Lamp Land

By I. B. Hippe

One wish to embark upon a noble quest
One wish to fulfill her desires
One wish for contingency
What could go wrong?

On the cusp of her thirteenth birthday, Verdigris is thrown deep into the world inside an ancient djinn’s lamp. Her task: to deliver a mysterious talisman to the distant wizard in his sky-scraping tower.

Things seem straightforward until her escort vanishes and she finds herself alone, forced to make her way through a bizarre land chock-full of mystery, peril, and bones.

A whimsical adventure fueled by curiosity soon turns dire when she realizes that without the djinn who brought her here, there may be no going home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: I. B. Hippe
• Release date: May 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781737386636

I. B. Hippe

Raised in Alaska and educated in the Pacific Northwest, I. B. Hippe holds a bachelor’s degree in English and minors in Japanese and Writing. He’s particularly fascinated by doors, gates, and old, dilapidated things, and firmly believes that a healthy mind is not achievable without a healthy body (and vice versa). If you were to ask him his guilty pleasures, he’d say coffee, sparkling water, and in the cold, dead of winter, a good heater. He currently lives in Japan with his wife and son.

Book preview

1. Oldfellow’s Armory

On her thirteenth birthday, Verdigris’ father took her to an old antique shop downtown. It was a nippy November day with a scattering of spent leaves underfoot and flurries of excitement in the air.

I will get you any one thing in the store, he told her. But only one.

Verdigris’ eyes lit up. They were eyes the color of the Statue of Liberty, the color for which her father had named her.

She stood about five-foot-six in her trusty autumn boots, with skin the color of clover honey and hair that of dark teak pulled back to her neck in a loose ponytail. She’d always had a fondness for dark, subdued tones—greys and greens and purples—and on this day wore a charcoal pea coat and dark blue jeans that disappeared into the shafts of her boots. On her face was a constellation of light freckles that seemed to orbit two prominent, hairless moles—one on her left cheek and one to the bottom-right of her mouth—markings her father would sometimes tell her reminded him of her mother.

Every birthday was different than the one before it. Last year her father took her on a surprise two-day drive west to the ocean for her first time. Despite the sharp sea breeze cutting straight through her jacket, she’d never been so exhilarated in all her life, or felt so free. The year before that, he took her to a ranch up north for an afternoon of horse riding. Though each year was not necessarily more extravagant than the last (the ocean would be rather difficult to top), it was always special. This year, Verdigris knew, would be no exception.

The antique shop was located a few inconspicuous turns off Main Street at the end of an alley that stopped right at the mouth of the shop. The storefront featured a wide wooden porch on which rested a single bench and some sad-looking planters, the contents of which had withered away in the autumn chill. The shop had a name to match its obscure location: Oldfellow’s Armory was painted above the awning on a slab of plywood bleached grey in decades of sun, snow, rain, wind, and weather.

The man for whom the shop appeared to be named—certainly an odd fellow if not Oldfellow—sat on the porch bench puffing a long wooden pipe. He chortled out a series of smoke rings before rising to greet them.

Ho, ho. So this is the girl! Quite tall—and just thirteen? I dare say I don’t believe it.

My name is Verdigris, said Verdigris. She was by no means a bashful child, and this man seemed quite safe—at first impression jolly and generous—if bald as a bat. A grandfather type with a rather large beak, a thick grey mustache covering his whole mouth, and hairy caterpillar eyebrows. Verdigris’ father greeted him with a smile and the crinkle of crow’s feet.

Oldfellow. A handshake and a firm half-hug. How long has it been, if not too long?

Too long, agreed Oldfellow. Let’s have some coffee. What will the young lady be drinking?

Coffee. Plenty of cream and just a smidgen of sugar, she said. Oldfellow chuckled.

Verdi, aren’t you a little young to be drinking coffee? said her father.

You said that last year, Dad. Besides, it’s my birthday.

She argues a good case, Miles.

Fine, fine, I relent. Verdigris’ father threw up his hands and Oldfellow led the pair inside.

◊

Verdigris had always been blessed with a vivid imagination, but nothing could have prepared her for the wonders she was about to find inside Oldfellow’s Armory. Before her eyes adjusted to the dim, incandescent lighting, her nose was assaulted by the smell of old things—paper, clothes, furniture, grease. The atmosphere inside the shop washed a comfort over her the likes of which she’d never experienced before. She loved old things. This place—this place was a treasure trove.

Following Oldfellow and her father down the main aisle, Verdigris took in all the shop’s wonders, eyes wide and mouth agape. To her left were cabinets of ornate china, bone-white and inscribed with gold and silver filigrees. It was the sort of china fit for a queen. In the same cabinets were sets of silverware—actual silver—polished to a dull gleam.

As they moved along, the delicate pieces gave way to rougher objects, antique metal flip lighters and pins and medallions that had accompanied soldiers through heaven knows what foreign lands. Things with mysterious histories.

The smell of leather announced racks of old bomber jackets and riding chaps, boots, purses, and cowboy hats. Saddlebags were slung over the shoulders of an antique mannequin sporting a fedora and shades and motorcycle gloves—all, presumably, for sale. It was far too much stuff for Verdigris’ eyes to take in all at once.

Before her, marking a fork in the road, stood a large contraption that looked something like a record player, only it played without any electricity. Oldfellow showed her. With a turn of the crank, music was scraped to life from the medium with a small nail and an eerie fugue filled the shop.

Beyond that, high up on a shelf beside a doorway to a back room, stood a collection of dolls. Most of them were admittedly quite creepy, as dolls had a tendency to be with their blank, soulless stares and waxy complexions, but a few were unquestionably gorgeous—foreign dignitaries in long red coats and what to Verdigris looked like Russian queens.

Oldfellow directed them to a pair of stools beside a display case that doubled as a sort of bar and had them sit down while he brought coffee. Verdigris was staring down at the collection of decades-old watches within, still at a loss for words, when her father said to her:

Amazing, isn’t it? This place.

Can I really have any one thing from here?

Yes. Well, within reason. I don’t know if we can afford an antique motorcycle.

Wow... Verdigris’ eyes chased a row of old Rolexes and Omegas down the bar to a section of ladies’ jewelry and promptly retreated. She wasn’t one for such frivolous things.

Oldfellow returned from the back room bearing a tray of coffee; Verdigris took no time dumping in two plastic cups of creamer and half a stick of sugar and began to stir avidly. Miles took a long sip of the black.

There’s something new I just got in, said Oldfellow, skirting around the outside of the bar—a big horseshoe—and riffling through some rather large boxes overflowing with bubble wrap. He surfaced with a fist-sized chunk of rock, which he handed first to Verdigris. The rock was very hard and very cold and full of craters that looked like they had been carved out with small ice cream scoops.

What is this? she asked.

A lot of the stuff I have in here is from halfway around the world, beamed Oldfellow. This one might very well be from halfway across the galaxy, or further.

"A space rock, breathed Verdigris. Her eyes were glowing. I’ve never... it’s so... metallic. Like a hunk of metal." She passed it over to Miles, who turned it over in his hands.

Never thought a meteorite would be so heavy, he said. Must have been a real challenge to get a hold of.

Actually, one of my regulars found it in his grandparents’ estate when he was cleaning it out. Made a fair trade. Sure never had anything from space before, though. At least that I know of. Makes me think just how small we really are. How much we don’t know about what’s out there. How’s the coffee?

Good, said Miles.

Delicious.

Oldfellow spread a black felt on the glass counter and Miles set the meteorite down. It might have been magnetic the way it drew their attention. Oldfellow, however, could not take his eyes off the girl. There was something about her... eyes.

You know, Verdigris, started Oldfellow.

Verdigris turned to face him. He was wearing a thick flannel shirt patterned in green and red and beige—something he likely picked right off a rack in his shop and decided, on a whim, to wear. The birthday girl took a small sip of coffee, holding the cup by its dainty little handle.

I knew your mother.

The cup rattled in Verdigris’ hand. She could feel the tide welling up within her.

Oldfellow... Her father’s voice was a warning. Creamed coffee slopped up onto the saucer as Verdigris’ cup clanked down on it.

It’s okay, Dad, she said, fighting back the tremble in her throat. She didn’t know why after all this time the subject still hurt her. She never even knew her mother, and yet... She looked hard at the man whose shop she was in. The man whose coffee she was drinking. He had such a friendly face. Couldn’t possibly have had any bad intentions from saying what he had said. Funny how four words could so easily sour an otherwise lovely afternoon. I knew your mother.

It’s only just that you look a lot like her, that’s all, Oldfellow continued. Especially in the eyes.

It was too much. Verdigris sniffled. The itch behind her eyes let loose.

Excuse me, she said, and slipped off the bar stool, leaving the men to themselves.

◊

Most of the books on the shelves were not even written in English, but German, French, and Russian. There were some Asian characters too, but Verdigris couldn’t place them beyond that. They must be Chinese, she thought, in that way that everything a young, unlearned girl can’t understand is Chinese. The pages were yellowed and on the cusp of crumbling away into dust, but still well bound. They looked like old schoolbooks. Mathematics and sciences yet to be disproved. She moved on.

There was, as far as Verdigris could tell, little rhyme or reason to the arrangement of items. Similar things were clumped together, but the clumps were placed randomly around the shop, wherever they might fit. She peered through a copper and glass kaleidoscope, wondering, Where does Oldfellow find this stuff?

She wasn’t looking for anything in particular when she found it. That’s how these things tend to happen—when you least expect them to. Verdigris had opened up a tall glass curio and was in the process of fingering any number of crystal-carved animals with inset gemstone eyes.

There was a frog she liked in particular. Its eyes were emeralds. She didn’t know why she liked it, it just filled the contours of her hand perfectly. Much better than the amethyst-eyed owl or the topaz-eyed squirrel, as beautiful as they were.

Verdigris was about to decide on the crystal frog for her birthday trinket when she looked up and saw, on the top of the curio, an ancient thing of dull, weathered brass. A lamp of the sort one might find in fairy tales.

When she saw it, she knew. Relinquishing so easily the crystal frog that fit her palm so well, she tried reaching for it. Even on her tippy-toes, though, she was too short, so she got a chair and slipped off her boots and, balancing precariously on the edge of the chair, managed to claim it.

She could tell at once that it was no ordinary lamp. There was a weight to it. A gravity, more like, of colossal importance. As she held the lamp and blew away the layer of dust that had accumulated on it, the chair began to wobble. She tried to compensate. From a distance she might have looked rather amusing, arms spread wide like a surfer trying to keep her feet on the way down a wave. A wave about to crash.

She decided to jump. Her sockfeet landed solidly on the floorboards, rattling the curio and its contents; the chair toppled over with a great crack, wood on wood.

Miles and Oldfellow came running.

I’m okay! I’m okay! Verdigris said. Just a chair! I’m okay!

Jeez, Verdi. What was that all about? Miles picked up the chair and returned it to its rightful place in the well of an immobile-looking writing nook, inspecting it for damage.

I found what I want, she said, grinning and holding up the old lamp like a trophy. There were no traces of her earlier tears on her face.

Oldfellow watched her from the end of the aisle, focusing on her eyes as they glowed in an eerie (almost, dare he think it, alien) fashion. Yes, he thought. She is definitely her mother’s daughter.

◊

Before they left, Oldfellow asked Verdigris, So you’ve had a look around the Armory. What do you think?

"I wonder just what you’re arming yourself for with all this stuff," Verdigris said a bit too coldly. She had a tendency to say things not always befitting her age, and in this case, she couldn’t help but be a bit chilly with the man. She was hard as a shell and usually quite tough to crack, but some things just slipped right in—like the earlier, unprecedented mention of her mother. The coldness was a defense mechanism.

Oldfellow let out a great bellow, his rotund stomach jiggling beneath his flannel.

It depends on the person, Verdigris, and what arming is required of them. I arm the people—or rather, I allow for the people to arm themselves. It’s they who choose their own instruments, just as you chose yours. Did you notice anything else—about the things themselves?

"They’re all very old," she said.

Uh huh, he said, and waited for a better answer.

A light bulb flicked on in the girl’s head.

No price tags. On anything.

Yes!

But then how do you know what anything’s worth?

Oldfellow tapped the side of his bald head with a stubby forefinger.

"You mean you’ve memorized everything?"

It’s easier than that, he said. Prices are relative, young lady. How much does someone want something? How much are they willing to pay?

Verdigris picked a dented canteen that might have seen the last World War off the shelf.

One dollar, she said.

Sometimes I have to remind my clientele just how rare and valuable my wares are. Oldfellow plucked the canteen from her hand, took a long drink from it, and wiped his mouth.

B-b-but— Oldfellow knew what she was going to say. But the canteen—it was empty! But was it? Was it, really?

Miles returned from the bathroom.

Are you ready to go, Verdi?

Verdigris was incredulous, obviously the victim of some sort of trick.

B-but—

Next time, smiled Oldfellow; his eyes twinkled.

◊

Verdigris spent the whole drive back polishing her birthday gift with her spit and a shimmy rag from the door well of the car.

You know that if you rub that lamp too much a djinn will pop out.

Really? she said and redoubled her efforts. Pausing, she added, Wait, gin is a kind of alcohol, isn’t it? Why would that happen?

"No, no—a djinn. A genie, like in Aladdin."

"I know what a genie is, Dad. You say that like it’s a bad thing."

They don’t like the word ‘genie.’ It’s derogatory. But at any rate, not all djinn are good. You might have got yourself a bad one.

You bought me a bad gin for my birthday? Why would you buy me a bad gin for my birthday?

Her father chuckled.

You chose the lamp, not me.

How would I know if it’s a bad one?

Hmm, Miles thought. Two stoplights later, he was still thinking.

Dad?

I’m thinking! Another two stoplights later, he continued, It’s tricky.

Tricky?

Yes, tricky. Because djinn themselves are tricky. Mischievous. Especially the bad ones. Usually you won’t know until it’s too late.

Too late?

Yes. When you free them from captivity, djinn are so overjoyed that they offer their savior their services.

I thought they were sleeping in there.

Well, maybe they are.

And by rubbing the lamp you’d actually wake them up.

That could be true.

Wouldn’t they be peeved?

Why don’t you ask the next djinn you see?

Okay.

"So, they offer the person who rubs the lamp three wishes."

Everyone knows that, Dad. That’s Disney stuff.

"What everyone doesn’t know is that each wish has a catch. You must be very careful."

Verdigris stopped polishing the lamp. She looked at her father.

What?

I’ll give you an example. Let’s say you wish for new clothes. What’s the catch?

I don’t know.

Give it a guess, Verdi.

Um, they’re all pink, she said and stuck out her tongue. She was never one for pink.

That, said Miles. Or else they’re too big or too small to use. See? Tricky. Let’s try another one. You wish for all the money in the world.

All the money... she took her time thinking this one over.

If I had all of the money, how would people take care of their families?

"Good question. Maybe ‘money’ becomes worthless. Or maybe everyone comes to you to take their money back. I don’t think you could hide that much, and besides, they’d figure you out the moment you tried to use it."

Very tricky, said Verdigris.

You must be very careful with your wishes, he warned her. Otherwise you may end up in all sorts of trouble.

75

2. The Cellar

How do you summon a djinn? Verdigris pondered, sitting down on the side of her bed. She held the lamp out before her and it was gleaming! Her father had lent her some polish and a rag, and after an hour of scrubbing the tarnished metal her hands hurt, but also the lamp revealed