Ted Parry
Governor
If I'm Byzantine, you're Constantinopolitan!
...or even Istanbulish ..... Oh no, sorry ... that's Dorothy isn't it .....
-
Sign up or login, and you'll have full access to opportunities of forum.
For The Pleasure Of Prince Uday
- Thread starter Eulalia
- Start date
...or even Istanbulish ..... Oh no, sorry ... that's Dorothy isn't it .....
messaline
Crucified Amazon
79
The next day, Yasmin and I are able to get up and begin walking, we’re both a bit unsteady, but soon manage to make our way along to a sitting room where our friends are waiting for us, Lau still in her wheelchair. They want to hear our stories of the grim and traumatic things that happened to us after Prince Qusay died from whatever I’d passed onto him. We’re beginning to compare notes on what we know, or think we know, about the events swirling around us when the woman doctor appears. She checks Lau, Yasmin and me, and is pleased with our progress, but then she gets a message on her phone.
‘Oops, we’ve all got to listen to an important announcement – nurse, can you start up the screen?’
The nurse gives a few touches to her computer, a screen on the wall lights up, there’s the flag of Inglistan, marching music, then General Aziz appears, looking grave.
‘People of Inglistan, salaam aleikum. It is my sad duty to inform you that our beloved Sheikh Masrur has passed away, may Allah grant him peace. In accordance with Islamic law and custom, and in view of the present security situation, his funeral will take place quietly after morning prayers tomorrow, in the grounds of Al-Dakhm Palace.’
A picture appears of a plain, white, well-proportioned, domed building in a garden, zooms in on a simple marble tomb inscribed with a surah from the Quran in elegant calligraphy. The Sheikh must have commissioned his burying place well in advance.
The General continues, ‘As you know, Sheikh Masrur’s son and heir, Prince Qusay, died only last week, in mysterious and suspicious circumstances. On him, too, may there be peace. Investigations are continuing, a key suspect is in custody.’
Yasmin and I glance at each other, no mention of us two – that’s probably a good sign – must be Dr. Ajap he’s talking about.
‘Sheikh Masrur had already passed over his elder son, Prince Uday, as being wholly unfitted for the throne, a cruel, corrupt indulger in every vice known to Jahannam, especially in his addiction to sharāb.’
He pauses, we – and the whole of Inglistan, probably the world – are listening intently.
‘As soon as he heard the terrible news of Prince Qusay’s death, Sheikh Masrur summoned me, and all the Chiefs of Staff and leading figures in the Government. He commanded me, and all of them, as a fatwa endorsed by the President of the Supreme Council of Clerics, to swear on the Holy Quran, in the presence of each other as witnesses, that we would under no circumstances allow Prince Uday to seize the throne after his decease.’
As he pronounces those words, a picture appears of the Sheikh, looking old and ill, propped up on pillows on a bed, holding a piece of paper, General Aziz beside him holding the Quran and evidently swearing his oath. The others in the room are mostly in Armed Forces uniforms, a few clerics. But there’s one man just visible at the back, a grey-haired man.
Before I can say anything, the General continues,
‘His father’s will was communicated to Prince Uday, his exclusion from the succession was made perfectly clear to him. But, sadly, he chose to rebel. His own Palace Guard and a few rebellious units of the armed forces were deceived or bribed to support him, so were a handful of corrupt clerics.
‘But forces loyal to the Sheikh and under my command took the necessary action. Prince Uday is dead. The mutiny has been crushed. Order has been restored, only a few pockets of resistance and cells of trouble-makers remain to be eliminated.’
There’s a sigh of relief from us all at that news, no-one prays for peace on that man’s soul.
‘For the time being, the state of Inglistan is under military rule. Any disorder or resistance to the law will be severely dealt with. But citizens need have no fear, please go about your normal lives quietly and peacefully. It will be necessary for the time being to observe a curfew in Masrurabad between the evening prayer and the prayer at dawn. Regional commanders may impose similar restrictions in other cities or areas.’
‘But,’ the camera zooms in to close-up, ‘I am not a political man. I have no wish to impose a military dictatorship, neither have any of my colleagues. As soon as peace is established throughout the land, and administrative arrangements set in place, civil government will be re-established, and our nation will move forward to become The Islamic Republic of Inglistan.’
‘May that be the Will of Allah!’
The national flag, the national anthem. We’re all quiet for some moments, digesting what we’ve heard. But there’s something I’ve got to ask –
‘Please, can we go back to that picture where the Sheikh and the General and all those other men are taking the oath?’
The doctor and nurse look a little surprised, but the nurse says ‘I expect it’s already on replay...’ She soon finds the clip and pauses it. I point to the grey-haired man.
‘That man – who is he? He was the one who was with Prince Uday, interrogating me, when I was tortured...’
‘He questioned me too,’ says Lau,
‘And he was there when I was being tortured,’ says Yasmin, ‘I remember him watching, though I don’t think he asked me anything, I think he went away after a bit.’
‘And yet – and it must have been while you were still being tortured - he was there at the side of the General,’ I comment, mystified.
‘He seems to be everywhere,’ says Sima.
‘Yes...’ says Turi, ‘and I’m pretty sure he was the one who took away my clit-ring,’
‘So, who is he?’
The doctor looks serious, like she’s thinking carefully what to say. At length, she tells us, very softly,
‘Yes, he is everywhere. Nobody knows his name. He’s just called Șifr, Zero. He’s the head of The Secret Police.’
The next day, Yasmin and I are able to get up and begin walking, we’re both a bit unsteady, but soon manage to make our way along to a sitting room where our friends are waiting for us, Lau still in her wheelchair. They want to hear our stories of the grim and traumatic things that happened to us after Prince Qusay died from whatever I’d passed onto him. We’re beginning to compare notes on what we know, or think we know, about the events swirling around us when the woman doctor appears. She checks Lau, Yasmin and me, and is pleased with our progress, but then she gets a message on her phone.
‘Oops, we’ve all got to listen to an important announcement – nurse, can you start up the screen?’
The nurse gives a few touches to her computer, a screen on the wall lights up, there’s the flag of Inglistan, marching music, then General Aziz appears, looking grave.
‘People of Inglistan, salaam aleikum. It is my sad duty to inform you that our beloved Sheikh Masrur has passed away, may Allah grant him peace. In accordance with Islamic law and custom, and in view of the present security situation, his funeral will take place quietly after morning prayers tomorrow, in the grounds of Al-Dakhm Palace.’
A picture appears of a plain, white, well-proportioned, domed building in a garden, zooms in on a simple marble tomb inscribed with a surah from the Quran in elegant calligraphy. The Sheikh must have commissioned his burying place well in advance.
The General continues, ‘As you know, Sheikh Masrur’s son and heir, Prince Qusay, died only last week, in mysterious and suspicious circumstances. On him, too, may there be peace. Investigations are continuing, a key suspect is in custody.’
Yasmin and I glance at each other, no mention of us two – that’s probably a good sign – must be Dr. Ajap he’s talking about.
‘Sheikh Masrur had already passed over his elder son, Prince Uday, as being wholly unfitted for the throne, a cruel, corrupt indulger in every vice known to Jahannam, especially in his addiction to sharāb.’
He pauses, we – and the whole of Inglistan, probably the world – are listening intently.
‘As soon as he heard the terrible news of Prince Qusay’s death, Sheikh Masrur summoned me, and all the Chiefs of Staff and leading figures in the Government. He commanded me, and all of them, as a fatwa endorsed by the President of the Supreme Council of Clerics, to swear on the Holy Quran, in the presence of each other as witnesses, that we would under no circumstances allow Prince Uday to seize the throne after his decease.’
As he pronounces those words, a picture appears of the Sheikh, looking old and ill, propped up on pillows on a bed, holding a piece of paper, General Aziz beside him holding the Quran and evidently swearing his oath. The others in the room are mostly in Armed Forces uniforms, a few clerics. But there’s one man just visible at the back, a grey-haired man.
Before I can say anything, the General continues,
‘His father’s will was communicated to Prince Uday, his exclusion from the succession was made perfectly clear to him. But, sadly, he chose to rebel. His own Palace Guard and a few rebellious units of the armed forces were deceived or bribed to support him, so were a handful of corrupt clerics.
‘But forces loyal to the Sheikh and under my command took the necessary action. Prince Uday is dead. The mutiny has been crushed. Order has been restored, only a few pockets of resistance and cells of trouble-makers remain to be eliminated.’
There’s a sigh of relief from us all at that news, no-one prays for peace on that man’s soul.
‘For the time being, the state of Inglistan is under military rule. Any disorder or resistance to the law will be severely dealt with. But citizens need have no fear, please go about your normal lives quietly and peacefully. It will be necessary for the time being to observe a curfew in Masrurabad between the evening prayer and the prayer at dawn. Regional commanders may impose similar restrictions in other cities or areas.’
‘But,’ the camera zooms in to close-up, ‘I am not a political man. I have no wish to impose a military dictatorship, neither have any of my colleagues. As soon as peace is established throughout the land, and administrative arrangements set in place, civil government will be re-established, and our nation will move forward to become The Islamic Republic of Inglistan.’
‘May that be the Will of Allah!’
The national flag, the national anthem. We’re all quiet for some moments, digesting what we’ve heard. But there’s something I’ve got to ask –
‘Please, can we go back to that picture where the Sheikh and the General and all those other men are taking the oath?’
The doctor and nurse look a little surprised, but the nurse says ‘I expect it’s already on replay...’ She soon finds the clip and pauses it. I point to the grey-haired man.
‘That man – who is he? He was the one who was with Prince Uday, interrogating me, when I was tortured...’
‘He questioned me too,’ says Lau,
‘And he was there when I was being tortured,’ says Yasmin, ‘I remember him watching, though I don’t think he asked me anything, I think he went away after a bit.’
‘And yet – and it must have been while you were still being tortured - he was there at the side of the General,’ I comment, mystified.
‘He seems to be everywhere,’ says Sima.
‘Yes...’ says Turi, ‘and I’m pretty sure he was the one who took away my clit-ring,’
‘So, who is he?’
The doctor looks serious, like she’s thinking carefully what to say. At length, she tells us, very softly,
‘Yes, he is everywhere. Nobody knows his name. He’s just called Șifr, Zero. He’s the head of The Secret Police.’
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
A lot has been clarified. Now we are sure that it is general Aziz who has seized power by order of Sheikh Masrur. We know that Sheikh Masrur did not fake illness and that he passed away. We know that Prince Uday is dead as well and we even know who is the grey haired man.
But there are a still a few important things we do not know.
Where is Begum Raghida and what is her relationship to Șifr?
I am not sure yet general Aziz can sleep soundly.
But there are a still a few important things we do not know.
Where is Begum Raghida and what is her relationship to Șifr?
I am not sure yet general Aziz can sleep soundly.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Sifr Zero? Sounds as if he has a licence to kill!
But,’ the camera zooms in to close-up, ‘I am not a political man. I have no wish to impose a military dictatorship, neither have any of my colleagues. As soon as peace is established throughout the land, and administrative arrangements set in place, civil government will be re-established, and our nation will move forward to become The Islamic Republic of Inglistan.’
Heard this before. Can we really trust him?
Heard this before. Can we really trust him?
Șifr is the Arabic word for 'zero',Sifr Zero? Sounds as if he has a licence to kill!
which was the Spanish form of the word.
It's also the origin of our word 'cypher'.
So a suitable handle for the character who 'seems to be everywhere...'
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
That's how I read it : 'cypher zero'. An ideal code name for the head of the secret police.
Compare it to the meaning of 'chiffre' in French, meaning a numeriacal digit (in contrast to 'nombre' or number).
80
We have a lot to think about. Some mysteries remain, like just what has been the rôle in all this intrigue, betrayal and battling for power, of the sinister Șifr? Even more obviously significant for us girls now, where is the Begum? What is she doing? Though General Aziz made no mention of her, we can hardly believe she’s modestly retired into purdah, or has any intention of so doing. And of course, we’re wondering what our own futures will be, now Prince Uday’s dead, his palace in ruins. I’ve a feeling we won’t have to wait long.
We spend the rest of the day with our friends quietly, trying not to worry about questions we can’t answer. Able to get about on our feet now, we do some gentle exercise with Sima and Turi, as if we were back with the dancing troupe, even Lau is able to manage quite well. And in the afternoon, nurse tells us we have permission to make our way through a green door into a small, walled, secret garden where we relax among scented shrubs, the old buildings that have become the Al-Dakhm Palace on one side, trees and open sky on the other. There’s noise from the city, lots of aerial activity too, but this place has a sense of peace I’ve not experienced since I was a child, helping mum in the General’s vegetable garden.
But when we return to the ward, nurse tells us there’s a message, we – all five of us - shall be going to see the Begum tomorrow morning. We look at each other with shared apprehension, but we know we’ll be hearing our fate, for better or worse, better than hanging in uncertainty. That evening, alone with Yasmin, I’m thinking about that terrible night when Prince Qusay died. I share my thoughts with her,
‘It seemed strange, the Prince’s bodyguard wasn’t outside his door, and when I got to sound the alarm, it wasn’t Palace Guards, it was Special Forces who turned up.’
‘And Special Forces jumped in when Sima opened that hatch.’
‘Would they have been acting on the General’s orders?’
‘I’m not sure... they could have been Secret Police.’
‘Șifr’s men?’
‘Mm.’
We’re quiet for a bit, thinking. I remember a bit more,
‘The Doctor, Ajap, came. He must have been expecting it all along. Then Begum Raghida turned up – in full dress, not like she’d just got out of bed. When Uday appeared, he was half-awake and nine-tenths blotto. But she seemed to be all prepared for it.’
‘Well, I guess we’re already sure the Begum and the Doctor were using you to kill Prince Qusay.’
‘But the last thing I heard her say, as they dragged me off, was “We must keep the enquiries in the Palace, don’t let Qusay’s Guards or Military Intelligence get near her.”’
‘So she didn’t want Military Intelligence involved – that means at that point she wasn’t in league with General Aziz, she wasn't sure which way he’d jump. But Șifr and his troops were involved – and he was there when you and I were being interrogated. Yet soon after that, he was at the Palace, hearing Aziz swear to block Uday.’
‘H’m, so it looks like Șifr was in on the plot to kill Qusay, and then turned against Uday?’
‘Yeah, or at least he was making sure he knew everything that was going on, and keeping hold of all the strings.'
I have another spell of trying to recall, then say,
'I’ve just thought of another thing, the very last thing I heard her say was, "Oh, and we’d better get the other one." She meant you. Yasmin.'
She looks perplexed.
Don’t you see what that means? She let her husband spend his time torturing you and interrogating me, and holding that farce of a trial, and hanging us out to dry, just to keep him occupied while she was organising her getaway – and arranging his one-way trip to join his brother in Jahannam!’
Yasmin frowns, there’s a bitterness in her voice I’ve never heard before.
‘Don’t you just love her? Talk about us being baidaq, pawns in the game! Still, at least she saved the dancing girls.’
‘Yes, that was a mercy. But even that charade of selling them as slaves was a cover for sending that message to Șifr in Turi’s cunt-ring.'
'Of course! By that time, she must have known about the Sheikh’s dying fatwa, she knew which way Aziz had jumped.'
'Right, so she sent that ring-message to confirm she was heading for the Palace, and that Sima was ready to open the hatch.’
‘And when he got that, Șifr tipped off the General to launch his attack?’
I nod, ‘At midnight.’
Yasmin sighs, ‘I feel like we’re caught in a web, and there’s not just one spider, there’s three of them.’
‘And I wonder which one’s going to gobble us up?’
‘I guess we might find that out tomorrow...’
We have a lot to think about. Some mysteries remain, like just what has been the rôle in all this intrigue, betrayal and battling for power, of the sinister Șifr? Even more obviously significant for us girls now, where is the Begum? What is she doing? Though General Aziz made no mention of her, we can hardly believe she’s modestly retired into purdah, or has any intention of so doing. And of course, we’re wondering what our own futures will be, now Prince Uday’s dead, his palace in ruins. I’ve a feeling we won’t have to wait long.
We spend the rest of the day with our friends quietly, trying not to worry about questions we can’t answer. Able to get about on our feet now, we do some gentle exercise with Sima and Turi, as if we were back with the dancing troupe, even Lau is able to manage quite well. And in the afternoon, nurse tells us we have permission to make our way through a green door into a small, walled, secret garden where we relax among scented shrubs, the old buildings that have become the Al-Dakhm Palace on one side, trees and open sky on the other. There’s noise from the city, lots of aerial activity too, but this place has a sense of peace I’ve not experienced since I was a child, helping mum in the General’s vegetable garden.
But when we return to the ward, nurse tells us there’s a message, we – all five of us - shall be going to see the Begum tomorrow morning. We look at each other with shared apprehension, but we know we’ll be hearing our fate, for better or worse, better than hanging in uncertainty. That evening, alone with Yasmin, I’m thinking about that terrible night when Prince Qusay died. I share my thoughts with her,
‘It seemed strange, the Prince’s bodyguard wasn’t outside his door, and when I got to sound the alarm, it wasn’t Palace Guards, it was Special Forces who turned up.’
‘And Special Forces jumped in when Sima opened that hatch.’
‘Would they have been acting on the General’s orders?’
‘I’m not sure... they could have been Secret Police.’
‘Șifr’s men?’
‘Mm.’
We’re quiet for a bit, thinking. I remember a bit more,
‘The Doctor, Ajap, came. He must have been expecting it all along. Then Begum Raghida turned up – in full dress, not like she’d just got out of bed. When Uday appeared, he was half-awake and nine-tenths blotto. But she seemed to be all prepared for it.’
‘Well, I guess we’re already sure the Begum and the Doctor were using you to kill Prince Qusay.’
‘But the last thing I heard her say, as they dragged me off, was “We must keep the enquiries in the Palace, don’t let Qusay’s Guards or Military Intelligence get near her.”’
‘So she didn’t want Military Intelligence involved – that means at that point she wasn’t in league with General Aziz, she wasn't sure which way he’d jump. But Șifr and his troops were involved – and he was there when you and I were being interrogated. Yet soon after that, he was at the Palace, hearing Aziz swear to block Uday.’
‘H’m, so it looks like Șifr was in on the plot to kill Qusay, and then turned against Uday?’
‘Yeah, or at least he was making sure he knew everything that was going on, and keeping hold of all the strings.'
I have another spell of trying to recall, then say,
'I’ve just thought of another thing, the very last thing I heard her say was, "Oh, and we’d better get the other one." She meant you. Yasmin.'
She looks perplexed.
Don’t you see what that means? She let her husband spend his time torturing you and interrogating me, and holding that farce of a trial, and hanging us out to dry, just to keep him occupied while she was organising her getaway – and arranging his one-way trip to join his brother in Jahannam!’
Yasmin frowns, there’s a bitterness in her voice I’ve never heard before.
‘Don’t you just love her? Talk about us being baidaq, pawns in the game! Still, at least she saved the dancing girls.’
‘Yes, that was a mercy. But even that charade of selling them as slaves was a cover for sending that message to Șifr in Turi’s cunt-ring.'
'Of course! By that time, she must have known about the Sheikh’s dying fatwa, she knew which way Aziz had jumped.'
'Right, so she sent that ring-message to confirm she was heading for the Palace, and that Sima was ready to open the hatch.’
‘And when he got that, Șifr tipped off the General to launch his attack?’
I nod, ‘At midnight.’
Yasmin sighs, ‘I feel like we’re caught in a web, and there’s not just one spider, there’s three of them.’
‘And I wonder which one’s going to gobble us up?’
‘I guess we might find that out tomorrow...’
And Eul's cypher is starting to be decrypyted!Șifr is the Arabic word for 'zero',
which was the Spanish form of the word.
It's also the origin of our word 'cypher'.
So a suitable handle for the character who 'seems to be everywhere...'
This is good stuff, Eul!
DO NOT MAKE ME SHOW THAT PICTURE!!!View attachment 523535 So ..... it all comes down to a "cunt-ring"? Of all things? Can you beat that?
messaline
Crucified Amazon
81
In the morning, our friends arrive freshly dressed, bringing clothes for us, Turi has been given them by the Wardrobe Mistress who’s evidently back in business here in the Palace. Sima and Yasmin have silky white bras and briefs, and the kind of tissuy, transparent shalwar and head-scarves that veil nothing, but look pretty and signal that they are of the Faith. We kāfireh have nothing but minimal cotton thongs. Evidently the revolution has done nothing to shake the hierarchy of servitude in the household of Begum Raghida, if anything it’s stricter.
A couple of Guards come and escort us across a quadrangle surrounded by elegant, classical buildings, very different in style from the weighty mock-castles that dominated Prince Uday’s palace. Lau is in her wheelchair, Yasmin and I are a little shaky, but we manage to keep up with the brisk marching pace. We enter a fine building, we have to walk up a grand staircase. The Guard says Lau must walk too, we’re a little anxious for her, he lets Yasmin and me help her, but she’s managing pretty well.
We wait before a beautiful door of polished, panelled wood, anxious and silent. Soon it swings open, we walk into a long, bright room with simple decoration, divided into three square parts by pillared arches. The floor is polished wood, but we proceed, Yasmin and I still supporting Lau, along a narrow rug as far as the second arch, where we prostrate ourselves.
I experience a strange sensation as I stretch my body on the gleaming floor, my forehead touching and my bare breasts brushing, the polish-scented wood, my hair tumbling loose - somehow this feels right, there’s a sense of relief in returning to the familiar rituals of being a slavegirl, after all the stress of the past days, this is where I belong.
‘Salaam aleikum, alraqiq alfatayat.’
‘W’aleikum aslaam, sayida Begum,’ we chorus in reply.
‘Up!’
We kneel up before the Begum Raghida, seated in state on an elegant couch, dressed in emerald, gold-embroidered silk, discreetly but pricelessly bejewelled, alone. She casts her sharp eyes over us.
‘We have been through stormy times,’ she declares, ‘but here we all are, alive and safe in Al-Dakhm Palace, where I intend to stay.’
She pauses, we listen humbly.
‘As you know, my depraved and worthless husband is dead, General Aziz has done his duty in restoring law and order following the death of Sheikh Masrur, on whom be peace.’
‘Amin,’ we respond.
‘It is too soon for any detailed plans or public announcements to be made, but I am expecting to play a significant role in the establishment and governance of the new Islamic Republic of Inglistan.’
Again, a pause, she takes a sip of some beverage.
‘But for now, my priority must be to set my household in order. My Wardrobe Mistress and Dancing Mistress have given loyal and valuable service. I intend that they shall have positions of responsibility in my govern- , er, my household.
Yasmin and Sima, you have proved satisfactory slaves in my service, so you too will have new and greater duties. Yasmin, you will no longer need to repair the victims of my late husband’s sadistic cruelty. You will be able to play your proper role, as my herbalist, perfumier and costumier. As well as assisting me with my toilette, you will be responsible for the bodies and dress of all my slavegirls, I expect them to always be clean, sweet-smelling and beautiful, and, if they are not naked, attractively attired.’
‘Thankyou, ma’am,’ says Yasmin with bowed head, to the woman who less than a week ago let her be tortured while she looked after her own skin – ah well, such is the life of a slavegirl! At least her Mistress recognises how talented she is.
‘Sima, you will have charge of the dancing troupe, you will be responsible for training them and choreographing their performances. But, more than that, you will assist me in the establishment of a new foundation, The Begum Raghida Institute of Islamic Women’s Culture.’
‘Thankyou, ma’am’ says Sima. I’m glad for her too, being slaves of the Begum is never going to be easy, but they are both Yasmin and Sima very special girls, at least she recognises that.
‘Now, you three kāfireh,’ she looks sternly at Turi, Lau and me, ‘You were all abducted at one time or another on my husband’s orders from the Masrur Academy, were you not?’
‘Yes ma’am,’ we all nod ruefully.
‘You are the rightful property of your owners. Slavegirl Turi, you belong to Sajid Rahman, the sharāb merchant?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Well, he’ll be cutting back his lavish household, now he no longer has Prince Uday’s custom,’ she says with a smirk. ‘For a kāfirah, you’ve proved a passable little dancer and general slavegirl, I shall fix with his agent a fair price to keep you in my household. You will assist Sima and Yasmin, having especial responsibility for the training and behaviour of the kāfireh slaves.’
‘Thankyou ma’am,’ says Turi, looking happy, she’s where she wants to be.
‘Slavegirls Lau and Eul, you are both the property of General Aziz.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ we say, though she made this a statement.
‘The General paid for you to attend the Masrur Academy as an investment, he intended to sell you when you completed your training as premium quality slavegirls in Liaquat Borthers private saleroom. But you have both been ill-used and irreparably damaged by my husband, you are no longer in marketable condition.’
We both look glum, I feel quite sick.
‘The General was minded to put you up for auction in the street market,’
‘Oh no!’ I hear Lau whisper, the Begum notices and smiles cruelly, she’s enjoying her power over us,
‘But, as an act of zakat, charity, I have undertaken to pay for you, Lau, to complete your training at the Academy, and then to take you into my household.’
‘Thankyou ma’am,’ Lau’s relief is palpable, mine too – but what’s she got up her sleeve for me?
‘Slavegirl Eul, your position is similar, except that you have nearly completed your training. You too have been badly misused - though I suppose if any more male members of the clan Masrur were to pop up you might have your uses!’ She chuckles at her own clunky joke, I can't share her amusement, I’m trembling with a mixture of anger and anxiety, rigid with tension. She goes on,
‘But a person who has had good opportunity to observe you and your behaviour under testing conditions considers that you have potential to be trained for his –‘ she pauses, ‘his special service. He has made me an offer which, as the saying goes, I cannot refuse.’
A shadow suddenly falls across me, I feel a firm hand grip my shoulder. I glance up, Șifr’s hair glints like steel under the bright chandelier, his voice cuts like a blade,
‘Come with me, slave.’
In the morning, our friends arrive freshly dressed, bringing clothes for us, Turi has been given them by the Wardrobe Mistress who’s evidently back in business here in the Palace. Sima and Yasmin have silky white bras and briefs, and the kind of tissuy, transparent shalwar and head-scarves that veil nothing, but look pretty and signal that they are of the Faith. We kāfireh have nothing but minimal cotton thongs. Evidently the revolution has done nothing to shake the hierarchy of servitude in the household of Begum Raghida, if anything it’s stricter.
A couple of Guards come and escort us across a quadrangle surrounded by elegant, classical buildings, very different in style from the weighty mock-castles that dominated Prince Uday’s palace. Lau is in her wheelchair, Yasmin and I are a little shaky, but we manage to keep up with the brisk marching pace. We enter a fine building, we have to walk up a grand staircase. The Guard says Lau must walk too, we’re a little anxious for her, he lets Yasmin and me help her, but she’s managing pretty well.
We wait before a beautiful door of polished, panelled wood, anxious and silent. Soon it swings open, we walk into a long, bright room with simple decoration, divided into three square parts by pillared arches. The floor is polished wood, but we proceed, Yasmin and I still supporting Lau, along a narrow rug as far as the second arch, where we prostrate ourselves.
I experience a strange sensation as I stretch my body on the gleaming floor, my forehead touching and my bare breasts brushing, the polish-scented wood, my hair tumbling loose - somehow this feels right, there’s a sense of relief in returning to the familiar rituals of being a slavegirl, after all the stress of the past days, this is where I belong.
‘Salaam aleikum, alraqiq alfatayat.’
‘W’aleikum aslaam, sayida Begum,’ we chorus in reply.
‘Up!’
We kneel up before the Begum Raghida, seated in state on an elegant couch, dressed in emerald, gold-embroidered silk, discreetly but pricelessly bejewelled, alone. She casts her sharp eyes over us.
‘We have been through stormy times,’ she declares, ‘but here we all are, alive and safe in Al-Dakhm Palace, where I intend to stay.’
She pauses, we listen humbly.
‘As you know, my depraved and worthless husband is dead, General Aziz has done his duty in restoring law and order following the death of Sheikh Masrur, on whom be peace.’
‘Amin,’ we respond.
‘It is too soon for any detailed plans or public announcements to be made, but I am expecting to play a significant role in the establishment and governance of the new Islamic Republic of Inglistan.’
Again, a pause, she takes a sip of some beverage.
‘But for now, my priority must be to set my household in order. My Wardrobe Mistress and Dancing Mistress have given loyal and valuable service. I intend that they shall have positions of responsibility in my govern- , er, my household.
Yasmin and Sima, you have proved satisfactory slaves in my service, so you too will have new and greater duties. Yasmin, you will no longer need to repair the victims of my late husband’s sadistic cruelty. You will be able to play your proper role, as my herbalist, perfumier and costumier. As well as assisting me with my toilette, you will be responsible for the bodies and dress of all my slavegirls, I expect them to always be clean, sweet-smelling and beautiful, and, if they are not naked, attractively attired.’
‘Thankyou, ma’am,’ says Yasmin with bowed head, to the woman who less than a week ago let her be tortured while she looked after her own skin – ah well, such is the life of a slavegirl! At least her Mistress recognises how talented she is.
‘Sima, you will have charge of the dancing troupe, you will be responsible for training them and choreographing their performances. But, more than that, you will assist me in the establishment of a new foundation, The Begum Raghida Institute of Islamic Women’s Culture.’
‘Thankyou, ma’am’ says Sima. I’m glad for her too, being slaves of the Begum is never going to be easy, but they are both Yasmin and Sima very special girls, at least she recognises that.
‘Now, you three kāfireh,’ she looks sternly at Turi, Lau and me, ‘You were all abducted at one time or another on my husband’s orders from the Masrur Academy, were you not?’
‘Yes ma’am,’ we all nod ruefully.
‘You are the rightful property of your owners. Slavegirl Turi, you belong to Sajid Rahman, the sharāb merchant?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Well, he’ll be cutting back his lavish household, now he no longer has Prince Uday’s custom,’ she says with a smirk. ‘For a kāfirah, you’ve proved a passable little dancer and general slavegirl, I shall fix with his agent a fair price to keep you in my household. You will assist Sima and Yasmin, having especial responsibility for the training and behaviour of the kāfireh slaves.’
‘Thankyou ma’am,’ says Turi, looking happy, she’s where she wants to be.
‘Slavegirls Lau and Eul, you are both the property of General Aziz.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ we say, though she made this a statement.
‘The General paid for you to attend the Masrur Academy as an investment, he intended to sell you when you completed your training as premium quality slavegirls in Liaquat Borthers private saleroom. But you have both been ill-used and irreparably damaged by my husband, you are no longer in marketable condition.’
We both look glum, I feel quite sick.
‘The General was minded to put you up for auction in the street market,’
‘Oh no!’ I hear Lau whisper, the Begum notices and smiles cruelly, she’s enjoying her power over us,
‘But, as an act of zakat, charity, I have undertaken to pay for you, Lau, to complete your training at the Academy, and then to take you into my household.’
‘Thankyou ma’am,’ Lau’s relief is palpable, mine too – but what’s she got up her sleeve for me?
‘Slavegirl Eul, your position is similar, except that you have nearly completed your training. You too have been badly misused - though I suppose if any more male members of the clan Masrur were to pop up you might have your uses!’ She chuckles at her own clunky joke, I can't share her amusement, I’m trembling with a mixture of anger and anxiety, rigid with tension. She goes on,
‘But a person who has had good opportunity to observe you and your behaviour under testing conditions considers that you have potential to be trained for his –‘ she pauses, ‘his special service. He has made me an offer which, as the saying goes, I cannot refuse.’
A shadow suddenly falls across me, I feel a firm hand grip my shoulder. I glance up, Șifr’s hair glints like steel under the bright chandelier, his voice cuts like a blade,
‘Come with me, slave.’
Well, that's it for now - at least, I'm not planning to take it any further for the present,
it's already about ten times longer than I thought it would be.
As we storytellers here know from experience,
characters can take on a life of their own and you just have to run to keep up with them!
I've enjoyed writing it, and thankyou to everyone for lots of helpful comments,
which have quite often tweaked the way I've developed the plot.
Of course, it's an ending that leaves a lot open - slavegirl/ secret agent Eul's
unlikely to have a quiet life ahead of her...
The best-laid plans of the cunning Begum Raghida seem all too likely to gang agley,
with unpredicatble consequences for her troupe of slavegirls,
her alliance with the bluff General Aziz (an officer and a gentleman,
who fucks his slave-women and thrashes their brats with the whip)
may not be fated to last very long...
only Allah knows
(though Șifr's no doubt keeping an eye on Him too)
it's already about ten times longer than I thought it would be.
As we storytellers here know from experience,
characters can take on a life of their own and you just have to run to keep up with them!
I've enjoyed writing it, and thankyou to everyone for lots of helpful comments,
which have quite often tweaked the way I've developed the plot.
Of course, it's an ending that leaves a lot open - slavegirl/ secret agent Eul's
unlikely to have a quiet life ahead of her...
The best-laid plans of the cunning Begum Raghida seem all too likely to gang agley,
with unpredicatble consequences for her troupe of slavegirls,
her alliance with the bluff General Aziz (an officer and a gentleman,
who fucks his slave-women and thrashes their brats with the whip)
may not be fated to last very long...
only Allah knows
(though Șifr's no doubt keeping an eye on Him too
)
Well, that's it for now - at least, I'm not planning to take it any further for the present,
it's already about ten times longer than I thought it would be.
As we storytellers here know from experience,
characters can take on a life of their own and you just have to run to keep up with them!
I've enjoyed writing it, and thankyou to everyone for lots of helpful comments,
which have quite often tweaked the way I've developed the plot.
Of course, it's an ending that leaves a lot open - slavegirl/ secret agent Eul's
unlikely to have a quiet life ahead of her...
The best-laid plans of the cunning Begum Raghida seem all too likely to gang agley,
with unpredicatble consequences for her troupe of slavegirls,
her alliance with the bluff General Aziz (an officer and a gentleman,
who fucks his slave-women and thrashes their brats with the whip)
may not be fated to last very long...
only Allah knows
(though Șifr's no doubt keeping an eye on Him too
I think Hollywood already has its eye on this and a possible sequel.
