Caliphate

Castle Noisvastei, Province of Baya, 24 Sha'ban, 1536 AH (20 June, 2112)

Graduation holiday was over. From a high window overlooking the courtyard Petra watched her brother's company of janissaries forming in the courtyard next to the great, golden-domed mosque. She wondered if she'd ever see him again. She doubted it. Even so, she thanked a God she was not at all sure even existed (and, to be fair, Petra had reasons for doubt, if anyone did) that she'd had at least this one last chance to be together.

Ling wasn't taking it particularly well. She'd grown genuinely fond of Hans in the few days together. Petra thought that "fond" might be something of an understatement, yet that was all Ling would admit to.

Her eyes say something else though, Petra thought. Who would ever have thought it; little Ling-ling in love? And Brüder Hans as much so?

Petra asked directly, "Are you in love with my brother? You told me, when I first came here, never to get attached to the clients."

Ling sighed. "I don't know what love is. I know this, though: Of the thousands of men who've had me only one ever treated me like a princess, rather than a piece of meat."

She didn't say, but thought, And I might not be a real girl . . . but I have a real girl's feelings. The breeders couldn't breed that out of me. And when I look down there and see your brother marching away, I feel like a part of me is leaving, too.

Ling stood up and left. On the outside she seemed calm enough. What she was feeling inside Petra could only guess at.

Petra watched as the boys turned right and began filing away down the mountain path. She saw Hans turn around several times and look up at the windows. Whether he was seeking her or Ling, Petra didn't know. It was probably both, she decided.

When the last of the boys had disappeared, Petra turned away from her perch and began searching the castle for Ling.

She found Ling sitting alone on a wooden bench in what some of the staff called, "The Singer's Hall." The janissaries had banqueted there, each night of their stay.

Ling didn't notice her at first, or didn't seem to. That the Chinese slave was fully aware of Petra's presence became obvious once Petra was within a dozen feet.

Though Ling didn't turn her eyes from the painted wall upon which she had been gazing, she said, "There's a picture under there, you know."

Petra didn't know. As far as she could see the wall was blank.

"I can't see anything but white. What do you see?" Truthfully, Petra thought Ling was simply seeing things that weren't there. This would have been troublesome if their lives weren't already so miserably blighted.

"It's a man on a horse, an armed and armored man. He's dressed in silvered armor. His horse is roan and draped in red. Over the armor the man is wearing red as well. There's a castle in the background. Not this one, some other. The red clothed, armored man is fighting someone in brown."

"I can't see anything," Petra repeated.

Ling said nothing. A little voice in her head, however, said to her, Shut up about it. Now.

"Hans promised me he'd write to us," Petra offered.

"They often say that," Ling answered. "And sometimes, for a little while, they do. It never lasts. After all, we're just houris, polluted and polluting. Not real people, just slaves. Not someone real people care about."

"Hans is a slave, too."

Ling sighed. "I know. That's why I'll allow myself a little hope that he really cares."

"Both of us do."

Ling's brown, almond eyes looked up into Petra's rounder, blue ones. "Did I ever mention how much you two look alike?"

"A couple of dozen times, yes. It's the other reason I hid all the time my brother's company was here. If they'd seen me they'd have known his shame."

Ling stood and yawned. Taking Petra by the hand she said, "Well . . . if I can't have the boy I want, I'll just have to take the girl. Come on; it's bedtime."

Hand in hand the two houris walked toward their quarters.