The girl was lying on the floor of the cell, her legs curled against her abdomen, apparently unconscious. Goshar got closer, and took a look at her in the dim light that filtered through the door. She was naked except for a small, dirty loincloth, and had her arms tied to her back, secured to by the elbows to a pole tucked between them and her back, forcing her whole chest forward. Her whole body showed whipping marks of different severity, indicating the use of several different whips. Professionals, thought Goshar, she wouldn't have expected less. Her fingers behind her back where bloody and showed funny angles, indicating some had been broken; probably, it was the same case with the toes, but the bloody mess of the girl’s lower legs made an assessment difficult. Above all, she had an iron device, like a spiked press, tightened on her breasts and secured by leather straps to the pole; the pressure had made her breasts turn swollen and violet with internal bleeding and torn tissue. Her nipples showed signs of having been severely squeezed; one was reduced to a bloody mass. Very delicately, Goshar brushed aside the girl’s golden hair, stuck to her face with dirt, tears and sweat, and, caressing her cheek, called in a very soft voice:

“Stephie…”

The girl opened her eyes, whose blue color stood against the red globes, bloodied with pain and tears.

“Gosharik…” she said, recognizing her. Her breath was heavy with pain and exhaustion; her voice was low and broken.

Goshar proceeded to loosen the screws in the press; very slowly, putting a hand over the girl’s mouth; she moaned in pain, as often happens when the tension of a torture device is released. “I got caught, Gosharik… fool of me, I risked too much… She did this to me – pointing with her eyes to the device in her breasts - but I didn't say anything…” Her lips were trembling as she spake.

But Goshar put a finger on her lips, indicating her to keep calm.

“Save your breath, Stephie, and tell me what you have found out.”

II

Ibn Al-Athir signaled his men to bring the girl to his presence. He was one of the wealthiest merchants in Cairo; as such, he commanded a veritable private army of guards and followers. The girl looked terrified when two men virtually dropped to her knees in front of him. He ordered her to stand up with a slight movement of his hand.

“What’s your name, girl?” he asked

“They called me Safi, sahib”, she said, still trembling. She was dressed in the abundant and loose fitting clothes women used to wear in the streets of Cairo, but it was obvious that she was shapely built; she was of Frankish stock, as her height, her deep blue eyes and a strain of golden hear coming out of her hijab headdress revealed.

“What’s your role in my household?”

“I do menial tasks and perform minor errands for Lady Zaira” she answered. It was not certainly an enviable task; Lady Zaira was Al-Athir’s second wife; as such, she was used to ruthlessly intriguing to gain a foothold against the older wife and to contain the ambitions of the younger ones.

“Then you would explain what you were doing at the Races last Al-Ahad?” he said, in a surprisingly friendly manner. The girl looked embarrassed.

“Sahib, a girl, even a servant, has her own business with men and has to go where men go” Al-Athir smiled, and looked at his counselor, at his side, who duly returned the smile.

“Then you'll also have an explanation for this object found in your quarters” he made a sign, and one of his men produced a dagger.

“Yes, sahib, a girl…” she began, but he interrupted her

“… Even a servant has to protect her honour, you'd say, wouldn't you? Very witty.” The girl looked puzzled, but smiled nonetheless. Al-Athir also returned the smile.

“Who else do you work for, Safi?” Now the girl looked afraid.

“I… I don't understand, sahib…”

“C’mon, you have a proper command of Arabic, for a Frank… Who else do you work for?”

“No… no one, sir…

“Safi, last time at the Races you were not playing games with a lover… you were stalking me. And not only me, but some of my friends also. Ahmed, is that the girl you saw?”

A big man on the left, surely a body guard, assented.

“Yes, Sahib.”

“This man, Safi, is a bodyguard for my good friend Abu Shama; he stalked you in turn and watched your whereabouts at the Races.”

The girl kept silent and looked down.

“So, who else do you work for and what were you doing at the Races?”

“I have told you, sahib…” But Al-Athir banged his fly-catch against the cushions he was sitting on. He calmed down quickly.

“I had hoped you would be cooperative, Safi… no, actually I was hoping you would become cooperative after some… persuasion. You know how persuasive we could be, for sure, don't you?”

She did. She had seen much abuse inflicted to the harem servants, and heard much more. She shivered.

“But Sahib…” she protested, but Al-Athir silenced her with a sharp movement of the hand. He made a gesture to his men, who immediately closed on Safi, and started taking her clothes off; she didn't even try to resist. On being relieved of her hijab, a long, gold hair dropped on her back. He made another gesture for his men to stop; only a white undergarment covering her legs clung precariously from her hips. She immediately covered her breasts with her arms, still looking down. Al-Athir closed and walked around her. She was indeed beautiful, with an unmarred, slightly tanned skin, ample and muscular back and slim waist. He ran his fingers lightly down her spine.

“I can see why Lady Zaira has never showed her servants to me… I could have found a better assignment for someone like you,” he said, and sighed.

“But that is a thing of the past, a lost opportunity… Now, I am afraid I have to order your beautiful body to be ravaged, just for you to be persuaded to cooperate… A pity, a waste, I'd say. You're sure you do not want to be spared of that…savagery, beautiful Safi?”

The girl gulped. She moved her body forwards towards him and fell to her knees in pleading.

“Sahib, I have nothing to say…if you feel like that, prevent that undeserved violence from happening by believing in me and showing mercy.” Without uncovering her breasts for a moment, she joined her hands in plea. But he was unmoved; in fact, he smiled sarcastically.

“If you are what me and my counselor think you are, you are good. Real good. If you are not, it will be a waste, I tell you, a terrible waste; I shall feel sorry for that, but I shall recover. We'll soon find out.” He signaled his men, and they forcibly made her stand, taking her arms by the wrists, then holding them down, fully exposing her breasts, firm and well formed. He closed again, and caressed lightly her left nipple with his thumb. He paid attention to her heartbeat.

“You do not seem as terrified as you should be… may be we were right, after all…” He looked back at him, and both men smiled. He then moved his hand for his men to take her away. As she was led out of the chamber, he fixed his eyes on her naked back and her legs, barely concealed by the undergarment, and the sensual gaiter of her hips. As she reached the door, she looked back, straight at him; the guards, sensing the moment, stopped. Was it a last, silent plea? Al-Athir moved his head slightly, in an unequivocal sign for his men to carry on.

III

She was brought back to Al-Athir’s presence several hours later; in the meantime, he had been sipping coffee and eating dates with some friends. The guards virtually threw her on her knees in front of him.

“Well, well… you do not look so smart as the last time we met, Safi; certainly, not more afraid, that’s for sure.” He was right. To her credit, the girl was not even pretending being frightened, in spite of the torture she had been subjected to; instead, crouched as she was forced to be, she was looking up to him almost in defiance. She was naked, exception made of a small, dirty loincloth tied precariously to her hips; she was covered in sweat and dirt and her body showed the signs of much abuse, though both she and Al-Athir knew it had been relatively light up to now. She had her elbows tied to a pole inserted in between them and her back, which forced her torso forward and, kneeling, down towards her thighs, her breasts almost resting against them. Her long hair was all over her shoulders and face, stuck to sweat and dirt. Al-Athir came down to her and forced her to look even higher by raising her chin with his hand; her torso took a more upright stance, her breasts dangling in front. Her breath was heavy, but she kept silent. He took notice of the girl’s face, having previously been dazed with her body. It was angular, with a full mouth and a bony jaw full of determination; she had a bruised eyebrow and cheekbone. The events confirmed his appreciation.

She had been carried downstairs to the basement, where a veritable torture room had been made up by Al-Athir’s chief of guards, Saltüq, a big man, probably a Turk ex-slave. There, she had been stripped of the last garments clinging to her body; and, held on her chest to a table by brute force, she had been penetrated several times by the three or four men present. Then, she had been washed with a bucketful of cold water, and provided with a loincloth, a mere small piece of cloth held by a rope tied to her hips. They had hung her by the wrists, her arms widely separated and her toes barely touching the ground, a most painful stance, and whipped. The whip was light, and the strokes were almost random, all over her back, buttocks, thighs, and occasionally chest and abdomen. Stephanie knew that it was only the beginning, the warming up. For a long while, as her skin got reddened with the hits, she feigned pain, with moans, sighs and muffled screams, contorting as the strokes landed on her body. Soon, her torturers changed the whip to a heavier one, with which they started hitting her back and buttocks, the occasional strayed stroke against her ribcage. Then thing got more serious, and her sensitized skin began to tear; her screams became more for real. She had been left hanging for a long while; then she had been revived with cold water bucketful and brought to the presence of Al-Athir.

“You still refuse to acknowledge your true masters, Safi? You won't reveal what they ordered to do?”

“I have nothing to say… sahib… I am innocent of anything against you or your House…” Her breath was just a bit fast, but well within her control.

He walked around the knelt figure.

“Truly admirable, your disposition. How I'd wish to have such a loyal servant. But it won't help you now. You know it has been only the beginning. Now, we'll go into serious business, you and me. Not that it is a personal thing, nevertheless.”

All of a sudden, he grabbed her hair and pulled her whole body up, shaking her head violently.

“What were you doing at the Races? How many times did you follow me there? Answer!”

But she remained silent, looking straight into his face; soon she regretted it, she knew she should have faked fear and pleaded innocence or mercy, or both, but the suddenness of the assault had surprised her. He dropped her to the floor; she moaned.

“Take her back. Tie her to the frame. Get everything ready. I shall be there in a minute” He turned round as she was dragged out of the chamber, and chewed some fruit at the small table beside his cushions.

IV

When Al-Athir finally went down to the cellar, the girl had been tied to a wooden frame, like a chair; a seat to which she was secured by the knees and ankles, a beam inclined backwards onto which the torso was laid, and across at the back roughly above the lumbar area. Her elbows were tied and her forearms brought forward, in a similar way as in the ambulatory restraints that had been used on her before, and left her hand barely in front of her body. Additionally, it forced her chest forward, while straps on her thighs prevented her to move her hip forward but a little bit. The whole allowed for the very precise application of torture devices, and was uncomfortable enough without causing any injury.

Al-Athir went up to her and inspected the arrangements. He took her chin in his fingers and made her look up at him.

“Well, well, Safi… or whatever your real name is… I guess that you can imagine all the things we can do to your body, arrayed as it is on that… chair…” She did. In her early youth, during her training, she had been punished several times, even for nothing, with some whipping and restraints, but proper torture by professionals was another, very different thing.

“Sahib, that is my name… stop hurting me, I beg you…” But he made a sarcastic smile.

“You do not think that a beautiful girl like you would have passed completely unnoticed, even in a big city like Cairo." She stared at him.

“We have been doing some questioning around… we almost know when you first showed up in the city and where you came from… to some extent.”

“Sahib, I told Lady Zaira… I came from Bilbeis…” But he shook her face to interrupt her.

“Yes, and before that from Damietta, and before that… no one knows… very clever, pretending to be a free foreign peasant woman looking for a menial job… but it cannot hold for long.

She slipped her face from his hand and looked aside, but he got a firmer grip and forced it up again.

“So now you will tell me who you work for and why you have entered my household.

“I have nothing to tell, Sahib…”

Al-Athir let go the grip on her face.

“Good. Be it. Saltüq, proceed.”

The Turk brought a low stool, and seated on it in front of her. He lashed her feet to the footrest at the base of the frame, and produced a pair of pincers. She shivered and looked at Al-Athir.

“No, sahib, don't…” But he made the slightest movement with his eyebrows to the man, who immediately understood it and proceeded to grab her left little toe and very slowly started squeezing it. Stephanie clenched her teeth and watched it assume a funny angle and produce a snapping sound in disbelief. She quickened her breathing to stave off the pain.

“Should we go on, Safi?” Al-Athir asked, but she looked at him, trying to control her breath. He nodded at the Turk, who proceeded to treat the middle toe the same way. This time, Stephanie let go a short, high pitch scream. The torturer looked at his boss, who nodded again, so he started to work on the right foot, in the same way. Twice Stephanie's toes made a snapping sound, and she screamed. At a further signal, the Turk moved away and left the place to Al-Athir, who sat in the stool, rearranging his long robes. He looked up to the girl’s face.

“They say this is incredibly painful for such a small wound,” and he took one of Stephanie’s broken toes and started squeezing it. The girl moaned and contorted to the extent of her restraints; she was starting to sweat again in pain.

“Who do you work for?” But she only moaned, so he grabbed another toe and pulled it violently. The girl screamed.

“Who sent you to spy on me?”

“No, sahib, stop!” she managed to say. He did, standing up, and leaving the position to his torturer. The Turk removed the stool and grabbed the girl’s right hand, still holding the pincers.

“No!” she cried, as she tried to move her arm away, but the man applied the pincers to her annular finger, squeezing it upwards until it broke. The girl couldn't repress a scream; she looked at the broken finger hissing in pain. The man took her middle finger and repeated the operation. Again, the girl screamed in pain.

“Sahib, tell him to stop!”

“Only when you start talking, Safi.”

“But I have nothing to say, sahib, believe me!” But he moved his head sideways, and nodded to the Turk, who applied the same treatment to her little finger. At this stage, Stephanie was covered in sweat and moving her hips and legs trying to release the pain. The Turk grabbed the broken fingers and shook them, making her scream and moan in pain.

“Why did you follow us to the Races, Safi?”

“I… I wasn't… following you… sahib… believe me…” she said, among sighs.

“I guess we'll have to take… stronger action on you… girl," said Al-Athir, and nodded to Saltüq. He brought a heavy cane and handed it over to him. He started prodding Stephanie’s breasts and abdomen with it; then, he used it to raise her chin.

“Which is your real name, girl?”

“They… call me… Safi… sahib…” she said, but he looked frustrated and handed the cane back to the Turk.

“Proceed,” he commanded. The Turk took position to the right side of the girl and started caning her shins, firmly tied to the frame. The lack of muscles in that part of the leg made the strokes land almost directly on the bone, making them extremely painful. Stephanie screamed and contorted wildly within her restraints, violently moving her head around. Al-Athir made a sign, and the man stopped. Her face fell to her chest, breathing heavily. He closed on her, and lifted up her face; tears were beginning to flow from her eyes. He gave her a sip of water; she couldn't resist.

“If we go on with this, girl, the bone will break… you may not be able to walk again… do you want that? Just for refusing telling your real name? Which is…?” he said, while he caressed her cheek.

“Sa… fi…” she said in a whisper. Smiling, Al-Athir kept on caressing her cheek and lips. He then stepped back and Saltüq resumed his job. He deliberately controlled his strokes so as not to break her bones, and prolong the torture. But anyway, it was too much for her: after screaming and contorting wildly once again as the strokes landed on her ravaged legs, she mercifully passed out. The Turk stopped at once and looked at his boss.

“Alright. Let her rest for a while. Take her to the cell.”

IV

Stephanie woke up lying on the floor of the cell; every self-respecting potentate’s villa had a cell where to put rebellious servants or harem girls. She quickly took stock of her situation: she had not been fatally injured, but she would soon be, if things went as they were going; for her plan to work, she would have to stand a good deal more of punishment. She was naked, with her wrists tied to her back and her ankles. Al-Athir obviously wanted to make the things last, and he had had a coarse blanket thrown onto her aching body; otherwise, cold would have been punishing. But she was sure of what was coming, and it certainly didn't take long.

When she heard the steps approaching the door, and the door opening, she pretended to be asleep. It was Al-Athir, followed by Saltüq. The Turk slammed a kick on her stomach, took the blanket off her and held her crouched on her breast to the floor. Al-Athir started taking his belt off. Then he stood looking at him.

“Sahib? Saltüq asked, puzzled.

“Put her up! I want her to suck me!”

“With due respect, Sahib, I don't think it is a good idea, not with this girl. She has teeth, Sahib…”

Al-Athir smiled.

“And we don't want to pull those out yet, do we, Saltüq? There is a lot of time for that…”

“Even so, Sahib, broken teeth are edgy enough, so to speak…”

Then, Al-Athir laughed loudly, and, standing behind her, he put the loincloth aside and rammed his cock hard inside her.

“Before it is too late, Safi, or whatever your name is, which we shall surely soon find out, this ought to be done. You know that.” She did.

V

Next morning, they dragged her to the questioning room; she would have been barely able to walk. She had been washed with the usual bucketful of cold water, which ensured her senses were wide awake for what was awaiting her. She was tied to the frame in the same manner as before; only that this time the restraints were more than uncomfortable; they were painful to her hurting body. Her whole body was shivering, covered in dirt and dried sweat, and her broken fingers had gotten stiff and dark; her back was still bruised with the whipping and dried blood covered her lower legs.

A smiling, impeccably attired Al-Athir entered the room.

“You look much for the worse, Safi. I wonder how long you will stand this treatment… one more day, two maybe? Imagine all the pain that could be inflicted to you in that time… is this not the time to think it over and yield?”

But she remained silent, looking at him with reddened eyes.

“Wouldn't you even tell us what your real name is?”

Still no answer.

“Fine. Proceed,” he said to Saltüq. The man approached the frame with the stool and the pincers. Stephanie started writhing as soon as he sat down in front of her. He grabbed the nail of her right big toe and started pulling, slow and strongly. She started to moan in pain. The skin around the nail began getting white with the strain and then red with blood; Stephanie stared at it the whole time, clenching her teeth to restrain screaming, emitting a guttural sound until she let go a scream of pain as the nail finally snapped and came out. She then started breathing fast, as she moaned and contorted her body slowly; fresh sweat started covering it.

“Should we proceed to the other foot?” asked Al-Athir.

“No, sahib… please… stop…” she pleaded.

“Will you tell us what we want to know?” She closed her eyes to refrain from sobbing.

“I… can't… please… I… can't…” she said, so the man made a sign with his eyebrows to the torturer, who immediately repeated the operation on the other big toe. This time, Stephanie started emitting short screams almost from the beginning, contorting and letting go a big, painful scream at the end. She started sobbing.

Al-Athir moved close to her and lifted her face from the chin.

“Will you talk now?”

But she refused, moving her head and whispering among sighs, so he let her drop on her chest, and looked at the Turk. The man closed again on her, bringing a small brazier. She began to plead as soon as she saw it, and more when the Turk lifted her left foot, exposing the sole, and waited for his boss’ command.

“Proceed,” Al-Athir said, so Saltüq took a small red hot iron and started poking the sole of Stephanie’s foot. A hissing noise and a faint smoke, along with the smell of burnt fat, went together to her screams. When he finally stopped, she was sobbing and writhing uncontrollably. She looked to Al-Athir with tearful eyes, but in silence, so he signaled the Turk to go on with the torture. He started working on her right foot in the same slow way; the girl screamed and contorted until she finally passed out. Al-Athir and Saltüq looked at each other in frustration.

The Turk was about to revive her with a bucketful of cold water, when the door in the cell opened and two people entered. Al-Athir was surprised –though he shouldn't have been- and Saltüq stood up looking humbly at the floor. Lady Zaira entered the cell, followed by his eunuch, Basr.

“My dear, glad you joined us,” said Al-Athir, sarcastically. “You shouldn't have bothered.”

“On the contrary, my dear husband,” she said “This wretched thing has deceived me, and used me to deceive you, so I have full rights to be here and… take part in the proceedings…” she retorted. She was not a young girl anymore, but she was still in her prime: she was the typical Arab woman, with jet black hair, big round dark eyes and a full mouth; she had a big frame, but kept a curvaceous and sensual body.

“Which… part… would that be?”

“Well, my dear husband… I see you have not been much successful, your henchmen and you… you will end up killing this poor girl without ever learning anything.” Al-Athir smiled.

“That’s… a possibility, dear. And you think you can do better than that?”

“Actually… probably not preventing the death, but, at least, the failure in learning.”

“And how would that be?” asked his husband, now rather amused.

“You see… I have brought this… device.” She made a sign to the eunuch, which produced a metal object out of a leather bag.

“I have used it many times in the harem… to inflict some lesser punishment, of course… but it looks perfect for the occasion. Show it to my husband, Basr.” The eunuch produced a metal device like a pair of jaws held together by screws. “I guess you can imagine how it is used.” They did. The jaws were settled above and below a woman’s breasts, and they could be made to compressed them by means of the screws; it sported small round teeth which would increase the pain without causing big injuries. Neat and painful.

“Interesting… object,” Al-Athir said; and then to Saltüq, “Do you think it will be useful?”

Saltüq was less than delighted at having to answer such a question. He said, looking at the floor, “It is not my position to argue about Milady desires; if she wishes to use that implement on the prisoner, it can surely be made to work.”

Lady Zaira was positively delighted at the answer.

“I see you have been teaching manners to your henchman, my dear husband. He will be accepted into the Caliph court soon.” Then, to her eunuch, “Hand the press over to him.” He did, and Saltüq examined the device for a short while. He looked satisfied.

“Of course I demand to be allowed to operate it. Believe me, I am a woman and I can judge very properly another woman’s reactions and resistance.” No one objected, but no one made a movement, so she grew impatient. Al-Athir ordered Saltüq, “Proceed.”

He nodded. He revived Stephanie with the usual bucketful of cold water. As she regained consciousness, she started moaning as the pain from her many wounds returned to her, breathing deeply. Saltüq immediately put a vial on her mouth, forcing her to swallow some very strong alcoholic beverage, then he did the same with a water bottle, all before the girl had time to react. She understood that would invigorate her to resist even more torture.

“Ah…” said Al-Athir. “I see that defiant expression again… I rather like it better than your posing as an innocent sheep calf… Now, we'll try something else on you.” The Turk put the device in front of her eyes; she understood what it was immediately and swallowed, clenching her teeth. The Turk proceeded to install the device on her breasts, securing them with its leather straps to the beam behind the girl’s back; then he fastened the screws for the jaws just to get hold of the tender skin. Stephanie was slim, to the point of starvation by Arab standards, and her breasts, though firm and well formed, would have looked rather small to any Arab male; both Al-Athir and Saltüq recognized that the device should have worked better with Arabian or even Armenian women, with their more exuberant anatomy. The Turk fastened the straps just a bit tighter than his liking, forcing the girl to breathe with her abdomen (any attempt to do that with her chest would eventually increase the pain anyway). Stephanie breathed fast, shivering from the cold shower but already warming up and sweating from the alcohol and the pain. She looked defiantly to Al-Athir.

“I… shall not… tell you… anything…” she said.

“Ah!” he replied “You admit you have something to tell… well, we knew that already, dear, and, I tell you, I would have had you tortured you even if you hadn't.”

Saltüq had stepped aside, so Zaira took position in front of her.

“You have betrayed me, little beautiful wretch, and tried to use me to damage my husband. That shouldn't go unpunished,” she said, caressing her nipples; and then, approaching her mouth to her ear, she whispered, “And I do not care if you talk or not.”

She started tightening the screws. Stephanie clenched her teeth and moaned, breathing fast. With the last turn of the screws, she let go a short scream. Zaira smiled.

“You have a pretty rough idea of what happens when I turn these screws, don't you? We shall begin now,” she said, and resumed the operation. The girl screamed again and contorted her body; with the additional restraints, she could just move her shoulders and hips. Zaira stopped and went back, looking at her writhing, sweating body, and waited, pretending disinterest. “Like a professional”, thought Saltüq, amused. After a while, the girl’s breasts were getting red and swollen. Al-Athir came to the questioning.

“Who sent you to spy on me?” But she didn't answer; but only looked at him in defiance. He took her by the hair and shook her head. “Who?” But she tried to shake her head of his grip. Her body was covered in sweat. Zaira went up to her again, and tightened the screws another notch. The girl screamed and started moaning continuously.

“What were you looking for? Why did you follow me and my friends to the Races?” Al-Athir went on. She denied answering with a movement of her head. He hit her in the face, but controlled himself and stepped back. Zaira tightened the screws once more; the girl was screaming under each movement of the screws and moaning continuously, moving her head. She was under extreme pain, but there was still much margin to go. Zaire made another pause. The girl’s breasts were now red and swollen, shiny with sweat; the small veins were clearly visible, and the aureoles looked fully expanded and the nipples hard. Tears were starting to flow down Stephanie’s cheeks. Zaira went up to her again; this time, she couldn't repress crying.

“No… no… don't!” and then screamed as her torturer tightened the screws once more.

“Stop… please, Sahib, tell her… to stop…” she managed to say, among her moans and screams. “Maybe I do. Will you tell us your real name?” he said. The change of subject was surprising; it looked as if the girl couldn't actually prevent saying.

“Ste… phanie…” she said, and sobbed. Zaira immediately loosened the screws half a turn. It was still painful enough, but not the acute pain she had been being inflicted a moment ago.

“Good,” Al-Athir said “we are coming to an understanding." He went up to her and forced her head up by the hair.

“Who sent you?” Stephanie closed her eyes as if repressing from weeping, but tears flowed anyway.

“Ibn Moyessar…” she said, and started sobbing. He looked at his wife, who loosened the screws another half-turn. He dropped her head and walked around. His relief was evident.

“And… what did my good friend wanted to know?”

Stephanie sobbed. Zaira started caressing her nipples and she cried.

“No, no! I'll tell you… I'll tell you!” she cried, sobbing continuously.

“He hoped… I could… overhear… your plans… to get… the monopoly on opium trade… for the Caliph’s court…” she continued.

“Just that?”

“Yes, sahib…” But he looked at Zaira, and she took the butterfly nuts of the screws again.

“No… no! It’s the truth!” Stephanie cried, but Zaira tightened them. She let go a scream and contorted wildly.

“Who else were you spying on?”

“Stop! I'll tell you!” she cried. Zaira loosened the screws.

“Abu Shama was one… Ibn Al-Qalanisi and Al-Afhdal were also suspects…” she said, trying to control her breath.

“None of those are traders, nor my trading partners in any way… why did he suspect from them?” he asked suspiciously.

“I don't know… I don't know! Why… why would he tell me?” she said.

“Because the success of intelligence work also depends on the initial knowledge you have… my friend should be fully aware of that… so… why?”

“He didn't tell me… I have never seen him, only… a servant… please, believe me!” She was increasingly desperate. But Al-Athir looked at Zaira; she tightened the screws and stepped back again. Stephanie could feel the internal tissues in her breasts tearing apart, the blood vessels literally exploding. She screamed continuously, moving her head from side to side, and her hips forward and back. Her breathing was increasingly spasmodic, her abdomen going up and down frantically. With professional patience, Zaira signaled her husband to wait; so they stood looking at the writhing, suffering girl. After a long while, she loosened the screws a bit. He started questioning again.

“How would you report your findings?”

She was sobbing and sighing.

“I… would go… to the market place… a trader in Damascene fabrics… he was the contact…” Al-Athir looked at Saltüq, who immediately gave sharp orders to a bodyguard, who went up hurriedly. But she knew that he would have already noticed her absence in the morning, fleeing for safety in consequence. Al-Athir, Zaira and Saltüq looked at each other. The former spoke.

“Let’s her rest for a couple hours while we make some checks… Zaira, I said rest!... loosen the screws just a little bit.” She looked at him.

“Fine. Go, I shall catch up,” she said. He moved her head in denial.

“Be careful,” he said, with a finger up. The men vacated the cell. She went up to her.

“I tell you, girl…" she said, while caressing her nipples. “Be sure to please my husband enough so that he orders you strangled quickly… if he would only give you over to me…" She snuck her hand beneath the loincloth, found her clit and squeezed it violently. The girl screamed, then she let her go and left.

VI

They returned to their prey in the early afternoon; Saltüq poured some water into Stephanie’s throat. The girl was exhausted. Her breath was almost under control as the pain in her body must had been subsidized with numbness; she was moaning apparently in a state of half-consciousness. Her breasts were dark and swollen; all her body was covered in sweat and dirt. Al-Athir shook her face by the chin.

“Good, girl, I hope this time for reflection has increased the spirit of cooperation you were starting to show.”

“I… told you… everything I know…” she whispered.

“No, no… the trader had disappeared… surely he learned you had been caught. Where would he run for?”

“I don't know…”

“What have you reported to him up to now?”

“The names… of those gathering at the Races… nothing else…”

“Only that?”

“The participants… of the meetings here… last week…” Al-Athir got startled.

“Why is that?”

“Not everyone… is fond of the races… sahib…” Zaira was amused and made a gesture as if saying “I told you.” He shook her head.

“Who?”

“Ibn Murraqim… Al-Afhaz…; “ Now Al-Athir looked worried.

“Why would he be interested in them?” There was concern in his voice.

“I told you… I don't know… sahib… please…” But he was unmoved. He looked at Zaira, who gladly went on to operate the screws once again.

“No… no…” Stephanie could only whisper, and then started screaming again. Expertly, Zaira first unloosened the screws, waited for a moment and then started tightening the again. The effect was devastating. The girl contorted and screamed madly. After some time, she loosened them again; Stephanie’s head dropped to her chest. She was evidently exhausted.

“So?” Al-Athir asked, but she could only move her head up a bit, just to look straight at him, so Zaira went to work again. This time the girl screamed until she passed out, needing some cold water to revive. When she came to, she started weeping and shivering uncontrollably. Zaira showed her husband a pair of pincers. He nodded, but went forward first.

“Stephanie, we'll extract every single piece of information from you… do not think you are near the end of this.” Then he moved away. Zaira stepped in and started caressing the girl’s abdomen and breasts with the pincers. She looked at her with pleading eyes, whispering. “No…” But Zaira grabbed and squeezed the delicate skin below the buttonhole, and then some next to the hipbone. Stephanie contorted and screamed. Zaira said

“See the pain these little teeth can bring to your skin, girl? Now imagine what they can do to your breasts… even to breasts in normal condition, not to speak of yours as they are now…”

“No… please…” Stephanie said again, looking at the pincers approached her left breast.

She grabbed the swollen, tight mass of her lower left breast and started pulling and squeezing. The girl screamed and contorted, pleading for her to stop.

“What were you really looking for, Stephanie?” Al-Athir asked.

“I told you! I told you!” she cried, between her screams. Zaira stopped; the girl looked at her for a moment, breathing fast, then she went for her right nipple. The aureole was swollen and the nipple itself was hard with pressure and internal bleeding. She grabbed it and went on pulling and squeezing. The pain was unbearable, as Stephanie felt the skin tearing apart very slowly. She contorted within her restraints as if her limbs would break, her head whipping violently around and a guttural sound coming out of her mouth. It looked the whole operation took an awful long time, which was probably the case, with Zaira expertly releasing the pressure to allow the girl some time to recover, then applying full pressure again. And there was the squeezing movement. At some moment, she applied more pressure to the pincers; a sound of tearing flesh was heard, and blood came out from between the jaws of the pincers. Stephanie screamed loudly, her mouth fully open; then, growling very lowly, looked at it in shock, then at Zaira. Then, she passed out.

“By the prophet,” said Al-Athir. “She is absolutely exhausted. Saltüq, put her in the cell till the night. Give her some water, and, before bringing her back here, some alcohol.” The Turk nodded; he was to take the jaws out of her when Zaira said, "My husband, just loosen them and tie them to her back. That way, she will remember what she’s here for.”

“I wanted her to be rested” he said. He hesitated. “Alright, do as she says,” he said to Saltüq.

VII

“So Rashid was right: Al-Athir is conspiring against the Caliph and he has a ring of associates, as well,” said Goshar.

“Yes… they use his private terrace at the Racecourse for their meetings… his second wife is aware of everything and also serves as a courier. “

“You paid a high price.”

“I know… you should have seen… the expression of relief on Al-Athir face… when I mentioned his commercial competitor… and his concern, when I mentioned the real names.”

“We'll report and the Caliph will take action against this… 'Racecourse Ring'. I shall see that what she has done to you doesn't go unpunished, I swear. Your sacrifice will not be in vain, Stephie,” Goshar added. She was still holding her face against her chest.

“Do you really believe so, Gosharik?”

Did she? One thing was risking it all, coming away with it and receiving all the praise; but when you were dead, you were dead, after all. No posthumous praise did you any good.

“We do what we have to do,” she said. Stephanie nodded.

“You have not come to rescue me, Gosharik,” she said.

“No” she answered. "You know the rules.”

“But you could surely… release me from further suffering, at least…” Stephanie said calmly; the same way as Goshar replied.

“Yes.”

“Do it,” Stephanie said. Goshar produced a phial containing a thick, amber liquid.

“Drink this,” she said, but Stephanie moved her arms a little; her restraints didn't allow her more, and she wouldn't have been able to hold the phial anyway.

“Would you help me?” she asked with a grim smile. Goshar opened the vial and put it on her lips; she drank the full contents.

“Farewell… Daphne," she said.

Goshar kept her head against her chest; no one deserved to die like that, at least, not alone. Stephanie coughed a couple of times; her breath became spasmodic, and died. Goshar tightened the screws again and delicately put her face again on the floor.

“Farewell, Stephanie,” she muttered. She still had to sneak her way out of the cellar, and then out of the villa, but she was an expert in such things.

VIII - Epilogue