Caliphate

Castle Noisvastei, Province of Baya, 10 Muharram,

1538 AH (21 October, 2113)

The sun was long down, and Hans had repaired to the brothel with almost frantic haste. Ling hadn't been expecting him so soon, less still had Petra. If Ling was expecting anyone it was the agent from the American Empire, whose image had been electronically transferred via her chip directly to her memory.

Nonetheless, Ling cleared her slate while Petra rescheduled to give herself an hour's free time before the customers began rolling in heavily. The two had then taken charge of Hans.

In fact, they took very close charge of the man. Ling, with one look at his stricken face, had settled him in an alcove in the common room and then raced off to Latif to beg for him a bottle of forbidden alcohol.

"Sure, why not?" the whoremaster had shrugged. "You're one of my best girls . . . I can spare you a bottle in a worthy cause . . . for, let us say, five dinar?"

"Don't be a pirate, Latif," Ling had answered. "The stuff's worth no more than a few dirhem."

"For you," Latif countered, "four dinar."

"Twelve dirhem."

They'd finally settled on "one dinar, five dirhem"—objectively outrageous, but Ling had had little alternative—to be added to Ling's freedom price. Since she was not just a slave, but a chippie and hence could never be truly free, that seemed a small matter to her.

Now, Ling and Petra poured the stuff into Hans while he poured forth his story.

"It's monstrous," he said, not merely visibly shaken but visibly shaking, despite the copious amount of unfamiliar alcohol he'd taken on. "What goes on down in that castle is just . . . beyond belief . . . they're infecting people with a disease just to see if it works and to see if they can turn it off on command. Mostly old slaves but today they brought in a shipment of children. Can you imagine? Children?"

A little voice in Ling's head told her, Get him to shut up. At least get him out of there. What he's talking about so freely could get you all put to death.

"Come on, Petra," Ling said, as naturally as if there were no voice. "We'll take him to my quarters. This is too public."

Expertly, the girls got Hans to his feet and maneuvered their way under his arms. This was not so unfamiliar a sight in the common room that any of the other clients really paid any attention, though Ling, of course, immediately alerted on her contact.

At least, none of the customers paid attention until Hans screamed, "Monster" and launched himself at a newly arrived customer, a tall, slender white type in clothing that screamed, "Infidel."

Hamilton had remembered a picture book from his childhood, showing a fairy castle then lost behind the "Iron Veil" of the

Caliphate. As a boy, the romance of the thing, the beauty in the pictures, hadn't moved him nearly so much as the crenellated battlements and towers. The differences he saw in the exterior of the castle were substantial enough that he had doubts the two images were even of the same structure. And, of course, the thing hadn't been painted in a very long time. White had changed to a dirty gray. Even the golden dome didn't really shine. It was all rather sordid and disappointing.

The inside of the place was still pretty splendid, Hamilton had to admit. Better than the thatched roofs and dirt floors of Moroland, in any case. And that's even before counting the hookers in.

A doorman, elegantly dressed and of medium build, took Hamilton's heavy coat and asked, "How shall I sign you in, sir?"

"Johann De Wet, Boer Republic of South Africa," Hamilton answered. By now the use of the false name came easily.

"Very good, Mineer De Wet. And may I ask, is there a particular kind of girl you're looking for or would you prefer to look around?"

Being in no particular hurry, not wanting to make himself obvious by asking for the uniquely exotic Chinese chippie by type, and knowing Bongo could use the time to scout out the castle, Hamilton answered, "They all look so nice. Why don't I just look around?"

The doorman bobbed his head appreciatively and said, "Then, sir, I recommend that you take a table in the common room. The girls are trained not to be aggressive—this isn't that kind of place—but if you see one you like just call her over. They are trained to be accommodating."

"Thank you. I think I'll do that."

There were signs, written in three languages, pointing the way. Hamilton followed those. With no art, neither statuary nor paintings, to adorn the walls, Hamilton had no reason or excuse to draw the passage out. He went directly up the broad staircase and then proceeded on to what he would have known, from the noise, to be the common room even if the signs hadn't indicated it.

Walking through the main door, Hamilton was unsurprised to see two girls carting off an obviously drunken soldier. He recognized the uniform as being very similar to those worn by the guards at the other castle. He also noticed that his contact was one of the two girls.

Notwithstanding, he was immediately very taken by the other, the one on the left, a tall and svelte blonde much to his taste. The closer she came the more intrigued he became. She wasn't Laurie Hodge, if anything this girl was prettier, but she could have been a close cousin, or even a sister.

Thus it was that Hamilton was taken completely off guard when the uniformed soldier screamed "Monster!" and launched himself at him.

Both girls were bowled over by Hans' mad charge. By the time they managed to get to their feet Hans and the stranger were grappling on the floor, trading ineffectual punches and kicks. A couple of patrons grabbed their drinks and their girls and backed away from a table just in time to avoid Hans and Hamilton's knocking it over on them.

Latif was at the scene in an instant, accompanied by two amazingly beefy guards. These latter pulled Hans and Hamilton apart effortlessly even as Latif bellowed, "What in the one hundredth name of Allah is going on here?"

Ling glided over to stand in front of Hans. "He must have been fed something bad to drink," she said, lifting her head defiantly. And you don't want to get in trouble for feeding alcohol to a janissary, do you?

The whoremaster nodded. No, as a matter of fact I don't. Yet this will come out of your hide before it comes out of mine. "Take him to your quarters," he commanded Ling. "And don't let him out until he's sober." To one of the guards he said, "Assist her."

Petra made as if to follow Ling until Latif held up one hand to block her. Latif glanced from the now bedraggled-looking new customer to Petra and back again. Yes, he's interested in her.

To Hamilton he said, "Would it be considered adequate recompense, sir, for the insult you have suffered in my house if this woman is turned over to your use for . . . say . . . a week?"

Pity it isn't the chippie that he offered. Still, the two look like they work together so this may be useful. But be a Boer, Hamilton thought. Bargain.

"A week is hardly—"

"Two then. Surely that will assuage your honor."

"Two," Hamilton agreed, with a solemn nod.

"And the hospitality of the house," Latif said, loudly enough for the staff to hear.

"Must be something serious for Latif to give out free booze," said one of the nonhooking staff to a currently unattached girl.

"No shit," the houri answered.