Odalisque (9 page)

‘You could say that.’

Boaz didn’t mean to tease but very few opportunities ever arose when Pez seemed in the slightest ruffled. ‘Could he be you?’

Boaz had meant it playfully, to stop Pez from being so reticent all of a sudden, but the dwarf looked up, alarmed, the mask gone for a moment. The young Zar felt as though he saw his curious friend emotionally naked for the first time. Then, within a blink, the vulnerability was gone and Pez was laughing. ‘No, child. I am too stupid-looking for Maliz to want this body.’ Pez suddenly became conspiratorial and surprised his companion by radically changing the subject. ‘Boaz, do you know your mother is welcoming forty-two of the girls from which she hopes one day you’ll select your wives?’

Boaz scowled. ‘I’m not ready to, er…you know.’

Pez laid a reassuring squat hand on the boy’s good arm. ‘I know. But she must prepare them for the day when you are ready, so they’re brought in very young and taught everything they need to know about palace etiquette and you. Some girls will be marked as special and they will learn their letters and language, dance and poetry.’

‘I’m not sure I’m interested in girls,’ Boaz replied glumly.

‘I suspect you will be soon. Shall we spy on them?’ Pez said, a glint of wickedness in those strange yellow eyes of his.

‘What?’

‘I know a hiding place. We can watch the girls being presented to your mother. No-one need know. Perhaps we can pick out a couple of beauties for you.’ Pez nudged the Zar who laughed but not convincingly

‘You’re mad, Pez.’

‘Apparently I am,’ and he gave the grin of a lunatic.

Each man who had secured his quota of girls was required to present them to the Valide. Lazar stomped gloomily through the corridors wrought in marble sculpture. Snatches of torch-lit gardens and tiny, exquisite courtyards could be glimpsed through the latticed walkways; the sounds of cicadas singing and fountains gently gurgling permeated the heavy evening air scented with jasmine and honeysuckle. But the Spur was blind to the beauty of the palace tonight.

His mind was filled with worry for the future of Ana, wondering how he might help ease her into palace life, the prison sentence he had committed her to.

There was no way out for her now. Ana had been whisked away by guards before Lazar could
say goodbye. The young woman had turned solemnly as she was led away and her sad gaze had held him as though she could actually touch the deep pool of sorrow he thought he hid so well. She seemed to know him in those final moments and he knew her. Even in the first delicious throes of love in his youth, Lazar had never experienced such a sense of belonging. It was as if Ana could see into his secretive soul, had somehow trapped it into her own heart and now she owned him.

Bah!
he to himself.
What you need, Lazar, is a soft bed, a good woman for the night and several carafes of wine. No better way to drown your sorrows.
But the words sounded as hollow in his mind as the click of his boots on the marble floor.

He was the first to arrive at the Choosing Room because he was the only man sent out to find suitable girls who had the run of the palace. Like Pez, Zar Joreb had granted Lazar open access to everywhere but in the Spur’s case it was everywhere except the harem. The others would probably be gathered in the Moon Courtyard, the first entry point into the palace proper, awaiting their escort of eunuch guards.

The Choosing Room was the chamber where all the new odalisques were brought to be looked upon and judged whether they were suitable for the next inspection…a far more intrusive and disturbing experience for the successful girls. But not this evening. The chamber had been opened
only once in the last few decades and Lazar could tell that a veritable army of slaves had been sent in to air, clean and freshen the room. Now all the shutters were open and the glass lanterns were clean and lit; formal seating had been arranged, including a throne-like set-up, presumably so Herezah could play at being a queen and forget that she too had once been brought here as a young slave.

He could feel the bitterness welling up again, knew he must get a grip on it before proceedings began or it would not bode well for him or young Ana.

He emptied his mind—something Jumo had taught him to do—and focused on the ancient, intricately painted friezes around the walls. He had never visited this room before, and although he recognised the pattern as being common enough in Percheron, now that he was concentrating on it he realised it wasn’t just an abstract shape but in fact was the curve of a cowrie shell. It was beautiful. Painted in soft hues, the design rolled elegantly around the walls, framing arches and windows, small recesses and the great doors that had guided him into the chamber. And now that he looked at them with studied pleasure he noticed that the doors themselves had the same sweeping curves of the shell hammered out of the bronze they were fashioned from. The walls were washed in shell pink and the floors were a pinkish marble—all
in all a thoroughly feminine hall, Lazar decided, impressed.

His pleasure was interrupted by the swish of silks and a voice he knew and despised. Suddenly he was back to reality and Jumo’s clever trick would no longer work for him.

‘Ah, Spur Lazar,’ Salmeo lisped. ‘I hope you’ve found our boy some beauties to bed.’

‘Not so fast, Grand Master Eunuch, Boaz will choose his time.’

The eunuch licked his lips and Lazar hated the way his pink tongue flicked through the gap in his teeth. There was something quietly obscene in the gesture. ‘I noticed you admiring the decor,’ the eunuch said. ‘It signifies the female form, did you know that, Spur?’

Lazar shook his head and strolled away as if his interest had been caught by something.

‘Ah yes,’ the huge man continued, following him, ‘this chamber is dedicated to women. It is where they are formally given into the care of the harem; their last contact with men in general.’ He giggled and covered his grin with his huge hand. ‘But of course they’ve known no men,’ he added as if in self-admonishment.

Lazar made a soft growling sound of disgust at this sudden affectation. He’d heard enough stories to know the chief eunuch took his own cruel form of pleasure at the expense of the harem women, except there were no longer any women in the harem; they were still essentially
children, who needed protecting and nurturing. He wanted to laugh at himself for his own ridiculous sentiment—it was so ironic that he was one of the perpetrators who had brought children to the palace, whilst still making mewling sounds of complaint. He moved further away, not wanting to smell the fragrance of violets that Salmeo habitually blew over all those he spoke with. It seemed like a grim parody that someone so vile would breathe such sickly sweet breath.

‘Spur, Salmeo.’

Lazar turned to find Tariq bubbling over with self-importance.

‘Are you required here, Vizier?’ Lazar asked, his tone as casual as he could achieve. ‘Surely your expertise is needed elsewhere?’

The man swelled with pride. ‘You’re right, of course, Spur. But the Valide is keen for me to see all aspects of the palace workings. Establishing a harem is fundamental to the smooth running of the new Zar’s reign. She believed it was worthwhile that I be present.’ He shrugged, feigning gentle modesty at her order.

The jewels on his split beard were now accompanied by tiny bells which tinkled as he moved and Lazar was reminded of another reason why he wanted to be gone from the palace. What would happen to Percheron in the hands of Herezah and this supercilious fool? He forced a smile to cover his disgust, gave a short bow and
excused himself from these two vulgar partners of the Valide Zara.

A gong was sounding somewhere close and served to distract his companions’ attention.

‘The Elim comes,’ Salmeo said.

Footsteps sounded louder, and low murmuring voices of men could be heard. Six spotters, as Herezah called them, were led in, flanked by twelve guards, all distinctive by their loose, pristine red uniforms. Each guard had his head shaved—there was no mistaking the Elim. The spotters themselves were mainly merchants, and among them was a man Lazar was acquainted with. Bosh could supply almost anything anyone could ever want, legal or illegal. Finding young girls for a harem would have been easy for him. Lazar had had his run-ins with him over the years, thanks to the man’s natural tendency towards breaking laws, but Bosh was good-natured enough and Lazar would rather deal with ten or even twenty of his kind than one of Salmeo’s or Tariq’s.

‘Why the blindfolds?’ Tariq asked.

Lazar refused to answer the mindless question but Salmeo was more enlightening. ‘Although the Choosing Room is not technically within the borders of the harem, it remains close enough that traditional precautions are still taken. These men have no idea where they are right now and they will never find out. The blindfolds will be removed once the great doors are shut and
returned just before they open and the six are escorted back out.’ Salmeo smiled and Lazar was reminded of a predator. ‘You are most fortunate that we did not provide similar treatment for you, Vizier.’ The words were harmless enough but the intent was all too clear.

Salmeo gave a sign and the great doors were closed with a deep clang. The blindfolds were removed and the spotters blinked, got their bearings; Bosh saw Lazar immediately and nodded.

‘Welcome, brothers,’ the Grand Master Eunuch said. ‘May we offer you some refreshment?’

Curtains at the back of the room were pulled apart and a small stream of servants—all male—flowed smoothly into the room and around the newcomers. Each held golden trays upon which sat great goblets, dewy on their sides from the iciness of the beverage.

Bosh sidled over to Lazar. ‘Do you know they lug blocks of ice and sometimes snow from the Azareems, across thousands of leagues, just to chill the palace beverages,’ he declared in wonder.

‘So I’ve heard,’ Lazar replied in a voice to deaden all awe.

The wealthy trader raised his goblet. ‘To the new harem, then. Zorash!’

Lazar couldn’t bring himself to toast the very thing that was making him feel so disturbed. ‘To beautiful women,’ he offered instead and Bosh drank with him, winking as he did so.

‘I’m surprised you were asked to get involved in this task, Spur,’ the man commented.

‘So was I. Excuse me.’ Lazar nodded and moved away.

Bosh was not upset by the Spur’s abrupt manner. Everyone in Percheron knew him to be a difficult man, who rarely involved himself in anything deeper than cursory conversation. The man shrugged, approached another of the merchants and was soon comparing notes on the quality of the girls.

Lazar wondered where Ana was, wished again he could change everything that had happened since arriving on that ridge in the foothills. He should have left the tranquil scene as he found it; listened to his heart and turned for home.

He had a vague feeling of impending danger. A sense of something dark building, gathering, forming itself. And somehow he seemed to be at its centre.

Pez led Boaz through a maze of corridors the boy was sure he had not travelled previously. Now that he thought about it, his world was so small. Life in the palace might well be grand but everything about his existence was controlled by his mother. It was Herezah who authorised all the people who would be responsible for his getting up and going to bed, being bathed, fed, educated, even down to choosing where and with whom he played, when younger.

He and Pez were thumbing their nose at traditional rules and Boaz knew he had agreed to this lunacy only because he was angry with his mother and it felt satisfying to act so independently and without worrying about the consequences. He was the Zar after all.

Mind you, now that they were here—in the most dangerous part of the whole of Percheron to be seen if you were an intact male—he didn’t feel quite so keen to snub authority or risk the certain wrath should anyone, not just his mother, find out. He wanted to say as much but as he
opened his mouth to speak, his friend hissed a warning.

‘Now silence, Boaz,’ Pez urged. ‘We’re about to enter the realm of the harem.’

Boaz looked suddenly fearful. ‘It’s forbidden, Pez.’

‘Not forbidden to me,’ the little man said and grinned wickedly. ‘And let’s not forget who you are.’

‘Nevertheless,’ Boaz said, grabbing his friend’s short arm. ‘I cannot. My mother would—’

‘What? Kill you? I think not. Not when you are the source of her status.’

‘Well, she’d never forgive me.’

‘What if I told you I could ensure that you were never seen?’

‘I should not believe you.’ Boaz laughed.

‘Then you must trust me. I will not lead you into trouble, Boaz. I am leading you towards enlightenment.’

Before the Zar could reply, a boy of about Boaz’s age rounded the corner.

‘Zar!’ he exclaimed, cringing instantly into a bow.

Pez sighed. That was that then. Lucky they hadn’t actually crossed the official, invisible line that separated harem from general palace.

‘Hello, Kett,’ Boaz said good-naturedly, recovering from the shock of discovery but only barely. ‘I’m escaping my tutors and keepers, guardians and mother. Everyone in fact. Do you know Pez, my jester?’

Pez began to pick his nose and render a small

jig.

Kett, a servant to the eunuchs, shook his head dumbly, looking from the Zar to the clown, who was now examining the contents from his nostrils.

Boaz winced. ‘He has some awful habits. Don’t mind him. I haven’t seen you in ages.’

‘Forgive me, High One. Since turning fourteen they think I’m ready to take on more duties. They keep me busy, Majesty,’ he said, bobbing another bow. ‘But I miss our fun.’

‘Kett was a playmate of mine for a while,’ the Zar explained to Pez, who pretended to pay no attention to anything but digging at his ear. ‘His mother served my mother when she first came to the palace. Kett was allowed to join in some of my games until my mother felt we were becoming too close. She separated us.’ He looked back to the boy whose black face had not lost its expressiveness with the added years. ‘How many years ago was that, Kett?’

‘Four, Majesty. My humble prayers for your father but I admit I rejoiced to hear that you were our next Zar.’

‘Thanks, Kett. So what are you doing?’ Boaz was keen to lose the royal tag for just one evening. He pulled the dwarf’s hand away from his nose. Pez began to sing instead.

‘Is he always like this, High One?’ Kett asked.

‘I’m afraid so. He can be very amusing, though.’

Kett looked dubious but remembered his manners. ‘I’ve finished for the night, Majesty. I was on my way back to my quarters. I’m not allowed anywhere near the harem, of course, but some of us use this corridor as a short cut to our dormitories.’

‘Oh, of course. I guess you would get into trouble if you were seen in the harem.’

Kett grinned. ‘I don’t want to follow in my superiors’ footsteps and be a eunuch—I think I like girls too much. I want to be one of the Spur’s men if they’ll let me. My mother’s connection to yours might help, now that your mother is Valide Zara.’

‘Good for you, Kett. I hope you get what you want.’

The boy nodded. ‘Is there anything I can do for you, High One?’ he asked. ‘I hope you don’t mind me mentioning that you shouldn’t be here either.’

‘No, you’re right. We were just larking around. Pez’s silly singing and dancing led us here.’

‘Let me guide you from here, Majesty,’ Kett offered.

‘Do you like to see naked girls?’ Pez asked, a question that brought polite conversation to a halt. The two boys stared at one another. Then both stifled embarrassed laughter. ‘Because I know a hiding spot where we can see them, tra-la-la.’ He began to dance again, a dullard’s grin on his face.

‘Is he mad?’ Kett asked.

‘Completely,’ Boaz confirmed.

The dwarf slid through a doorway hung with black velvet.

‘What’s he doing?’ Kett asked, alarmed. ‘That’s forbidden!’

‘Not to him. Pez has royal permission to go wherever he likes, including the harem’s hallways and chambers.’

Pez stuck his head out of the curtains. ‘And so do you, Zar Boaz. You
are
the royal authority. There is no higher authority in the land than yours.’

‘What’s he talking about?’

Boaz sighed. ‘He’s daring me to go into the forbidden halls of the harem.’

‘No, High One. You cannot,’ Kett begged. ‘Come, I shall take you from here.’

Boaz looked between the two, but the challenge in Pez’s expression won out. Boaz knew he was essentially someone who craved peace, quiet, study and reflection. Oh, he loved to play boisterous games but he didn’t like getting hurt and he didn’t like hurting others. In truth Boaz would prefer to rule with compassion rather than the dictatorial approach his father had taken and his father before him. However, he understood that this was the way of the Zars of Percheron and that strength and discipline were the foundation of the rule. If he could, he’d run away to one of the desert monasteries Lazar had once told him of,
but that was the child in him. He must dig deep and turn quickly into the man his father had chosen him to be—firm, decisive, ruthless.

‘Come, Boaz,’ Pez urged in a whisper. ‘You must see what your mother is planning for you.’

‘Come with us, Kett,’ Boaz offered, on a whim.

‘Cannot protect the servant boy,’ Pez muttered in a singsong voice but Boaz ignored him.

‘You said you liked girls.’

‘I do. Not enough to be beheaded for them.’

‘I won’t allow that. You forget I am Zar,’ Boaz answered haughtily. Surprised at his own courage, Boaz grabbed Kett’s arm and dragged him between the curtains.

Kett yelled but Boaz pushed a hand across the boy’s mouth. ‘Hush now!’

‘Can’t protect him,’ Pez sang softly as he waddled deeper into the dark corridor.

‘You hush too,’ Boaz growled to Pez. ‘This is your fault. Now lead on!’

The three adventurers moved in silence. This particular passageway remained black, draped with fabric. Finally they emerged into a dimly lit opening from which several corridors led.

Pez put his finger to his lips and Boaz felt a tingling fear crawl up his spine. Zar or not, this was fraught with a danger he didn’t want to meet.

‘Where we need to be is still on the fringe of the harem,’ Pez whispered. ‘Follow me,’ and the boys dutifully followed the little man, hoping to the gods that no-one was coming the other way.

Pez appeared to read their thoughts. ‘Everyone will have been banished from these hallways for the duration of the Choosing Ceremony. Fret not, we are alone. But from now on we must remain silent as mice.’

They nodded, spectral in the murkiness where tiny flames in hanging lanterns cast a thin, ghostly light.

They twisted and turned down various corridors until finally Pez slowed and gave them a look of dire warning. Boaz could see a new intensity of light ahead and nodded to his friend. They had arrived.

Moving forwards tentatively they held their breath until they reached some latticework, which offered thin protection between themselves and a gathering of people in a decorative chamber. They were men, drinking, socialising. Their noise drowned out anything the three interlopers might say.

‘This is called the Choosing Room. It’s where a selection of girls will be presented to the Valide Zara. It is from this range of lovelies that you will eventually choose your wives, Boaz,’ Pez whispered.

‘Do I get any say in the matter?’ he muttered.

Pez grinned. ‘Of course. But your mother makes the initial selection. She is seeing forty-two girls today.’

‘Where is she?’

‘Arriving any moment now, I’d suggest.’ Pez glanced at Kett, could see the strain of terror on his
face, wished deeply that Boaz had not invited this boy along. He was a danger to all of them and yet, that thought aside, there was something else about Kett which nagged at Pez. Something important. He didn’t know the boy but he felt as if he should. There was a connection between them, which it seemed only he felt. He berated himself for not being able to see it more clearly, or understanding why he felt sudden sorrow for the child.

But it was too late to turn back. Guards would have been posted now that the Valide Zara was on her way. They were trapped and would have to remain here, silent until Herezah had left the chamber and returned to her own rooms.

He thought about what had driven him to this madness. The voice of the old woman had urged him. He had no idea who she was or why she spoke to him. She had told him many years ago that he had a task—a critical one—and it concerned what she had called the Return. It was too abstract even for Pez’s clever mind. He often thought he dreamed the voice but he obeyed it nonetheless.

He came out of his worried thoughts to concentrate on peering through the latticework. The old woman wanted him to see something—he was not sure yet who or what. The woman told him his heart would tell him; the same heart that was hammering now with anticipation.

A herald sounded loudly from the surrounding balustrade, calling everyone to order. The men hushed. The Valide Zara was announced and Herezah swept into the chamber from a secret entrance that obviously connected to the harem proper. Lazar noted she was following strict protocol in being covered head to foot but there was nothing modest about the way she presented herself. Dressed in brilliant emerald silks, only her eyes showed and they were dark and dangerous. She had expressive eyes and even from this distance Lazar could read the excitement in them.

She shimmered as she moved, the lantern light catching the tones weaved into the silk, one moment violet, the next deep emerald and then a hint of a dark pink. There was no question that Herezah could silence a room with her dark beauty—even veiled she commanded attention.

Everyone bowed low to acknowledge the Valide’s arrival. Then Tariq and Salmeo moved forwards to join her on the special plinth erected for this evening’s proceedings. Both seemed to be basking in her bright glory. Oh yes, Lazar thought, Herezah would find willing servants in these two. And again a gloom settled about him as he considered just how Ana would cope with these cruel, ambitious people controlling her life.

‘Hail, Valide Zara,’ Salmeo called and everyone responded.

‘Thank you, brothers, for your rousing welcome.’ There was a playfulness in Herezah’s
tone tonight. She was enjoying herself; this was surely a moment she had dreamed about.

Herezah continued. ‘We are gathered this night for you to present suitable girls for inclusion in Zar Boaz’s harem. I thank you for helping us to find the raw material from which he will select his wives and thus future heirs for Percheron, and we will be glad to pay handsomely for each of the girls deemed suitable.’ She nodded towards Salmeo, who beamed in response and stepped forward as she moved to sit on her throne.

It was Salmeo’s turn. ‘I would like to clarify on behalf of the palace how the choosing of the Zar’s harem works. Firstly, you have brought between you forty or so girls aged between ten and fifteen. We thank you for this. As agreed we will pay twenty-five karels per child, no matter whether they are chosen or not. The girls we accept will attract a further fifty karels paid to you as your finding fee. Those we do not select you may sell in the market for your personal gain or keep to do with as you wish.’ His tongue flicked between his teeth and his lips shone with the moistening. All but Lazar laughed at his innuendo. Permission to rape a child had effectively just been granted under royal authority. He felt a desperate surge of hope that Herezah would reject Ana for some reason—he didn’t care what—and then he could keep her from this evil trio’s touch. No-one in their right mind could resist her, of course; Lazar knew he was clutching at the thinnest of straws.

Salmeo was still speaking. ‘…Vizier Tariq will see to payment, yes,’ he answered someone. ‘Which brings me to the point that the entire fee will not be settled for the girls chosen this evening until they have completed the Test of Virtue.’ He allowed this seemingly innocuous statement to hang for a moment. ‘I’m sure you understand, brothers,’ he added lasciviously.

If he had not heard his name called first, Lazar was sure he would have found a reason to leave the chamber.

‘Spur Lazar kindly agreed to help us with the quota of girls and I’m sure none of you will mind if he presents his selection first. He’s a busy man, as you know, and no doubt is eager to return to his duties having been away. Spur?’

Lazar ignored Salmeo and cleared his throat. ‘Valide Zara, please forgive my dusty appearance, I have not had time since returning from the foothills to change into something more appropriate for your company,’ he said, as he approached the plinth. In truth he could not care less about his appearance, especially where she was concerned, but it was something to say into the silence and it played to her vanity, particularly with what he was planning over the next few minutes.

Herezah nodded. ‘Worry not, Spur, I’m sure most men would give an eye to look as good as you do even in dirty garments.’

The men around him sniggered, mostly out of jealousy, but Lazar deliberately kept his
expression blank, his eyes firmly fixed on the Valide. But then Herezah knew precisely how to provoke a reaction from him, how to tease or embarrass him. So far she’d never won the anger she so craved from him. He would not give it now even though it simmered inside.