Illya felt the lorry pull to a slow stop, then the flaps of the canvas opened and a blast of hot wind hit him in the face along with the others there with him. He closed his eyes for a moment trying to protect them from the sandy assault as well as to adjust them to the light.
"Yalla!" Move slaves!" one of the guards called out.
One by one they climbed from the back of the truck as they were shuffled inside a small house, Kuryakin caught a quick look at the surroundings, taking note there were more trees swaying violently in the wind as the landscape had changed, becoming more green.
He could still see the mountains off in the distance, surmising from their position they had been moving southeast.. The sky was growing dark and with the winds picking up and he guessed that it was the beginnings of a sandstorm on the horizon that forced them to this place, as this small house was surely not the home of a rich man.
Once everyone was ushered inside the house; the windows were shuttered tightly against the oncoming storm, but there was still fine dust that was finding it's way though any small opening.
They squatted in a back corner of the room, with their heads bowed as the master entered. He was seated on the far side of the room in a chair beside a small table and a curtain was drawn separating slaves, guards, and master.
But Illya could see by the shadows made by the lanterns behind the sheer curtain that a female slave was waiting upon the man, serving him mint tea as the water had been heated on a brazier filled with coals.
The new slaves remained huddled together, some with their arms leaning on their knees. No words were spoken...they dared not in the presence of the master.
A young black woman, one of only two women among the new slaves began to cough violently from the dust as it filled the room, making it harder to breathe.
"Maa'_water?" Illya had the audacity to call out in Arabic. " She needs water please."
A nearby guard hit him several times with a riding crop, until the Russian grabbed it, unexpectedly pulling it from the man's hand then tossing it to the floor in disgust. He flashed him his trademark stare that had unsettled many an enemy. This time it frightened the man completely.
"Ay-ah! This one has the look of a devil in his eyes, a blue-eyed devil! Do not cast your evil eye upon me Kafir!"
"Stop!" bellowed the master from behind the curtain as he pushed it aside with a sweep of his arm.
"You, slave, " he said addressing Illya, "You have quite an impudence in you. You shout out from the auction block to get your skinny self sold and now you speak out again not for yourself, but for another."
"She is in need." Illya spoke up.
"You will address me as Master." The man spoke succinctly.
Illya gritted his teeth, repeating his words."She is in need...Master." The word caught in his throat, choking him worse than the dust in the air. He averted his eyes, not wanting to anger the man further.
"What is your name slave?"
"Ilyãs...Master," he said his name in Arabic.
"That is a Hebrew name. You are a Jew?"
"No, Master."
"Muslim?"
Illya shook his head. "I believe in no God, Master."
"Ah you are infidel then in the truest sense of the word! Allah has sent His judgement upon you for this I think. Slavery will teach you piety and humility and show you the error of your ways."
"Give them water. " the Mahdi ordered his guards, " but not this one,"he said pointing at Illya." He must learn his place."
He looked at his yellow-haired slave, speaking directly to him one last time. "You had better be worth the price I paid for you Ilyãs, otherwise your life will full of woe and short."
"Full of woe...and short?" Illya half smiled to himself. " That pretty much described his life expectancy and quality of life as an espionage agent even before this happened. So the Mahdi's warning was nothing new or threatening to him at all. And besides, he planned not to be sticking around long enough to worry about such things.
The storm failed to be as dangerous as expected as they were farther from the desert, being closer to the Ourika, a lush valley in the foot hills of the long Atlas mountain range inhabited mostly by Berber people who practiced a more traditional way of life. There were a few primitives villages and settlements, but the Sheik was the man who controlled a good part of the valley.
The master departed in his Rolls, then Illya and the other slaves were loaded back into the lorry for the last leg of their journey to their new home. Once inside the back of the truck the slave girl that he had helped whispered to him.
"Marhaba. I am Nashwa and I thank you for your bravery, but it not wise and such actions will get you punished Ilyãs."
"Nashwa, I cannot sit by idly while others suffer, even at risk to myself.
She clicked her tongue. "Then Ilyãs you are truly a fool." She turned away from him saying no more.
The next time the lorry stopped was a the end of their journey. They exited the back of the truck, stepping out into another world, one that was in stark contrast to Marrakesh and the rest of their trip through a sea of sand. They were surrounded completely by greenery and vegetation, olive and fruit-bearing trees. The truck was parked outside a compound, the surrounding walls of which Illya reckoned to be at least fifteen to twenty feet high. A large wooden gate had been opened for them to enter.
"Imshi_go! They were ordered as they were lead through the gate into an immense tiled courtyard with a large fountain at it's center.
There were a few people walking about, stopping to stare as the new group of slaves as they were lead in by their chained collars to a room off to the side of the compound.
Once inside, they were stripped of their clothes, men and women alike, then buckets of water were poured over them as they stood motionless, washing the dust of the desert from their skin.
Illya licked his parched lips as the water ran down his face, trying to get some of it into his dry mouth.
The men had slave bracelets hammered in place around each ankle, but were left unchained at the moment.
Then one by one a brand was taken from a hot brazier and they were each burned with their master's mark on their left shoulders. Illya remained silent during the process while others moaned and the woman Nashwa wept. He only paid attention to the smell of burning flesh in the air around them.
Then each man was made to lay down with his ankles held between two bamboo staffs, with the soles of their feet raised up. Then they were caned, not enough to draw blood but enough to make it difficult to walk from the pain and swelling as they were lifted to their feet, being made to stand still naked against the wall.
The beating done to disable them for a short while and to instill fear in their souls.
It was all a part of the process of demeaning a slave into a state of obedience, giving them a message that they no longer had control of their lives, now only the Master had that power.
"This one, " the guard pointed at Illya" give him an extra good caning."
They slammed the thin switch against the soles of his feet, unlike the others who cried out; Illya remained silent, suppressing even the slightest flinch in reaction to it.
"Ah bold and brave!" The guard who's riding crop Illya had grabbed snarled at him. "We will see about that now infidel?"
The guards lifted Illya to his feet though he was barely able to put any weight on them. They looped ropes around each of his wrists, pulling his arms and stretching them outward, as he tried to hold himself upright.
The one with the riding crop, Ahmed was his name, unfurled a leather whip from his belt.
Illya grimaced as the first lash bit into his skin, each stroke stinging more against his back until he finally let out a groan.
"Good." Ahmed said, "so you finally acknowledge the kiss of the leather mistress! Remember her embrace well, lest you give her pause to caress your skin again! You have now been warned slave. Take him, see to his wounds, clothe and feed him." He ordered one of the servants."The Master will want him to begin his work soon."
Ahmed used the handle of his whip to lift Illya's drooping head, staring into the Russian's eyes apparently no longer fearing them.
"Just because the Master paid a dear price for you does not mean you are immune. Punishment will be swift and merciless if you betray the Master in any way or try to escape. Remember that you are the lowest of the low infidel dog of a slave!"
Illya lost consciousness as he was dragged off. When he awoke, he was still naked, laying on his stomach on a crude mattress. An Arab boy was applying ointment to his back as well as the brand burned onto his shoulder.
"Ah, you are awake at last. You must have done something very foolish to have incurred the wrath of Ahmed so soon, as you have only just arrived?"
Illya said nothing as the last of the salve was applied to his skin. It was not the first time in his life he had been whipped, nor would it probably be the last. He remembered feeling leather against his back in his boyhood when he was in the State run school in Moskva; it was the punishment that had been dealt him for speaking his mind to his teacher. He had been warned by the doctor treating his wounds in the infirmary that he had a bad habit of opening his mouth, wondering when he would learn his lesson and keep his mouth shut. * Apparently he still had not learned that lesson after all theses years, and probably never would.
"You can sit up now" the boy said to him.
"Ma ismuka_what is your name?" Illya asked.
"Ana Ismi Naser_ my name is Naser, it was given to me by the Master when I was born into this household, it means one who helps."
"So your mother is here as a slave?"
"My mother is dead."
"And your father?
"He is believed to be Ahmed, but there is no acknowledgement as such from him."
"And what is your name?" the boy asked."
"It is Ilyãs." he smiled slightly, " Shukran_thank you for tending to my back."
"I do as commanded."
Illya stood up and the boy handed him a pair of baggy white leggings, apparently the only article of clothing he was to now posses, along with a pair of hard leather slippers for his feet.
"Come Ilyãs you are to eat and from the look of you it is none too soon. You are a very skinny fellow, so it is not good for you to go without food for too long I think or you will just fade away to skin and bones?"
"I have heard that word to describe me for several days now...you Naser are very funny," Illya smiled.
He walked gingerly as the caning had been quite a successful deterrent, making him limp as he followed the boy down a corridor then out a doorway to an area with several long tables set protected beneath by an awning in an open courtyard. Seated there were a dozen or so people, Arab, Nubian, Spanish, all with slave collars fastened around their necks.
There was a large iron pot of some sort of stew cooking on a fire and Naser ladled some into a crude wooden bowl, then thought twice adding a second ladle full before handing it to Illya. Then he gave him a large loaf of flat bread, poured him a bubbling cup of mint tea along with a few sugar cones.
Illya sat at the end of one of the tables, saying nothing to the others as they looked him over for a moment, then returned to eating their meal in silence.
He tore a piece of the bread scooping up some stew onto it, then paused, closing his eyes as the wonderful flavor hit him. It was mildly spiced with plenty of vegetables in the thick sauce and he even discovered bits of chicken and fruit in it as well. He nodded, surprised that the food for slaves was of such a decent quality, and it was actually far better than the stews he used to subsist on when he lived in the Soviet Union. Again he wondered what sort of man this master was.
Naser placed a bowl of couscous beside him and watched as Ilyãs devoured every bit of that as well, washing it down with the cup of sweetened mint tea.
"I will see to it you receive extra rations." the boy whispered." you need to be fattened up a bit if you are to do the bookwork for the Master. You need to be healthy as it is many hours of work, though not physically hard, it will tax your mind and your body none the less. Plus you need to be strong as you are now on the bad side of Ahmed. Who knows what things he will do to you? He finds pleasure in torment that one."
"Bookwork for the Master?"
"Yes I have heard the story of how you were bought, that you spoke out in many languages daring someone to purchase you as you are an clever and learned man. The master has dealings with people from other lands, he sells his olives and their oil to many foreign buyers. Translation is needed and someone to oversee the accounting books as well."
"Was there someone else who did this work for him?"
"Yes, he was executed for stealing. So it is you who will take his place now." Naser grinned," It is a great honor to do such work for the Master, though you will have to earn his trust at first. But once you have done so, you will be well taken care of. The Sheik treats those well who please him. I have heard that you are a non-believer, perhaps in time it would please the Master and do him great honor by converting to the Faith?"
Illya just shook his head at that statement, then it hit him, if he was going to be a bookkeeper for the Master, then he was missing something crucial.
"Chyort voz'mi_ oh shit," he cursed in Russian, " I do not have my reading glasses? " That could end up being a problem for him.
But at least he was being put in a position of trust, and that being the case; he could eventually find out where the three diamonds were being kept. Once he had that information, he could get his hands on them then make his escape.
Twenty foot walls were not a problem, nor were Ahmed and the other guards, as long as he remained relatively free of encumbrances like ankle chains, he would be alright. He needed to remind himself to bite his tongue and tolerate what said and done to him for now to avoid being chained at the ankle.
At this point he was no longer counting on Napoleon to find him. It was up to him to get the stones and get out of here on his own. Once he was out of the compound, he knew other problems would appear as he would be on the run as a branded and escaped slave and no one would give him shelter...if anything he would be turned in for a reward that would surely be offered for his capture.
He would deal with such things when the time came. Right now he needed to worry about being able to just read the Master's books and gain his trust.
.
ref * "Begnnings"