Aurora - Blood Moon Tribute Pt. 06

"What?" Watson grimaced, "No! I don't want boys."

"But," the Indian butler frowned, "they're on the house."

Watson opened his mouth. He was about to tell the butler where he could jam his beautiful boys, when Sook touched his arm. "If His Lordship wants your help," she curtly told the butler, "he'll ask for it."

The butler dipped his head and returned to his post, standing at attention beside the outside door. Sook looked up at the old man from the corner of her eye. "Don't fancy a little snack?" she asked. "I wouldn't mind one."

Watson jerked his head, then led Sook back into the huge apartment. "There's no way known." he said angrily, visions of a five-some- him in the middle of a multicultural reverse gangbang- swirling in his head. It would be fantastic, he couldn't lie, and if his heart went 'pop!' in the middle of the festivities, well, he'd front-up to his maker wearing a great big grin.

"But they're really sweet." Sook inveigled like a spoilt child. "Especially the little African. And if she's eighteen then I'm the US President. Don't fancy a little liquorice? It doesn't come any fresher."

"I'd love some!" Watson whispered crossly, "And that's just the problem."

"Problem?" Sook frowned.

"It's not what we came for, Sook. Jesus Christ, we gotta stay focused. Work first, play later. You know the rules."

Sook looked around for some way of changing his mind, but in the end she just shrugged. "I guess." she said with utterly no conviction. "But it's exactly what Munt would have done. You know, if it were him."

"Right. He'd a drugged 'em out of their skulls and played whack-a-mole with their boobs. Sorry, Sook, I just don't have the capacity. To indulge myself and still stay on-task."

"Mmm... yeah..." Sook said grudgingly, "I guess."

"Next time." Watson said, then stalked over to the apartment's big desk and flipped open a briefcase. "Tell 'em thanks," he said, peeling off 4, one-hundred dollar-bills, "but no thanks." Sook nodded curtly, then turned on her heel. "Give the butler one as well, and make sure you tell him, from me. Do not frikken' disturb!"

Sook sent down for a second order, comestibles this time. It arrived mere moments later, servants in navy pants and starched white jackets pushing 2 laden carts into the room, before ostentatiously doffing the stainless-steel domes to reveal the fare. Hors d'oeuvre covered in edible gold foil, caviars of various origin, and a few chunks of cheese, Pule from Siberia, Stilton Gold, Wyke Farm cheddar from Britain. And a bottle of French Champagne- Sook pointed out that French Champagne was actually a tautology- a concession to the Western infidels should the mood take them.

The food was good, they were hungry; a marriage made in heaven. Good, but in no way deserving of the ludicrous price tag- 200 dollars a kilo, for something squeezed out of a Balkan donkey's udder. At least they weren't footing the bill. They had Lord Woodrow-Munt to thank for that, his accountant anyway. The good Lord himself was currently indisposed, confounding a number of seasoned psychiatric professionals and entertaining their students. Sook popped the cork off the tautological beverage- one glass wouldn't hurt, and they were about to clink $500 monogrammed crystal flutes when the doorbell rang again.

In no mood for company, fuckable or otherwise, Watson cursed under his breath, as Sook got to her feet, skolling the drink. The old man dabbed his mouth with a stiff linen napkin then threw it on the tray. "For god's sake!" he cursed, "Ask him what part of 'do not disturb' does he not understand."

Sook swiped her mouth, then burped. "What if we just took one?"

"One what?"

"Hooker... sorry... hostess. Each. Then they might leave us alone."

"Soo- oook!"

"Okay, okay." She said, snapping her tunic straight. "Just an idea. I'll tell 'em to come back later, when we've finished the mission."

Watson sat back, stewing, while Sook did her thing. The thought of passing up an all-girl smorgasbord was enough to make him weep, all the more so because Sook was pushing as well. But he just couldn't. He'd made a deal with god- the one he didn't believe in. No self-indulgence, not even with his hot little sidekick. Not yet, not now.

"Damon." Sook said, walking back into the room, minus any hint of her natural cheeky confidence. She thumbed over her shoulder. "Some pigs are at the door."

"Pigs?"

"Cops. And some silly dude in a suit. They're asking for you."

Watson's heart hit the soles of his feet and rebounded into his throat. "Me? Who?"

Lips compressed, Sook looked the old man up and down. "You? Who? Well there's only the one 'you', isn't there? Lord Gideon Woodrow-Munt. Game on, Damon. I mean Your Lordship."

Watson shrugged on his suit jacket while Sook hastily buttoned his shirt. She slipped the noose over his head- his term for the tie- and after a few final adjustments, brushed his shoulders and gave him the nod. Turning this way and that, the old man checked himself in the mirror, then sucked in a great big chestfull of instant character transformation. "What do they think they're doing?" he demanded loftily, "Disturbing me at this hour?"

Sook walked halfway to the door before turning, and, in a voice loud enough to be heard outside, replied, "Forgive me, Your Lordship, they wouldn't say."

"Well they'd better have a bloody good reason. I'm a very important person you know. Very, VERY important."

Watson walked to the door, fuming. Outside in the anteroom stood two hulking police, in sage green uniforms, with big black beards and glowering eyes. Bracketed between them, a slightly smaller official, immaculately clad in a Western business suit, with slicked black hair, greying at the temples, and a neatly trimmed beard. He smiled broadly as Watson approached and held out his hand. "Lord Gideon." he bowed, "I bid you greeting."

Watson shot the hand a look of withering disdain. "Ask him what's the meaning of this." he told Sook. "Remind him. I am a guest of his Majesty, the King."

"Pray tell your Master," the smiling official jumped in, "I must speak with his Lordship directly."

Sook looked at Watson from the corner of her eye. "Your Lordship?"

"Ask him, who says?"

"His Majesty, King Abdulaziz, bin Salman Al Shabazz." the official calmly announced, "Lion of the Desert, Father of the People, Leader of the Faithful, Protector of the Land. Our beloved sovereign and your most gracious host."

Watson-Munt quickly changed gears. "Thank you, Aki," he told Sook, "that will be all."

Sook gave a tiny bow, then withdrew barely a step. Coming to attention, she dropped her arms and crossed her hands, eyes fixed on the official, ready to pounce.

"Thank you," the official said, "and please forgive the intrusion. My name is Zahir. Zahir Ghazal, private secretary to his excellency, General Fadil Farrah, Chief of Protocol to the Royal Court. Welcome, Lord Gideon, to Ab Aldafra."

Watson looked at his watch. "Thank you, Mister..."

"Ghazal."

"Mister Ghazal. But we've had a long and arduous journey and I have business to attend to. I look forward to your company in the morrow, but for now I must bid you good night."

'Long and arduous journey?' Ghazal thought disdainfully. 'All the way from London, a mere few hours away? In the back of luxury jet?' As Watson went to shut the door, one of the towering police put his foot in the way, emphatically declining the Westerner's attempted farewell. "Your Lordship," Ghazal said pleasantly, "I bring word from His Majesty the King. He is most desirous of meeting you this evening, to make introductions." He raised a hand and the second officer slapped a rolled-up document into his palm. "If you would kindly read this. In preparation. A run sheet of the necessary protocols."

"Tonight?" Watson glared. "He wants to meet me tonight?"

Sook tugged his sleeve. Watson dipped his head and she whispered in his ear, "Not 'he'. His Majesty."

Watson cleared his throat and straightened tie, then held out his hand for the sheaf of instructions. "His Majesty wishes to meet me tonight?" he frowned. "But my schedule said tomorrow at ten-hundred hours."

"His Majesty is a very busy man," Ghazal said, "as you must appreciate. Preparations for departure to the island are afoot, and endless matters of state vie for his time. Just as His Majesty is a dynamic and adaptable man, he likewise hopes you might accommodate his request. Furthermore, His Majesty is most desirous to see for himself, your wonderful tribute, and is hoping for a felicitous exchange."

As Watson stood listening to the orotund waffle, sweat popped out on his brow. The original briefing described a group meet-and-greet with the King at the palace, where he'd stand in line with 99 others, bowing as the king strolled past. Now here he was, being ordered to attend some off-the-cuff, one-on-one, face-to-face, royal command performance. It smelt like a trap.

"His Majesty awaits news of your acquiescence." Ghazal said, and Watson realised that he'd just zoned out. "What shall I tell him?"

"Tell His Majesty... Tell His Majesty I would be honoured." Watson said loftily.

"And what of your offering?"

Watson gave his head a tiny shake. "My what?"

"Offering. Your tribute."

Sook tugged his sleeve again. "The juice!" she hissed.

"The what?"

"The juice! The stuff. The... the... the gear."

The two local cops swapped confused, angry glances. What was the matter with this old bleacher imbecile? Had he somehow forgotten? The tribute was the only reason he'd been invited.

Catching on, Watson ran a hand over his sweating pate. "According to my instructions, the tribute was to be offered in the great hall. On the fifth night of the festival. On Jaz... Jazir..."

"Jazirat Alkunz." Ghazal said helpfully.

"Precisely. My offering was meant to be part of a great celebration. In honour of your king. A public display of my deep and abiding respect. In front of my peers."

Ghazal allowed himself an inward sneer, thinking, 'And a public display of your shameless grovelling'. He smoothed back his hair. "And indeed, you will have that opportunity in the fullness of time. In front of the gathering, as one of His Majesty's inner circle. You will be thus twice rewarded, once with His Majesty's personal gratitude, a second time with the thunderous ovation of your brothers. Few have ever been accorded such an honour. What do you say?"

The old man stood blinking. What could he say? But, 'Yes'?

"Your Excellency?" Ghazal prompted, in a hurry to be gone. "What should I tell His Majesty?"

Watson straightened his cuffs. "Tell His Majesty, I am at his command."

"You will bring the tribute?"

Watson bowed his head. "As His Majesty desires."

"Splendid!" Ghazal clapped his hands. "Transport shall arrive at twenty-two forty sharp. I beg you. Study the protocol. For a one-on-one audience it's most important. It states therein that you must first perform your ablutions. You must not take alcohol nor milk of the cow. Between now and your audience, you must abstain from physical intimacy with any female. Do not even look at one, not with lust or desire, lest you be afflicted by a curse and traffic the evil. And just to make sure, you will be assayed by the king's holy men on arrival. His religious guides. Do you understand?"

Watson dipped his head. "I understand."

"Very well. Remember. His Majesty's safety is of the utmost importance, for he is the beating heart of our nation."

"Of course." Watson said, "I would have it no other way."

"Excellent." Ghazal beamed, while his escort of Court Police looked ever so slightly let down. It was much more fun when a Westerner stood on his digs. Disrespect of the Crown, warranting summary justice. And in the spirit of the event, the celebration of the nation's martial progenitor, they, the police, were free to employ whatever persuasive measures they deemed fit. Just as long as they didn't quite kill the guest in the process.

"Very good then." Watson said, on the brink of taking his leave.

Before he could do so, one of the cops lowered his head to whisper in Ghazal's ear. "One moment." Ghazal said, while the police looked Sook up and down, their baleful dark eyes under bushy black eyebrows boring into her. "What about your assistant?"

"Assistant?" Watson echoed, heart about to throw in the towel.

"Your ladyboy?"

Watson's jaw hit the Persian carpet and Sook sucked a breath through her teeth. The towering cop bowed his head to whisper in Ghazal's ear once again.

"I mean your houseboy." Ghazal smiled.

"Houseboy?" Watson echoed, utterly stumped.

Another whispered correction in Ghazal's shell-like ear. "Forgive me, your Lordship." he said with a knowing smile. "My English is not so strong. I mean your manservant."

"W... w... what about her-im?" Watson stammered, knees threatening to quit.

"Will he be attending?"

"Sh... He? I beg your pardon?"

Ghazal glanced from one glaring officer to the other. The briefing said this man was nearing his 90s, though on first impression he looked in his 50s, thanks to self-administration of the magic formula. But, it would seem, the elixir of youth hadn't worked on his brain. "Your... assistant." Ghazal said a might wearily. "Will he be coming with you to the palace?"

Sook stood smiling at the trio- the smartly-dressed private secretary to some puffed-up courtier, and two glowering, uniformed police. "Ustjay... aysay... esyay." she smiled.

The visitors looked at her frankly bamboozled, while Watson fought to stave off a coronary.

"I beg the young man's pardon." Ghazal frowned. "What did he say?"

Sook touched Watson's hand, unseen. "Ustjay..." she said again, carefully enunciating, "aysay... esyay."

'Pig latin?' Watson silently implored. 'She's using pig latin?'

The police had a quick and spirited verbal exchange. "What did this rice-munching little bum-boy just say?" one demanded. "I don't know." the other replied. "Is he insulting the King?"

"Pray tell me." Ghazal demanded a little impatiently. "What is the meaning of this young man's utterance?"

"Amonday..." Sook sang. "Aysay esyay..."

"Forgive me." Watson said. "Sh... he is simply offering a blessing. It's her... his custom. He is thanking you for your most generous invitation."

"And your reply?" Ghazal glared, "Yes or no?"

"She... eeurre. Sure. Of course, he will come. My assistant goes with me everywhere. Whom else should I trust to carry His Majesty's tribute?"

"Indeed." Ghazal nodded. "Then the same applies to him. To anyone who enters the sanctum. He must ablute. He must not imbibe in alcohol or milk of the cow." He paused, and Sook caught the hint of a smirk on his face. "Most importantly, he must abstain from any intimacy with females." 'Though by the looks of it,' Ghazal thought, 'that won't be a problem.'

"Rest assured." Watson said, waving their concerns away. "As a ninja warrior he is sworn to celibacy. My assistant shall present herrr... imself suitably purified."

"That is settled then." Ghazal nodded, "Your manservant may attend, though he will not be allowed into the audience chamber. That honour is reserved for you alone. But be warned. The King's seers will also divine the young man's integrity. For His Majesty's safety."

"Of course." Watson said. "Aki is my trusted companion. Trust me. They will find him singularly noble."

Ghazal extended his hand again and quickly pulled away, then lay it over his heart instead. "It has been an honour meeting you. Pray see to your preparations. May god keep and protect you."

The trio took a few steps back and Ghazal bowed, as the butler swooped in and pulled the door shut. After giving the posse a few seconds' comeback time, Watson slumped against the jamb, hand on his forehead.

Sook looked at him, incensed. "Ladyboy?" she glowered. "Did you hear that?"

"Fuckin' awesome!" Watson breathed. "There I was one minute, just one of the crowd. Now I'm scheduled for a face-to-face with His Majesty."

"Ladyboy!" Sook said again, turning this way and that in front of mirror. "The fucking nerve! Here, Damon. Do I look like a ladyboy to you?"

"AND he wants the tribute." Watson cried. "Fucking hell, none of this was in the script."

"I asked for gamine," Sook grumbled, running a hand through her hair, "so the locals wouldn't stare. I hate how they do that, the slaves especially. I asked my silly hairdresser... make me less obvious to men. I didn't say turn me into one."

"You know what's in those vials, don't you?"

Sook hefted a shoulder. "Hmm yeah. So what?"

"Well, it's meant to be some new magic potion. And I was meant to leave it under the Christmas tree, with all the other loot. Then get the fuck out of there. What if they work out it's not what they think?"

"How on Earth would they do that?"

Watson looked around for an answer. "I... I... I don't know."

"Well they won't."

"Why not?"

"Think about it. You're here to set up a lab, remember? In for the long haul. It's not as if you're about to shoot up and run."

"You mean they won't even check? Before the king puts that stuff in his veins? They're not that stupid, surely."

"Chill, pardner." Sook said, wandering back to the dinner trolley. Topping up the flutes, she walked back to Watson, who was still busy having conniptions by the door. "Here," she said, handing him both flutes, "hold these a minute, will you?"

While Watson watched, Sook delved into her pants pocket and fished out a small, silver card of little pink pills. Popping the foil, she squeezed a tablet onto the palm of her hand, took her flute, then passed Watson the offering. "What's this?" he frowned, inspecting the gift.

"Beta blocker." Sook replied.

"What?"

"A beta blocker." Sook said, "makes you fear-proof. Roger swears by them. When his back's to the wall and he's staring down the barrel of a rout. When there are more holes in his evidence than a lump of Swiss cheese, and even his own witness has just turned hostile. With one of these little suckers on board, he can stand there, cool as a cucumber and lie through his teeth."

"But..." Watson hedged, "what do they do?"

"Exactly what it says on the tin. They block your beta-adrenergic receptors, and if you ask me what they are, I'll kick you in the nuts."

Sook raised her drink and they clinked flutes. "To the mission." Watson said, then popped the pill on his tongue.

"The mission." Sook affirmed, as the old man washed the beta-blocker down with a slug of Champagne.

Watson's hand was shaking in spite of the bravado. All the way up one arm and right down the other, then running down to his legs to his knees. He shook his head with a chuckle. "Drugs AND alcohol. This'll give his seers a run for their money."

Sook snorted through a mouthful of Champagne and just about choked. "Ninja warrior!" she cackled. "Celibate! Me? As celibate as a rabbit in a bunny stud."

"And what was that all about?" Watson demanded, grinning in spite of himself. "Pig Latin? I haven't heard that since I was a kid."

Sook took a sip and swallowed. "Well, I could hardly use English. And while I haven't actually checked I doubt you speak Korean."

Watson shook his head. "No, yeah, that's not what I mean. 'Just say yes'? You mean you actually want to come?"

"Of course I do!" Sook said brightly. "I've never snuck into a palace before. At least not over here. Let's face it. It's what any self-respecting ladyboy would do."

"Ladyboy?" Watson palmed his forehead. "Jesus Christ. It just goes from bizarre to transcendental."

"Just think." Sook said, taking his hand and leading him to a sofa, before stepping behind him to help him off with his jacket. "An actual palace. There might be a harem."

"More like metal detectors and Xray machines." Watson said, as Sook came around and loosened his tie. "And pat-downs by security staff. And don't forget the boogeymen."