Chapter 1: Shopping

His Magnificence, the Emir Mahmoud Abdullah, may he live for ever, the young Emir of Kobekistan had been on the throne in the Golden Palace for four years; not physically, you understand, but figuratively. In that time he had recovered from the shock of inheriting the country unexpectedly, due to a series of odd accidents. When his Uncle and Grandfather were killed in an accident he was dragged, somewhat unwillingly, from his peaceful life as David Ransome, a Ph.D. student mathematician at Oxford, into a rôle for which he was totally untrained, in a country he had not seen since he was brought to England by his English mother at four years old. He took to it like a duck takes to water. He revelled in the harem system, and he soon learned how enjoyable absolute power can be.

The country, too, had taken to him. It indulged his little fancies, like having his mother in his harem, then selling her, then buying her back after her new Master had impregnated her. He had, after all, given the country what it wanted. He had now four possible successors, the Crown Prince, who was three, his half-brother, four months younger, and two other infant sons. He had even kept up the tradition started by his grandfather of hunting in a specially built artificial chase, where female slaves were hunted using Irish Wolfhounds, and then used by all the hunters at what was called the 'kill'. He could seem cruel and kind by turns to the western eye, but to the Kobekistanis he was their beloved Master who could do no wrong.

"Are you satisfied now with my fecundity?" asked the Emir of his Head of Protocol, Kamal Qumsiyeh.

"Master, it is not for me to be satisfied. It is the Master's wishes which are paramount," came the servile answer.

"Then advise me on protocol. I have the young Crown Prince Mustapha, who is now three years old; I have decreed that my half brother, Mahmoud be second in line and he is nearly three; I have two other sons of my own. How many more do I need?"

"Master, it is as the Master wishes. If he wishes more, then more there shall be. If not, then so be it," replied the Head of Protocol.

That was the nearest the Emir would get to approval, he supposed. It was difficult to get an answer to a question here. Mostly the answers he was given were based on a desire to please the hearer, rather than on any abstract concept of the truth.

"Good. I thought I might improve the contents of my harem a little. Is a fishing expedition allowed?"

"Fishing, Master?"

"I thought I would look round in Europe, and perhaps some other countries, for some new recruits."

"Yourself, Master?" asked Kamal Qumsiyeh, mystified, "You do not prefer to send someone to do this for you?"

"How would he know what I might like?" asked the Emir, "Besides it will be fun."

"Master, you could do as your esteemed grandfather did and give a detailed specification of the requirements to your Embassy, who then provide dossiers from which a selection can be made."

"What happened if he didn't like one after they had sent her here?" asked the Emir.

"She was disposed of, either by selling her or, more usually, by strangling."

"Well, as you may have noticed, I am not quite as quick as my grandfather was when it comes to ordering the strangling of women. Anyway, I think I might enjoy the chase."