Padan-Aran,
Bara Province, New Edom
A woman wearing a golden mask which was blank of expression and made of simple smooth metal walked down an ancient street of paving stones. Dark hair flowed behind the mask to her waist like a waterfall, dense and lush. As she moved a crimson gown embroidered with gold thread stars, feathers, flowers and fish swished around her legs with her steps. As she walked sandals slapped the ancient stones. As she walked each step made heavy breasts swing and sway under the material; wide hips swung, flesh stretched and shivered and shimmied as she moved.
Ahead of her walked four men whose faces were painted with crosses and fathers, carrying AV-94 assault rifles with bayonets fixed. Boots cracked on the ground as they marched in step. Each wore full modern battledress, and their eyes keenly scanned around her. Behind her came twelve men, naked and painted red below the waist and yellow above.Each man sweated and strained as they carried, fixed on a littler and held up by strong metal bound staves, a huge ornately carved bronze bell. On one side of this bell was a middle aged woman in filthy rags, bare bloody feet staining the stones, her face terrible with purpose, who carried a heavy iron bound stave. Now and then the woman with the golden mask lifted a delicate long fingered hand and the ragged woman would stop walking as did the litter bearers and she would strike the bell so that it made a groaning toll that made the air shiver.
Seeing this procession, shopkeepers began to close their shops up; street sweepers hastily finished their work. Van and truck drivers would pause and the drivers would get out and bow low, as did all traveling who saw the procession. Movie theaters were closed, cafes were closed, markets began to have their wares gathered up, awnings closed. A group of naked children, playing with a round black and white football all dusty from the street, paused in their game. One of the older boys sternly whispered to the others; a few nearby who were too young or excited to notice were reprimanded with fierce whispers by elders who were sitting or standing nearby.
The procession moved on. The woman had begun to sweat, and the crimson gown began to cling to the folds and curves of her voluptuous body. Her steps became more deliberate, the bearers began to grunt and strain. The ragged woman struck more fiercely. The soldiers’ make up ran down their sweating faces, but they kept marching ahead. They passed a convoy of trucks bearing bleating sheep and one from which a great clattering of huge hooves and a bellowing came. Vans were dropping off big crates and boxes full of goods at various locations. Flowers were being hung in garlands from lampposts and from store marquees.
The exhausted procession moved on, the once bountiful hair now hanging limp and heavy as the woman staggered on, sweat drenching her gown, every nook and cranny of her body stickily revealed by the soaked material. The litter bearers faltered, grimly set teeth, at a quiet word from one moved on, and the ragged woman lifted her staff. Construction workers were already wrapping up a job site, and removed their helmets out of respect as the procession passed them.
Nearby, a number of men wearing smocks and work boots had been repairing a damaged wall of a warehouse, and they had paused to bow low, putting down their tools and gear. Now they lifted their heads and immediately stopped working, started putting their tools away. “Look,” muttered one of them, “Look…”
They watched silently as the woman with the golden mask raised her mask just enough for one of the soldiers to give her a drink of water from a canteen, splashing it over her delicate hands as she lapped at the water. One of the workers moaned softly, barely heard even by his workmates, at the sight of her mouth even from meters away. The soldiers also gave water to the litter bearers and the ragged woman who had to kneel down to receive it. Her hands shook as though she’d never had water before.
It was the Queen’s Birthday at last, and all Padan knew it. Bells began to ring all over the nation, from ancient wooden bells in small mountain villages to great bronze ornately carved ones in the cathedrals of the largest cities.
The Guests
The city of Padan was an old city, with many old fashioned bungalows, villas and small apartments, a very green city full of boulevards and surrounded by farmland as well as a vast air base. The airport was small, in fact, usually you just went down a set of steps from the plane right onto the tarmac, were greeted as appropriate to your station by officials, an honour guard, or by an official greeter, and then would be led to a waiting car that would take the guest party to the Majestic Hotel.
Hairdressers, dressmakers, tailors and so on had been hired for the purpose of the birthday celebration)
There were two restaurants and a café at the hotel. One restaurant specialized in Hostillian cuisine (Count Lalery joked once ‘what’s that, a bowl of rice on a street corner?”), another in Lazodirian/central Acheronian (a lot of nice sauces, buttery flaky pastries, soups, mushrooms, wine and herb scents, crepes and so on), and the café was rather modern and international in character and quite large. You could have breakfast and lunc there and have both later in the evening if you wished.
The hotel featured a large swimming pool with diving area, a lap pool and a general pool with lounging chairs and taning areas around it, surrounded by a beautiful garden that divided it from a tennis court area. A small shopping mall and market was adjacent to the hotel and it was advised to all guests that it would be open until just the tart of the evening of the first day. It would reopen late morning the following day. You could buy clothes, chocolates, ice cream, toys, books, music, electronics, expensive cookery and kitchen ware, tobacco products and some household products there.
There were expensive suites for the monarchs or heads of government, smaller suites for the ministers or officials of state and ambassadors, and very nice hotel rooms for the other guests including staff. It was a palatial hotel, and in fact had once been a palace for a prince long ago. Now it was a grand affair with fountains and a garden near it, nicely dressed staff in maroon jackets and trousers or skirts, elegant archways and a blend of the old world and the modern. There was wifi for the rooms, a spa, hairdressers (indeed ext There were two restaurants and a café at the hotel. One restaurant specialized in Hostillian cuisine (Count Lalery joked once ‘what’s that, a bowl of rice on a street corner?”), another in Lazodirian/central Acheronian (a lot of nice sauces, buttery flaky pastries, soups, mushrooms, wine and herb scents, crepes and so on), and the café was rather modern and international in character and quite large. You could have breakfast and lunc there and have both later in the evening if you wished.
Prince Enoch Tubal-Cain, the Royal Master of Offices, as well as the personal staff of several of the senior officials or the monarchs was in the hotel itself set up with a large suite and a communications center in case he was needed. Royal Protection Service officers were infiltrated into the hotel itself while Council Police officials were in the city itself.
There was time for the guests to arrive, get themselves settled, forward him any questions or concerns. Guests were warned though that some of the senior members of the court and government were quite busy and might not be quickly available, but their staff would be as would the Master of Offices and his staff.
Many of the staff at the hotel were from the Edomite dependencies—Dengali, Peregrino, Damoclea, and so anyone used to talking the dialect of the capital province of Bara for the national Latin accent or for Baran would find themselves dealing with strongly accented but understandable people. All the senior staff of the hotel were Baran, Haranese, or Anglo-Germans.
Now and then there would be glimpses of other native Edomites—miltiary officers casually lunching at the café in their prade dress uniforms; clergy either naked and painted with crosses or in flowing robes and pectorals; well dressed Baran aristocrats in uniforms, dresses, suits languidly moving about and murmuring to one another in their excellent Latin, English or German sprinkled with the occasional Baran words. “Are you practicing your ancient Baran?” one would say to another.
“I had to get a tutor…” another would say.
There was an air of bustle and excitement at the hotel. Anyone standing on a balcony or driving with a window open, walking around outside would hear the sound of the bells. Edomites would lower their heads and eyes a moment and then continue with what they were doing when the two bells finally exchanged tolling.
The Royal Palace of Shiloam
Pumping. Thumping. Jumping.
The sun shone on the fields and on the grass around the Pavilion of the Palace as Queen Mara the First jumped and swung and swirled in the group of the younger courtly revelers. Around her the sounds of foreign music bounced and beat and thumped and pumped, as she and the others jumped and waved their arms and grooved and moved. Behind her and on both sides were relations and some of her courtiers , absorbed like herself into the music, letting it take them where it wanted, interpreted by many different wavy hand motions and frantic feet. Ahead of her and hidden by the heads of other dancers and behind his decks was the DJ, named Doctor Dread. He was a rising star in the club scene in New Edom, a Dengali with a funny accent, perpetual sunglasses and a rail thin body in a white jacket and pants and sandals.
Rafaella, the young wife of General Augrim, and Claudia Dain, daughter of the Archbishop and wife of the Ghantish nobleman Alaric Dain, were shaking up and down as the rhythms pushed through them, Mara twitching though her from crown to toe. An ecstatic smile on her face was the dead give away that her rush was coming on stronger than ever. Others...Count Max Sharra, Lieutenant Malachi Unwerth, Alexander Domris and others happily dancing around her.
Grinding. Throbbing. Pulsating.
She caught a glimpse of her husband's face as he stared sourly down at them. She had a flash of remembering their conversation earlier. He had warned her, he reminded her, that New Edom had a reputation, a good one, he argued, and that international pop stars "thank God" would not come.
But she needed this. The music was not lewd, nor were the actions. It was just fun. Her long raven hair swirled around happy oval olive tanned features, her dark large beautiful eyes wide with delight. Supple well toned limbs flexed, her curvaceous hips swayed, full bosom shook as she danced, a red spaghetti strap dress dancing and shimmying around her body.
"Fun is for fools," the King had growled. "But enjoy yourself with your brainless friends. It is, after all, your birthday."
Yes, it was. Yes it was. It was her party and she'd dance if she wanted to. She just had to blow off some steam before the festivities began, all that sitting, being the center of attention, all that ceremony.
Hopping. Bopping. Sliding. Gliding.