Aurora - Blood Moon Tribute Pt. 08

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The meeting was largely theatre, the king's reps strong-arming Watson into a business deal that would never exist. All so they could brag to the king what a pushover the old bleacher had been. Finally free to leave, just as the sun was going down, he made his way back to the apartment, led by the ever-present Ali. As he was opening the door, brimful of expectation, wondering what sort of delicacy awaited inside, a runner turned up, breathless, bearing a message. "Your Excellency." he puffed.

Watson glanced inside to see Cassandra sitting up, stretching and yawning, Selene on her tummy, passed-out beside her. "Err..." he said, dragging his eyes away, "What can I do for you?"

The runner tilted his head. "Your Lordship?"

"I mean," Watson quickly recalibrated, "what is the meaning of this interruption? I'm a very busy man." At least, with a bit of luck, he was about to be.

"It's your assistant, Master Aki."

Watson's façade slipped and almost fell off. "Is shh... is he alright?"

"Of course, Your Lordship. It's just the young master is desirous to speak with you. Down at the barracks."

Watson checked his watch again. Inside, Cassandra was on her feet and slipping into her long, see-through gown. "I'm busy." he said, waving the invitation away. "Just tell him to come up and see me." Watson allowed himself an inward smirk- the sight of these 2 young stunners would pop her... err... his... cork.

The runner and Ali swapped a glance. "I'm afraid that's not possible, Excellency. You may visit the barracks, but the men from the barracks may not set foot in here."

A door opened, and the resident of the neighbouring apartment but 1, stepped into the hallway. Zhang Jingli, the Chinese ivory dealer, looked them up and down, cigarette parked in the corner of a permanent sneer. He was dressed for an evening stroll- sleeveless vest and baggy, low-slung shorts with his bare-belly hanging over the waistband, and pink rubber flipflops from the dollar-store. Scuffing past, hands in pockets, he offered a grunt of greeting, then carried on down the corridor, billowing smoke like some labouring steam train.

Watson ran a hand through his short, white hair. Sook was taking a huge risk just being here, it was the least he could do to go and check on her welfare. "Okay," he said, "show me the way."

"Excellency? We may use the elevator to the concourse level, or use the stairway."

"Stairway, of course." Watson snapped. Good for the legs with far-fewer witnesses.

Ali led the way, outside into the early twilight. They had just descended the castle's long, flanking staircase as far as the pool terrace, when a voice called from behind. "Your Lordship! Wait!"

Watson and his minder propped and the old man looked over his shoulder to see Cassandra running down the stairs, holding the hem of her gauzy gown above her knees, like some starlet from a 1930s black and white love story. "Wait up Gideon!" she called, "I want to come with you."

The old man rolled his eyes. Wouldn't that be fun? A clandestine hookup between a rank imposter, and a girl impersonating a boy, on an island, owned by a king with a long and colourful history of summary executions. With Miss Dipsy-doodle along for company. She reached them, breathing hard, just like the runner. "You didn't come get me." she said, part statement, part complaint.

"You looked so comfortable." Watson sighed. "You and your pal. Now. Why don't you head on back and I'll join you when I'm finished."

Cassandra took his hands. "Naww... but I wanna come with."

"It's just a boring old meeting. With my assistant."

"But I thought I was your assistant."

"No, you're my..." Watson wanted to say 'escort' but wasn't sure of the local connotation, "my gift. My Travelling Wife. And as such you will do what I say. Go on, Cass. Go and have yourself a little more weed or something."

Cassandra jumped up and down in frustration, and even the phlegmatic Ali's eyes widened at the sight of her jouncing breasts. "But I'll lose my job!" she keened, "If they see you out and about without me. They might think you don't like me. Pleeeease?"

"If the young lady is not to your liking-" Ali spoke up.

"No!" Watson raised his hand. "I mean yes, yes she is. I was just hoping for a little more privacy."

"But the Blood Moon ambassadors are renowned for their discretion." Cassandra reminded him. "Your Lordship, pleeease?"

Watson looked around, unequivocally defeated. The odds of this girl being a royal stool pigeon were inversely proportional to his mission's odds of success, but he knew and she knew she had him by the balls. "Well... come on then. Let's get this over and done with."

Cassandra jumped up and down again, clapping, the sight of her jiggling breasts inciting another transient bilateral brain stoppage. Reaching out, she took Watson's hand. "You can go back, Ali," she said, "I know the way."

Ali looked at Watson. "Excellency?"

"Three's company, Ali. Take the night off."

Ali bowed. A fanciful thought, though well enough meant. "Your Excellency. Miss."

They set off again, down past the pool via 2 more levels, then along a short colonnade to a last set of steps leading down to a path. Arm in arm with the brooding old man, Cassandra switched to tour guide mode. "See this path?" she said, nodding at the winding, cobbled walkway at their feet. "This symbolises the Widowmaker. The Widowmaker was a narrow mountain road, used by King Salman's diversionary force, on its way to a heavily fortified pass. Their job was to draw the defenders away, from the fortress, by giving the impression of being an easy kill. Meanwhile, Salman, leading his Mountaineer Division, snuck around the mountain on a route they said was impossible, and took the fortress from behind, crushing the defenders and ending the war."

Watson looked up at the rocky peak of the ornamental mountain, silhouetted against the twilight sky. Movement caught his eye- a creature of some kind, hopping from boulder to boulder. "And that's what this festival's all about?" he asked rhetorically. "Some ding-dong primeval battle?"

"The birth of the nation." Cassandra nodded. "And the birth of a tradition that's remained unchanged for one thousand years."

Right down to the very same medieval assault rifles, Watson thought.

Rounding the shoulder of a rocky prominence, they made their way down a gentle incline, heading for the minor islet, separated from the bigger island by a narrow stonework bridge. As they crossed, the sound of riotous cheering drifted past on the breeze, from one of the showrooms, purpose-built entertainment venues attached to the barracks. Beyond them, down on the shore, bolstered by a seawall of jumbled concrete blocks like oversize Lego, lay the maritime terminal, with its warehouses, docks, jetty and arrivals pavilion.

"Is that your friend?" Cassandra asked.

Watson looked up, to see a small, slim figure dressed all in black, waving at them from behind the line at the far end of the bridge. Sook, looking businesslike in her black slacks and tunic, doing her best to remain poker-faced, unable to stifle a smile. As they drew near, both Sook and Cassandra spoke up. "Who's she?" Sook asked, while, at the same time Cassandra said, "Who's he?"

"Soo... Aki," Watson said, "Cassandra. Cassandra. Aki."

When Sook reached out to shake, Cassandra ignored the gesture. "Is this your assistant?" she asked.

"This must be one of those travelling wives I've heard so much about." Sook mused. "So that's what they look like."

"I tried to come alone," Watson wearily explained, "but-"

"It's my job to look after him." Cassandra said, half-stoned, looking down her cute little nose. "Are you really a guy?"

Sook hefted a shoulder. "If you like."

"You look like a chick." Cassandra observed then looked at Watson. "Do you and he...?" She curled her fist and jabbed a finger in and out.

"Certainly not!" Watson glared. "He's my just assistant if you don't mind. Now back off before I have you replaced."

Cassandra threw her hands up. "Woah, woah! Look, it doesn't bother me. It's just, I'm picking up a kind of a vibe, you know. I'm just curious, that's all." She looked at Sook. "I like your eyes."

"I was just about to say the same thing." Sook replied. Her appraising gaze tracked over the front of Cassandra's gown and she arched her eyebrows. "And not just your eyes."

Watson cleared his throat. "The runner said you wanted to see me." he said curtly, doing his best to sound businesslike.

"What?" Sook said, dragging her eyes away. "Oh. Oh yeah. Look. You know how you really like yachts?"

And indeed he did. His own humble 45-footer, SV Aurora, for example. And the one on the satellite pic, tied up at the Blood Moon Island docks.

"Why, Aki? Have you found one for me?"

They turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. It was Mister Ivory, the Chinese crime boss from a couple of doors down, a fresh cigarette between pursed lips, scuffing towards them, flipflops smacking. "Come for show." he grunted and carried on past, lest his neighbour get the wrong idea. It was the second time they'd crossed paths in the last half-hour... people would talk. Watson, likewise, wondered if there were more to this coincidence than, well, just coincidence. They'd flown from London to Ab Aldafra in the businessman's jet, was the gentleman now expecting some sort of quid pro quo?

Slouching past, Zhang disappeared in the direction of the showrooms, puffing deeply on a cigarette. They watched him go, then Watson snapped his fingers, restoring the focus. "Soo... Aki. The yacht."

Sook jumped. "What? Oh yeah. There's one anchored in the harbour you might want to see."

"Anchored?" Watson frowned. "Not tied up at the dock?"

Sook shot him a look of warning. "What dock?"

"Just a saying." Watson sniffed, waving-off the faux pas.

"Right." Sook said, "Well, she's out in the bay, moored or anchored or whatever you call it."

"How far offshore?"

"Not far. Do you want to come see?"

Watson shrugged. "Well I've come all this way."

Sook jerked her head in Cassandra's direction. "What about...?"

"Why don't you head on back, Cass?" Watson said. "It's just a boring old yacht."

Cassandra nodded then shook her head. "No, sure, I love yachts. I'd love to come with." Her shoulders rolled restively. "Unless you and your little friend want to... you know..."

"What?" Sook scowled and Watson lay a hand on her shoulder.

"For the last time." he said testily, "Aki's just my personal assistant."

"Whatever." Cassandra said, raising her hands, "I'm cool."

Watson and Sook exchanged a guilt-laden glance, the old man in the throes of a flashback- Sook squirming beneath him, arms around his neck, ankles crossed over his back, hips thrusting, teeth clenched and eyes shut tight. He shook his head. "Why, the very idea!"

"Lord Gideon," Cassandra said earnestly, "believe me, lots of my best friends are queer. And if it were so, I'd be the first one on the side of the bed cheering you on."

"Well I'm sorry to disappoint you," Watson said haughtily, pointing between himself and Sook, "but the thought of us having sex is simply disgusting."

"Master." Sook said and put a hand on his arm. "Quickest way there is over past the barracks." She jerked her head in the direction of the sprawling complex. They had only taken a few steps, when the entrance to the barracks auditorium opened up and a knot of dark figures appeared, moving silently over the concrete path linking the barracks to the gymnasium. Sook took Watson's elbow. "Woah up, Damo... Your Lordship. That looks like a fishing expedition."

"A whaa?" Watson blinked, teetering to a stop.

"Fishing expedition." Sook said in a low voice, then nodded. "Sure enough. That's Madam Jumanah the Entertainment Manager. And her muscle. They must be on the hunt for volunteers."

"What are they doing?" Cassandra asked in a little voice, sidling into the black-clad Korean.

Sook looked at Cassandra then looked away. "Fetching a showgirl from the gym." she replied. "A stocking-filler by the looks."

Watson looked down at the top of her head. "A stocking what?"

"Filler. A lot of the girls are pros... porn starlets mostly, and some other girls with... err.. unusual talents. Stocking fillers are just the ordinary chicks used to make up the numbers. Not always willingly if you get my drift. It can get a little exciting sometimes. We'd better wait here till they've finished doing their business."

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No more than one hundred meters away, on her back, on her rack, in the corner of the gymnasium, Ally watched the matinee showgirls returning to roost, some beat, some beaten, others thoroughly and publicly fucked. She checked-off the vomit lesbians, a couple of strippers, a quartet of can-can dancers, and a brace stunning blonde dildo deep-throaters. How, she'd once wondered out loud to a neighbouring show girl, could men possibly find these sorts of things sexually arousing. At which the young woman had let out a laugh. "They don't." she said.

"Then why do they watch it?"

The showgirl rolled her eyes. "It's all about the degradation. They hate females, they hate us all. It's all about seeing us despoiled."

'Men!' Ally thought, watching the returnees settle in, thanking her lucky stars she was under the protection of the notorious Mafia-slut Yuliya.

The gym doors flew open and in they marched, the Wicked Witch of the West, Madam Jumanah, and her crew, 4 heavily armed and armoured palace police. Some poor chick was in for it, Ally thought, rolling onto her side, pulling the blanket over her head, knees up, elbows in, burrowing into herself.

Some unseen hand grabbed the blanket and flung it away, and Ally looked up blinking. "Get up!" snapped Madam Jumanah, ringmaster of the circus of horrors.

"Wha...?" Ally cried, eyes wide with surprise. She looked into the faces of the showgirls nearby. "Someone go get Yuliya! Quickly!"

Madam Jumanah jerked her head. A hulking security guard seized the side of Ally's rack and flipped her unceremoniously onto the floor. The surrounding showgirls began to pull back. 2 more guards picked Ally up under the arms, hoisting her onto her feet, and Madam Jumanah gave Ally's slippers a kick. "Put them on."

"Where are we going?" Ally huffed, patently terrified. "What are you doing?" Looking desperately around for backup, she found her fellow showgirls whispering in each other's ears. "Help!" she cried, "For fuck's sake, someone get Yuliya!"

Kneeling at her feet, a guard grabbed her ankle and stuffed her foot into the embroidered silk slipper, one then the other. With a guard either side, one in front and one behind, they set off, Madam Jumanah leading the cavalcade, heading for the exit. Searching for a familiar face, Ally found Yuliya's English-speaking compadre, standing by the door with her arms crossed. "Katya," Ally panted, "I beg you, where's Yuliya? Where are they taking me?"

A sly smile crept onto the woman's hard face. Reaching for her crotch, she mimed the action of jacking a massive cock, while her neighbour cranked her butt out and gave it a slap. Tongue out, eyes crossed, another girl pretended to choke herself as a ripple of giggles followed Ally out of the door. All along, a little voice in her head had been nagging her, Yuliya's friendship was too good to be true, and if the heckling was anything to go by, she was now about to pay the price for her credulity.

Half dragging, half carrying her, the fishing fleet spilled outside into the cool of the evening. The barracks block, with its showroom annexes where showgirls strutted their stuff, loomed out of the darkness. "Nuh!" Ally shook her head, "There's no fucking way. Do what you like, throw me in jail, kill me if you have to, but there's no fucking way I'm playing this game! YOU WHORE!" she screeched, "LET ME GO!"

Teetering to a stop, Madam Jumanah turned on her heel, then stepped up to Ally and slapped her hard in the face. Wrenching her arm free, Ally elbowed one guard hard in the solar plexus, then spun on her foot and kneed the other in the groin. The men shrank back, fumbling for their weapons, as Madam Jumanah took flight with Ally behind her. Catching the woman in half a dozen steps, Ally crash tackled Madam Jumanah to the ground, already punching, as the woman covered her head, shouting and squealing. A guard dragged her off and Ally grabbed his weapon, spinning him round and round for several revs before letting him go. Scrabbling to her feet, Madam Jumanah hunkered down behind a trooper, robes torn, head scarf down and wrapped around her neck. "SHOOT HER!" she shrilled, "KILL HER!"

The guards traded glances. The ass-rape gig was one of the most popular, but much of the time the 'victims' were faking it. Not this one. She was going to be absolute dynamite up on the stage, and there was no way known they were wasting her for the likes of this jumped-up old bitch. Madam Jumanah could go hang- the show had to go on.

Stepping up, unseen, behind the little white hellion, one trooper seized Ally in a headlock, while two more grabbed her wrists, wringing her arms behind her back and binding them tightly with zip-cuffs. With a smack in her ear, they half hauled, half-carried the snivelling white girl to the end of the path, then took a right, entering the showroom through a side-door.

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Sook and Watson stared at each other, open mouthed. "That's Alana." Sook said, watching them drag her away.

Watson banged his temple, adjusting the set. "It can't be."

"It is." Sook said. "I'd bet you anything."

Fifty meters away, the Chinese businessman crushed a cigarette under the sole of his flip flop, then set off after the fishing expedition, into the showroom.

"What are we gonna do?" Sook implored.

Watson walked in circles, hand on his forehead. "Where were they taking her?"

"If she was in the gym, if that's where they got her." Sook said. She looked at Watson and her face fell. "She must be a showgirl."

"Alana? How?"

Sook shrugged. "I guess they sent her here from the prison."

"So where are they taking her?"

"To one of the showrooms."

"One of the what?"

"Showrooms. Where they hold all the shows."

"What sort of shows?"

Sook tilted her head, as if to say, 'What sort do you think?' "Sex shows, Damon. For the men."

"Hang on," Cassandra cut in, "what did you just call him?"

As if suddenly remembering her presence, Watson looked Cassandra up and down. "Are you still here?"

"Did she just call you Damian?"

"No. She called me Demon. It's like a nickname. Because that's what I am if you cross me. Soo... Aki?"

"Master?"

"We have to go after her."

Cassandra stuck her oar in again. "Do you know that girl?"

"For someone who's meant to be the soul of discretion!" Watson growled. "Look... Just go back to the apartment and wait for me there."

"By myself?"

Sook touched his arm. "It might be better if you both go. Then I can slip down and see what's what."

"But, Ally..."

"Right. Ally. What do you think she's gonna do if she happens to see you?"

Watson ran a hand across his scalp. "Then you'd better go after her, quick. I'll head on back to the apartment. Let me know, as soon as..."

"Stop stressing, Da... My Lord."

Watson looked around. "Cassandra?"

"Your Lordship?"

"We best be getting back."

"Can someone please tell me what's going on?"

Watson took her elbow, as Sook set off on the same path the Chinese VVIP had just taken. "I'll tell you on the way." Watson huffed. "You know, you made me a promise. To be utterly discreet."