The ride is only a few moments and then we pull up to a platform identical to the one we left. We exit the subway under the same amount of enforcers as before. Have we returned to the medical centre for some reason? Again we are marched under slickly green lights along a long corridor. At the end of it is a waiting room with soft blue walls and comfortable looking stuffed chairs. A tall woman with straight, jet black hair stands at one end of the room with a clip board. For lack of anything else to do I study her as I take a seat. Does the woman wear a wig like the others I’ve met in the medical facility? Most likely. The woman’s hair looks stiff. No one in the hubs wears a wig, not that I think we’d even be permitted to have one in our possession.
Once everyone is seated the woman taps her clipboard to get our attention. “Welcome to the Emperor’s compound. I am Murina, your house mother for the next few days. You thirty-three have been chosen to be the first concubines in Imram’s history. It is a very great honour. I am thrilled to be in charge of your growth, style and poise. I shall endeavour to instruct you in all that is lady-like.” Her eyes scanned the girls, coming to rest on me. “Of course your progress will be a reflection of your willingness to learn and desire to be the first chosen.” Her lips quirk into a soft smile before her gaze flits away. “The one chosen first will be showered with untold gifts and riches.”
A small collected gasp fills the room. The woman looks to me again and smiles. Why does it seem like the woman is addressing me personally? Does she know of my two outbursts at the medical centre? Is she trying to warn me to behave? Folding my hands in my lap I give her a contrite smile. Oh, I’ll behave... for now.
Chapter Ten
I’ve been through an immense range of emotions since the day I was summoned to be a concubine; fear, pain, despair, misery, confusion, anger, defiance, and even joy, but now all I can muster is numbness. My gaze wanders the dorm room I now share with thirty-two others. Their faces mirror mine. It is as though we have all just turned our emotions off, like our batteries have finally run down. Though the room consists of narrow cots like the medical centre each one is made up with a colourful blanket and a sturdy metal wardrobe with each girl’s name on it. The other girls inspect the silver robes in the wardrobes and chat, the odd one motionless like me, crouches on their bunk. What kind of training will we be subjected to now?
As if in answer to my question the door opens and Murina strolls in with a bright smile. “I trust you all have settled in nicely.” Her gaze settles on me. She frowns slightly and then looks away. “Now, we have little time to make you all presentable and ready you for the selection ceremony. Today we shall visit the salon and fashion station. Our fantastic team of stylists will help you select a hair do, a day outfit, an evening dress and lingerie for the pageant.”
Pageant? What is the woman talking about? I raise my hand.
Murina’s eyes narrow. “Yes, Two-twenty-three?”
“What do you mean by pageant?”
“Oh, well, it’s simple. You will all compete against each other. Of course the winner and two runner ups will be awarded to the highest officials, that being the Emperor, the Commander of Defense and the Civil Commander.”
In despair, I swallow. Oh, my God. We aren’t cattle. We are dress up dolls.
“Come along, ladies, come along. We haven’t much time.” Murina shoos us out of the room and down the hall.
I note only a few enforcers here and there, strolling the halls, or standing guard by doorways. Why is there so little security here compared to the medical centre? If I could only figure out a route to the outside it seems escape might be possible. After all, it doesn’t appear there are any check points here. We are ushered into a large room filled with mirrors and swivelling chairs. A cluster of men and women stand in the middle dressed in black and white outfits. One by one each girl is claimed by one of the men, or women, and led to a chair.
A short, pudgy man motions me to follow him. I comply, biting my lip to contain my giggle at his bizarre moustache drooping over his lips and curling up to his cheek bones. “Pleazzze, sit, O-ce-an. I am Miguel. I will be your mentor for ze pageant.” He beams at me with a large smile, his eyes twinkling with mirth.
I can’t help but like him as I smile back and sit. “Hello, Miguel.”
Without warning he spins the chair to face the mirror. “Um, lovely thick hair you have, my dear. Have you ever had it styled before?”
I’m not sure what he means by styled and I shake my head. “My ma used to trim it when it got too long.”
“Um.” He takes a brush from the counter and begins to carefully brush it out until it lies in a smooth cascade down my back to my waist. “I think some extensions would be lovely, and of course we must lighten it. Yes, ivory would suit you with such unusual eyes as yours.”
A flush of pink stains my cheeks as he studies me in the mirror. Admiration is something I am unused to.
Suddenly he leans forward and whispers. “Ah, Miguel is so lucky to get ze prettiest one as his subject, yes? I will see you win and claim ze spot as the Emperor’s concubine.”
Breath flees my lungs as if someone has punched me in the gut and the face staring back at me turns impossibly white. Me? The Emperor’s concubine? Oh no. No, no no! “I don’t want to be the Emperor’s,” I bleat. “I want to be free.”
His eyes widen and he clamps a hand over my lips. “Shh! No one must hear you. Do you want to die?”
I manage a shake of my head.
“Your only hope is to play along,” he hisses and then removes his hand, looking around to see if anyone has heard our exchange. “Never fear, one with ze eyes like ze ocean, Miguel is looking out for you.” He pivots the chair and holds out his hand. “Come.”
Submitting to having my hair washed with jasmine scented soap, isn’t the trial I feared it would be. In truth, savouring the sweet smell of the lather soothes me. In the hubs the only soap is the grey bars issued each month by the officials. It barely lathers and leaves your scalp dry and itchy. Miguel takes his time, scrubbing and lathering the rich soap. Does he suspect how much I am enjoying the luxury? The twinkle in his beady black eyes assures me he at least suspects. When I allow myself a small moan, he grins. When he rinses the foam away I can’t help marvel at the amount of water we are able to use. Back home each person in every household is limited to five minutes of shower water a day. You hurry to scrub and rinse before the water shuts off without warning. Perhaps that is why the shampoo makes your hair itchy, you never quite get it all rinsed out before you are left standing under a dry tap.
When Miguel is satisfied he escorts me back to the chair in front of the mirror. I glance around as he dries my hair strand by strand. The other girls are being washed, dyed, curled and styled. The air in the room carries so many intoxicating scents I can’t help inhaling deeply. Sweet floral essences, a tang of spicy lemon zest and the mild aroma of vanilla put me in a strangely euphoric mood. Yes, I could get used to this, if it weren’t for the end result. My frown at the thought vanishes in the mirror as Miguel finishes drying the last strand. My dull dirty blonde hair now hangs in a glossy ivory fall. “Wow.”
Miguel grins. “You like?”
Speechless I nod.
“Now, hold still so I can put ze extensions in.”
When Miguel is finished I gasp. My hair now hangs almost to my feet. It is heavier than before and gives me a very mysterious look.
He tucks a strand behind my ear. “Yes, perfecto. Now, for your wardrobe, come.”
Miguel guides me through the salon to another room filled with clothing racks. The rich colours and fabric make my breath catch in my throat. Back in the hub men wear course dusty green coveralls, women the same color dresses which come to their knees, and girls and boys navy blue and grey uniforms until they finish school. A shiny red satin dress calls to me and I touch the fabric with trembling fingers. The cool silky texture almost makes me drool. I should throw a fit at being made into something I’m not, but the lure of
the finery drives the thought from my mind.
The stylist strolls along the racks flipping through them with casual indifference. “No, too bright, too pink, too ruffled...” He pauses and pulls a rich coloured silk from the rack and holds it up. The gauzy fabric is of a pale blue shot through with threads of every shade of blue and green imaginable. “Ah, this, this is ze dress.” Holding it in front of me he smiles. “Yes, perfecto.” Flipping it over his shoulder he carries on to the next row of racks where he selects a black slinky dress, much more casual in style. Finally at the last rack he chooses a soft pink negligee.
With a start I sputter, “I—I can’t wear that.”
“You must. It is part of the pageant. Of course the officials will want to choose based on your body curves.” He winks. “And you will have the most seductive curves on the stage.” Without letting me answer, he practically drags me into another room with dressing screens lining the walls. “You must try these on so we can see if they need hemmed or altered.”
Hands on my hips I glare at him. “There is no way in hell I am going to wear that scrap of cloth on stage.”
He shoves me behind the dressing screen with a tsk-tsk, and drapes the clothing over the top. “You have no choice, my dear.”
“We’ll just see about that,” I mumble in challenge.
A heavy sigh breaches the thin walls of privacy the dressing screen affords as I tug my robe over my head. “Ocean, what will I do with you, eh?”
With a snort I toss my robe over the top of the screen and snatch up the gown. The material is cool and smooth as it slides down my body, hugging my curves. Lifting the trailing hem I step out from behind the screen. The thin material which hides nothing is a little unsettling and I cross my arms to quell the feeling.
After directing me to stand on a small square platform, Miguel kneels at my feet and begins to pin the hem.
“Why were the tags on our tracking bracelets removed?”
He glances at me and takes another pin from the plum-sized cushion fastened to his wrist. “You will be given a special tag that allows you access to the official’s hub. There is no need for the other tags here, for the Emperor’s compound is secure.”
“So we can come and go un—” I bite off my reply before I can say undetected, and then smile to cover up my slip of tongue, “as we please?”
“Within the pageant building walls, yes.” His expression grows grim. “We are all locked in here and will be unable to leave until the day after the show.”
Locked in. That doesn’t sound very promising for escape. Before I can wonder how much more info I can get from Miguel, he taps my knee. “Lesson Number One, don’t ask questions. Now, be still, you’re disturbing my concentration.” When he turns his attention back to the hemline, I stick out my tongue. It occurs to me there might be cameras. I raise my gaze to the roof. Sure enough a round black circle with a blinking red light looks down on us. Security may have lightened, but the ‘all seeing eye’ is still in place.
Miguel straightens and adds a couple of pins to the waist of the gown. “Good, take it off carefully so you don’t get stuck with a pin and put on ze lingerie.”
Arms akimbo, I give him my haughtiest look. “No way, I am not prancing around in sleazy underwear.”
He rolls his eyes and shoves me behind the screen. “They have Tasers here too, you know.”
A shiver travels up my back laid bare by the exquisite gown. “How do you know about that?”
A snort escapes him. “The Emperor knows all, Two-twenty-three. Hurry now, we have little time before ze meal call.”
Reluctantly I shed the gown and don the skimpy undergarments.
Chapter Eleven
The meal buzzer is the most welcome sound I’ve ever heard. It takes all my will power not to run from the fashion room to the dining hall to escape donning another outfit. Miguel dismissed the little black dress as not casual enough and made me try on three more selections before he decided on a smart black pants suit, teal blouse and silver belt. We hadn’t even got to trying on shoes and I was ready to scream. Though I relished the different fabrics caressing my skin instead of the familiar stiff school uniform, the bright colours and textures over stimulated my senses, leaving me head-achy and edgy.
Upon entering the dining hall I freeze, eyes wide in wonder. Instead of rows of tables I’m greeted with small round ones, laid with bright red cloths and snowy white napkins. Each place setting contains four forks, three spoons, two knives, a water goblet and a delicate wine glass.
Ashley and the redhead I now know as Tracy wave. I cross the room and slide into a seat between them. Tracing a finger down the handle of a cool silver knife, I frown. “What is all of this?”
Ashley giggles. “I guess we are going to be taught to dine with the officials.”
“The officials need all of this to eat a simple pre-made dinner tray?”
My question is answered when Murina enters the room and claps to get our attention. “All right ladies, tonight we will learn proper dining etiquette. After all, you will be living in the homes of Imram’s elite society and we can’t have you embarrassing yourselves.” She makes her way between the seven tables. “Sit up straight, feet firmly on the floor.” With a frown, she snatches a napkin from around a girl’s neck and drops it to the table. “Napkins across your laps.”
With a sigh, I and the others follow suit.
“Now, we will begin with the appetizers.” On cue the kitchen doors open and a handful of slave girls enter wearing smart black and white uniforms. It’s almost impossible to hide my joy when I spy Danika, but I resist the urge to acknowledge her. A covered silver dish is set before each girl. At Murina’s nod the slaves remove the lids.
My gasp echoes with others when we’re treated to the sight of oysters in a half shell, dripping with butter and garlic.
Ashley leans over and whispers, “What is it?”
“Oysters, shellfish from the sea. I remember my mother telling me about them. They were served at some fancy dinner she attended after she married my father, before the disaster.”
Ashley’s eyes widen. “Real meat?”
Eyes glued to the unexpected dish I nod, afraid to blink or look away in case they are a figment of my imagination.
“Where did the officials get real meat?”
Shaking my head, I pick up the shell. After watching and listening to Murina’s instructions I hold the shell carefully betwixt thumb and forefinger, and then let the never before tried morsel slide into my mouth. A rich fish taste seasoned with tangy lemon and garlic butter thrills my tastebuds. Tentatively I chew, slipping my tongue from between my lips to lap up the juice threatening to dribble from my mouth. This is no bland tofu. It takes an effort to swallow instead of hold the treat in my mouth, but I manage due only to the lure of the second oyster on the tiny silver plate.
I’m sorely tempted to pick up the bowl and lick it clean after finishing the second one. Covertly, I glance at Murina and she frowns. No doubt she has guessed what I am thinking. Fingers poised over the bowl, I silently challenge her. Murina’s eyes narrow and she gives the slightest shake of her head, almost undetectable. Resigned, I drop my hand. Murina turns away and the slaves exit the kitchen with more food.
A thick soup in a gold rimmed bowl is placed before me and the empty oyster dish removed. I study the three spoons to my right. Which one should I use? Murina’s voice breaks my perusal of the silverware.
The woman lifts the largest of the three spoons for everyone to see. “This is your soup spoon. I will not tolerate any slurping.” She demonstrates the proper way to spoon and cool the soup before popping it in her mouth.
Though I couldn’t care less about table manners I do as shown and spoon a small amount into my mouth. The rich cream is heavenly, laced with a sweet vegetable flavor, the likes of which I’ve never tasted before. Course after course arrives, each more astounding to the eye and pallet than the last. Fresh green, yellow and orange vegetables, steamed
and still slightly crispy, creamy sauced potatoes, pasta and meat, real meat with a wild, gamey flavor to it. My stomach rolls, heavy and sated by the time a rich cherry pastry with caramelized topping is served. This is nothing like the bland, pale mushy food sent to us on the trays each night back in the hubs. Wishing I hadn’t indulged quite, so much I rub my protesting belly.
When Murine claps her hands to gain everyone’s attention, I groan. At this point I just want to crawl in bed and sleep off my food drunkenness. “Tonight you will be issued a tablet with a list of questions on it for the televised interview tomorrow night. You may all return to your dorm and have the rest of the evening to complete them.” With that, she sails from the room, a pleased smile fixed on her bright red lips and I sigh. My bed is calling me and I’ll gladly accept her siren’s call. There will be no staring at the ceiling tonight, maybe some restless tossing and turning due to indigestion though.
In a neat, orderly, bloated line, we file back to the dorm. On each bed rests a small tablet. When I turn it on, I find a list of thirty questions. They range from ones about my parents to my talents, likes and dislikes. A groan slips from my lips. Is this really necessary? Does anyone really care what I like, think, or even feel? Mr. White does. Where is he? Is he here somewhere? Will I see him again?
One by one, I answer the questions and then turn the tablet off. Curling up on the bed I cradle my head on my arm and try to go to sleep. My stomach may be satisfied, but my mind is not. There has to be a way to escape. Even if I did manage to slip away, where would I go? Is there any truth to the rumours the land is green and living beyond the city walls? At Ashley’s sigh, I open my eyes.
The Emperor's Concubine Page 8
