Illya was woken before sunrise by Naser and lead to the main part of the master's home.
"This is the way to the library and the one you much take each morning once you are permitted to move about unescorted. You are not to go to other places within the house until you are told to do so. Once morning prayers are finished and breakfast is prepared I will fetch you for your morning meal Then you will return again to the library."
"I will be back at midday to bring you to your meal again. You will not leave the library again until it is quite late, then you will be fed your evening meal again after prayers. You return to your quarters for the night, and tomorrow your day will begin the same as today as it will, until the master sees fit to give you other duties."
"You may only leave the library to relieve and purify yourself. Do not wander or dawdle as Ahmed will be watching you. I will stay here with you in the library at different times during the day."
Naser offered a chair to Illya to sit at a large desk lit only by an oil lamp, then dropped a large red leather ledger in front of him.
"The master's instructions are for you to balance the books? I do not understand what that means but I am sure you do."
Naser then placed a feather quill as well as a jar of blue ink and sheets of plain paper on the desk as well. Then he sat on a stool beside his fellow slave to watch him work, as he had been instructed to do by the Sheik.
Illya raised his eyebrows, looking at the size of the book, then without hesitation he flipped it open, thumbing page after page until he found the most recent entries.
He squinted, trying to see the numbers and read the notations, but the handwriting in Arabic was small and written with great flourish. He sighed, knowing that he was in trouble; massaging his furrowed brow as he was already developing a headache from trying to read.
"What is wrong Ilyãs?
"I have poor eyesight Naser and am having difficulty seeing what is written on the pages."
"Ah, the last bookkeeper had such a problem. Is that what happens to all men who are learned such as yourself?"
"No," Illya laughed, "though reading too much does tire a man's eyes. How did the last bookkeeper manage with his...affliction?"
Naser jumped to his feet, going to the cabinet from where he had retrieved the writing implements and paper. "Will this help? Mahmoud the old bookkeeper would wear such a thing when working.
Illya smiled when he saw a small pair of oval spectacles in the boy's hand, another hope to add to his list of growing hopes. Would they be too strong or weak for him to use?
"Thank you Naser, if they fit right then they will help me." Illya unfolded them, wrapping the wired ends around his ears and letting the glasses settle in on the bridge of his nose before looking at the ledger. Once his eyes focused, he stared down at the page, seeing everything clearly and it became obvious that they were not a prescription type but merely magnifying glasses.
"Yes Naser, again you have come to my rescue. These will do fine."
Illya set about doing the math within minutes; adding, subtracting, multiplying quickly in his head then making notes where he found errors. When he had filled one page of his corrections, he had discovered going back through quite a few transactions that there was quite a tidy sum of money that had been lost on paper only.
The sums en massed by the Sheik were surprising indeed and the amounts he found in the the master's favor were what he must have thought stolen by the last bookkeeper. They turned out to be simply clerical errors, not costly to the Sheik but ones that took the man Mahmoud's life.
Illya had to be very careful with his sums, just in case, though it was very rare that he made errors when it came to mathematics. He could solve equations and solve theorems in his head without any problem, so a book keepers ledger was of no major worry, but caution was warranted none the less.
"Naser, this paper needs to be shown to the master, as I have located some of his missing wealth."
"How is that Ilyãs, Mahmoud stole the master's money?"
"No he did not Naser, he made mathematical errors that made it look like he was hiding some of the masters wealth but only on paper."
"I do not understand such things Ilyãs and I will take your word for it as you are far more clever that me."
Illya removed the spectacles, rubbing his tired eyes for a moment.
"Naser, can you read?"
"No, none of the slaves can, except yourself. That is why the master paid such a great price for you as an educated slave is a rarity and he had need of one such as yourself."
Kuryakin felt very sad at hearing that, as reading was the one consistency that he had throughout his entire life. He devoured books as a child, and books saved his sanity when he hid in his secret place in the ruins of Kyiv during the war.
In his ventures out to find food he would come upon abandoned books withing the skeletal remains of the ruined homes, and would bring them back to his hiding place with him, reading each book carefully. There were books by great Russian authors, books on science and mathematics, history... even fairy tales. He devoured them all as they were food for his mind, while sometimes his body went hungry.
He taught himself from these books and once he was done, he recalled them with his eidetic memory; he would burn them for warmth, though he hated the idea of doing it; it was a necessity.
He never worried about running out of them as he had found hundreds of books, and had stacks of them waiting to be read until he was captured and taken to the concentration camp. After the war, growing up in the orphanages and State Schools books become his only friends and companions. Books saved his life in many ways and now, this ledger was another book that was saving his life as well.
If circumstances were different he would have offered to teach Naser to read, but there would be no time for such a luxury. He supposed that what Naser had never known, he would not miss.
The day went along as Naser had outlined, and Illya stopped to stretch as hunching over the ledger all day had caused a crick in his back.
He removed his reading glasses, then went outside to relieve himself where he had told it was permitted, and as he turned to return to his work he came face to face with the red turbaned Ahmed.
"What are you doing out here you son of a whore? Slacking off from your work already?"
"No, I was taking a piss as I had been told I was allowed to do, svolach, now let me pass please, as I need to return to my work."
"What did you call me Kafir?" Ahmed growled, shoving the handle of his whip hard up into Illya's scrotum.
He gasped at the suddenness of it, biting his lip at the pain as Ahmed grinned at him, but forced himself to bear the discomfort in silence and make no move against the man.
"What did you call me, what language was that?"
"I called you honored sir, in my language, Russian." Illya lied with a half smile knowing he had actually called the man a swine."
Ahmed nodded, gullibly accepting the lie; he released the pressure, removing the handle away from Illya's crotch.
"Get back to where you belong," he snapped.
Illya bowed his head, fighting the urge to smash his fist into the man's nose, then limped back to the library as quickly as he could.
Naser returned to collect Illya after evening prayers, seeing to it that he was fed, then locked him in his room for the night. This was not going to be as easy as Kuryakin had hoped, without being able to move about the house, his plans would have to be put on hold.
He placed his hand behind the candle on the table beside his bed, blowing out the flame with a small puff of breath. It was deathly quiet there in his room, though it was essentially a prison cell, it was comfortable and relatively clean but still like a cell none the less.
As he lay his head down on the pillow his thoughts drifted to Napoleon; having that feeling that his partner was coming. It gave him at least some small comfort as he closed his eyes, falling into a dreamless sleep of exhaustion within minutes.
The next day began the same as the day before, Naser waking Illya just before dawn, escorting him to the library again. If this was going to be his routine, it was not going to suit his timetable that he had in his mind for escape.
He was hunched over the ledger, again under the watchful eye of Naser, his presence not allowing him the opportunity to look around and get his bearings, nor was the ever-present figure of Ahmed lurking outside of any help either.
Illya looked up as Naser suddenly jumped from his perch on the stool; feeling the boy tapping his arm to alert him to the Master's presence. He followed suit, rising from the chair and bowing like the boy.
The Sheik held the paper with Illyas sums and notes from the day before in his hand.
"So you have done well...Ilyãs. You have found for me that which I thought was lost. And so you shall be rewarded for a job well done, and this only after your first day as my slave?"
He handed Illya a short burgundy sleeveless vest, and an aqua blue Taqiyah skull cap with a red embroidered pattern, it reminding him of the Tubeteika caps back home in Russia or perhaps the doppa caps that were given as a sign of friendship? Thought he knew it did not represent that; it was still a positive sign.
Illya observed proper obeisance, thanking the master as he took the clothing from him, bowing as he had seen Naser.
"Thank you...Master." The word still caught in his throat, but he reminded himself that it was just part of his ruse, and this man was not truly his master...no man was that to him.
Yet he knew that he had masters of a different kind, back home in the Soviet Union, with the GRU and now U.N.C.L.E. Theoretically they both held his fate in the palms of their hands.
In Russia he did as he was ordered without question, always fearing punishment if he failed at a task, and now working for U.N.C.L.E. he had the obligation to go where he was told and do as he was told.
He had accepted this as part of a life he had no control over; this he suddenly realized made him a sort of a slave...never having had the choice of his fate.
Though he was told it was a choice to accept Alexander Waverly's offer, he knew in reality it was not. None one dared to defy the Directorate, and refuse an offer.*
He needed to think more on this, once he was back in New York, as it was an interesting conclusion that he had suddenly reached about enslavement. Perhaps he needed to re-examine his tenuous position and not be so accepting of this fate?
Now was not the time to dwell on this, as he needed focus on finding those diamond, remove himself from his current position and that was all. He cleared his mind of his other thoughts.
"Naser?"
"Yes my Master?" the boy responded again with a bow.
"You are to take Ilyãs and have him bathed, dressed and have him in my banquet hall after prayers. He will help serve the guests and I will need his services as translator to the monthly suitors for my daughter A'lia."
"Yes Master it will be done."
"Ilyãs," the Sheik addressed him again, " continue to find more of my lost money and you will be richly rewarded. I am pleased with myself for having bought you...yes, your boldness will take you places I think."
Sheik Ali el-Mahdi Karmaj turned away; his rich golden robes fluttering as he left his two slaves in the library.
"What was that all about?" Illya asked.
"You have done well by pleasing the Master. And look at the gift of fine clothing he has given you? This is a very good sign."
"Indeed, but what is this monthly suit with his daughter?"
"The Master's daughter is to be married and he seeks a proper husband for her. Each month suitors attend, and the Master has something special planned for them. He has a wonderful feast and then afterwards they must prove they are clever and worthy enough to win his daughter. He as done many things, set tasks...asked riddles. The Master is a most clever man himself and so far none of the suitors have met his challenges successfully."
Illya sighed, even the Sheik's daughter was not free to choose her own fate. Though he was aware that such cultural customs as this existed across the world; he still felt at least that it should be a thing of love and not of command. Love, marriage...those were words that would never apply to him. Even if he survived past U.N.C.L.E.'s mandatory retirement age of forty, he doubted that any woman would have him.
The idea of seeking a bride such as these suitors were doing, he found repugnant; treating a woman like she was a prize cow to be traded. Their suit was probably driven due to the Sheik's wealth and the richness of the daughter's dowry, though that old-fashioned concept he at least approved of.
The Master's gesture and needing him for translation was a good sign, as he would now see other parts of the house, and he hoped that he was working his way into the Master's good graces. "More hopes", he sighed.
Illya finished off the bookwork then went with Naser to be bathed for the Master's banquet. He expected to have buckets of water poured on him as before but was pleasantly surprised when he was lead to a tiled bath filled with scented water and rose petals.
"The Master does not want anyone unclean and smelling of body odor," Naser smiled.
The Russian stripped off his leggings, climbing down into the water with a sigh, as it felt wonderful. He still suffered from the heat of the season, and this was just what he needed to make him feel better. For a moment he let himself forget his circumstances as he dunked his head under the water, playfully releasing a stream of bubbles from his nostrils.
When he surfaced Nashwa was kneeling beside the bath with a jar of scented oil and what looked like a Greek strigil, an implement used in ancient times to scrape the skin as a method of cleansing it.
"Ilyãs, I am to apply oils to your body."
Illya felt himself blush. "No thank you Nashua." he smiled shyly," that will not be necessary."
"It is not your choice, as it is the Master's wish that you be scented after you have been bathed."
He let out a moan. "Then I will do it myself."
"I have been commanded to do it."
Illya was not comfortable at that idea, being tended to by a woman in such a way.
"Nashua, I will do it myself and everyone will think you did it, alright? It will be our little secret, enh?"
She looked at him warily, not trusting his word at first." You will not betray me if I let you do it yourself?"
"You have it upon my word of honor."
She handed him a large towel, then turned as he rose from the bath water, allowing him his modesty as well as her own.
He smiled at her gesture as he quickly dried himself then wrapped the towel around his waist, though he had no problem with nudity whether it was in front of a man or a woman.
"Thank you Nashua." He said letting her know he was ready.
She handed him the carafe and scraper, then disappeared from the room as he applied the oil to his skin, recognizing it as aromatic lavender, then dragged the cleaning stick across his body to remove the excess oil.
When he was done, he dressed himself in his leggings, vest and skull cap, and as if on cue, Naser appeared to escort him to the hall.