Kismet Ch 03

Azlan Al-Barbakh, by the will of God and the strength of his own good right arm, Sultan of Azerbaidistan sat comfortably in his chair. Languorously, he let his left hand run slowly down the dusky back and over the plump bottom of his chosen woman for the night. In time she would enthusiastically entertain him with her body but, he thought regretfully, it would have to wait. First there were matters of state to be dealt with.

"So to recap your report, Mahmood, while I was out of the city, this woman Hera came to my queen asking for help. In complete violation of the laws of hospitality and of the words of the Prophet himself, Mada has the woman beaten and the daughter she bore sold as a slave. Worse yet, the sale is made to the lover Mada believes she keeps hidden from me, a man notorious for the way he ill-treats women. Additionally, your spies in the

harim

state that from the maiden's appearance there is no doubt that the girl is my daughter. And the auctioneer made no attempt to determine if this sale had my permission?"

The object of the royal query stood quietly and calmly in the sultan's presence. Mahmood Al-Bezier was most noticeable for his ability to go unnoticed; a trait of great value to the director of Azerbaidistan's much feared secret service. "Most likely, my lord, he had no idea who she was. Besides I suspect that he was more interested in the considerable price Afsoon would bring, given both her stunning beauty and her proven virginity. No doubt your queen stared him down in such a way that he thought it better not to ask. What is possibly of more concern is what she has done with Hera. I've begun enquiries but don't have any leads as yet."

The sultan steepled his fingers in front of his aquiline nose and narrowed his eyes into that scowl that too often meant slow, painful death to anyone who displeased him. "She gets entirely too far above herself, does my queen. Harem politics are by nature cutthroat. They always have been and always will be. It is the nature of women when cloistered at the beck and call of one man to compete viciously for his favor. However, this goes too far, Mahmood, much too far.

"I remember Hera, well and fondly do I remember her. Many women come to the sultan's couch seeking favors or advancement. Hera sought nothing but my love and Mada's friendship. Abusing the hospitality of the palace is not only against my law but against every principle of morality. It is intolerable. It is good that you have spies within my walls, otherwise this crime might have well gone undetected."

Mahmood bowed respectfully. "Shall I have the guards bring Mada and her lover General Risay to you? They think that the bribes they pay those guards hide their secret tunnel and their trysts from your eyes. If I may offer my lord an opinion, you have been too lenient in this matter. Perhaps it is time to bring things to a close? We can heighten the terror by having their own guards arrest them, if it pleases you?"

"It would please me personally, Mahmood, very much. On the other hand, I have a soft spot in my heart for the alliance we formed with her late father and which continues under her brother, the new king. He guards our northern flank while we expand to the west. I can ill afford to fight a two front war, as you well know. No we must be more circumspect for the present and remember that 'personal' is not always the same as 'important'."

Azlan's scowl relaxed and his face grew contemplative. "I wonder . . . You know, Mahmood, that the sultan's offspring exist solely to further his rule. The sons become his officers and his daughters the means of securing treaties and alliances through marriage . . . at least they have thus far. What might be possible if one young woman were to become a secret agent, wiggling secrets off the pillows of ambassadors and visiting rulers? Perhaps we should not act too hastily in this matter."

A slow, thin smile twitched up the corners of Mahmood's mouth. "Risay's slave women are said to undergo the most rigorous of training. Their skills when fully trained are spoken about breathlessly by those lucky enough to be invited into his

harim

. His training methods are far from gentle, however, so are you

sure

you wish to have Afsoon in his clutches? She seems to be, after all, your daughter."

The sultan's steepled fingers began to tap a steady rhythm against each other and a cunning smile began to spread across his swarthy, aquiline features. "Yes, she

is

my daughter. Mahmood, I can often smell when a woman is fertile and I've suspected for all these years that Afsoon was mine. On her yearly visits, Hera would brag about her daughter, how head-strong and adventurous she was. She rode the wildest horses as well as any man and walked among the household mastiffs without fear when even their handlers never approached the ends of their chains. All her life, I was told, Afsoon's only law was her mother's will. If she did not fight to the death at the auction, it could only have been to protect her mother from further abuse.

"Risay brags that he breaks his women for riding the same way he breaks his horses, but I don't think Afsoon will break. At first she will resist and suffer for it. Eventually, she will become compliant to his desires and learn to accommodate them, but being

my

daughter it is unlikely that she will actually break. Instead, I rather suspect that she will bide her time and wait for an opportunity to present itself either for escape or revenge. Before that happens we must be ready. We must let her do nothing to jeopardize her safety so make sure that your spies within his household are fully alert. This young woman has great potential as a weapon of state, Mahmood. She must not be allowed to go to waste!"

"There is one small question, my lord," replied the director, "if she is still a slave, how will she be employed? Are you planning on freeing her?"

"In time, yes." Azlan's attention was beginning to wander back to the dark-skinned beauty beside him. "There is, after all, the question of that rather large inheritance from Hera's husband you uncovered. Fortunately, I can make sure to safeguard that before any more unpleasantness occurs. Eventually, she will be a wealthy woman but before then, Azerbaidistan will have need of the use of her body as well as her brain. Mahmood, don't you think you might have room in

your

harem for her, at least for awhile?" The sultan winked at his servant. "Risay's trained women are not to be missed, after all. Look at this one." Again his hand stroked the concubine's bottom. She wiggled appreciatively under it.

Mahmood bowed low and long. "My lord, I would consider it an honor as well as a pleasure. God grant I might even provide you with grandchildren."

Azlan waved his hand in dismissal. "If God grants it, see that you do, my subtlest of servants. And now you may leave us." As the spymaster bowed his way out, Azlan pulled gently on the slave girl's leash, bringing her to his knees before him. Grandchildren? The sultan snorted derisively. Offspring were useful but troublesome. Slave girls, on the other hand, were simply delightful. He hoped that Afsoon would take to her slave training well. He was already thinking of ways to employ her.

Mahmood Al-Bezier padded noiselessly down the corridor that led from the Sultan's private quarters to the well-concealed rooms that held the royal secret service. However casually his lord might phrase it, any request from Azlan's mouth was an inescapable command for Mahmood. So it had been from the day years ago when the young royal Captain had snatched him, an older sergeant, from the scimitars of the infidels. So it would continue until the spymaster finally filled the tomb reserved for him. The Sultan had graciously allowed the epitaph to be pre-inscribed on the lid "Mahmood Al-Bezier, loyal unto death."

Tapping an apparently blank spot on the palace wall, he slipped through the concealed opening. "Ahmed," Mahmood called to his trusted second-in-command who immediately rose from his writing desk, "the sultan will know the whereabouts of the woman Hera. We have already determined that she is nowhere within the palace walls so the queen must have secreted her in another location. Find her. Then, construct some sort of ruse whereby the queen thinks that she is dead and bring Hera away. His lordship commands it."

Ahmed bowed low. "It will be as the Sultan commands. If the woman is still alive, we will know it and take the necessary action. Does his lordship want her brought back here?"

"He did not say," came the answer, "but it would seem unwise to have her where the queen might accidentally discover her. No, have her taken to the winter palace and see to it that the College of Physicians and Bonesetters attends to her. I am not sure what his lordship plans for her but she must be healed and well as soon as possible."

The spymaster turned away and entered his private cubicle. There he sat down on the silken cushions before his own writing desk, lit the hookah next to him with a coal from the brazier and puffed the water-pipe into life.

Now

, he thought,

the next problem will be to make sure that Afsoon is properly trained without getting herself harmed. Malay has a good heart for such things but Delbar is the older, more experienced agent and the more motherly. A much better choice.

Mahmood leaned back, smiled to himself and began to apply his considerable intellect to the unfolding puzzle. This was going to be interesting.