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Brad was standing at the front of the room
holding forth to the assembled crowd. Since I knew most of them the effusive
introduction was unnecessary but none the less welcome.
It was good to see them again. The Trade
Minister had Cora Argyll in tow, literally. Cora was hardly recognisable.
Wearing a long, full skirt but naked from the waist up, her entire torso, arms,
face and shaven head were covered with elaborate tattoos. The Trade Minister
was leading her by a chain that ran to a ring set in the septum of her nose. It
was only as she came alongside that I saw that the piercing had itself been set
with a silver grommet to prevent the ring causing damage. I asked the Minister
about the designs on her body.
“Do you know about the Pythork?”
he asked.
I searched my memory and eventually
remembered the incident at the Castle. “The ritual snake
dance?”
“Yes. For us it is a potent symbol. A symbol of life and regeneration. In the eastern
countryside the barren nature of the land means there are few snakes. They
tattoo their women this way to summon their spirit. These are their traditional
designs.”
I looked more closely at the swirling
patterns that curled around Cora’s body. There were indeed stylised snakes,
intricately wound about each other like the patterns on some Saxon illuminated
manuscript. Forked tongues twined around each of her cheeks. The head of a
cobra was pictured on her forehead, its tongue reaching down to the tip of her
nose.
Cora knelt, docile, beside the Minister.
“Did you discover her reasons for conspiring to abduct you?” he asked. I nodded
but felt unwilling to share them. There was little pointing washing the Clegg
Organisation’s dirty linen with its customers. “Yes,” I said. “It is all
resolved now.”
The Minister smiled respecting my
discretion.
“Is this the sort of thing you’re looking
to develop with your cultural transfer programme?” I asked.
The Minister chuckled. “Nothing so extreme,
my friend,” he said, “or at least as far as the United Nations Educational, Scientific
and Cultural Organisation is concerned. We are hopeful of getting funding for
our programme. They are beginning to understand the importance of protecting
endangered cultures, just as World Wildlife Fund seeks to protect endangered
species. Let’s say we are hopeful.”
The
“You think she will be shown to be
innocent?”
“Innocent is not a word I would use about
“Do you know what the greatest scandal is?”
Emma asked.
“I dread to think.”
“
“Don’t be absurd, Emma,” the
At the far end of the room sat Kushnati Koresh, his new wife in
attendance. Lauren was dressed demurely, sitting quietly beside her husband
while he raucously grabbed at drink and food from passing serving girls. She
even seemed accepting of his grabbing at the girls as well. She saw me, spoke
to her husband and walked slowly across to where I was standing beside the
Emma laughed. “You will need to speak to
her first,” she said. “No Kushtian woman will speak first to a man.”
“Lauren,” I said, accepting my cue. “How is
married life?”
Lauren relaxed and smiled impishly, the
proprieties having been observed. “Let’s say that the wedding vows still have
enough loopholes to let me have some fun. And some of Kushnati’s
tribe have turned out to be really rather good companions. Very
healthy, very physical, very much fun. They don’t speak much English of
course and my Kushtian is still not good but we manage to get by. I’m learning
a lot.”
I didn’t think she just meant the language.
“And how are your personal slaves?” I said,
thinking of Toos and Femke.
“Working their little butts off,” Lauren
smirked. “Keeps them too tired to think about trying to get
into the pants of any of the bucks around the place. They look after me
pretty good though – they’ve worked out that’s the way for as quiet a life as
they’re going to get. Plus,” she said, “and this bit is a real hoot, Kushnati’s letting his tongue hang out for them.”
“How is that good?”
Lauren looked around conspiratorially.
“Let’s say unrequited passion is not good for the old man’s blood pressure and
for a husband to take advantage of his wife’s slave girl would be a great
disgrace. Sometimes you can see the red mist rising in his eyes! I‘m looking forward to the inheritance.” She waved her fingers
at her husband. “Gotta go see the gimmer,” she said, “time to start working on his blood
pressure.” She smoothed down her tunic to show off her figure and
grinned when she saw the effect it had on her husband. “See you!”
I watched as she slid back across the room
to where her husband was waiting. “That doesn’t sound like my understanding of
the Kushtian laws of inheritance,” I said to the
“I think you are right my friend,” he said,
“but it will suit some for a vacancy to appear in the Elders and perhaps there
are those that have misled Kushnati’s wife in order
to serve their own ends.”
I was beginning to understand more about
Kushtian politics but I needed to get back to
© 2006
Freddie Clegg
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