Things Said

Chapter 1

"Come after me, Jack Robinson," she'd asked. So, he had. Or he tried. That had to account for something. Fat lot of good it would do him now.

"Tried to touch the sun. No wonder I got burned." He said to nobody. He ran his hand over his face. How long had he been here now? A week? Two? He didn't know for certain, but from the length of his beard he'd guess almost two.

He had boarded the ship with love and hope. He wrote her letters which he planned to read to her once they were together. The voyage had been long but uneventful. At least until Said.

At Port Said it all went wrong.

They would be in port for two days. Jack decided part of "Come after me, Jack Robinson," would be to embrace her sense of adventure. So, he left the ship to find some.

He had. Or rather, it found him. Or rather, he chased it down an alley, it knocked him over the head, and locked him in this (what was this place?) dungeon — for lack of a better word. No one had spoken to him. They fed him. They didn't abuse him. They just… kept him.

He tried to get away. At first. The first day (or was it the second? His sense of time was getting away from him.) He'd made it to the door. They'd beaten the poor boy who brought him his food instead of him. He didn't think he could handle the guilt of trying again.

The sound of the door. Either the time was wrong, or his stomach shrank in the past fortnight, because his gut wasn't growling yet.

Not the same boy who left him his tray of food every day. The poor boy who was punished for his escape attempt. Interesting.

Anything different was interesting. This time it was two burly young men (maybe the same burly young men who threw him in here, it happened so quickly and seemed so long ago) and a well-groomed older man in a dishdashi and keffiyeh.

"Hello. What can I do for you, gentlemen?" He was so desperate for conversation, any conversation, that he tried to engage. Besides, in silence, he could gather no information.

"You've been sold, Alshaytan Al'abyad" was all the well-groomed gent said to him. He'd heard that name before, but wasn't sure what it meant. He felt fairly confident it wasn't a term of endearment.

The burly men opened his cage and grabbed him on either side. Jack saw no point in resisting without more information. He'd bide his time. He absorbed as much as he could once they passed his last point of capture. It told him little. Non-descript hallways leading to a larger room with several cargo vans. He supposed it was a garage, but before he could take in too much information, he was tossed unceremoniously into the back of a van. He didn't bother to try to figure out the turns because he didn't know where he started — and frankly, wasn't interested in going back. Wherever he ended up, he'd try to figure out his escape from there.

It was bright when they dragged him out of the van. His eyes were unaccustomed to dilating after so long in the dim light in which he'd existed. It blinded him.

He heard voices away from him. And then the sound of the van doors slamming, the engine revving, and the van driving away. The hands that held him now were decidedly less burly than before. A strangely familiar voice spoke. Familiar — yet utterly foreign. Jack wondered if he was losing his mind.

"Yastahimu laha. Yuhaliq lah. Wahalb la 'iilaa khaymat jablin." The voice was feminine yet authoritative. A soft masculine voice responded, "Nem Malkati."

Large soft hands directed him to walk. He felt canvas scrape across his head as his eyes started to adjust to a dimmer light. Blinking a few times, he found himself in a luscious and exotic tent with a large copper tub steaming in the center. There were two younger men in simple dishdashi beginning to undress him. "What? What are you doing?" His face expressed alarm until the shorter man signaled towards the bath. It did seem inviting. He hadn't bathed since the ship. "I can take it from here, gentlemen." The young men just smiled uncomprehendingly and continued their task. Perhaps he should contemplate his escape from the tub.

The young men undressed him completely, unconcerned with his nakedness. He wasn't comfortable being so exposed, but the thought occurred that these young men were likely as vulnerable as the poor boy who'd been beaten in his place — so he decided his best option was to accept this. For now.

The young men maneuvered him into the tub and began scrubbing him vigorously. He hadn't been very active in his dungeon, but the grime had built up. He was momentarily startled when the shorter man began cleaning him beneath the water, but the man's manner stayed static and he relaxed into the tub. He had to figure out how to get out of this tent, preferably without harming these young men.

The taller man urged Jack to stand and then he poured tepid water over him to rinse off the grime. He was directed out of the tub, swaddled in towels, and placed on a low chair.

A feminine form in a full veil entered the tent carrying as towel covered bowl and a pitcher of steaming water. She moved over to him. She silently urged him to be still with her fingertips on his shoulder. She wet his face with the towel that had been draped over the large bowl after pouring steaming water from the pitcher over it. Out of the large bowl, she pulled a smaller bowl with shaving lather and coated his lower face with it. Jack was glad for the swaddling of the towels. Despite the uncertainty and potential danger of his circumstances (or was it because of those things? ) he felt the stirrings of arousal.

The feminine form lathered his face as he tried to peer behind the veil to catch some glimmer of her eyes. It was no use. He contemplated trying his escape now, but this was no better an opportunity than the bath. She unsheathed a sharp knife and began to remove his beard. He didn't want to attack a woman, and besides, she had a knife very near his throat.

He closed his eyes against the sensation of the blade scraping smoothly on his face. He imagined her doing this. He longed for it to be her. In his imagination, he could smell her. A low moan rumbled from his throat without permission and his eyes shot open. "No. I can't give into this. It isn't her. This isn't what I want." He wasn't sure if he said it or thought it. The feminine form wielding the knife paused, lifting the knife from his face. The thoughts cascaded through his mind. His arousal subsided and fear started to take hold. He trembled and his eyes widened. With her free hand, his groomer stroked his hair willing him to settle. He let out a breath and closed his eyes once again.

The feminine form finished shaving his beard and with an odd touch of familiarity, lightly cupped his face. She gathered her things and ducked out of the tent.

The washing men had changed the water in the tub and, unwrapping him, urged him back into it. A different veiled feminine form appeared with a plate of fruit and a mug of water and presented it to him in the bath. Jack gave a brief thought that he might have been killed and this was some sort of afterlife, or more likely, he was unconscious and this was all a hallucination. Either seemed more plausible than this being real. The feminine form bearing the food spoke in very stilted English. "You eat now. My queen. She wishes for you to join her. You must please her. She has paid many genehs for you. You must please her." Jack didn't know what to say. He had been longing for conversation, and now he was struck mute. He ate his fruit and drank his water and wondered how he was going to manage this task. "Why me?" he wondered.

His bathers returned after the young woman with the food and the directive to "please the queen" ducked out of the tent. They helped him to stand and thoroughly dried him. The taller man signaled for him to raise his arms and once Jack complied, he pulled a white linen robe over his head.

The woman with the fruit returned and took him by the hand. His panic began to rise. How was he going to get out of this?

Dusk had fallen since he arrived, so he could see he was in a group of very lavish tents. It was clear they were in the desert, but scanning the horizon, he couldn't make out anything. No settlements near by, nothing but the tents in this grouping. Running away was not looking viable.

The woman brought him into the most ornate tent. Slightly smaller than the other tents, but it had a clear air of importance. She bowed and backed out, leaving him to gaze around the room.

The tent had an amber glow to it. Jack couldn't really tell where the lights were coming from, but the it decidedly glowed. The floor was covered with stacks of ornate rugs and large pillows in shades of orange and red and purple. "She would love this," his traitorous brain informed him instead of working on an escape plan.

In the center of the tent, was a dais topped with more blankets and pillows. In the center of the makeshift bed sat the figure who had shaved him, still wearing her veil, but her burqa had been replaced with a silky black robe.

Jack would have had to have sustained his blindness to not find the tableau alluring, but… no. This wasn't right. He took a deep breath "I appreciate all that you have done, don't think that I don't. The bath, the food, the not killing me… please believe I'm grateful… but I. I'm in lo…" he paused, not sure why he hesitated to admit how he felt, "I mean to say, I already belong to someone else."

The feminine figure widened her legs allowing the robe to open and showed him her most intimate treasure. He looked, stunned, for slightly longer than propriety demanded before averting his eyes upwards. "I can see that you are quite lovely, and I'm sure that any man would be honoured to 'please you'… but please. Please understand," He choked out, "I'm taken."

He turned his back on the figure and stood facing the tent entrance. He heard a sound behind him and felt small strong fingers trail across his back. He closed his eyes taking a deep breath… and paused. How could this foreign creature smell so… familiar? He kept his eyes closed as he felt her move around to the front of him. Her fingers tracing over his face now, the scent was stronger with her hands on his face. He felt tears form behind his closed eyes. He sighed as he whispered, "Oh, how I wish you really were…" he opened his eyes, "Phryne!?"

"Hello, Jack."