Aurora - Blood Moon Tribute Pt. 06

"We have but five hours to prepare, My Lady."

"Five hours?" Beck demanded, slipping out of character. "But that's flippin' midnight!"

Inayat looked at her, mouth working, 'So fucking what?' written all over her face. This simpleton was yet to realise the nocturnal nature of the culture, the hotter the day, the more active the night. "Night or day, the King commands both."

"Well what do we have to do? Five hours seems like a pretty decent lead time."

"Tonight is the night you don the golden mantle." Inayat said, jerking her head in the direction of the cape in its floodlit case. "For the very first time."

Beck arched her eyebrows. "For reals? You know I've been busting a nut to try that thing on."

"First things first." Inayat said brusquely, "First you should bathe. I have groomers on the way to assist you."

"Groomers?" Beck scowled. "What's wrong with Floraliza? You'll give me a scrub, won't you Lizzy?"

Face in her hands, Floraliza wept anew. What was her Ladyship doing, she wondered? Dragging a humble maid deeper and deeper into a world of shit, population; one. The second the ink was dry on that marriage decree...

"This empty-headed peon is hardly fit to wipe your... nose..." Inayat scoffed. "In fact... I could have her jailed for some of the liberties she has already taken. With a royal wife-to-be."

Floraliza boo-hooed with renewed intensity into her hands, as Beck stood hugging her, chin out, defiant. "What fff... what liberties?"

"Oh don't think I haven't seen you." Inayat sneered, sloughing off the mock servility like a snake shedding its skin.

"Seen us what?" Beck challenged, though she already knew. Nothing was private, after all, in quarters lousy with not-so-hidden CCTV.

"Oh come on... all those times this slut has given you a massage. Naked."

Floraliza dropped to a squat, wailing, convinced her days were done. She was by no stretch a boy-girl, not even bi, but her little blonde mistress was just so... so insistent...she'd yielded to Beck's advances in spite of her misgivings. Just the once, to see what it was like. And several more times just to make sure. Through her anguish, she heard the little blonde say, "Well, why would I keep all my clothes on? For a massage? That would be stupid."

"You didn't keep any of them on." Inayat growled. "And anyway, I wasn't talking about you. I was talking about her. Your maid."

"Yeah... but... well..." Beck blustered. "She didn't want to get massage oil all over her nice clean uniform."

"The way she rubbed her body all over you." Inayat said in disgust. "If his Majesty saw..." 'He'd pop his cork.', Inayat thought. If a multitude of rumours were true.

"It's called a body slide." Beck sniffed, "And it's classy."

"Classy?" Inayat demanded. "What about when she sat on you? Genitals to genitals? And the time she rubbed your... your..." Inayat gestured with her eyes in the direction of Beck's pristine mound, "Satan's chalice? With her breast? And used her nipple to... to..."

"To what?" Beck demanded, wide-eyed.

Inayat puffed herself up, feigning disgust. "To stimulate your clitoris."

Floraliza toppled onto her side, howling, as Beck looked around, huffing with ire. Then the penny dropped and she narrowed her eyes. "Hang on..." Beck said, taking a step towards her tormenter, "That was right at the end. After twenty or thirty minutes of massage. That must mean you watched the whole thing. From belly down to titties up. All the way to the happy ending." Slowly stalking around her, Beck watched the colour rise in Inayat's face. "You must have watched the whole bloody episode. You must have."

Inayat's jaw dropped and she suddenly looked stricken. "I... I... you... we... it's my duty to watch, My Lady. To monitor you. In the name of His Majesty the King."

Beck extended a forefinger, drawing little circles an inch from Inayat's nose "But it wasn't for His Majesty, was it? It was for you." A smile crept onto Beck's face, sly as a fox. "You enjoyed it, didn't you? Watching us fuck."

Inayat's face split into an uncommanded grin. "I swear, My Lady, I was just doing my job."

"And did you have your hands down your knickers, by any chance?" Beck asked, breathing down her neck, "While you were just... doing... your job?"

'This girl is a witch.' Inayat thought, hopelessly unable to stifle the wall-to-wall grin. 'She's cast a spell over me. Making me watch things I've never watched. Making me think things I've never thought. Making my heart race while I was wetting my underwear.'

"Admit it, Inny." Beck arched an eyebrow. "Watching me cum turned you on. Didn't it? Watching me eat Lizzy's sweet little peach. And I bet you wished it was you. Hmm? You could have stopped us any time, but you didn't." Beck turned away and dropped to a squat beside Floraliza. "Lizzy, Sweetheart. Lizzy. Stop crying now. Nothing's gonna happen." She looked up at Inayat who stood, her grin turned to a grimace, tears tracking over her cheeks. "Cos' we're all friends here, aren't we Inayat? And this is gonna be our own little secret. Forever... and ever."

Beck slid her hands under Floraliza's arms. Knees bent, back straight, she flexed her hard little muscles and hoisted Floraliza bodily to her feet. "There," she said, brushing the crying girl down, "that's better. Naughty Inayat gave us both a bit of a fright, didn't she, Darling?" Beck looked at Inayat. "Go on, Inny, tell Floraliza you're sorry."

Inayat's throat convulsed but nothing came out, and by the look on her face she'd just swallowed a mouthful of vomit.

"Go on, Inayat. Tell poor Lizzy everything's okay. And you're not really mad at her. Mad at us."

Inayat fought the urge to just slap her, to strike that supercilious smirk fair off the little whore's face. But the white witch had outed her, almost as if she'd been watching. Watching her, Inayat, watching them, Beck and Floraliza, in the surveillance bunker, hastily emptied of operatives. In all those years of palace-mandated voyeurism, she'd never seen anything like it. Not even close. Hands in her pants, heavy breathing all the way, she watched the footage again and again, then took copies home to watch in bed for good measure.

"Inny?" Beck said, plainly reading her mind. "This is just between the three of us, isn't it?"

Inayat finally shook herself free. "As you wish, My Lady."

"You bet I wish." Beck nodded. "But what about Floraliza? Look at her. You just frightened the crap out of her, didn't she Lizzy?"

The little Filipina nodded, too mortified to speak.

"Is there anything you want to say, Inayat? To make her feel better? After all those times? Watching our show?"

Deeply ashamed, Inayat bowed her head in uncharacteristic remorse. "Forgive me, Miss Floraliza."

Beck tilted her head. "Pardon?"

'Okay, whore,' Inayat thought, 'so you got me. But don't ever turn your back on me. Either of you. And when the revolution comes...' She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, Floraliza," she said, "if I gave the wrong impression. I want only what's best for her Ladyship."

Beck reefed her slip up, revealing her stark-naked body underneath. "There you go, Lizzy." she said, dabbing the crying girl's eyes with her hem. The white witch's power dragged Inayat's eyes in the direction that smooth, pink-slitted delicacy, the one she'd so often and eagerly feasted her eyes upon. "Be a mate, Lizzy and run us a bath?" Beck said gently. "For both of us. And you, Inayat, you better flick me that protocol." She winked. "Better make a good impression, if I'm meeting The Man."

Inayat nodded curtly then turned on her heel to leave, but as she reached the door, Beck called after her. "And send in one of your flunkies to unlock the case. I've been waiting ages to try on my cape."

*********************************************************************************************************

Watson stood peering myopically through the sliding glass door, over a lavishly-appointed balcony at the glittering night-time city beyond. The sight barely registered- jet-lagged, strung out and floundering out of his depth, he was beyond sensing anything other than his own impending doom.

"Nice digs." Sook said, her accent an odd melange of Korean, Swiss and broad Australian, in all of which she was fluent. "Though I have stayed in better."

The old man looked over his shoulder as she strolled into the living room. "Better than seven-star?"

"It's only seven-star in this part of the world." Sook sniffed. "Not like proper seven-star. Like Monaco. Or Paris."

"But..." Watson cast his eye over silk and ostrich leather, rare woods and solid gold appointments. "Look at it."

"Don't be fooled by appearances." Sook said sagely. "The illusion of luxury is all skin deep. Scratch the surface, and you'll find it's all rushed work carried out by bonded slave labour, under the murderous eye of cost-cutting contractors."

"Picky, picky, picky."

"Skin deep, I tells ya. A silly façade."

Watson peeled the hated blonde wig off and flung it like a frisbee across the room. "Well, it all is, isn't it?" he asked, giving his scalp a vigorous rub.

"What?" Sook asked.

"Just a façade. Luxury I mean. Give me the choice between this and my fifteen year-old yacht and... well... I'd take this, obviously. I mean I'd be an idiot not to. But then I'd sell it again. Buy my boat back and live happily ever after on what's left over."

"Sounds like you've got it all worked out."

Watson looked around for lurking eavesdroppers. "Did you check for bugs?"

"I always check for bugs." Sook replied dryly. "Just like Roger taught me."

"Did you set up the jammer?"

"Jesus, Damon," Sook said, swiping her finger across the hand-carved back of a plush silk armchair, "stop fretting. You paranoid old android you." After minutely studying her fingertips, she brushed her hands then opened the fridge and peered inside. Watson heard her draw a short, sharp gasp. "Damon!" she exclaimed.

"W... what?"

"Quickly! Come here!"

Watson hurried to her side, a riot of horrors rampaging past his mind's eye. "What the...?"

"This water jug! Look!"

"What, Sook? What?"

"It's not even full."

Watson looked into the fridge over her shoulder. "Well, yes it is. Nearly."

" 'Nearly' is just not good enough!" Sook said, closing the door. "This is a seven-star hotel. Should I call reception your Lordship? Have the housekeeper executed?"

"Executed? That's a bit harsh."

"Just as a warning."

"For a water jug?"

"That's how it starts. One day it's the water jug. Next, they put the toilet roll on back to front. By then it's too late."

"Gee..." Watson said under his breath, wandering back to the window, "glad you're not my boss."

"But I am your boss." Sook said, pulling up at his side.

The old man looked at the glossy black top of her head. "Says who?"

Sook looked up at him, beaming, her slitted black eyes bunched up into little half-moons. "Tanya did. She said, 'Sookie, someone has to take care of Damon. You're in charge of the doddering old codger."

"Doddering old codger?" Watson cried. "Is that what she called me?"

"Well no, not exactly. Not in those words. I'm just sort of paraphrasing. But let's face it, Damon, you'd be up shit creek without me. Remember the tie?"

Watson shrugged. "Old yachtie saying, 'If you can't tie knots, tie lots."

"And getting you into that silly damn suit. Like trying to drown a cat in a bucket."

"Paraphrasing again?"

"Just telling it how it is."

"Well I hate suits," Watson said gloomily, "and all they imply. See how ludicrous fifteenth century fashion looks? Silk hose and cod-pieces, those stupid ruffs? Well, they were just the business suits of the day. And you know what? In a few hundred years, they'll look back and think how stupid we looked."

Sook slipped an arm around his waist and he stiffened. "Gosh, Damon, it's just a silly old suit."

"Don't care." Watson sniffed, "My diatribe stands."

Sook gave him a squeeze. "So." she said with thinly veiled excitement. "What happens now?"

The old man looked at her reflection in the window. They'd been on a promise for the past few years, never able to physically connect- Sook back in Korea during his first visit to Switzerland, Watson mid-Pacific when she came to Australia. Each knew so much about the other there seemed little left to do but seal the deal, but they'd been run off their feet since first meeting in London, and were now very much in the thick of The Mission. "Did you ever watch South Park?" Watson replied and Sook looked up at him, a question mark on her heart-shaped face.

"The silly cartoon?"

Watson shook his head. "Oh no, it's not a cartoon, Sook. It's a documentary series. The last beacon of truth left on the planet."

Sook shrugged. "I probably watched it a couple of times."

"Well, remember the Underpants Gnomes?"

Sook shook her head.

"They stole underpants." the old man explained.

Sook looked at him frowning. "What for?"

"Glad you asked. You see, 'Phase One' was, Collect Underpants. 'Phase Three' was Profit."

"Hang on," Sook said with knitted brows. "What about 'Phase Two'?"

Watson nodded. "Precisely."

she looked at him, squinting. "I don't get it."

"Neither did they." Watson said darkly. "'Phase One', collect underpants. 'Phase Three', profit. 'Phase Two'..." Reaching out, he traced a great big question mark on the glass. "That's 'Phase Two'. Exactly where we are now."

"This is phase two?"

"Far as I can tell."

Sook gave a girly little giggle. "Oh, Damon," she said, hugging his waist, "you're such a worry wart. Think about it. For the next few days you're a rude and ruthless old billionaire, a total prick, a baby-killer. You can be a complete asshole and no one will care. In fact they'll expect it. Just go with it. Just enjoy yourself. The more you throw your weight around the more convincing you'll be. Just don't go too hard on the king, okay? You have to show that silly old camel-shagger the requisite level of deference, or he might cut your balls off. Deep and abiding respect, remember. But hey, you're a psychopath... charming your victims is second nature to you. Don't worry. You'll be cool."

"You make it sound like it's just one great big adventure." Watson said gloomily.

Sook dropped her arm and heaved a sigh. "Damon. Remember that story I told you? How the Bragg's picked me up in a slum? In South Korea? Do you want to know how I wound up there?"

Before Watson could decline Sook carried on.

"Mom and Dad tried to cross the Yalu River. Into Liaoning. In China. With me and my baby brother, on a raft they made from empty drums of cooking oil. The quickest way, of course, was where the river was at its narrowest, but that was also the most heavily guarded. So they tried to cross where the river was wide. In winter. At night. Neither Mom nor Dad could swim and the water was deadly cold. With me and my brother on top of the raft, they got in the water, both trying to push. Dad slipped away first, not a word. Then Mom. And when she went she took my baby brother with her, to end his suffering, so they could both die together."

Watson opened his mouth to speak, Sook's story at once a gift and a burden. She raised her hand.

"And there I was, all alone, being carried downstream. Until morning, when I got caught up in a barrier net. And that was it, I was in China. After two days wandering around, I stumbled across a rubbish dump. I was picking through the trash, searching for food when a Chinese man found me. He tied a rope around my neck, then led me round like a dog for the rest of the day, so he could sell me to the North Koreans after work. They were paying a bounty, you see, for defectors. Even six year-olds. Even orphans.

"Then along came a second man, who had a whole Korean family he was going to sell, and talked the first dude into selling me to him. Haggling over us, while we were just squatting there, in the rubbish dump, watching them bargain. Then along came another Chinese, a really rich one. He wanted their daughter, for his son, to marry, since there are too many men in China and not enough women. With the money he gave them, they paid off the second dude and used the rest to go to Vietnam. And they took me along, to Vietnam, then on to South Korea. But when I found out what they had planned for me, I ran away. And wound up in the Guryong doing it anyway. The rest, as they say, is history."

When Sook looked up, the old man looked like he'd just seen a ghost. She slipped her arm around him again. "Sorry, Damon." she said quietly. "I know how daunting this situation must seem. All the unknown, all the risk. But for me? Honestly? It IS just an adventure, like a game." She gave him a squeeze. "And don't forget we still have Roger and Tanya. With them in our corner we are invincible."

Watson allowed himself a little smile. A cashed-up, avaricious lawyer and his gorgeous trophy wife, for their own ends, had dragged this girl from the jaws of grinding destitution. Sook revered them, and rightly so, in spite of their motives. Turning, he lay his hands on her shoulders. "I keep forgetting the calibre of the people I'm involved with."

Sook rested her hands on his hips. Her proximity, the sheer energy of her presence, was drawing them together like the strong nuclear force. Inches from her rosebud lips, close enough to smell her sweet breath, Watson closed his eyes and puckered up.

The doorbell rang and Sook snapped out of the thrall. "Was that the doorbell?" she asked, turning away, leaving Watson's first kiss to land on her jaw.

"God dammit!" he cursed. "Didn't you tell the butler? Do not disturb?"

Sook pulled away. "Must be room service." she said. "Sorry, I thought you might be hungry, so ordered the special selection."

"Special selection?"

"For VVIPs."

"What in god's name is a V-VIP?"

"You are. A very, VERY Important Person."

Watson rolled his eyes. "They just can't help themselves, can they?"

"Roll with it, your Lordship. Fancy a bite?"

"Well, I am a bit peckish now you mention it." Watson said, thinking, 'Though I would have been more than happy to go straight to dessert.'

"I'll go." Sook said, straightening her black, high-necked tunic. A moment later, she called from the entryway next door. "Err... Your Lordship?"

Watson looked frantically around for the wig, before remembering- he was inside the belly of the beast now and it was no longer needed it. He marched into the room, straightening his tie. Standing in the doorway, Sook watched him approach, then stepped aside as he drew near.

Watson pulled up short, eyes wide with surprise. Outside, in the butler's anteroom, stood 3 gorgeous young women in sparkling evening gowns. "VVIP Special Selection." Sook said. "I just worked out what it means."

The old man looked past the girls at his butler, standing by the entry, poker faced, seeing nothing. "An Asian, a European and an African hooker walk into a billionaire's hotel room." he said under his breath. "Have you heard this one?"

"Look at the age of them." Sook breathed. She jerked her head at the Chinese girl. "You? How old are you?"

"Eighteen." the eighteen year-old replied with an empty smile.

"You?" she asked the 20 year-old Russian doll.

"Eighteen."

The 16 year-old African knew what was coming and hooked her painstakingly-straightened hair behind a sweet little ear. "Eighteen." she beamed with a thousand-watt smile.

Sook looked at Watson. "Well? Which one? Or shall I make it two? Though I'd hate to leave one feeling left out."

"Which one?" Watson glared. "How does 'none' sound."

The girls looked at each other, patently shocked.

"Forgive me, Your Lordship," the butler cut in, "shall I send down for boys? We have a huge selection of the most beautiful young men."