431: Turkish folklore: These Dreams

On the first, you'll see how you should follow your dreams, even if those dreams mean

forsaking everyone you love and starving in a faraway land.

“On the second, you'll see how you should never follow your dreams, because you won't”

get the good reservations at the bath. The creature this time is a squirrel dox and caterpillar who makes a terrible pair of gloves. This is myths and legends episode 432, these dreams. This is a podcast where we tell stories from mythology and folklore. Some are incredibly popular tales, you might think you know, but what's surprising

origins? Others are stories that might be new to you, but are definitely worth listening. Today we're in Turkish folklore, with two stories of two omits. The guys named omits, that's not a title that I know of, and they are all living their dreams.

But in different ways, we'll jump in with our first omit, omit the junk man, who is literally

living his dreams, in that he goes to bed at like 630 p.m. so he can be a rich guy when he falls asleep. bed already? omits wife asked omits said yes, he was exhausted, he was a junk man, he spent his day searching through cinders to find scraps of a higher and he could sell. Yeah, I know what you do, she said, and it must be tiring and grueling, but it's like

615 p.m. he was going about earlier and earlier each day, he was okay physically yes, mentally

“and emotionally not remotely, omits said, "What was that other part, his wife asked?”

"Oh, sorry, I can't hear you over my exaggerated yawning!"

and shut the door to bed. His job was exhausting, so it did kind of make sleep easier, even when he could still see so much daylight and hear the kids playing outside. Those annoyances were shoot away by what waited for him on the other side of unconsciousness. omits closed his eyes in his humble room, and the tower on the abandoned wall, with everything

in it paid for by relentless and punishing labor, and opened his eyes in his mansion, being fan by servants, and being fed fruits and dates, he breathed all this was good. He turned to his wife, who asked what they should do today, yachts, feasts, riding spaced

“offens, omit looked up, and the dolphin riding off into space with a shimmering trail behind”

him winked, tipping his cool drink to the dolphin, omit turned back to his wife, how about they did, nothing at all. She smiled, sounds great, about an hour later, omit looked up when his servant announced a visitor. It was a man he hadn't seen before, in fact, well he didn't know if he had seen the man

before because omit couldn't see his face. He had won, it was just like he was looking at the man out of the corner of his eye, even when he was looking directly at the stranger, wake up the stranger said, what, how do you know, wake up the stranger demanded, no, no, no, don't say that, it's not time in the moment, omit was out of the glory and splendor of his dream manner, and in the darkness

of his cramped room at the base of the tower, closing his eyes with a groan, he tried to go back to sleep, to regain those few precious lost hours, but he couldn't. He sat up, faced in his hands, hearing the tree outside sway in the wind, knowing it was time to start this new, terrible day in this old, terrible life, go to Egypt, and your night shall be your day, a voice said from the corner of the room that omit kept himself

from screaming was a feat, and he squinted what, go to Egypt, and your night shall be your day, the voice repeated, and omit said, wait, that form, he recognized that face because he didn't recognize that face, the man, it was the man from his dream, but Egypt, how where omit blinked and it was day, he was laying down in bed with the words, go to Egypt, and your night shall be your day, echoing in his head, wow, it's 7 p.m. and you're not

like dream nonsense, omit snapped back at her, bed is far away, she asked, puzzled, no,

“Egypt, who said anything about bed, omit grumbled, bed wasn't fun anymore, he just had”

the same dream but not in a fun way and a bad way, because it was a bad dream about a bag guy, his wife stood it, you know, she felt for him, but this was the middle ages, it was hard for everyone, and she had her own stuff going on and couldn't sit here and pretend to be mad about his dreams, and while they were fighting, he needed to stop yelling up the neighbors, then they need to stop asking me about when I'm going to Egypt, omit

said, no one is asking when you're going to Egypt, and announced that for once, she was going to bed before he was, because she just couldn't deal with him right now, she woke the following morning to some crazy person running the path by the wall saying, I go,

“I go, I go to the land of wealth, and it wasn't until she got up and saw omits traveling”

cloak and walking stick gone, that she realized the crazy man running away down the wall had been her husband, and he had left.

Hey, we got a guy on board, he says he's not paying the first mate said to the captain

of a boat bound for Egypt, that same morning before dawn, and why is he still on board then? The captain stroked his beard, well he says that he was summoned to Egypt by some other worldly force and you were bound to take him, the captain got serious, but he said that, I mean, anyone can say that though, right, he didn't give any names or anything, the first

mate shrug, nothing to suggest some eerie supernatural connection, that he seemed a little crazy, the captain asked, and the first mate pointed, yes, that was definitely his whole vibe he was given off, or holy, the captain pointed, I mean, less so, definitely, but

I guess it could read that way, the first mate allowed, you know what, it's not worth it,

it's one spot and we can tuck him in somewhere in the bottom and just call it a set at plus, so who's if rations will be feeding him from, the first mate said, oh no, that's a set at premium plus, the captain replied, wait, I thought that was the old deck floor select package, the first mate said, oh yeah, it was, we just changed some words around and added some like plus and premium, and now we can charge more for stuff we used to do

for free, the captain said, but yeah, this omit guy would get to sail for free, he wasn't

“about to get on the bad side of holy stuff, no thanks, and so that's how, not too long”

after, omit found himself walking the streets of Cairo, after getting warned, with kicking that he should stay away from mansions that kind of looked like his dream mansion, handed up on the street, eating bread crusts of strangers, and when you're relying on the bread crusts of strangers, you should probably abstain from shouting at said strangers about how they're all liars, and that you're tricked into coming there by faceless dream men,

eventually everyone tired of his yelling, and they just stopped coming around him, omit found all the streets he was on, devoid of anyone seeking or offering charity, eventually he decided that marooned in a faraway land, no hope of being obscenely rich and winking at spaced offens, he didn't want to keep on going, he wandered out to the pyramids, where he laid next to them, to wait for a stone to fall in crush him, yes, those famously

rickety pyramids that even at that point had stood for thousands of years, were now going to have a stone shake free and fall, as he was laying there, when seen, he heard a voice, an old man walking the desert, why so miserable father, has your soul been so strangled that you prefer it being dashed out of your body to its remaining prescribed time and bondage, omit said he was from Istanbul, where he had been a junk man, but he had been plagued

with dreams of more, he followed his dream to Egypt where he now lived, though barely, alone, and starving, the old man, also named omit for some reason, laughed, that was foolish, so he understood the urging, if he were to obey his dreams, then he would have left long

to Istanbul, where there stood an old wall where some people lived, some of the towers

“were square, some round, and the base of one lived an old man in his wife, and outside”

the tower stood a large tree, a man who has a face, but he had never seen it, pointed to

that tree night after night, but the old man wasn't such a fool as to actually go to Istanbul to verify it, it was an oft-repeated dream, nothing more, omit laughed, he understood how foolish he was, now, to follow a dream to Egypt, if he had only been wise, like this man wandering the desert on the workday, heckling strangers going through an obvious mental health crisis, eat-thank the man, who once again was also named omit but that is an addressed,

and our omit made for port, he seems less crazy now, the first made explained to the captain, captain side, alright, still let him on for free but upgrade him to ascetic premium plus

select, the first made said, that was what he was on last time, we just changed the name,

“it's actually worse, it's the same seat but with more rats, and he understood the rates”

and names seemed misleading and predatory, but what were people gonna do, not sail places, the captain laughed, the first made joined in, yes, they hated their customers, omit returned home one afternoon after a full day of work, bringing bread and beans and actually a few scraps of meat, his wife, when she opened the wooden door of the tower's base where they lived, was angry, but the rates of women being what they were kind of had no choice but to take

him back, also she was starving too, it took him a week until one night at dinner, he looked out on the light of the feeding day and saw, next to his tower, the big tree, the one he had seen every day, he shook his head now, that was impossible, and the other omit stream, an elderly couple had lived in the tower next to the tree, but then omit thought

“about it, that, actually, his in-laws had lived in this tower until they passed a few years”

back, and the old desert omit said he had that dream as a younger man, that night, well afterdark, omit left with a shovel, the next morning he laughed over his bad luck with his wife, saying it had been foolish of him to listen to the desert omit, as foolish has it had been to go to Egypt in the first place, but he had to try, besides could she imagine if there had been treasure there, they would spend the rest of their short life

defending it from their neighbors, the sultan, I mean everyone who wanted a piece, she laughed too, so omit continued on as a junk man, searching the wastes and trash for anything he could find to sell to support him in his wife, still, fortune must have smiled on him,

because he would always get luckier than most, finding with a surprising regularity, gold,

jewels, even gemstones, when others would bring home on the iron. I'm not sure what this story is saying, actually follow your dreams, but also don't because you'll starve in a foreign land and condemn your spouse to abject poverty, and the true riches were at home the whole time. I do think omit appreciates his life now, though, and that he's more present in the

waking world, realizing that wealth is only a nice addition, and not everything. Of course, that luxury of not needing to focus on money is only brought about by having money, and if you didn't have that wealth, he would very much notice not having it, so yeah, I'm, I'm back to not knowing what the story is saying, sorry, in the second and final story today, it's another omit, who truly does not care about money, he found

his passion in life, fixing shoes, and wants to do just that, except he can't do that anymore, he needs to go be an astrologer, that, though, will be right after this. This episode is sponsored by BetterHelp. I used to view strength of the stoics, stiff upper lip sort of thing, as I get older, though, I've seen how that works out for some people, and I am now 100% in the camp that it's

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Don't forget to use our code so they know we sent you. I'm at sat back and looked at his shoes. While not his shoes, they belong to the merchant down the road, but in a way, all the shoes he worked on were his shoes. His life was a good one. Waking up each morning, he knew exactly what the day would bring, and he was content with where he was, and who he was. I'm at the cobbler, was right where he was supposed to be.

He said, "Oh, hi honey. How long have you been there?" he said, "It was wife. Sorry, I must not have seen you come in. You know when I get locked into my work, I'm in there deep." He said, "Putting his tools away for the day. Why are you not the chief astrologer to the sultan?" The woman sat back and crossed her arms, looking with a potent, accurate

“mixture of shame, disappointment, and disgust on her husband. Why am I not the, what?”

The chief astrologer to the sultan, the woman said, "Why are you not him?" Because he already exists. I'm at was struggling to understand what was going on here. Why don't you have that job instead of this job? Because I'm a cobbler, I, I cobble, or I fix shoes. It's a completely different skill set. I add value to my community, and repair and restore. He says, "Veg phrases and wows the sultan with smoke and mirrors. You know my thoughts

on astrology. Where is this coming from?" It was coming from Ameth's wife getting bumped from the baths today. She was just settling into her compartment when she was notified that the herum for the chief astrologer had arrived and that she would have to bathe on a different day. "Okay, let's back up," Ameth said. "The herum of the astrologer. Okay, so stop me if I'm wrong. You would rather be one of the herum, one of a handful of women

than the sole wife of me," a cobbler. She sat there. Sorry, he told her to stop him if he was wrong. Also, she leaned forward, "herum can mean many things. There can be wives up to four if you support all of us. They can be cocky binds. They can be family members who are women who live in the herum quarters, or just servants who are women. But to answer your question, I would be cool with even the most simplistic version of it that you are referencing

rather than be married to you." Wow. This was a lot. The cobbler reald. This felt like one of

show, I think you should leave. The woman said that it was an embarrassment to be married to him.

“She didn't respect him. She didn't respect what he did, and if she was with child and she”

prayed she wasn't, she would make sure the child didn't respect him either. She got up. Now, she was going to the bath. When she came back, he better be on his way to becoming chief astrologer to the sultan. The slamming door shook the house, and I'm at set non-plus to his desk. What even was that? He was so worked up that he couldn't relax, so we got his tools out and got back to work. After about an hour of replaying the conversation in his head, he was confident

that this was nothing. She was just mad about the bath. It would all blow over by morning. Hi, I'm at set when he woke up on his workbench the following morning. I'm just, I don't know, waiting for an apology. He offered after several seconds of silence. Oh, okay. His wife thought about it. I'm sorry that you are the way you are and that I'm stuck with you. She then made her way out to start her day. It didn't get better after that. In the story, she said, quote,

"I will never call or think of you as my husband until you have been appointed chief astrologer

to his majesty. There's something to be said for pushing your spouse to be the best version of themselves. This is not that." It's not like Amit wants to set aside a career to say, see where his mythology podcast goes and a time when it was virtually impossible for a non-selebrity to make a living doing a podcast, he had a stable, good job that he loved. All I'm saying is, if the person you're with is purposefully making you miserable so that you give up something that's

“good for you that you love, that's not a good situation for you and you should have some big conversations.”

To make the pain stop, he gave her what she wanted, which, yes, is the exact definition of torture. He sold all of his tools and materials and the shoes he had fixed and made and with that money,

bought an ink well and reads. Anyone who's ever picked up a nice camera, try their first few

brushstrokes with paint on canvas, or bought a nice guitar with the idea that you're finally gonna learn guitar and strummed a few bars. We'll know that having the right tools, even good ones, does not make you good at something. I've made a horrible mistake. Amit looked on the reads and ink wells and paper. Well, that's your problem, she said. Too much time in the shop. People weren't coming to him as an astrologer here. They were coming to him as a cobbler. Just this morning

she had to turn away two dozen people who loved his work. They would not leave. She had to resort to threats of bodily harm. No, he needed to go out to the highway and practice his craft, astrologize away, but away from here. That's probably not what it's called. Amit mumbled, but he wouldn't know because he wasn't an astrologer. Amit sat down by the highway, calling out for people to try out his astrology, free samples, but no one was going for it. Maybe they were busy, maybe because they knew he was a shoemaker, who until that morning

had no training or experience in astrology and who actively derided the craft. As he sat by the

road, feeling the sun on his skin in early autumn, he was grateful at least to see the sky. He never really

“appreciated how beautiful the clouds were, all cooped up in his workshop. Do you converse with the stars?”

A woman's voice called out as a shadow fellow for him? He looked up until he saw a hen on him, which I've seen is a way to address noble women. Do I converse with the stars? Well, you could say that I'm compelled to, Amit smiled. The woman thanked a law and launched into a story. She went to the bath this morning, and when she did so, she was positive she had her diamond ring, but she and her servants had searched every corner of the bath, her home and the path between the two, and couldn't find it

anywhere. Please tell me where my diamond ring is, and I will both bless and handsomely reward you, the woman pleaded. Amit closed his eyes. Yep, nothing. He had charts and pens and ink, and he should probably have those out right now. Do something, but he didn't know what. All he could think

about anything. He opened them, and saw the hem of the woman's trousers. He was skilled and

“shoe repair, and actually clothing repair too. He'd almost become a tailor. It was like a coin toss.”

He loved him both. So there were things that he noticed that no one else would. Like a tear, beginning to form in the leg of the noble woman's trousers. Oh, I, that would actually perceive a rent there. He said, almost without thinking, just trying to be helpful. The woman gasped. Amit shrugged. Well, at least she hadn't paid up front, so it was only as pride and self respect he would be losing, but his day had started with him sitting by the side of the

highway, hockey, and astrology, so those were basically gone now anyway. Oh, thank you. Yes,

at all, but forgotten the woman was elated. I was worried about the rings slipping off in the bath, so I put it in the crevice of the cold water fountain here. A thousand blessings, and thank yous. She pressed several gold pieces into his hands and rushed off back toward the bath. Amit looked at what equal several times what he made in a month as a cobbler, and sat stunned. What just happened? Here you go, please take all of it. I'll just use a bit to

buy back my shoe supplies, and we can be done with this. Amit set the gold down on the table

upon returning home. His wife looked up. A salary for the chief astrologer for the salton was a

poultry one. That's not a salary that I'm not... I'm still not the chief astrologer for the salton. Amit said that guy still already exists. Then why are you stopping? She asked. Amit's side and said he guessed he wasn't. The Pasha said it was an honor, truly, to be in the presence of the astrologer, Amit the cobbler. But brings you to my home today, sir. Amit said, feeling grateful that he was a

body sweater, and not a face sweater, unless the Pasha couldn't see that his undershirt was absolutely drenched. He had been happy being a nobody cobbler. After his one lucky guess, the whole district seemed to know his name. The woman hadn't stopped singing his praises to all of her high society friends. The Pasha had lost a diamond necklace, and he had employed all manner of astrologers and diviners to find it, but everyone had come back with nothing, and been beaten for it.

Now he was here. At Amit's house. How many diamonds were on the necklace? Amit said, looking thoughtfully at the charts and stuff. Beautiful font work and drawings didn't know what any of it meant, but knowing wouldn't help him now. 24, the Pasha, the military officer, said, the enslaved man he brought with him not a thoughtfully by a side. Amit looked up with confidence.

“Then that's how many hours it would be to the location would be revealed.”

Almost falling out of his chair, the Pasha said, really? He would recover the necklace in 24 hours? Of course. It would take an hour to discover each diamond, but when he had all of them, you would have a full picture of what happened. The Pasha rose and clapped. This was wonderful news. He would be by tomorrow at the same hour and learn what happened to his necklace. Amit said he looked forward to it. As the pair left, the enslaved man took a half dozen

looks back at Amit, studying him, but Amit didn't waver. The moment the door shut, he collapsed. Wow, I am so curious how you're going to do it. His wife whispered. He stood and pointed. He had enough of this, quote, "Oh, woman, what evil influence impeled you to go the wrong path?" And drag others with you. When the 24 hours are up, you will perhaps repent. Alas, too late. Your husband gone from you forever without a hope of even being united in paradise.

Okay, Mr. Astrologer. The wife smiled. I get it. You won't tell me how it's all done. I'll stop asking. Both of them heard the door rock on its hinges. As this is someone who had been leaning against it. When the wife went to open it, she and Amit only saw the enslaved man rushing to catch up to the Pasha.

“That night, as Amit was putting his go back together, too. Maybe leave town forever?”

He heard from his wife in the main room that he had more clients. It worked closed. I'm deep in thought for the pot. He stopped speaking when, upon exiting his room, he saw a face he recognized.

Please, learned one. You are a great and good man. Have compassion on my weakness. Do not

“expose me to the wrath of my husband. I will do whatever penance you order. And we'll”

bless you five times daily for as long as I live, she said. How can I save you? He asked the woman. What's decreed is decreed. He, of course, was referring to the big picture idea that we all have our fates as are known by an omniscient God. Seeing her fret, too. He also learned that words unuttered were arrows still in the quiver. If you won't pity me, I'll confess. I will go and confess to my paasha. Perhaps he will have pity, she said. On that had learned, in the intervening days, since

becoming a fake astrologer, that sometimes just looking pensive and saying you were going to consult the stars for their views did a lot of the work for you. I must go now. Great wise man, she said, for us my husband, the paasha will miss me. It's obvious you know I stole the necklace.

“Can I give you the necklace before he arrives tomorrow? So you can restore it without explanation?”

Oh, you're the paus' wife, Amit said. You know what? He could have pity on the woman. Yes, it wouldn't do to simply restore it, though. She learned her lesson about, let's say theft, nodding the woman said absolutely. Then if tomorrow morning, she places the necklace between the mattresses of the paus' bed, he, Amit, would exercise his influence on her behalf for astral intervention. Thank you, the wise man. She rushed off back home.

We'll see how more money and fame only bring more problems to the guy who just wants to make shoes. Can he please just go back to fixing shoes? But that will, once again, be right after this. Of course, then I have kind of a specific decorating style. Actually, I should say that she does, I just appreciate it because it's all her. She has a great eye for that. It's sort of a modern

“Victorian meets mid-century modern. Do you know what no furniture store in the city has?”

That, but you go on way fair, and there are so many options, and with so many budgets in mind, I just looked up a couch, for example, found one that's immediately perfect. And it can be here in two days, and I'm like, okay, well, that seems too good to be true, but you can go down to the reviews. Okay, that's good, but are those real? Oh, there are dozens of pictures from actual

customer's real houses and apartments. Wow, a basically way fair has thought of everything.

I'm personally way more comfortable buying off there than taking an exhausting Saturday afternoon and going to like four different furniture stores and coming back with nothing, and that is a true story. All the stuff we've gotten from way fair was super easy to assemble, like I said, we have a guest room now, so we had to get guest room stuff, and it was so painless. They recommended great stuff. It was in my cart. Here by Friday, set up, done. Looks expertly designed, and because way fair has

thought of all the little details, we were able to get exactly what we wanted and stick to a budget. Find furniture, decor, and essentials that fit your unique style and budget. Head to wayfair.com right now to shop all things home. That's WAY FAIR dot com. Way fair. Every style every home. I'm Theresa and my experience at all entrepreneurs started a shopping trip at full price.

I'm sure it's already the first day, and the platform doesn't make any problems.

I have a lot of problems, but the platform isn't a step away from it. I have the feeling that shopping trip is a platform that can be optimized. Everything is super easy, integrated and balanced, and the time and the money that I can no longer invest in there. For all of them, in Vax-Tomb. Yet the cost-en-lost-test-in-of-shopify-point-de-e. Okay, so I have good news, and I have bad news. I'm at said at the pascha.

The good news? The stars told him where the necklace was. The pascha gasped, and looked excitedly to the enslaved man, who smiled and definitely loved being forced to spy for the wife. But, I'm at added, there was a wrinkle. It regarded the thief. How many links were on the chain

That's why, I'm at said, it would take months to divine the thief, and the necklace had to stay

in that spot. The place where they last touched it. That is, of course, if they didn't move it

“again or secret it from the city, where it would be lost from a site forever. But you know where it is,”

the pascha wave descends. Of course, the stars told me that before you arrived, but I must warn you. If you touch it, the energetic forces of astrological peace stop to look at him, boring this great man with the jargon that he definitely knew. It would sever the mystical link the item had with the thief. I don't care, at this point I just want it back, the pascha said. He was going to gift it to the woman who would be his next wife. I'm at point at that, okay, that

made sense. And I'm at told him the location of the necklace. I'm at praying that the pascha's wife made good on her promise. Breathe. When he heard his name sung in praises in the street. The pascha holding the diamond necklace up over his head. Showering on with riches, the pascha said the man was a marvel. After the wife arrived an hour later and gave him nearly as much for his silence, on it was alone with his own life. Please, can this stop you? This is going to get me killed,

on that pleaded. Look, the wife said, "I want a better life from me and also us. And if you think a feeling of discontent and resentment aroused by and in conjunction with desire for the possessions

“or qualities of another is wrong, then maybe you need to take a look at yourself," she said.”

And left to go spend some of that money. It is wrong. It's envy. The thing you said is literally the dictionary definition of envy. I'm at called out after her, but to know of it.

Potential husband? No, it's wife, first through the door. I'm your husband. We've married for like

three years," Ahmed said, but she waived off his words because they didn't matter. It was happening. Had he not heard? No, I haven't. I'm so famous. I can barely leave the house to spend the money. I don't care if I have. I just want to be a cobbler. He groaned. "Someone robbed the imperial treasury," Ahmed's wife said. "No one knows what happened to it. Even the chief astrologer to the Sultan was in disgrace." Is it because this whole thing is just cold reading and vague

“statements that prey on people's hopes and fears? Ahmed asked, but it's a way to wave that off.”

All that mumbo jumbo shop talk. She didn't need to know how his mysticism worked, but it just needed to work one more time. In fact, she had it on good authority that there was a pounding at the door. No, yes, she smiled. The Sultan's men had heard of the Pasha and the noble woman. They had come to seek his wisdom and insight to find the gold. Ahmed breathed deeply. All right, and asked her to go open the door.

40 days. He had 40 days to find the thieves. It was the largest round number that didn't, feel like it was just a delay of a possible literal execution. Though when he said it was what he needed, the vizier and his guards gasped audibly and agreed immediately. Turned out 40 was noteworthy. 40 cases of gold have been stolen by what seemed like 40 thieves. Sir, this is a bean stand. Do you want some beans? The bean seller Ahmed was talking too

asked. He didn't know what all that was about the vizier. He was trying not to get involved in the business of Pasha's and princes. He just enjoyed procuring and selling different types of beans. They paid the bill sure, but it was also his passion. He was lucky. Ahmed gripped him by his shoulders

and told him to never, ever give that up. And then broke down and said he needed exactly 40 beans.

40 beans. The bean seller said, "We're all real big spender this one." Ahmed was so in his own head that he didn't pick up on the sarcasm, or the fact that the man wait for his son to go get the beans from the other jar. And soon Ahmed was walking home. Dryed beans running through his fingers, all the days he had left on the surface. He drifted, mumbling, in a fog back home. Not noticing the friends calling out greetings and congratulations on working for the Sultan, the potential

clients calling out for his help, or the shifty-looking man who had been watching him since the

beans out. 40 cases of gold, 40 days, 40 thieves. And here is one of them. He handed the bean to his

“wife to symbolize the first of the 40 days he had left. It was now gone. She looked at him. Thanks.”

Just outside, a small gasp gave way to footsteps in the street. Fixated on his own death, Ahmed didn't notice. And his wife was too busy smelling her hand. They did these beans smell funny. I'm telling you, I followed him all day. He was so deep in thought that I didn't need to hide in alleys and shadows and sneer and stuff, but I did because that's half the fun. The thief said but he knows. Outside the window on the previous night, he heard and here is one of them,

referencing the thief at the window that the astrologer couldn't see. That's ridiculous. The other thief said. They arrived at about the same time, just about sundown. They saw him

“sitting at the table. And though they couldn't see what was on it, they imagined it was all sorts of”

charts and grids in junk. His head slumped and he slid something across the table. And here is another one of them. He said. Both men looked at each other, screaming silently before running off to their hideout. They had to tell the boss. Okay, the wife said inside the house, pinching the bean and setting it down in the trash. I don't want these. Were you rude to the bean seller

because these smell like they've lived for a long time, somewhere they shouldn't have. You never

be rude to people who handle your food. Later on that night, there was a knock at the door. Ahmed wasn't sleeping anyway, so he got up and walked over and a bunch of burly men with five

“clock shadows and scruffy hair, cleaning their nails and teeth with daggers, lighting matches on their”

boots to start their pipes. He said they were a delegation and they had come to negotiate the peaceful return of the gold. Ahmed, let them in. He quickly gathered how they had managed to think he knew anything with them misinterpreting the beans each night as arcane knowledge of them. They offered to return the gold immediately. And Ahmed said that that wouldn't be necessary because he knew where the gold was. He also knew that not every one of them was bad. It was hard

out there. So now he knew how to find them and engineered this meeting to tell them where they could put the gold. And that, for as long as he lived, they had nothing to fear. After a few more minutes of the thieves, seemingly astounded by his progressive and frankly probably seditious talk, they agreed to leave the gold were Ahmed asked. Leaving, they said that they were happy Ahmed was the one to define their identities. He was truly a man of the people. Ahmed made them all a

good night and when they were out of your shot collapsed in terror, oh my gosh that was so close.

The stars, they don't always cooperate. Ahmed stood before the Sultan. The Sultan's side and wondered

if his head shopping blade was clean after the last dozen or so astrologers. So you don't know where my gold is. It's been 40 days the Sultan said. Oh I didn't say that, my Sultan. Ahmed replied, just that the stars were fickle. They don't bend to the demands of a simple man like him. They would tell him where the gold was or they would tell him who the thieves were, but they wouldn't tell him both. The Sultan looked serious up. All the gold? Every last coin.

Stroking is beer, the Sultan thought about it. He could just extract the location from the thieves if he knew where they were. If you would travel to the ends of the earth to get that information, then yes Ahmed said, the vizier rushed up to the Sultan. If he could offer his insight, they really needed the money. That was all the Sultan's party cash. And while he did keep partying over the last five weeks, the cash didn't exist. So they were deep in the red.

Growning the Sultan said fine, the cash. Ahmed bowed and said he would go consult the stars and give the Sultan his answer.

Well, we're all booked up today. The harem of the chief astrologer for the Sultan will be

coming and has requested the whole bath to themselves. I see. Ahmed's wife said, "Well, why doesn't the woman check that again?" The attendant rolled her eyes and looked down. There,

“it said, "Wait, harem of the chief astrologer for the Sultan?" Weep. Party of one?”

That's me. Ahmed's wife clapped and went in to have the whole bath to herself. Amit. The Sultan said as Ahmed met him in the gardens. Yes, you're exalted. Ahmed bowed. The Sultan weighed for him to walk alongside him with his left hand. His right fist remained bald. Ahmed met the risk of making things awkward, and then the Sultan shuffled actually. It doesn't matter if I make things awkward. I'm the Sultan. I can say the most ridiculous

goblety-gook imaginable. And people will either scramble to figure out what it means or praise me to my face. Saying they don't understand but how could they? Because I'm so wise. Anyway, I'm getting off track. Well, that's actually also impossible for me because once again, power, any track I'm on is the right one and if someone doesn't stay with me, that's their problem.

“Anyway, Ahmed, I think you're a fraud. Ahmed, the fraud, managed to keep from shaking,”

as he strode alongside the Sultan. I mean, a cobbler decides he's going to be an astrologer and in a few months, manages to out-devine the entire kingdom. For all I know, you're a combination of lucky guesses and complicity the Sultan said. When you hear the calling of the stars, it's hard not to astrologize. Ahmed said, barely keeping his mysterious tone that he had perfected over the last few weeks. What if I asked you to make a prediction right now,

the Sultan said? Right here, in the garden, asked you something you couldn't possibly know. What would you say to that? Ahmed looked the flowers, flourishing in the shade of the trees, the insects hopping and buzzing all around? Oh, say something smart, say something smart.

“His mind went to the book of Proverbs. He had found among the old chief astrologers things.”

I wait for the stars on such matters, my Sultan. I don't trust to my own ability to make guesses, I'm not a wise man, and I should not think too highly of myself and hazard guesses. Such hubris could lead to destruction. Of course, you have heard the Proverbs. The grasshopper

never knows where its third leap will land it. When Ahmed opened his eyes from his very practiced,

the muse to smirk, the one that he used to recite wise phrases, someone else wrote, he found the Sultan not bored, not enraged, but awestruck. The Sultan looked on Ahmed like the man was an angel or a god. Never, never again, I will never ask you to demonstrate your powers, the Sultan breathed before rushing from the garden. Ahmed shrugged. All right, I won't surprisingly well. Guess the guy loved Proverbs, he probably should make a note of that. Ahmed left to return

to his quarters, to meet with his wife after her bath, leaving the slightly crinkled grasshopper, the one that had been in the Sultan's fist, and the object of the test the Sultan didn't even get to give. The one that had been dropped in awe when Ahmed said the Proverbs to hop off into the leaves. Did Ahmed have some sort of latent gift? Or was he just extremely lucky? I mean to keep falling backwards into wealth, status, and not being executed so flawlessly, does feel like something

more than just Ahmed uttering several lucky phrases? But I also feel like Ahmed would be the first

person to tell you no, he's just lucky, can he please go back to making shoes? Next week, it's a samurai adventure story. Of a man who gives it all up to become a toothpaste salesman, because it's his dream. Definitely not, because he was exiled for one too many drunk and sword fights at the bar, and then robbed by pirates. So if you haven't noticed, of course it has been a little MIA from the podcast for a couple of years now, and it is because you're in a drumble,

and it is because myths and legends has a book coming out. We do. The book is called for the King. It's being published by William Maro, an imprint of Harper Collins, which we are very excited about,

It is a massive help, and I just have to say, too, if you like this podcast hands down, you will love this book. Yes, if you like, tells a old written for the modern age, like, on myths and legends, but you also like that serious tone that more dramatic tone from fictional. Here it is in this book. This book began as one book, and it grew and grew, and now they decided to

turn it into three. So you have a full trilogy coming, and that first piece is available for pre-order now.

“Chris, since you are the author, what is this book about?”

Broadly speaking, this book is about our theory and legend, but it is reimagined into a single story with a through line, and really for me, it is a story about what you do when you are back up against the wall, and you are trying to balance family and duty, and all the responsibilities that you have, and all the dreams that you have, what kind of person are you in that moment? You read draft after draft, after draft, you read it as many times as you, but yeah.

You still cry at the end. Oh my gosh, I balled it twice. So that's a good thing.

That's the endorsement. Yeah. You are smiling so big, and so am I right now. This is a really exciting moment where you're so excited to share this story with you. It's available for pre-order right now, so I put some links in the show notes, they're all right there, and yeah, we're so excited for you to read it. And here it actually, the audiobook will be us, unlike for so many hours. Yeah, so for the king, published by William Aril, pre-order it today.

The creature this time is the Wappalucey, a fearsome critter from North America.

“Saying a caterpillar squirrel doesn't really communicate, I think, just how off-putting it would”

be to see a Wappalucey. It's a squirrel the size of a small doxon, which would already be a little scary, but to add to the fact that it looks like a doxon with its long body, it has woodpecker-like talons instead of feet and a spiked tail. It's said to be like a squirrel that climbs effortlessly up a tree, you know, because squirrels are such famously bad climbers, and it does so like a caterpillar it extends its front half out, grabs on, brings up the back half to meet it, and causes

its back to fold, and makes sort of a hump. It uses its spiked tail to hold on when it needs extra grip. I don't know about you, but this seems like way more effort than I've seen any squirrel ever used to climb. But those squirrels don't get to feast on the bracket fungus that grows high in

“the trees, so, you know, lucky Wappalucey. As we talked about long ago, in episode 66, the wild”

regions of North America used to be covered in tall, old-growth forests, a few of which now remain. Looking at my window in suburban Ohio, I'm not seeing much bracket fungi toward the tops,

but I also don't see a lot of trees that could support a doxon squirrel beyond the first

dozen or so feet, so that could explain why these are no longer with us and noteworthy numbers. It's for sure not because of their pelts. The first few lumberjacks who saw these noticed two things. They look really soft, and they were remarkably easy to kill. For a very little while, the plush gloves made from them protected cold lumberjack fingies, but they made an already dangerous profession even worse. Because, loosening the grip on axes, the lumberjacks found that the

fur had a mind of its own, and would reflexively climb up any axe handle or tool to reach the top. Unable to get an under control, the lumberjacks threw the gloves away, and they were all last seen slinking through the underbrush toward the nearest tree. That's it for this time, myths and legends is by Jason and Carissa Weiser, our theme song is by Broke For Free, and the creature that weak music is by Steve Combs.

There are links to even more of them used in the show notes. Thank you so much for listening, and we'll see you next time. Now, the show is on the show. The show is on the show. The show is on the show. The show is on the show.

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