Still, he was concerned for his friend. The woman brought a confusion into Khalid el Bey’s chart. There was a dark area now that Osman could not fathom, and it worried him. Still, if his friend insisted on marrying her, then at least he would pick the best day. He scanned his charts carefully, made swift new calculations, and finally pronounced, “Saturday, at moonrise, you will take her as your wife.”
“Thank you, my friend. You will come, of course, and celebrate with us.”
“Yes, I shall come. Is it to be a large celebration, Khalid?”
“No, Osman. Just a half-dozen or so are to be invited—my banker, the head of the merchant’s guild, the mullah, the Turkish commandant, and my secretary, Jean.”
“What of Yasmin?”
“I think not.”
“Yasmin loves you, Khalid.”
“Yasmin thinks she loves me, Osman, and therefore she will accept my plans because of her belief in me. Besides, she will have no further contact with Skye. I cannot allow my wife to associate with a whore.”
Osman had to laugh. “There, my friend Khalid, speaks both the Spaniardandthe Moslem in you.” He stood up. “Until Saturday, my lord Bey, and I wish you luck with Yasmin.”
Khalid el Bey sat pondering for a few moments after Osman had left. The astrologer was right. Yasmin would have to be dealt with, and the sooner the better. Rising, he called for his horse and, in the silent midafternoon heat, he rode down to the heart of the city, to the House of Felicity.
The building in which this famous brothel was housed was built around a planted courtyard that had a spraying fountain at its center. The side of the house facing the streets was white and devoid of windows or any decoration save the double-doored entry of blackened oak with polished brass studs. Guarding the doors were two huge black giants in scarlet satin pantaloons with cloth-of-gold sashes, turbans, and ridiculously turned-up shoes. Their large bare chests and muscular arms were oiled so that they gleamed in either sun or torchlight. They smiled broadly with flashing white teeth as their master rode past them into the courtyard.
Khalid el Bey dismounted, tossing the reins to a pretty young girl of ten who smiled at him in an adult and provocative fashion.Both her feet and her budding breasts were bare, and she wore only white gauze pantaloons that revealed her round little buttocks. A clever innovation, he thought, for many of his Berber clients liked prepubescent girls best of all.
For a minute he stood and looked about the courtyard with a proprietary air. Everything was in perfect order. He was pleased. The brick walks were well swept, the shrubs well trimmed, the flower beds colorful and fragrant.
“My lord Khalid, you honor us!” Yasmin swept down the steps to greet him, her black-and-gold silk caftan billowing. An odor of musk was strong about her, and he could see her vermilion-tinted nipples through the sheer silk. Her golden hair was plaited with black pearls, and behind one ear was a creamy gardenia. It continually amazed him that she always knew of the arrival of an important guest, and was instantly there to greet him.
“My dear Yasmin, you are as lovely as ever.” He chuckled inwardly as she bridled with pleasure. “Come. I wish to talk with you.” He led the way to her apartments, waiting patiently as she served him coffee and small honeyed almond cakes.
At length she asked, “How is Skye?”
“That is what I have come to discuss with you,” he answered. “I have decided she is quite unsuited for this sort of life.”
“Praise Allah! You have come to your senses!”
He smiled faintly. “You do not like Skye, do you?”
“No!”
“Then you shall not be burdened with her any longer, Yasmin.”
“You have sold her?”
“No. I am taking her to wife. The chief mullah of Algiers will join us on Saturday evening at moonrise.”
Yasmin’s face crumbled. Then, recovering herself as quickly as she could, she laughed weakly. “You jest, my lord. Gracious—how you startled me! Ha! Ha!”
“I do not jest,” he said quietly. “Skye is to be my wife.”
“She is aslave!”
“No, she is not. I have freed her. She was never meant to be a slave, Yasmin.”
“And I was?”
“You were born a slave of slave parents, of slave ancestors. It is your fate.”
“I love you! Does she love you? How can she? She barely knows you. But I know you, Khalid, and I know what pleases you. Let me!” and she fell groveling at his feet.
