Owen wondered how the snakes would notice.
“The smell,” she said.
“Do you mind?” he asked.
“Not being done? I haven’t up till now,” she said. “But now, sometimes, I wonder. I cannot be a woman, you see,” she explained, “until that is done. Although-” she shot a glance in the direction of the house-“I’m more of a woman than some of those in there, I can tell you!”
“Some would say,” said Owen carefully, “that there are advantages in not having been cut.”
“Really?” she said.
He had taken care not to drink from the bowl. He had just let the liquid touch his lips. He had also put a finger in, and when she had gone he smelt the finger and tasted with his tongue. Still, as far as he could judge, no drug.
“How’s it going, effendi!” said a well-known voice right beside him.
He jumped.
“Selim! Christ, what are you doing here? They’ve got a guard outside.”
“Just a kid. And gone off to join the dancing, anyway.” Selim went to the door and peered out. “Wow, effendi! How about that?”
The rhythm of the music had risen to fever pitch. The women inside had arched their bodies back, still holding hands, so that they touched the ground only with their heels and their heads, continuing to writhe, however, to the rhythm.
“Yow!” said Selim. “Wow!”
The music came suddenly to a stop with a violent clash of cymbals. The exhausted women sank to the ground. All over the courtyard similar rings were collapsing.
“You’d better get back,” said Owen.
“Effendi,” said Selim, “there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”
“Yes?”
“Can I transfer to your service? Constable’s all very well but it’s nothing like this!”
“Get off back!” snapped Owen. “Quick!”
Only just in time, for the snake-catcher’s daughter reappeared with the bowl.
“What’s your name?” asked Owen, taking it from her.
“Jalila.”
“Why don’t you sit down, Jalila? There seems a bit of a break in proceedings.”
“This is when they need the drink,” she said, but she sat down; on the floor, however.
“Is it a special drink?” he asked.
“It keeps them going.”
It was drugged, then. He dipped his finger in and held it to his tongue. It seemed subtly different. But perhaps that was just from having been told. And was he being given the same drink as the others?
“They will be thirsty,” he said, “after all that dancing.”
“They go on all night,” she said. “It’s only just started.”
“They dance the whole time?”
“Until the sacrifices.”
“They must be exhausted!”
“That’s why the men are here,” she said. “To carry them home.”
“Have you a man here?”
She smiled.
“I’m not dancing,” she said.
The next time she came the taste of the drink was stronger and deeper. He thought that perhaps there were two drugs, one for the dancers, to keep them going, the other the one that McPhee had taken. Perhaps they had not put that one in yet. Perhaps they would not put it in at all tonight, knowing that he was the Mamur Zapt and guessing that he would be forewarned. He would go on tasting, not drinking; although, as a matter of fact, he felt he could really do with a drink, a long, iced, cool one.
The music had started again and the dancing was picking up.
“No drinking either?” he said to Jalila.
She shook her head.
“I just carry the bowl,” she said.
“Someone, at least, has to know what they’re doing?”
She seemed slightly puzzled.
“The Aalima knows what she’s doing,” she said.
The Aalima, from what he saw between Jalila’s visits, was doing very little dancing herself. She seemed content to preside, occasionally moving to the centre of the ring and letting them spin round her, occasionally stepping to the table and holding something up. He could see fruit, cakes and flowers on the table, together with a few pots, one of which she raised from time to time.
It was different this time. He could tell that before it touched his lips. The fumes were heady. Owen had a particularly acute sense of smell and knew they were different. They reached up into his head and hung there. He tried to identify them but could not.
He wanted her to leave quickly so that he could breathe heavily to clear his head but she put the bowl to one side and squatted amicably on the floor.
“How often does she hold a Zzarr?” he asked.
Jalila smiled.
“As often as she can,” she said. “It pays her.”
“Half the meat?”
“And the fees. Everyone who comes, pays a fee. And then the ones who are possessed, they pay a lot.”
“I can understand that,” said Owen. “But why do the others pay?”
Jalila shrugged.
“They all like it,” she said. “It’s a bit of fun. There’s not much going on round here, after all. Not for women.”
“The Aalima wants it, women want it. I suppose the only thing that stops her having them all the time is the supply of people possessed by spirits.”
“There are always plenty of those,” said Jalila with a touch of scorn.
“You don’t think they’re really possessed?”
A loud blast of the dubertas and timbrels recalled Jalila to her duties. She stood up, a trifle regretfully.
“We’ve all got a bit of the devil in us,” she said.
He handed the bowl back to her. The move shot fresh fumes into the air.
“It’s a long night for you in here,” Jalila said.
Owen wondered if this was an invitation.
“I’ll try not to fall asleep,” he said.
Jalila laughed.
Like a girls’ party, he thought. In the courtyard the children danced. It was more crowded now and there were women among them. He could see by the taller, fuller forms. There was girlish laughter, the occasional high-pitched giggle.
Selim reappeared.
“Hello!” he said, sniffing. “What’s this?”
“What sent the Bimbashi to sleep.”
“Those bitches!”
“They don’t want me to see.”
“I should think not! The way they dance!”
“Is Aisha dancing too?”
“Like that? I hope not. I wouldn’t have thought she had it in her. Do you think she has it in her?” he asked Owen in worried tones.
“We’ve all got a bit of the devil in us,” said Owen.
He wondered how Selim’s wife was faring. He hoped she was all right. What if the supposedly possessed were given special treatment, some special drug of their own? He ought to have thought of that earlier.
“Smells a bit ripe in here,” said Selim.
“Yes,” said Owen, thinking.
After Selim had gone, he sat back slumped against the wall and did not move when Jalila next came in. He felt her cool hand touch his face. It hesitated, as if she were puzzled. Then she went out again.
A little later, doors were closed over the arch which separated the inner courtyard from the outer. There was a sudden bleating of animals.
Owen crept to the door.
In the courtyard now everything was still. The Aalima appeared at the door holding what seemed to be a huge basin. The animals were led up to her. There was a huge black ram and then two young white ones stained red with henna. Behind them were other animals, ganders, doves, rabbits. A man was standing there, blind, Owen judged, from his white eyes. He held a long knife and as each animal was led up, he slit its throat and held it over the Aalima’s basin.
The Aalima took the basin and went back indoors. Owen saw her appear at the other end of the mandar’ah. She went into the middle of the ring of women, dipped her arms suddenly in the basin and then threw blood all over them. The women screamed, then pressed forward, dipped their own arms in the basin, then threw.
The music burst out in a savage frenzy. The women began to writhe, twisting from side to side, leaning back as before but now dancing round on their heels with their heads up and their hair dangling out behind them. As they whirled, the Aalima continued to throw blood. The white gowns were all bespotted with red now, blood was on the women’s faces, in their hair. Girls’ party?