“That’s for me to know, dearie.” Mirta laughed, getting up with almost the reverse motion. “When you sit, you stay in the same position, with your feet tucked under your butt. Nobody gets to see anything you don’t want to show. Drives guys nuts. Try it.”
After a few tries Megan had managed to sit without collapsing or spreading her legs and she realized that it was how Mirta always sat down. It was both elegant and, she suspected, alluring. A graceful and sexy motion. Grand.
“Now, go show it off,” Mirta said.
“I’m not going to parade around in this… this…”
“Go show it to Christel,” Mirta said, definitely. “You will too ‘parade’ around in it. You’re my walking advertisement. Get out there and advertise.”
“You evil old…”
“Ah, ah,” Mirta smiled. “Me?” she added in a little girl voice. “I’m just… just a little girl…”
“Right,” Megan said, facing the door. “And I’m Sheida Ghorbani.”
She strode down the corridor and into the main room, walking over to where Christel was playing Yahtzee. The other girls watched her and she had to admit that based on their reaction she had to be the most hated girl in the harem. Many of them had some minor form of lingerie or panties and bras. But the outfit Megan sported was, to those, what a nuclear weapon is to a firecracker. It was the sexual equivalent of a weapon of mass destruction.
She stopped in front of Christel and pirouetted in place.
“Will this do?” she asked, sharply.
“It will do very well,” Christel replied with a nod. “I’m sure Paul will love it.”
“As am I,” Megan said tightly.
“Dinnertime,” Christel said. “Why don’t you go get your… friends. And put a robe on; that thing is scandalous.”
Megan went back to the room and stripped off the outfit, replacing it with a robe. She felt more dressed with a robe on. She felt more dressed naked.
“It was a hit,” she told Mirta sourly. “Christel’s going to want one.”
“I might make her one,” Mirta replied, with a malicious smile. “And she’ll never understand why she doesn’t look as good as you do in it. But the next outfit I’m going to make is for Amber.”
“Amber?” Shanea said. “Why?”
“Because I want to.” Mirta grinned. “You’ll see. And one for you, dear, of course.”
“One that will suit her?” Megan asked. “Dinnertime, by the way.”
“Oh, yes,” Mirta replied, as they walked out the door. “Definitely one that will suit her. And I think that Amber’s will cover her almost completely. And make Paul want to tear down walls. The human body is a lovely thing, but never so lovely as when properly covered. It’s using clothes to create a mystery that is the truest art.”
“Not much mystery in what you made for me,” Megan said, sourly.
“Enough.” Mirta smiled. “Just enough and no more.”
When they reached the dining room the food still hadn’t been served and Megan sat down with a puzzled frown.
“Girls, listen up,” Christel said, clapping her hands for attention as Mirta sat down. “Starting tonight, you will be served individually. And for tonight all the portions will be equal. As soon as I can obtain a scale, all of you will be weighed. Those of you who are overweight, and you know who you are, will be placed on reduced servings.”
“What?” Karie said.
“Yes, Karie, you’re one of them, and Shanea and Demetra. But we’re also going to start having classes in dance and exercise. They will be mandatory for most.” There was a general unhappy muttering at that and she looked around at the group with a hard smile.
“Paul maintains a harem, not a palace for lazy slugs. It is about looking good for Paul and, frankly, most of you are starting to look a bit soft in the middle. That is going to change.” She waved to the kitchen and the servants began carrying out plates that had been pre-served. Megan carefully kept her eyes on her plate and tried very hard not to smile. One change effected.
CHAPTER FIVE
After another week, Megan had the books in order and Paul still hadn’t put in an appearance. And after struggling for that week, maintaining things became easy enough that she got bored again. But she still didn’t go out of the room, much, preferring to use the excuse of “keeping up the books” to maintain some relative privacy. She was also exempt from the regular exercise and dance classes, but she kept in shape by working out in the office. Everything was on track except one: The kitchen books still wouldn’t add up; the harem was paying for at least twenty percent more food than was being consumed.
After going over the numbers repeatedly she reached the point that she was positive it wasn’t just sloppiness. Which meant she knew darned well where it was going. The problem was what to do with the information. She could inform Christel in which case the head cook could look to being on the wrong end of a Change. Or she could manage it more… obliquely.
She was also fascinated by some of the items available for order through the kitchens. There weren’t only foods and spices but cookware, distilling materials, cleaning solvents…
An idea was starting to tick over in her head one afternoon when the door opened and Christel waved at her imperiously.
“Megan, go to your room and put on that lovely outfit Mirta made for you,” Christel said, smiling viciously. “There’s someone you need to meet. Again.”
“Ah, the washing girl,” Paul said, smiling. He was no longer the old man he had appeared, but the face was the same. As was the long hair that hung in lanky strands. But his clothes were clean and finely made. He had the look of being about two hundred, slightly below normal height. Megan suddenly realized that she had met him before, years ago. She truly hoped that he would never remember the meeting.
“Her name is Megan,” Christel said. “Megan Sung.”
It was the name she’d used after the Fall. She didn’t know why she had changed it; it wasn’t like her father was well known. But, then again, the sort of people who would react to the name “Travante” were precisely the sort she didn’t want interested in her.
“How have you been, Megan?” Paul said, holding out his hand. “You look much better than the last time I saw you.”
“Oh, I am much better, sir,” Megan said, not taking the hand but instead dropping in a curtsey that kept her legs modestly crossed. She stayed in the curtsey for a moment then straightened back up, not meeting his eye.
“What a delightful young lady,” Paul said, running an eye over her like a horseman with a likely looking filly. “Beautiful bone structure. Love the outfit.”
“Thank you, milord,” Megan simpered as well as she could. Let him choose one of the others, let him choose one of the others…
“I think we should get to know one another better,” Paul said, taking her hand and leading her to the room reserved for him.
“Yes, milord,” Megan said, trying to sound happy and failing miserably. She bit her lip and the last thing she saw before the door closed was Ashly looking at her with an expression of malicious delight.
“The first time is always hard,” Paul said, raising himself off of her and rolling to the side. “It will get better.”
Megan rolled onto her side, away from him, and curled into a fetal position, clenching her hands so hard that her nails dug into the palms of her hands.
I will not attempt to kill him, she thought. It’s not possible. He’s protected. I’m in a prison in a fortress. It will only get me killed.