In a time long past, in a land far away, there was once a great city. It was the greatest city in the land and the vast marketplace at its centre was the busiest, liveliest marketplace in the world. People of all nations could be found there buying and selling their wares. Indeed, the marketplace was so large that people would spend days, even weeks, exploring its length and breadth would still discover new stalls selling a myriad of items.
A frequent visitor to the marketplace was a woman known only as the Scribe. While the Scribe was often found roaming the marketplace even she did not know of all of the merchants to be found within its confines. Yet she spent many a day helping others to find their way to the stalls they were seeking, and was happy to do so.
One day, as a gift for providing useful guidance, a mysterious stranger gave the Scribe a gift: a small magical lamp. Upon rubbing the lamp a djinn appeared before the suprised Scribe and offered her a single wish.
“Oh venerable djinn” cried the Scribe, “grant me the power to help anyone that comes to this marketplace. I wish to help anyone who needs it to find their way to whatever they desire”.
With a sneer the djinn replied: “I will grant your wish. But know this: your new found power shall come with limits. For I am a capricious spirit who resents his confinement in this lamp”. And with a flash and a roll of thunder, the magic was completed. And in the hands of the Scribe appeared the Book.
The Book contained the name and location of every merchant in the marketplace. From that day forward, by reading from the Book, the Scribe was able to help anyone who needed assistance to find whatever they needed.
After several weeks of wandering the market, happily helping those in need, the Scribe was alarmed to discover that she was confronted by a long, long line of people.
“What is happening?” she asked of the person at the head of the queue.
“It is now widely known that no-one should come to the Market without consulting the Scribe” said the man, bowing. “Could you direct me to the nearest merchant selling the finest silks and tapestries?”
And from that point forward the Scribe was faced with a never-ending stream of people asking for help. Tired and worn and no longer able to enjoy wandering the marketplace as had been her whim, she was now confined to its gates. Directing all who entered, night and day.
After some time, a young man took pity on the Scribe, pushing his way to the front of the queue. “Tell me where all of the spice merchants are to be found in the market, and then I shall share this with others!”
But no sooner had he said this than the djinn appeared in a puff of smoke: “NO! I forbid it!”. With a wave of its arm the Scribe was struck dumb until the young man departed. With a smirk the djinn disappeared.
Several days passed and a group of people arrived at the head of queue of petitioners.
“We too are scribes.” they said. “We come from a neighbouring town having heard of your plight. Our plan is to copy out your Book so that we might share your burden and help these people”.
But whilst a spark of hope was still flaring in the heart of the scribe, the djinn appeared once again. “NO! I forbid this too! Begone!” And with scream and a flash of light the scribes vanished. Looking smug the djinn disappeared.
Some time passes before a troupe of performers approach the Scribe. As a chorus they cried: “Look yonder at our stage, and the many people gathered before it. By taking turns from reading from the book, in front of wide audience, we can easily share your burden”.
But shaking her head the Scribe could only turn away whilst the djinn visited ruin upon the troupe. “No more” she whispered sadly.
And so, for many years the Scribe remained as she had been, imprisoned within the subtle trap of the djinn of the lamp. Until, one day a traveller appeared in the market. Upon reaching the head of the endless line of penitents, the man asked of the Scribe:
“Where should you go to rid your self of the evil djinn?”.
Surprised, and with sudden hope, the Scribe turned the pages of her Book…
Lost Boy 