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Whatever stringencies of economy emerging Nations might be subject to they evidently were not reflected in the wardrobe of its ruler. Amatar Moghere returned resplendent, even to the decorations. The evil effects of alcohol, in the wrong places, no longer to be observed on his features. “Such a thing could never happen in an African State,” he proclaimed with satisfaction.

A stern rebuke from Rannah and an awareness of her Master’s regard cured Stacie of her ill timed hilarity. She busied herself with bottles and glasses and with a considerable flourish delivered their V.I.P. a fresh gin with an obeisance that captured the attention of all. However, while she continued her duties it became all too clear that every eye was focusing on the kneeling, naked, sobbing figure of Suzie in the centre of the floor.

“I think just twenty with a cane across her bottom will be enough,” said Mr. Moghere grandly. “I am a kind man.”

Stacie looked at Rannah askance. Only a girl to whom it has actually happened could know the awfulness of the sentence just pronounced. There was an excited susurration of talk among the men, Mohammad Yasin sat frowning, the tempo of Suzie’s weeping intensified. Mr. Moghere sipped his drink, happily expectant of entertainment to come.

For Stacie Blair it was one more graphic emphasis on her slavery. She felt a righteous compulsion to rise to the defense of the lonely girl kneeling in her grief without a friend, but she knew it useless and unwise. It might add to the punishment, certainly it would get her punished too. She was impotent. She was slave. She was unhappily aware that Yasin would have forgiven the first blunder. But in deference to his guest, and in hope of retrieving lost ground, he could scarcely forgive the second. Suzie’s sentence as pronounced by his visitor would stand.

It seemed that by mutual consent the weeping delinquent would be allowed to return to the world in her own time and in her own way. Possibly there was curiosity as to how she would comport herself in contemplation of what was to be done to her. Suzie took her time. When she emerged from behind her hands she used them on her tear drenched cheeks as she looked from one to the other of the intent faces as though seeking a friend and champion. She received a wide lipped smile from Mr. Moghere and a cold absence of expression from Mohammad Yasin. Inevitably her pleading eyes came to rest on Stacie and Rannah. Rannah knelt before her parent. “Please, Lord, may we counsel her, the child needs guidance?”

He nodded briefly, irritated by the contretemps.

Stacie and her mistress led Suzie from the room. The distraught girl clutched at them as though for sanctuary. “I can’t stand it, I know I can’t. It will kill me.”

Rannah caught Stacie’s eye. “She’s never been whipped as you have been,” she explained. “Her skin was kept unmarked. It was a mistake.” She shook Suzie’s shoulders. “You will not die. Ask Stacie, she has been terribly whipped.”

“You will not die, Suzie,” Stacie felt it a small comfort to offer. She turned to their mistress. “But, Rannah, she must be tied. No girl could keep still for twenty. I couldn’t! I know I couldn’t!”

“That is what I fear ,” Rannah admitted. “But she must. So much depends on it. Suzie, do you understand! You will have to bend over to be caned. You’ll have to stay like that until it’s done. If you go rolling on the floor you will be punished much, much worse.”

Suzie looked at them wanly. “I don’t know about such things. I do try but I’m no good at it. To be hit twenty times on my bare skin with a cane or a whip or something . . . It’s not possible!”

“It is possible,” said Rannah with a firmness she did not feel. “And you are going to do it. Come.”

They led Suzie back into the lounge.

“It is you who will punish her,” Yasin said to his daughter.

“You may go for the cane.” He looked at the trembling culprit. “You, girl, stand in the middle of the room and wait.”

Stacie sped to her duties. For the first time that evening she wished her ankles were not chained. Only her hands could hurry. Her feet would move only as fast as her fetters. For a little while she was a busy girl, drawing almost as many appreciative glances as did the sad and lovely child awaiting her penalty.

It was by no means the most severe of the canes Rannah returned with. “Bend down and clutch your ankles, do not bend your knees,” she ordered.

Suzie obeyed, her face a mask of anguish.

The Lady Rannah caned the slave girl methodically, but without inspiration. She did what she must. The visitors from another land watched avidly, their eyes hungry. Mr. Moghere beamed as Stacie replenished his glass. Mohammad Yasin was bored.

It was strange to see the rings in the nipples and nose of the bending girl fall away and hang apart. They shivered and trembled as did the rest of her with each blow. The blows were light, and Stacie wondered if they might not earn the girl who delivered them a penalty herself. It was at the seventh stroke when Stacie was almost ready with her sigh of relief at Suzie’s fortitude, that doom was pronounced.

“When do we commence to whip this stupid girl?” inquired black Africa.

Rannah stopped in mid stroke, turning a perplexed gaze upon the honoured guest. Suzie turned a stricken face in the same direction but maintained her bend. Stacie got the impression that the rest of the company, with the exception of Yasin whose face remained cold, were on the verge of clapping in applause.

“She is but a child,” Mohammad Yasin said tersely. “The punishment suggested requires she be tied: we have a room . . .”

“I am most comfortable,” said Mr. Moghere accepting another drink.

“She is not accustomed to punishments of such severity.”

“I am not accustomed to being bathed in gin.”

Yasin sighed. His case was weak. Resignedly he nodded to his daughter. Rannah struck a blow worthy of Yousef. Suzie yowled and rolled writhing on the floor, hands clutching her striped behind.

“It is as I say,” Mr. Moghere beamed at this confirmation of his thesis. “The white race is decadent and ready for the knife.”

Rannah sank humbly to her knees. “I fear we must tie her, Lord.”

“And so we shall,” Mr. Moghere agreed munificently. “But perhaps you will allow us to deal with the ridiculous damsel?”

Yasin nodded at his guest and at his daughter. Rannah laid down the cane and retired to the sidelines. Stacie knew she was trembling. The Ruler of tomorrow’s world signalled to one of his aides.

The watching girls had to admit it was neat and efficient as of long practice. The Aide, obviously gratified by his promotion, produced from the side pocket of his jacket a folded length of brightly hued foulard tie. Prodding the still writhing Suzie with a highly polished toe he requested. “You will stand up please.”

Suzie tensed and looked up in surprise at the new voice, but beheld no source of hope in what she saw. Hastily she stood erect.

“Your hands please.”

Suzie looked stupidly at her small hands as though seeing them for the first and last time. Dubiously she offered them. Mr. Moghere’s assistant bound them together tightly with the colourful strip. He was deft and expert and cruel. Suzie watched the coupling of her wrists with fresh dismay. She was trembling.

A fresh face entered the picture. It grinned cheerfully and turned its back. Suzie was lifted by her hips and deposited on the Saville Row Dinner jacket like a sack of oats. Hands reached up and lifted the tied wrists over a bent head, then pulled them down and held them in a huge and powerful grasp. Suzie’s nudity flowed down from the immaculate shoulders in a cascade of ivory, her bottom flaring pink, her chained feet far above the floor. As the man who held her bent so did she. Her bottom was delivered to the cane. She was shamingly helpless as a child across its parent’s knees.