The Vorrh

Frenchman’s bedroom after the brutality, so that he might drown and wallow in the true depth of his debasement. Countless times, she had been forced to haggle over the price of flesh. The currency of usury had become part of her vocabulary; she dealt with it efficiently and from a distance. Some small fold of her enjoyed talking to the exotic underclass about the most intimate actions of vice. She felt like an ornithologist, or an entomologist, viewing horrid little wonders through the wrong end of a perfect telescope. But she could not abide the blackmailers, those who went too far and allowed greed to ooze out with the secretions of their bodies. There had been many hushed-up cases, many insidious threats to expose his obsessions. She had brokered them all. Sometimes she was forced to enlist the support of the chauffeur, who liked to wrap metal chains around his fist when dealing with the stubborn.
    ‘Are you going alone with Seil Kor?’ she asked cautiously.
    ‘Oh, yes,’ he said, in a theatrically disinterested way. ‘He is not to be one of my ‘paramours’,’ he added, a trace of the old acid leaking back into his speech. ‘He is a friend and noble person of these regions – I would very much like to introduce you.’
    ‘Thank you,’ she replied, ‘I would like that. Don’t forget this.’ She handed him a tiny, delicate package of folded tissue paper containing the cheap, silver-plated crucifix that her first love had given to her at the age of thirteen.
    On the steps of the hotel, the light was blinding. He wore his Eskimo spectacles and pith helmet, with a costume that needed at least fifteen native bearers to maintain it. Childlike, he gripped his suitcase and strained through the brightness to see his friend in the whirling, dusty clouds of passers-by. Charlotte stood beside him, arms folded and trepidation rising.
    ‘There!’ he cried. ‘By the tree, he is waving!’
    She could barely distinguish a single figure, just a mass of activity in the luminous dust. The Frenchman stepped down the stairs and into the throng, motioning to Charlotte to join him, but the dust was unbearable, and she put her hand over her mouth, averting her face from the onslaught. He reached Seil Kor across the street and tried to explain about meeting Charlotte, but she was lost in the crowd and his guide was anxious to depart. He gave in to the unfolding events and they made their way out of the throng – their journey to the Vorrh had begun.
    Seil Kor took the Frenchman to his home, far across town in the old quarter. From there to the station was only ten minutes’ walk, he promised.
    ‘Why do we go to your house first?’ he asked.
    ‘To change,’ Seil Kor said, without emphasis.
    ‘But this is my exploring costume,’ whined the Frenchman, who was beginning to be irritated by the modification of his plans.
    ‘Trust me, master, it is better for you to melt into the crowd, become one of us. This way you will see more, and get closer to the heart of the forest. We have to travel for a whole day on the train, and I want you to be comfortable.’
    They walked down a high, mud-walled street that changed its curve every fifteen paces or so. Alleyways led off at frequent intervals, and there was a sense of a great populace concealed behind the twisting façade. They turned again, stepping into a long, straight street with two ancient, wooden doors set into its crumbling surface. Seil Kor hammered on the first door and, moments later, the second one opened.
    They stepped into a broad, sand-coloured courtyard with a square well and a palm tree dominating its luxurious simplicity. A small, grinning boy stepped from behind the gate and closed them in. Seil Kor clapped his hands loudly above his head, and the doors of the low, long building that occupied one side of the enclosure opened. Vividly dressed women emerged carrying a carpet, a squat folding table and brass and copper bowls of fruit and sweetmeats. In a quick flurry, it was all set up under the shade of the tree, and the Frenchman was shown to the guest seat at its centre. The women brought piles of native robes and Arabic-style headgear for the dandy to try on. He liked this game, and once he got over his essential stiffness, became completely engaged in his transformation. He loved to dress up, and had often donned the national costume of the countries he had visited before. But it had never felt this real before, and his guide had never been so