by H M Sealey
“I can. I shall.” Tariq glared at Zeb. “You want money, I’ll give you money. But the girl’s not a slave.”
“She certainly is a slave and I’ll sell her as one.”
“When she accepts Islam she cannot be a slave.”
“Whatever. For now she needs a receipt and proper papers. If you want to take her over the border. She’s marked and registered officially.”
Elsie blinked around, her mind leaping like a butterfly between hope and despair. This was not the man in her locket. The man in her locket was much darker. But this man did share her own colouring, and Gran’s too. She turned to see Kit on the other side of the room, calmly sipping a drink and watching events with mild interest, like it was a film at a cinema and he had better things to do.
“Mr. Summerday!” She called out. “What’s happening?”
Kit didn’t react. Beside him Asim tried to understand events but failed. He stayed quiet. His uncle Baraq and Tariq ibn-Jack were involved in some kind of fracas, it would not help events if he became involved too.
“Mr. Summerday!” She called again.
Finally Kit stood and, hands in pockets, walked over to the little group.
“Hello Elsie.” He said.
“Please. Please, nobody can buy me. Tell them. Tell them it’s illegal to buy people!”
“It’s not illegal here Elsie, you know that.”
“But you promised you’d get me out.”
“And I will.” A thin smile crept across his face. “I’ve made a bid for you that I guarantee nobody here will match.”
~
Elsie
“I can’t come close to this.”
The man who says he’s my father looks at the piece of card Kit shows him in horror. I try to peer over his shoulder but can’t.
“Then I take the girl.” Kit looks smug. I don’t know what to think. Only that I’m scared, so, so scared. I know Kit a little bit, although I don’t like him. This new man, I don’t know him at all but he looks fierce and alien, in his long robe and wild beard. He looks more like an animal than a man.
But he also looks like me. Under the beard, the blue eyes, the freckles.
“She’s my daughter!”
“I don’t think that’s relevant!”
I don’t know what to do. Again I search for Missy, but all I see is Kit. Kit’s eyes are cold. Mr. Jourdete is here too, unless I’m dreaming him. I don’t know what’s real any more. All around me faces watch, staring at me, eyes Kohl rimmed or behind spectacles, interested faces, amused faces. I want to escape the faces, escape the light.
They shone a light in my face the first time, when they asked me their questions. I couldn’t run.
I can run now.
I do. I start to race across the floor on bare feet, bumping into tables, tears blurring my vision, hunting for a door. All around me people laugh, as if I’m funny. This piece of property trying to stop being a piece of property, trying to be human like them.
“I’ve got you.” A pair of strong arms close around me and I sink to the floor. The arms don’t move, they hold me close, letting the sobs begin in my throat. The arms are warm, familiar somehow, only I don’t know from where.
“Easy Elsie.” A voice whispers. “It’s going to be all right. I promise. Somehow it’s going to be all right.”
~
Baraq
Baraq Saidah surprised everyone by catching the hysterical girl and clutching her to his chest as if she was his, whispering gentle promises in her ear.
He looked up from the floor at Zeb.
“What’s he offered you?”
Zeb straightened his tie. “That’s confidential.”
It was Tariq who answered. “Two hundred thousand Riyal.” he said. “It’s more than double what I have.”
“I’ll give you the rest.” He said.
Kit shrugged. “Then I’ll up my offer.”
Baraq’s kind face turned on him. “For heaven’s sake man, can’t you see he’s just found his daughter? Are you quite without human feeling?”
Kit remained unmoved. “He has no high moral ground. He’s here to purchase a girl to satisfy his own sexual needs.”
“As are you.”
Kit made a tutting sound with his tongue. He reached into his pocket and drew out a card. “Actually I’m here as part of a police investigation. This girl has information I need.”
“I don’t!” Elsie screamed against Baraq’s chest. “I’ve told him and told him I don’t know anything about Family Matters!” Her voice collapsed into a sob again. “I don’t. I really don’t!”
“And I’ve said I don’t believe her.”
“And what happens once you’ve questioned her? You’ll own her. “
“Maybe I’ll sell her on.”
Tariq seemed to collect himself. He turned to Zeb with a distant, cold look in his gaze. “Who did you buy her from?”
“That would be confidential too. I have the receipt, but my supplier prefers to remain anonymous.”
Baraq, his quick mind leaping from possible solution to possible solution, looked to Zeb.
“This girl cannot be considered Mā malakat aymānukum.”
Zeb scratched his head. To him it was simple. Sell the girls and make a profit. He sometimes forgot that half his customers had convoluted rules about who could, and couldn’t, be called a slave. They were quite honourable rules, in their own way. Certainly better than those who couldn’t have cared less where their slave labour came from.
“What?”
“She is unmarried, and therefore the responsibility of her father. Her father is an upstanding Muslim man, honourable and zealous towards Allah – may He be exalted. She is no prisoner of war. She is a free woman. She may not be sold.”
There was a murmur of interest amongst the onlookers. Perhaps half of them were not Muslim, and yet they were all very aware this sale was taking place in the BSI. It was standard for the Islamic laws to be suspended during the sale, but not all of them.
Baraq fixed his eyes on Zeb’s small, greedy pair.
“Perhaps I need to bring the authorities here. The Mutaween have their offices only a few streets away.”
The interest became discomfort. Enough of the Mutaween knew of this auction, but there were many who didn’t, and those who did, did not explicitly sanction it, they simply turned a blind eye.
“Don’t be stupid.” Zeb snapped. “We’d all be arrested.”
Kit was not intimidated. “You savages believe in buying and selling slaves too. Your Mutaween would simply buy a girl for themselves and say no more.”
Baraq turned his attention to Kit.
“You’re right. There would be sympathy for a slave market.” He paused. “There would be no sympathy for the alcohol, or for the uncovered women draping themselves over the men. These things are haraam. These things would be made an example of.”
He drew out his phone. “But I am not drinking, and my niece is covered. I have no fear of the Mutaween.”
Now there was silence. Zeb rubbed his forehead with his sleeve. He himself was doing nothing more than indulging in a trade as old as time. But his customers, loyal and rich, he would lose his customers. They would never trust an auction again. He narrowed his eyes. One girl was a cheap enough price to keep his customers safe.
“All right.” He agreed, locating Elsie’s details again. “Because I deeply respect your culture,” The disdain was clear but Baraq did not care. “Then I agree that I bought this girl mistakenly. If you reimburse what I paid for her, then I’ll wipe her from my records. Is that acceptable?”
Baraq pretended to consider this offer before inclining his head.
“That’s acceptable.” He said.
~
Missy
Missy sat on a chair by the wall, her knees drawn up to her face, waiting. The other girls did likewise, terrified, trapped rabbits, aware that a nose outside the burrow would cause the hounds to attack. So they stayed in the room, knowing that when
they left it, they would also leave what shreds remained of their humanity behind.
People came into the room. Rich men in suits and women in diamonds, men in thawbs and beards and men without them. They scrutinised the girls with cold interest, occasionally ordering one to stand, or turn, or to strip just as Nicky warned them might happen. There were so many different people, so many nationalities. All partaking in the most immoral of trades and doing so as if they were purchasing a new car. Did people really care so little for their fellow man? Perhaps the authorities in Old Britain were right to try and forcibly squeeze every sort of bigotry and inequality out of the people. Perhaps, without that, people were simply monsters.
Or maybe there would always be monsters and the monsters would always find a way to thrive.
Two women in Islamic dress approached and Missy didn’t look up. She wondered whether Sylvester would help her. She wanted to believe his promises but she found promises, even from the kindest lips, were often broken.
We’ll be back in the morning darling. Sleep well my love. Her mother had said that the day before she died. She promised to come back and she didn’t. Only her body did, with a bullet through the neck.
If her mother, the person she had trusted most in the world, had been unable to keep so simple a promise, why should anything the old man say come true either?
“Missy.”
She glanced up, a face hidden behind a veil peered into hers, a long body draped in black, like a living shadow with only points of light for eyes.
“Missy.” The voice sounded urgent. “It’s me.”
She met the eyes, the dark, familiar eyes.
“Dai…?”
“Shhh. Don’t say anything. We’re examining you with a view to buy you.”
It was Dai. She suppressed her exclamation of surprise.
“How can you be here?”
“There’s a bit of a commotion at the front over Elsie.”
“Is she okay?”
“I think so. But nobody stopped us coming in.” He glanced at the girl beside him whose face was uncovered and full of concern. “Is anyone watching Alaia?”
She scanned the room. “No. They’re all too focused on their own desires. Move quickly.”
Dai did. He began to strip off his clothing and niqab as swiftly as he was able. Beneath he wore an old suit Alaia remembered belonging to uncle Baraq, before western clothing was considered unislamic.
“Put these on. Come on.”
Alaia moved a little to stand between Missy and the rest of the room. Dai tied the abaya shut, smiling into his sister’s eyes. Finally, he pulled the niqab over her head, hiding Missy from view.
He ran a hand through his hair, grateful to have escaped the cloth prison.
“Now listen, go with Alaia. Don’t speak, keep your eyes low. Everyone was vetted on the door so nobody will know you aren’t Alaia’s companion, Ayaan.”
Alaia looked sharply at Dai and Missy saw affection there.
“What about you?”
Dai pushed his hands into his pockets, the wound in his leg was healing well and caused little pain to walk. “I’ll bluff it out. There are loads of different sorts of people here, lots of them are in western clothing. They checked everyone coming in, so they’ll assume I’m supposed to be here.”
Alaia was clearly unhappy with this plan, but she took Missy’s arm and began to guide her towards the door. Missy clutched the friendly hand through the layer of fabric.
“Thank you.” She whispered very softly. Alaia nodded in response.
There was a man on the door, a bored looking man playing a game on his phone. He looked at them as they left. “See anything you like?” He asked. “Zeb only gets the best.”
It was Dai who answered as casually as he could.
“There are one or two I wouldn’t mind bidding on.” He grinned as naturally as he was able, just as if he wasn’t a man sickened by imprisoned women. The man barely looked at him. He really wasn’t particularly interested in the men who bought the merchandise. His job was to watch the girls, not the buyers.
Nerves crackling in her stomach like fireworks, Missy crossed the big room with Alaia. There was quite an argument going on beside the stage. A tall, black-eyed, dark haired man was threatening Zeb in a voice that was used to demanding respect.
“I’m a police officer and that girl is needed for questioning.”
“You’re a police officer in Old Britain Kit.” Zeb told him with obvious familiarity. “Here you’re just a punter.”
“I am not just anything. I demand you let me take the girl or I’ll have her arrested.”
“You need to stop throwing around empty threats because you can’t make good on them.”
The man bristled. “I’ll speak to the authorities here then!”
Zeb laughed at that. “You think the Mutaween will cooperate with you? You’re at an illegal auction remember, you haven’t got a leg to stand on. Take your money and buy another girl.”
The man stepped forwards, fingers clenched at his sides. “You know I damn well don’t want another girl. Stop being so bloody awkward Uncle Zeb!”
Zeb didn’t bend. “Because you’ve always been such a supportive nephew, haven’t you?”
Now the man with the slicked-back hair and the thin face became pale with fury. “You think I can’t ruin your business?” He hissed. “I know where you get your goods from.”
Zeb shrugged at this threat. “I do all my buying in the Border. I don’t work in Old Britain. I wouldn’t be stupid enough to pay those sort of taxes. Now, if you have a problem with the people who sell the merchandise to me, you go and chase them down, there’s a good boy.”
The man was fuming, and an older gentleman with thick, grey hair and little glasses patted him on the sleeve and offered a smile that was trying hard not to seem amused. Even through the niqab Missy recognised Sylvester Jourdete. Was he the kind man determined to defend Family Matters that he pretended to be, or was he the vicious creature who sold girls into sexual slavery whom he also pretended to be? She needed to know.
“Never mind Christopher.” Sylvester soothed him. “You tried. Seems like your investigation’s met a dead end.”
“This is ridiculous!” Kit turned to the older man in something like desperation. “You tell him! Tell Uncle Zeb he has to give me that girl!”
“You’re like a broken record sometimes. I can’t force Zeb to do anything.” Sylvester lowered his voice a little more so Missy could barely hear it. “Do you think he’d be trading in this filthy business if he ever listened to anything I tell him?”
The old man began to steer him away from Zeb with a cheerful grin. “Come and have another drink. There’s a girl I’m considering buying myself. Come on. Calm down.” And quietly, he hissed into the darker man’s ear. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself you idiot!” Although his voice was so low very few people heard.
~
Elsie
I’m dreaming. I must be dreaming. I rub my eyes to clear the tears and he’s there, standing a few feet away. Dai. He meets my eyes and I’m about to shout his name when he raises a finger to his lips for the briefest moment, and shakes his head. Then he puts on a really odd, artificial smile, and barges through the people to take Baraq’s hand and pump it up and down as if they’re very old friends.
“Baraq!” He sounds so bombastic, not at all like Dai. “Good to see you my friend.”
The man called Baraq looks confused for a moment, before he meets Dai’s smile with one of his own.
“Ah, my friend, how are you?”
“Well. Very well. I’m just here on business.”
“Aren’t we all.” There’s a discernible pause and Baraq’s eyes pass over a girl wearing a dark headscarf, and another wearing something that covers her whole face apart from her eyes. “Tell me, did you find what you were looking for?” Those words sound a little more intense.
“I did.” Dai answers, his own eyes pausing on the two w
omen, and Baraq seems to relax a little.
“Then I’m very pleased for you.” He pauses. “So I imagine you’ll be going now?”
“Yes.”
“Can I tempt you into a drink first?” He puts his arm around Dai’s shoulders and leads him towards a quieter table far away from the stage. So help me God, I have absolutely no idea what’s going on. It’s like a terrible dream where all the people look like people you know but pull their skin off to reveal monsters below.
The big man takes me by my shoulders.
“Rachael. I can’t believe I’ve finally found you again.” He says.
“I’m Elsie.” I tell him.
“You’re my daughter and I’m going to take you home. I have a fine house. You’ll like it.”
I stare at him for a long time.
“Are you really my father?”
He nods, and takes my chin in his hands and gazes into my face. “You’re so like your mother.”
“Gran never said anything much my family.”
“I think she was ashamed of me.”
“I – I found a locket a couple of days ago and there was a picture of me and my mother and brother in it. And another man.” I can’t remember what Gran called him. He had an Islamic name I think.
“Another man?”
“She married again.”
Tariq’s eyes darken, then the darkness lifts.
“I hope he took care of her, And your brother, Joshua.”
“I sort of remember him. He was in the locket too.”
“Where’s your locket now?”
“Kit Summerday took it. He wouldn’t give it back.”
“Who?”
“The policeman. The one who tried to buy me.”
The man who says he’s my father gazes across the room to where Kit is in deep conversation with Mr. Jourdete. Neither man looks particularly happy.
“Then I shall get your locket back for you.” He says.
~
Asim
“Baraq, just get Missy and Alaia away. Please.”
Baraq sat close to Dai, their words whispered. “Alaia plans to run.”
“And she still can. I can’t, not dressed like this, not if we plan to travel through the BSI. I’ll have to try and make my way back to the Border. I’ll ingratiate myself with someone, cadge a lift.”