The Seventh Desert by Gerry Taylor
This is the fifteen chapter (ex twenty two) of a novel about present-day slavery and gay sex.
Keywords: authority, control, loyalty, slavery, punishment, retraining, submission, gay, sex
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Chapter 15 -- The celebration of times
I stood in the foyer of the Lemon Palace and I revelled.
The Palace was ablaze with lights, as indeed was the avenue up to it from the Western Road. The gardens were illuminated with spotlights. Light was the theme and was in abundance. It was a splendid sight and warmed my heart that finally the Lemon Palace was completed to my satisfaction.
David Tuttle, who had overseen its completion, had assured me that he had gone over `yet again' every single specification of the design with the architects. Every system tested; every light switched on and off in confirmation of working order; every tap; every window; every door. His two assigned slaves, Jan and Zoran were so engrossed in their snag lists that on two occasions one day they even walked by me without even seeing me, such was their engrossment in their task in hand.
Aziz al-Aziz had been at my side on the first occasion and was about to rebuke them for not either making way for me, the Master, or for not acknowledging my presence with some form of obeisance.
`Aziz, the slaves are doing precisely what they should be doing -- their Master's business. Their first duty is not to bow and scrape to me, but to do my will.'
That will had now come to fruition on this, my most recent project, the Lemon Palace, my new and future home.
Six lists of guests had been compiled, family, bank, friends, neighbours, acquaintances and suppliers: a list of one hundred had grown to a hundred and fifty guests in all.
I had been slightly worried at Flavio, my Chef's ability, not as to the quality of the food, but as to the number of guests on this first night and particularly, to the cooking as he was in new kitchens.
Boss,' he had replied, let me prepare two small advance dinners for you and the Overseers and that will iron out any difficulties and ease any fears.'
So, it was. Two small dinners had shown up only the smallest of chinks in dinner party protocols.
Flavio now had twenty five slaves, individually trained in the various aspects of the kitchens, from Marko, Viktor and Efim, his desserts Chefs to teams of commis and sous-Chefs for different tasks.
Bob Conrad had his team of fifty food waiters, one for every three guests; Sevil had his team of drinks waiters. The dinner was more than a dinner; it was a tour de force in its success. Even Ben, my secretary, volunteered for whatever might be necessary, but I decided to keep him close at hand, though I had him release Gianni, his assistant, to the team of drinks waiters.
Because of the evening that it was and as some of the Dahran guests would be bringing spouses, I had Pete Downings, as Head of Household, with his sense of colour, suggest a cream coloured short-sleeved shirt and lemon coloured shorts as suitable mode of slave dress for the evening. When he had them all lined up in the courtyard for a pre-inspection, I could not help but feel more of a sense of pride in such well-turned out slaves, straining to serve their Master.
I stood in the foyer of the Lemon Palace and I revelled.
Admittedly, August is not the best time to have a Palace-warming, but the construction of the Lemon Palace had been completed much earlier than anticipated. Fortunately, the first week of August was cool and on the weekend day chosen, there was a fresh breeze blowing inland from the sea all day. The generally unchanging weather of Dahra could not have been more clement.
I stood in the foyer of the Lemon Palace and I revelled.
The first guests were arriving. My neighbours from up and down the Western Road; Jalal and Rashid al-Akhri; Jack and Fiona, my nephew and his wife -- baby Jason had been left at home; the al-Shaad brothers, from whom I had bought the grounds of the Lemon Palace; Gustav Ahlson and Colin Bowman from the Bank. The list went on and on.
As each arrived, I welcomed each one and had a slave accompany them inside into the sitting areas where two of the reception rooms had been united into one.
Within all of twenty minutes some seventy guests, some with a wife, some with more than one, had arrived, and had been accommodated. And still the limousines and cars were lining up the avenue before going round the Palace to the courtyard, to park where other teams of slaves were waiting with food and drink for the drivers.
Ben Trant was by the wall to my right in the foyer noting on his master-list the arrivals. One thing, however, piqued my curiosity, in that the arriving guests had brought presents. I had thought of asking at invitation stage that presents should not be brought, but that would not only have offended the Dahran hospitality code of ethics, as to the treatment of a host going back centuries, but it would have been generally ignored, because there is such a love in Arab cultures of giving presents, large and small.
This, however, was strange. All the presents seemed to be of the same shape, with the exception of those of the al-Shaad brothers who had flown back from the States specifically for the weekend and that of my opal mine General Manager, Zabian al-Kibbe.
Within thirty minutes of the stated arrival time on the invitation, just under the one hundred and fifty guests had arrived. Two drivers had appeared with gifts and apologies from their Masters, one who was ill and the other, who had a family emergency. Again the gifts were the same shape as the others; very surprising. The only other invited guest who had not arrived was the Sheik of Dahra himself, who had been invited as a courtesy, but whom I did not believe would actually arrive.
It was a splendid evening as evenings go and as evenings go, it flew. I was slightly over-anxious as to the coordination of the service, but need not have worried. There was a constant silent stream of waiter-slaves coming and returning to the kitchens under Bob Conrad's supervision. Drinks mainly of a non-alcoholic variety were being served, or individual orders for alcohol were being taken and immediately filled at two discrete side table-bars in the reception area. Three slaves were on standby duty for accidents and spillages, but in all the evening there were none.
I circulated. I uncirculated. I greeted. I was greeted. I was introduced more formally to those whom I knew less well.
At one point, Abdou al-Akhri caught my eye and with a slight nod of his head, indicated that he wanted me over to speak to me. I excused myself from the group I was with and went over to him. Abdou had flown in especially from Geneva for the evening. He tried to say that he had other business to attend to in Dahra. I had said `What other business?' knowing full well that he had none; and he had laughed knowing that he could not tell me a lie.
`Let's get a breath of air,' he said.
I followed him out to the foyer of the Palace and to the still open doors. As we walked through the foyer, a sweep of limousines poured into the curve of the avenue up to the Palace, the pennants of the royal household of the Sheik and that of the Sheikdom of Dahra fluttering in the evening breeze.
I looked at Abdou and he grinned. It was not the first time that I had confirmed to me the closeness of his life with that of the ruler of the Sheikdom. We went out through the doors of the Palace to the approach of the Sheik's limousine.
His Excellency was out of the car before it had stopped with that sprightly step of his which belies his advancing years.
`Your Excellency, what a surprise!'
`Sir Jonathan, could I miss a Palace-warming, as I think it is being called? How modern! It is I who am delighted to attend.'
Having shaken my hand, nodded to Abdou, the Sheik went in and worked the two reception rooms like the consummate politician he was for some minutes. I noted that Pete Downings, my Head of Household, had drawn aside a curtain to reveal two red high-backed chairs in velvet, which were pushed forward.
It was as if the orchestration was over at a specific moment and the last of the guests of note greeted either personally, or with an embrace, when the Sheik turned in front of the two chairs, faced the room and sat down. He has this habit of so doing and it is up to the courtier or in this case my Head of Household, to have the chair under him at the precise second. Pete Downings' timing was perfect and I found myself releasing a breath which I had been holding unintentionally.
I sat on the Sheik's right.
`I have not had the personal opportunity to thank you for handling the recent assignment of cases before the Court of Dahra,' the Sheik said.
His Excellency was referring to the forty two survivors of the failed invasion.
`Your Excellency, it is a fortuitous act of fate that I was in the right spot at the right time. Forty one are now working at my opal mine in the Seventh Desert and one special case is working at my other home, the Lime Palace. I shall review the situation in five years' time for those who are still alive.'
As we sat, several of my waiter-slaves had approached with a variety of dishes. A smallish table had materialised in front of the Sheik, who helped himself to some small portions.
I have always been impressed with the grasp of detail which the Sheik has over the affairs of Dahra and was no less impressed on this occasion when His Excellency touched on multiple aspects of the long-term investment of the country's quite vast resources and the international banking scene, which is my area of expertise.
I felt that the Sheik was being both business-like and courteous to me by directing the conversation to an area which made me more comfortable.
It is strange when you are talking to the likes of the Sheik. The level of conversation is sufficiently low to be personal, yet those in the immediate room are intimately aware of what is happening.
The Sheik had finished eating a small bowl of rice and flavoured sultanas and almonds, a local delicacy, when he clapped his hands and said out loud to the immediately quietened rooms, `Now, dear host, what is for dessert? Some fruit salad, perhaps?'
The entire guest-list burst out laughing. My recent dousing with fruit salad had clearly done the rounds of after-dinner talk in Dahra.
I think, your Excellency, you and the guests will be offered everything EXCEPT fruit salad,' I emphasised. It is now on a list of dangerous substances.'
Again, laughter was heard around the rooms, as the waiter-slaves moved in with dishes of the fruits of our farms, dates, sweat-meats and marzipans.
As the desserts were being offered, I beckoned to the medical staff and my Heads of Household and Stables to come forward and introduced them one by one.
When Aziz al-Aziz, my Head of Household at the Lime Palace was introduced, His Excellency commented on how Aziz's father had been known to his own father, at which Aziz's eyes gleamed in pleasure.
As each of the medical staff was introduced to the Sheik, he had a phrase or two to say to each. My other Overseers kissed the Sheik's hand and he moved on quickly to the next.
I spotted Vidor, the Hungarian slave who had been the original source of my being showered with fruit salad. He was serving a dish of individual chocolates away from us on the other side of the room. I beckoned him over.
`Vidor, put the dish down for his Excellency,' and he placed the dish of chocolates on the Sheik's table, looking somewhat anxious, as he knelt down on a spot before the Sheik that I indicated.
`Your Excellency, this is the slave who gave me such a close encounter with the fruit salad. He is now a valued member of my household.'
The Sheik was looking down at the Hungarian slave.
`Did your Master punish you for such an act?'
Vidor was embarrassed, but said, in perfect Arabic, `Only one stroke of a cane, great Sheik.'
`Sir Jonathan, only one stroke. I am surprised.'
`Your Excellency, one does not have to ride many jeeps into battle, when a single jeep will do.'
The Sheik smiled at me, at my reference to his leading the Dahran forces against the invasion of his country.
Indeed not!' and addressing Vidor, he said You are a good servant. Serve your Master well.'
Vidor's chest swelled with pride and his eyes sparkled.
`Vidor, you may kiss His Excellency's ring' I said which he did and then executed a perfect obeisance to the ruler of the Sheikdom. Before he could get up from his knees, the Sheik stretched out, took a chocolate from the tray on the nearby table and popped it into Vidor's mouth, which was open in surprise.
With a flick of his fingers, his Excellency was moving to other business. Nodding to one of his courtiers, his present for me was brought forward. Whatever might be decided about opening, or not, the other presents on this evening, the Sheik's had to be opened for all to see.
It was a beautiful wall-covering, a batique in greens and reds of marvellous intricate geometric and floral designs almost ten feet high by fifteen feet long. It was a royal present in every sense of the word.
It subsequently turned out that all the presents from all the guests were also batiques of different shapes and sizes and when I investigated the source of such organised conspiracy, it was no other than Pete Downings, my own Head of Household, who had indicated a supplier of batiques in the capital city to those who had enquired as what might be useful or good for a new Palace and the word had circulated to such a degree that I ended up with sixty nine batiques which I thought was as auspicious a number as one could get.
Some nice crystal, unlike the gifts of all the other guests, was given to me by Zabian al-Kibbe and the al-Shaad brothers because it seemed they had not been "in" on the secret of what to give, all having been out of the country for some days.
However, it was an evening for presents and I clapped my hands to get a moment's silence and to indicate to Ben Trant to bring in some presents, which I had prepared for my guests.
I had obtained the advice of Abdul Rahman al-Said of the House of Gems in the capital city, who said that in these circumstances it was best to give each guest something which each could have mounted, or adapted to their own choice.
With a ready supply of fire opals to hand from my own opal mine, I had the jeweller supply boxes for a minimum five-carat fire opal to each of my guests and thankfully, on the off chance that the Sheik might have attended, a box with four different coloured opals, ranging from yellow, to pink, to red to yellow red, each the size of a thumbnail.
His Excellency was suitably impressed and showed the gift to the assembled guests. I afterwards learned from the House of Gems that he had the four made into rings, one for each of his four wives.
The Sheik was already on the move. His courtiers were moving into departure mode and after the briefest, but most effusive thanks that included a bear-hug from the Sheik which did not go unnoticed by the guests, he was gone as quickly as he had arrived.
Abdou al-Akhri had disappeared as well, I noticed.
The evening had been a huge success. Guests, unless stopping overnight, do not stay long at Dahran dinners and by ten-thirty, the new Lemon Palace was empty except for the medical staff, my Heads of Household and Stables, and the myriad of slaves who had served the evening's guests.
I told all the slaves to assemble in the larger of the two function rooms and spent some time commenting on various aspects of the service that evening. The last two, whom I thanked in particular, were Flavio, my Chef, and Pete, the Head of Household of the new Lemon Palace. To each, I gave fulsome public praise. They had made the evening one to remember, and I would remember them. My affection for both these slaves did not go unnoticed either by the other slaves.
End of Chapter 15
To be continued...
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