Part 1

Soraya brushed her hair for the third time that morning. Life in the harem was a little dull, but very comfortable. Things could be worse. Her friend Ghazaleh had recently been promoted to Senior Concubine, with quarters of her own, but Soraya felt that she would rather live in the communal rooms with the other seven juniors of her group, where more things happened. This morning, Fatima had taught her little dog a new trick, finding a hidden kerchief. That had entertained the watchers for a while.

There was a sudden stir as a tall, stern-looking middle-aged woman entered. Orkideh, the Mistress of Concubines, cast her eyes imperiously round the room, and the quiet chatter died away as the women waited to hear the cause of this visit.

"You girls are becoming remiss in your duties," Orkideh began. "You may be good enough to please those honoured guests whom you are sent to, but the Sultan himself no longer finds you sufficiently amusing. He has consulted his Magician about this. You will have heard that the Magician made a mechanical dancer, which diverted the Sultan greatly. Now, the Sultan has had a new idea…" There was a subdued gasp among the women.

Orkideh nodded grimly. "I see you understand. Our master requires the Magician to make him a mechanical concubine, which is to have all the virtues, and none of the faults which irritate the Sultan. There is a small difficulty… Magicians, it seems, do not consort with women. I believe it… dissipates the spiritual powers."

"Then how…?" queried one of the bolder girls.

"How, indeed? The Magician has made it plain that, if he is to construct a perfect woman, he must first spend some time studying imperfect women. In detail."

"But… a man? Here?" Bold Afsoon shivered. "They say the Magician… well, they say many things about him. But he is a man."

"He is a man. He will come here," confirmed Orkideh. "He will be attended by the guards at all times. But he has permission to study you, with his eyes and with his hands. You are ordered by our master to do as he says, and make no protest. This will begin tomorrow."

When Orkideh had gone, eager conversation broke out. The room was more animated than it had been for many a day. "One of the maids told me of this Magician," began Soraya. "She handed him a goblet, and accidentally touched his hand. It was cold, she said, cold as a snow-chilled drink. And he wears a mask. They say his face is so terrible that those who see it are turned to stone."

Afsoon stood and stretched. "So this Magician, who does not consort with women, seeks a model for the perfect concubine?" She ran her hands down her body, and smiled a knowing smile. "Perhaps he will not have far to seek. Perhaps… I may cause a little turning to stone, on my own account."

Soraya was irritated by Afsoon's confidence. "We all know you have the perfect bosom. But there are things I can do with my legs and feet…" Then all the women began boasting their best features, laying wagers about whom the Magician would choose as his models.

Next morning there was tension in the women's quarters, until Orkideh sent a message that the Magician would not appear until afternoon. Bored and a little disappointed, Soraya began a game with her friends, tossing fans from one to another, while the lap-dogs ran about and tried to join in. But all thought of play ceased when there was a stir at the door. Several of the guards and servants entered, and with them the Magician, tall and thin, in his strange black European clothes, face and head covered by a white silk mask, reminiscent of a skull.

"You know why I am here," he began, in a voice as silky as his mask. "I have been set the task of observing you. Indeed, I have been watching you this last hour." He waved a long hand towards the grill high on the wall. Behind it, they knew, a watcher could sit hidden, as the Sultan did sometimes. "I am obliged to those of you who played the game. I wanted to see how you moved, how you acted. I know that my presence is likely to repress your natural spirits. But you will become accustomed to me. And I shall not ask more of you than to watch you… yet."

Afsoon rose from her couch. "You wish to watch how we move, my lord?" She undulated towards him, stopped and turned a slow pirouette. "Does not the maker of the mechanical dancer know all there is to know about movement? What else can we teach you?"

"Have any of you seen the dancer, on those evenings when the Sultan favours you?" He looked around the room, and saw some nodding heads. "Then you know that it is neither man nor woman. It is a shape, with elements of the gazelle and elements of the swan. Now I must learn the movements of real women, and moreover, women who have earned the approval of the Sultan. So tell me, graceful ladies, when you weary of reclining on your couches, what do you do to keep those lovely bodies slender and supple?"

"Sometimes we dance," responded Afsoon archly. She swayed, weaving her arms in elegant patterns, while her hips oscillated suggestively. "I think your gazelle-swan could not do that."

"We walk in our gardens," put in another woman, not willing to let Afsoon have all the attention.

"We swim in the pool," offered Lela. "Only…" a flush darkened her skin beyond its usual dusky hue.

"Only," completed the Magician, "to swim, you are naked. That, too, I shall watch, when the time is right." He eyed her appreciatively, and Lela's blush deepened.

"May I ask a question, my lord?" said Soraya, wanting to distract attention from poor Lela's embarrassment. "The mechanical dancer is moved by clockwork, and it is very clever, the way that it completes a dance as the music ends, so that it can be wound up again in the interval before the next piece of music. But a mechanical concubine… how would that be done? Our lord the Sultan prefers not to have attendants present when he takes his pleasure."

The Magician looked at her with interest. "A good question, little one, and I have already given thought to that matter. The mechanical concubine will have a mechanical maid, whose only purpose is to give her mistress a 'massage' when the mistress grows 'tired.' Then the maid will leave the room, so that she in her turn can be rewound."

Soraya nodded. "I see. Forgive me, my lord, but… is it not indiscreet to discuss your secrets with us?"

He moved closer, and the masked face fixed itself upon her. The eyes behind the mask-slits were deep-set and shadowed, but Soraya thought she could see a gleam of gold. "There is no secret to clockwork, curious one. Many craftsmen use it. But to make it do the things I make it do? Ah, that takes my unique magic. But enough of this. For now, perhaps some of you would like to walk in the gardens."

After that, he came daily, sitting in a corner with notebooks and pencils, writing or drawing. Oddly, it was timid Lela who first, in the manner of one braving a difficult task, threw off her garments and plunged into the pool, swimming with the grace of a mermaid, her long hair floating around her. The Magician came nearer and watched with interest, and soon the other women, not to be outdone, joined Lela in the pool. For they were all proud of their beauty, and as the strangeness of the situation grew less, this chance to show off was a new pleasure.

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