Chapter 17: Kalinin’s Castle

 

Wales was wet. From where I’d stopped the car there should have been a view of Snowdon. Instead all I could see was the Glaslyn valley and a sheet of cloud. Porthmadog was sitting sulking in the last of the winter afternoon’s light at the other end of The Cob. I looked along the causeway that the road shared with the narrow gauge railway that once hauled slates down from the Ffestiniog quarries to the coast and now hauled tourists. There wasn’t another car in sight.

 

I drove on across the Cob and through Porthmadog, past Criccieth with its castle overlooking Tremadog Bay. It seemed like I was heading off the edge of the country. I knew the Kalinin was in exile from Kushtia, I hadn’t realised he been exiled quite as far as he had.

 

The sign by the side of the road said, “Abererch Centre For Meditation Studies”. I turned in and parked outside a formidable, Victorian, dark stone, house of three stories. The heavy oak front door swung open as soon as I got from the car. The Kalinin was there to greet me.

 

Stepping inside the hall was like stepping into a sultan’s palace. Outside it may have been the epitome of restrained English Victorian architecture. Inside it was elaborately decorated with sumptuous gilt carvings and silk drapes.  

 

“So pleased you could come, Mr Lawrence, so pleased you could come,” he beamed. “You’ll take some tea?” He gestured to a room leading off of the entrance hall.

 

“That would be most welcome, your highness,” I said glad to be out of the car and into somewhere warm and comfortable. The Kalinin gestured to a couch and I took a seat. He clapped his hands and a girl in harem dress appeared, her face veiled but her body very much on display, and fell to her knees beside him.

 

“Tea for myself and my guest, girl.”

 

“At once, highness,” she said getting immediately to her feet and scampering off.

 

“This is splendid,” I said, gesturing to the room’s extravagant carvings.

 

“Thank you, Mr Lawrence. Of course it is little compared with the home I will have on my return to Kushia.” The girl reappeared carrying a small tray with glasses of tea. She set them down on the table between us and left without waiting to be dismissed. The Kalinin watched her go with a sigh. “So difficult to get them to learn proper respect here,” he said. “Now I will have to see she gets more instruction as to how to behave. So tiresome.”

 

“You hope to return to your home soon?” I asked. “Is your exile to end?”

 

“With your help, my friend, with your help. Kushtia is now a democratic republic. Those that sought to keep me from my throne have been deposed. The Council of the Kalin has been restored. They will ask me back, I am sure.”

 

“I hope so, highness,” I said, uncertain as to why this change in the political status in Kushtia should have required me to trek into the depths of Wales.

 

“Hope is not sufficient. A leader and ruler must act. There is a tradition which I wish you to help me with. In the past the members of the Council of Kalin were appointed by the Kalinin, now the Council is elected by the parliament. That is only proper if Kushtia is to take its rightful place on the world stage – we must be seen to conform to the norms of democratic societies. There used to be talk of corruption; of bribes paid in exchange for seats on the Council. Not in my time, of course, but nevertheless, you will understand how a government must be free of any taint.”

 

“Of course, highness. Such things can never be acceptable in a modern state.”

 

“Of course. But we also recognise the importance of prestige, of status, of position. In the past, the Kalinin presented the each member of the council with a new wife to recognise the importance of their civic contribution. Since all are treated equally there is no question of corruption. I intend, with your help to ensure the tradition is continued. You will find me six women, one for each of the Council. They will see that I respect the traditions. They will understand the value of asking their rightful head of state to return.”

 

The Kalinin was turning out to be an excellent source of business. Freddie would be pleased I thought. “I am sure we can help, Highness,” I said. “In fact I am sure there are six available at present. How soon would you like to take delivery?”

 

“No, no, I think they are most unlikely to be suitable. Most of Clegg’s – what does he call it – stock are young girls, slim, and slight of build. All of them on diets, I am sure. Obsessed with their slimness; eating with the appetites of birds. This is fine for those with modern tastes like my son. But I know the members of the Council. They are men for whom a woman must have substance.”

 

“Substance? You mean they must be wealthy?”

 

The Kalinin laughed. “No, no, Mr Lawrence. Wealth is not the question. This is more an issue of size. They need to be well formed, large of bosom. They need to be women of experience, not young girls barely in the first flush of adulthood. No, this is not Mr Clegg’s usual stock. This will need one of your specialised collections.”

 

I listened while he spelt out his requirements. He was right we didn’t have anything to suit in stock. It would need a special project but after all that was what I was encouraging Clegg to think of as our future.

 

We discussed the details. The Kalinin was sufficiently confident of the outcome to commit a significant level of funding up front. I felt sure Clegg would be happy to proceed. We shook hands on the deal.

 

“Enough of business,” said the Kalinin. “I must let you see something of Kushtian hospitality. Did you like the girl who brought the tea?” He didn’t give me the chance to respond. “Good, good. She will please you a lot. Come, come, you must have the chance to rest before your return. And you must see how well is my son’s new harem.” The Kalinin got to his feet and gestured to the stairs leading up from the hall. “Let us join my son.”

 

I followed the Kalinin upstairs. He opened a door from the landing into a massive bedroom. Sprawled on a bed hung with purple and gold drapes was the Kalinin’s son. Alongside him were two of the members of All Spice – Geri and Mel B – clad in harem costumes. Two others, Mel C and Baby, were standing chained against the wall with their wrists above their heads. Drool dripped from their ball-gagged mouths as they whimpered in discomfort. They had evidently been there for some time.  “Mr Lawrence, welcome,” the Kalinin’s son boomed leaping to his feet. He bounded across the room to embrace me. The two girls knelt up, heads bowed, on the bed. “Father,” he chided, “you did not say our great friend was coming. Mr Lawrence, I have to say how pleased I am with my new wives. They still need much training,” I saw that even the two girls on the bed were still wearing shackles, “but these two bring me much pleasure.”

 

“And the others?” I asked.

 

“They bring me pleasure too. Although my Victoria needs much correction still.” He lifted the lid of a large casket at the end of his bed. Inside Vicky was doubled up, roped and gagged and with the signs of a recent beating across her back. “The others are less trouble but she will be an obedient wife too, I am sure. And besides, it amuses me to punish her. Please join us, here.”

 

He waved at the bed. It was big enough for five. I climbed on. As I did so, the girl who had brought the tea re-appeared. The Kalinin gestured towards me and she climbed onto the bed alongside me.

 

“You like my body?” she said reaching behind her back and unfastening her bra before I had the opportunity to respond. I nodded, smiling as her pert breasts were bared showing pieced and ringed nipples.

 

“Please, enjoy her,” said the Kalinin. “She will allow you anything but she must keep on her veil. It is our way that girls must not show their face before they are married.”

 

By the time he had finished speaking, the veil was the only thing that she was wearing and she was busily trying to remove my clothes so that I might join her in her nakedness. The Kalinin’s son laughed as he pulled Geri and Mel down on the bed with him. “You see Mr Lawrence we shall make a Kushtian of you yet.”