his dressing room and started to wipe the make-up off his face in front of the mirror, as he heard the knock on the door. Adam entered first, followed by an entourage of strangers. Two thugs in dark suits entered next followed by three distinguished gentlemen wearing flowing white robes, and finally an aristocratic man with a neatly trimmed white beard, flowing purple robe and a turban similar to the one Pierce himself was wearing as part of his Sinbad costume. Pierce stared at the crowd before him. He could smell the strong odor of incense, wafting in with the crowd. The man with the beard broke the tense silence.

"Bravo, Mr. Pierce. You are an excellent Sinbad; it appears you have become Sinbad the Sailor. You know Sinbad was born in my country?"

"Thank you, but I don't think I caught your name?" Pierce was not used to someone else taking control of a conversation.

The gentleman gave a surprised laugh, "I don't think I have ever been asked that question before. You will learn my identity before long. I have watched four of your five performances as Sinbad, and you most certainly suit the role perfectly."

"I would hope so," snorted Pierce. I've worked on it for months. But it looks like its all for naught. I'm being cancelled."

"It is an excellent show, but I am not surprised, seeing the small crowds in the audience. I have a strong feeling you will land on your feet sooner than you may think."

"What exactly is it you want from me, Mr....?"

"I have enjoyed meeting you, Mr. Pierce. I am now convinced you are an excellent Sinbad. You will receive further instructions shortly." Before Pierce could question or protest, the man in the purple robe turned and left the dressing room, with the thug looking fellows in the lead, and the men in white robes and headgear, following close behind. Only the scent of incense, still hanging in the dressing room, remained as evidence of their presence.

"Adam, what was that all about? Who were those chaps? Who was that arrogant bastard with the beard?" Pierce's shouted in anger and confusion.

"They never said who they were. They appear to be some Middle Eastern biggies - oil, maybe - and asked to meet with Sinbad. I thought they just wanted some autographs." Adam's voice faltered as he responded.

After changing from his Sinbad costume, Pierce Taylor shook, as he walked from the back door of the theater on his way home to his flat. As he reached the main street, he spied one lone shop, open, among the dark buildings. He had never seen the shop before; it looked like some kind of gift shop. The sign on the front was illuminated with a faint light that exposed the name, "Alice's Curiosity Shop". Due to the traumatic events of the past hour, he paid minimal attention to this out of place attraction. While still deep in thought, he glanced back towards the shop; it was gone. Pierce shook his head, as if to clear a clot from his brain.

The next morning, Pierce awoke to a pounding on the door to his flat. He pulled on his robe and raced to the door to find no one there. An official looking envelope lay on the floor, in front of the open door. The envelope bore the familiar logo of the British Government. Pierce unfolded the single page encased within the envelope; it too, had the official government insignia, with a sub heading "Department of External Affairs." It was addressed to Mr. Pierces Taylor and signed by the executive assistant to the Minister for External Affairs.

Dear Mr. Taylor:

The Minister of External Affairs would like to meet with you. You may expect a call from his office at 3:00 pm this afternoon to arrange details. Please be near your phone to receive the call.

"Adam, get over hear right away. I need some answers to what's going on." Pierce slammed the phone. Adam appeared in less than thirty minutes.

"What's happening with the show? Who was that asshole last night? And what is this letter all about?" Pierce demanded of Adam in a voice that resembled a series of sharp rifle shots.

"OK, Pierce, slow down. Let's take these things one at a time. First let's talk about the show. In the five performances so far, we have failed to attract any attention. The audiences are dismal and the critics don't seem interested. We can deal with negative press, but we aren't getting any press. We haven't gotten a single review – good or bad."

"But Adam, it's only been five shows, it will get more attention; it will grow."

"I agree with you, Pierce, but the show's backer has gotten cold feet. She was reluctant to take on a project with you in it, you know, given your background and all."

"That's bullshit," Pierce spat. "I have been dry for three years. And even when I wasn't, I was a damned good actor."

"Don't take it out on me, Pierce. I'm just the messenger. There is a general perception that at fifty seven years old, your best days are behind you. You're past behaviours did cost you dearly, you remember. That's how your namesake was able to squeak into the parts that were designed for you. You should have been Bond, but it's too late now. Believe me; I tried talking to the sponsor and her representatives. They're firm. Sinbad is history."

"So, what now? You're my agent, what else have you got for me instead?"

"I'm working on it Pierce, but it's a tough sell. But something will come up, I'm sure of it."

"So what about this Sheek of Arabee guy from last night?" Pierce moved to the next topic.

"By the way, it's Shaikh, not Sheek. We're not talking about condoms."

"OK then, Shaikh, do you need a gob of snot in your mouth to say it?"

"Let's keep it civil. I did some investigating. He is Sultan Qaboos, the supreme ruler of Oman. He went to school in London, and with some help from the British government, he overthrew his despotic father, as ruler of Oman in 1970. He's a real fan of the theater and seems to be well connected with the PM's office. He didn't say directly, but I got the impression that he wants something from you."

"So what does that mean to me? I have lots of fans who want things from me."

Adam sighed and shrugged, "I really don't know. I'm wondering if there is some connection to the letter you just got. I think you should be here in your apartment when the call comes. Do you want me here with you when they call?"

"Maybe that might be a good idea. It's two o'clock now, why don't you run out and get us a sandwich and tea. I slept late and haven't eaten yet."

Adam came back from the nearby deli with a couple corned beef sandwiches and hot tea. "Hey Pierce, have you been in the new gift shop across the street yet?"

"What gift shop?" Pierce shot back.

"Just across the street. Funny name, Alice's something or other."

"Alice's Curiosity Shop?" Pierce spat out, his memory jogged from the previous night's apparition.

"Yeah, that's it. So you know about it?"

Pierce ran to the window, "Where did you see it?"

"It's right...Oh my, I must have been seeing things. I'm sure it was right next to the bus stop."

***

"Hello, this is Pierce Taylor. Yes, I'll hold." Pierce tried to sound firm and confident, but Adam could see through his façade.

"They put me on hold for the minister." Pierce whispered to Adam.

"Yes, Mr. Minister, this is Pierce Taylor...Of course, sir....tomorrow would be fine...10:00 am works for me...OK, I'll be ready. Thank you, goodbye."

Adam looked at Pierce's ashen face. "So what's happening?"

"I have been invited to meet with the Prime Minister tomorrow morning. They requested that I come alone. They'll send a car around to pick me up." Pierce did not look like the confidant, debonair character that was his normal persona. Right now he could pass for a frightened middle school nerd.

***

"Mr. Taylor, let me give you some background information before we go to see the Prime Minister." Foreign Minister Sinclair's eyes glared at Pierce, who sat wide eyed, wondering what was happening.

"I would really appreciate that," Pierce managed a weak response.

"I understand you met with Sultan Qaboos the other night."

"Met with, is probably too strong. He talked at me, in my dressing room."

"Well you are obviously a big hit with the Sultan of Oman. He has spoken to the Prime Minister about you. I will let the Prime Minister pose the offer to you, but declining would not be in your best interest."

Pierce's ashen face took on a red hue, as anger built inside him. "I'm not about to be forced into anything I don't want to do. I have never accepted roles that aren't suitable. And if this role isn't suitable, I reserve the right to refuse." His tone was defiant.

"Hear me out, and then we will meet with the PM. I'm sure you will agree to the offer. Let's try to get off on the right foot. You will be working closely with my department and its best we get along."

"Continue," Pierce tried to assume at least some control over this strange situation he found himself in.

Foreign Minister Sinclair continued, "The British Government owes Sultan Qaboos a huge debt of gratitude. He was there for us when we needed him. Up until 1970, Oman was ruled for most of the previous forty years by Sultan Saeed, the father of Sultan Qaboos. He was a despotic ruler who isolated his country from the rest of the world and plundered the country's oil riches for his own personal use. Sultan Qaboos was attending school in London, when our government urged him to consider overthrowing his father. Qaboos was reluctant, but in the end he agreed. Saeed must have suspected something, because when Qaboos returned to Oman after his studies, Saeed kept his son under house arrest in his southern home in Salalah. However, with our help, Qaboos overthrew his father who was exiled to London, where he died a few years later. Qaboos, over the intervening years, has restored Oman to its rightful place in the world and more importantly in the Arab community. He is loved by his people and highly respected among other Arab leaders. He is a critical ally of ours and we wish to keep him as a strong ally. He seldom asks us for any help, so the PM does not want to disappoint him."

"Nice story. If I had children, I would definitely read it to them every night at bedtime. But why should I be interested in this happy ending fairy tale?" Pierce's impatience was showing.

"I don't have all the details, the PM can fill you in on more, but The Sultan has taken a keen interest in you. I think it has something to do with your role as Sinbad the Sailor. He seems captivated with it."

"Obviously he is the only one. The show has been cancelled and Sinbad is now dead." Pierce was smarting from the show's demise.

"We'll see. Now let's go meet with the PM and see where we go from here."

***

"Thank you for coming today, Mr. Taylor." Polite and businesslike, the traits that got him to Downing Street, the Prime Minister tried to put Pierce at ease, but Pierce was not in an easy mood.

"I'm not sure I had much choice." Pierce knew this was not an appropriate way to address the leader of his country, but he was agitated.

"I am a great admirer of your work. Your TV roles were wonderful and I always thought you would make a better Bond than 'you-know-who'. And your stage performances have always impressed me."

"You should have come to 'Sinbad'. Then maybe I could still be performing it." Pierce continued with his sharp tongue.

"Mr. Taylor, I have a much bigger role to offer you. I think you will find it fascinating and challenging, and you will be able to serve your country at the same time." The PM tried to make it sound as enticing as possible.

"If you want a court jester, you can just look elsewhere. I'm not interested."

"No, Mr. Taylor. This is much more important than being a court jester, as you put it. I would like to appoint you to the position of Ambassador to The Sultanate of Oman."

Pierce's mouth dropped open and his head felt like it was spinning. He started to stammer as he tried to form a reply.

"B-b-but, I'm an actor, not a diplomat. You can see that from my inappropriate comments. Where did this absurd notion come from? I can't be an ambassador."

"Now is not the time to say yes or no, Mr. Taylor. You need to hear all the facts before you can form an intelligent response. Sultan Qaboos, himself, has made this request. As you might guess, I did not come up with this idea. I want you to meet with the Omani foreign minister and his staff to get the details. After that, you will be granted an audience with Sultan Qaboos, before you make your final decision – which, I'm sure, will be yes."

Pierce was speechless. He was able to give a weak, "OK," in response, but he couldn't get his head around the events of the past thirty-six hours. He felt like he was in a dream – or a nightmare.

As Pierce emerged from the government limousine, that dropped him off at his flat, he noticed a small gift shop out of the corner of his eye. When he looked to get a better look at it, the shop was gone. He was sure it was the same shop he had seen near the theatre. Pierce wondered if his years of hard living were finally affecting his mind.

***

Another day; another limousine. This time Pierce Taylor was spirited off to the Oman Embassy to meet with some Omani officials. He was sure his eyes were playing tricks on him as he thought he kept seeing the strange gift shop on every street he passed. But it always disappeared.

The official introduced himself only as Omar. He was obviously Middle Eastern, but dressed in western business attire. Pierce recognized the strong scent of incense drifting over the opulent décor of the large sitting room.

"Please, sit down, Mr. Pierce. Have some coffee and some dates." Omar ordered, as an attendant presented Pierce with a tiny cup without a handle, filled with a whitish brown liquid. Although he would prefer tea, he did not refuse the offer. Its nutty taste was unlike any he had experienced. He lifted a date from the tray the attendant placed in front of him. He had never actually seen whole dates – only date paste in matrimonial cake.

"Direct from Omani date palms. Khalas variety – the last of the season, and the best." Omar commented, seeing Pierce's confused look. "Be careful, the stone is still in it. I hope you enjoy the Arabic coffee. The nutty taste is cardomin. You may also taste some saffron."

"His Excellency, Sultan Qaboos, is a big fan of yours – in particular, your performance as Sinbad," continued Omar. "His Excellency feels you are an excellent Sinbad. As a matter of fact, he sees you as Sinbad. You are aware that Sinbad was born in our country, in the city of Sohar?"

"I always thought Sinbad was from Baghdad, and he's just a fictional character from the 1001 Arabian nights." Pierce responded with the knowledge he gained from researching the role.

"The story of Scheherazade is fictional, but most of the tales are based on truth. Sinbad left Sohar for Baghdad as a baby, but he was always Omani – even in his seven voyages." Omar spoke like he was telling a bedtime story to a child.

"His Excellency would like you, Sinbad, to represent the British Government in our country. He has relayed his request to your Prime Minister."

"My name is Pierce Taylor, not Sinbad. And what do I have that would be of any interest to the Sultan." The confusion continued for Pierce.

"His Excellency sees you as Sinbad, so you will be Sinbad. As the supreme ruler, His Excellency does not like to be contradicted."

"Well I'm not one of his subjects, so I won't take any orders from him." Pierce's independence was on full display.

"Please, indulge me. Listen to a story I wish to tell, then we can discuss next steps." Omar tried to calm Pierce.

"Do I need my pillow and blanket for this story?" Pierce's sarcasm should have eliminated him from any diplomatic role.

"I don't think you will find this a bedtime story, Mr. Pierce."

"OK, get at it. I guess I have nothing to rush home for."

"Sultan Qaboos' family has ruled Oman since the mid 1700's. Other families ruled Oman for the prior 300 years, but His Excellency's family goes back much farther than that. Before the year 800, on your calendar, we were ruled by the Abbasid Caliphate which oversaw that lands of Baghdad and Oman, among others. More specifically, Haroun al-Rashid, the Caliph of Baghdad. The forefathers of His Excellency were peasant camel farmers. One of them, Salem, had a daughter, Alia, who was excellent at making clothing. She spun her material on a spinning wheel she had been given as a young girl by an old wise woman in the town. One day she ran out of wool to spin. She was a creative and industrious girl, so she decided she would try to spin camel hair, rather than sheep wool, on her wheel. What she found when she used the camel hair was that she produced golden coloured threads, which made beautiful clothing. Salem examined the material and found that it was, in fact, pure gold. He became excited, but scared. He knew this discovery could lead them from poverty, but if anyone found out, it could also lead to their death. He decided to keep it a secret and implored Alia to never make any more gold thread. However, an evil dwarf named Joaidane, which in Arabic means 'he who talks too much', had already learned of the magic spinning wheel. He insisted that Alia keep him supplied with gold in exchange for his silence. At first, Alia complied and gave him gold, as he demanded. But as time went on, she worried that others may find out, and her family would be put to death. She was now married with a child and feared for the safety of her baby boy. Joaidane threatened to steal the baby, if she didn't keep supplying him with gold."

"Wait a minute," Pierce interrupted. "This is getting a bit farfetched. This is starting to sound like a version of Rumplestiltskin. Who are you trying to fool with this nonsense?"

"Your Brother's Grimm built their tales on the stories of others. Most of their stories are based on real events from cultures around the world. They chose to embellish this tale for their books. Please, let me continue." Omar was not to be put off.

"Anyway, Alia still refused to give more gold to Joaidane. So he snuck into her house and stole the baby boy and spirited him off to Baghdad. Ashamed and scared, Alia disappeared, taking the magic spinning wheel with her, never to be seen again."

"That was just great." Pierce mocked, as his hands formed a slow deliberate series of claps. "I think you could have a future on the stage – maybe even a one man show. I look forward to hearing more of your tales."

"Mr. Pierce, when His Excellency became Sultan of Oman, he vowed to restore Oman to its rightful place in the world. As you can see, in the past 35 years, he has done most of what he set out to do. However there are a couple of missing pieces to his master plan."

"What's that? Taking over the United Nations? Revenge against Britain for its years of tyranny?"

"His Excellency has no ambition other than to provide for Oman and for Omanis. The baby, Joaidane spirited away, was Sinbad. Only Sinbad can locate the magic spinning wheel and bring it back to Sohar. It must never again be used to spin gold. Sinbad must keep Joaidane from ever getting his hands on the spinning wheel."

"Well, best of luck to you in finding twelve hundred year old people and artifacts. Let me know how you make out. Better yet, I will subscribe to the Sohar Times and stay current. Can you call my limo now, please? I need to go home and watch the paint peel, while I wait for my agent to inform me of my next role."

"Mr. Pierce, His Excellency would like to speak with you in person, tomorrow afternoon. The limo will be there to pick you up."

"Have the driver honk three times. If I don't show, he can go for lunch."

As Pierce left the Oman Embassy for the limo, he spied a short grizzled man in a dark suit, watching from a distance. 'The power of suggestion,' Pierce thought to himself.

When the limo dropped Pierced off at his flat, he decided to go for a walk before burying himself in his lonely flat. The Arabic coffee and dates were good at the time, but he needed a good old cuppa, to wash away the aftertaste. He could have sworn he saw the short man in the dark suit again, watching Pierce as he strolled. Once more, he thought he saw the apparition of the gift shop, appear and then vanish, in his peripheral vision. Pierce quickened his pace as he approached the deli to order his tea.

Exiting the deli, he saw flashes of the little man and the gift shop. What did Omar placed in his coffee – was he having hallucinations? The shop appeared on the street again, but this time it did not disappear. 'Alice's Curiosity Shop' flashed in his eyes. He was sure he saw the name 'Sinbad' written below the shop's name. The street was empty, except for Pierce, and the small man in the dark suit, ambling towards Pierce from the distance. Pierce started to sweat, and then hyperventilate. He rushed through the shop's door and slammed it behind him. A bell chimed as the door closed. He could smell the odor of incense, similar to that of The Sultan, but he could barely see in the dim light of the shop.

"What is your purpose?" The voice came from a middle aged lady with long grey hair and powdered pale skin. A black cat purred around her ankles where her long skirt hung down to her bare feet.

"Pardon me?" Pierce jumped at the sound.

"Everyone who enters has a purpose. What is your purpose?"

Pierce noticed a strange array of odds and ends on shelves and tables. "Are you Alice?" Pierce blurted out.

"I am the proprietor of this shop. What is your purpose?"

"I don't really have a purpose. I just saw the shop, and came in for a look. The shop hasn't been here very long has it?" His voice shook as he spoke.

"I don't like to keep my shop in one place for very long at one time. I move around as necessary. I need to know your purpose in order to help you. Please tell me your purpose."

Pierce's eyes darted around the room, while he tried to think of something intelligent to say. He even though of running from the shop, but then he remembered the strange man outside. As his eyes shot from table to shelf, he spotted an old spinning wheel. Coincidence?

"Actually, I'm looking for a spinning wheel, and I see you have one. May I have a look?" Pierce hoped this would get him off the hook until he regained his composure.

"That is a special spinning wheel. It can only be purchased by a certain person. Why do you want a spinning wheel?" Pierce could see that her suspicion was trickling out.

"My friend, Alia, is looking for a spinning wheel for her home." Oh God, why did he use that name?

"Alia?" The woman shot back. "Why Alia? Who are you? Did Joaidane send you?"

Pierce could feel chills running up his spine. He now broke out in a cold sweat. "No, I'm trying to escape from Joaidane." He couldn't believe what he was saying. Why would he attribute that name to the stranger outside?

"Oh, no, he's here?" Now the lady began to shiver. "Please wait here." She disappeared behind a door covered with a curtain and retuned seconds later looking like a completely different person; she was dressed in a black abaya and sheila

robe and headcover worn by Muslim Arab women

. "I am Alia, I use the name 'Alice' for business purposes," her skin was now a light brown, the white powder gone;she held the black cat in her arms. "You must be Sinbad. Only Sinbad could find my shop."

"My name is Pierce Taylor, I'm an actor. I play – sorry, played Sinbad in a recent production.

"You are the one. You have come for the spinning wheel. Al Hamdolila

Arabic for 'praise the lord'

, you are here."

"I don't really want to buy the spinning wheel, I just came in..." Pierce was still trying to put all the pieces together. He still managed to pose a question he often did in specialty stores. "How much do you want for the spinning wheel, anyway?"

"Your payment will not come in the form of money. You will pay with your actions. You can't leave with the spinning wheel in your possession. You must leave now, and I will get it to you. Once you leave the shop, it will disappear so Joaidane will not find it."

"Let me give you my address." Pierce felt himself being drawn into this fairy tale.

"I don't need an address, I will find you. Please leave now."

***

Pierce awoke the next day hoping this nightmare was now behind him. But right on cue, the limo driver honked his horn – three times, as ordered. Pierce contemplated ignoring the summons, but reconsidered. He needed answers.

"Sinbad, welcome. You have done an excellent job, thank you." Sultan Qaboos glowed with excitement as he greeted Pierce.

"Thank you, Your Excellency, but I am Pierce Taylor. I only play Sinbad."

"You have the spirit of Sinbad. Only Sinbad could retrieve the magic spinning wheel, and you brought it to me, so you must be Sinbad."

Pierce gulped, as he spied a spinning wheel sitting in the corner of the room.

Qaboos continued, "Joaidane still will try to steal the treasure, but as long as it is in Sinbad's possession, he will continue to fail. Sinbad and the spinning wheel must remain in the Port of Sohar. For hundreds of years, my family has tried to retrieve the spinning wheel and Sinbad. The quest caused my father to go mad and almost ruin our country. Now, I have finally succeeded, thanks to you."

Pierce found himself falling under the spell of the fairy tale that was enveloping him. He couldn't believe he was agreeing to all of this.

Within two days the Prime Minister publicly introduced Pierce Taylor as the new ambassador to Oman. The tabloids had a field day joking about the actor turned diplomat.

Sultan Qaboos announced that the British Embassy would move from the capital of Muscat to the port city of Sohar, in the old fort near the harbour, which had been renovated to accommodate the new ambassador, Pierce (Sinbad) Taylor.

Pierce Taylor relished his new role; being ambassador was not much different from acting. He had no trouble adapting to life in the Middle East; it was actually a pretty soft life. When dealing with people from the Western world, he dressed in his finest woolen suits, but when working with Omanis, he always dressed as Sinbad. Oman loved Ambassador Sinbad.

Pierce performed his ambassadorial duties from the renovated fort in Sohar, however, on Friday evenings - prayer day - he performed the play, Sinbad the Sailor, aboard a dhow

a traditional Arab sailing vessel

in the Port of Sohar. Residents and tourists gathered on the shore to watch the spellbinding performance. The old spinning wheel was bolted to the deck of the dhow, on display, for everyone to see. But only Pierce, The Sultan and his closest staff knew its secret. That is, except for the little man, who watched the performance every week, plotting to capture the spinning wheel. He smiled, knowing his plan was nearly complete.

At the end of each performance, the dhow floated out of sight, in the darkness of the port, to the applause of the enthusiastic audiences. However, on one especially black Friday night, the dhow disappeared into the night – never to be seen again.

London and world newspapers read: "British Ambassador Missing, Feared Dead"

The Omani newspapers headlined: "Sinbad's Eighth Voyage."

The little man stopped smiling, knowing that he had been outsmarted one final time. Now, it was Sultan Qaboos who smiled; Sinbad and the spinning wheel, were now safe in Sohar - forever.