Level: Attendant

Princess Brina didn’t meet the President of Tasman until she had been his guest for nearly two months. During that time, she had learned how to wrestle, basic combat skills and the rules of etiquette in the Court of the President. Through deduction, she had also learned that the President had to be an enlightened man and one who feared attack at any time. But he had to also be a man of primitive instincts, because he maintained a harem of almost one thousand women.
Perhaps by design, she wondered, she felt a deep curiosity about her captor by the time the Chief Eunuch, Moussa, visited her private quarters.
“Get dressed Brina. You have an appointment with the President. Put on your finest dancing dress, the purple one.”
“Ha! That’s a laugh. Firstly, nobody has taught me to dance, and secondly, it’s little more than a sequined bikini – just the addition of a see-through skirt! And anyway, why should I bother?”
“You have hardly felt the touch of a whip since you have been here. And you have your own quarters. He has been generous. Do you want to throw such … luxuries away for the sake of a stroll in a bikini?”
“Ha! Is that all he wants? A stroll?”
“Actually, he only wants to see you and to talk. He feels you have waited long enough.”
“Oh, does he now? Very kind of him!”
But in fact, Moussa had carefully chosen his words to appeal to her pragmatic side. During the previous few weeks, Brina had also learned that the corpulent eunuch was a thoughtful, and for the most part, moderate being – she could never bring herself to use the word ‘man.’ He had also proved adept at cajoling and organising the women of the harem without actually disturbing too much more the restless waters of their affected gaiety. Most women were there of their own free will, hoping to further their ambitions or escape poverty, and only had jealous schemes to disturb their sleep. But a few, like Brina, were captives and tried Moussa’s patience whenever they could. And his patience had proved prodigious.
For the first time, he led Brina right through the main harem court, the wide space where they spent their day in recreation, away from the sun that would tan their skins, an effect the President did not relish. Brina looked in awe at the variety of women she saw; tall blondes, short, buxom brunettes, women as large as small elephants and dwarf-women, many with slight disfigurements such as missing toes. Redheads competed with blondes and women with shaved heads for Moussa’s attention as he led the new girl through the bustle. Several eyed Brina up and down with the cool objectivity of horse-traders:
“She looks a bit fat around the calves!” a tall blonde said.
“Feet too big for the Master,” a demure brunette whispered, grinning cruelly when Brina stole a sideways glance at her.
Brina felt relieved when she reached the President’s count.
“Kneel before the President, as I have shown you,” Moussa said, under his breath.
Brina stood with her legs apart and refused to kneel or try to look feminine.
“It’s alright Moussa,” the President said. “She is royalty. Leave us.”
The voice that spoke from a dais above Brina was both melodious and very low, so that she thought for a moment that it was singing. She cast her eyes up and saw a tall man with long, silky, black hair that hung from his head loosely and had been laid evenly upon his shoulders extravagantly.
‘What a vain idiot!’ she thought.
But then she looked again. A prominent nose divided eyes that were deep set, and penetrating.
“I suppose you want to know what you are doing in my Palace?”
“Presidents don’t have palaces!” she retorted, immediately regretting it.
But the man ignored her comment and pointed to a silver tray, placed upon a carved mahogany table, to her left. The workmanship of the table and tray were beyond even the best that she had experienced in her father’s court. The man pointed to a silver goblet and platter upon the tray:
“Have some wine, and a biscuit if you want. They are very good.”
Brina could see no reason not to, so she sipped the wine:
“Um. Not bad. My father has better.”
“And a biscuit?”
The man shifted his weight and, as he did so, his long, midnight blue toga slipped apart to reveal a bare chest. Brina could see that he had run somewhat to fat in his older years.
‘But he must have been a magnificent specimen once!’ she reflected.
She bit into the dry biscuit:
“Um. Flavoured with cumin and some other herb I can’t quite place. Where do you get these ingredients?”
“Hm. You’re a cultured woman. No one else would guess even one of those flavours. The second is saffron. I have them made here, in the Palace. We even have chocolate ones, but I will save those for later. I brought you here today to tell you a little of my purpose for you. And to see you myself of course. You are quite magnificent.”
Brina ignored the fact that he had ignored her own question. She swallowed the rest of the wine and finished all the biscuits.
“Aren’t they feeding you well?” the President asked.
“Oh yes. But it’s a bit boring, you know?”
“So. You’re not curious why I brought you here?”
“I’m not completely stupid! I’m some kind of bargaining chip.”
“Yes, exactly. Good. I like intelligent women. But there’s more to it than that. How do I explain this? I’m a man of simple tastes. But there are two things I want, badly. One is more power; a ruler can never have enough. And Currency is the most powerful empire around, so I want to take it over and try a new management system. Its wealth will make me possibly the most powerful man in the world. The second thing I want is books, or more specifically, one book. I want the Kama Sutra. And rumour has reached me that your father has the only remaining copy.”
“I’ve heard of it,” Brina asked, when the President searched her gaze.
“I thought so. I know you’re an experienced woman. That is why I let Captain Brindley live, despite his violations of your exquisite body. You see, a man with my tastes eventually gets to the point where he’s bored with his own sexual … inventiveness and wishes to know more. I need inspiration!”
The President expressed the last phrase with considerable frustration.
“You sound like a little boy, whose toy has broken!” Brina replied.

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