A hush fell over the hall. The women stared at each other. Their silk garments floated about them, their breasts exposed above the surface. The water had unglued the seams. They stifled giggles, thrust their breasts forward, arched their backs, and began dancing. A show for the king.

Moon Face balanced herself on her toes, exposing the triangle of her pubis to the invisible Shah. Her face swayed above the stem of her long neck. She bit on a string of pearls; iridescent dots punctured the water. Chasing the pearls, she caught them between her lips and concealed them in her mouth. Among a family of pearls, one matured in a poisonous oyster. Neither the color nor the size differed from other pearls, but if ingested, it instantly killed.

The Shah would see her swallow the pearls. Gamble with her life for him.

He invited her to his quarters.

In the privacy of her room, she mixed rosewater, almond paste, and rice flour for extra whiteness. The Shah liked pale women. She fumigated her room with sandalwood until her pores emitted the scent of dry tree barks. Not smiling for fear of cracking the hardened mask on her blank face, she appeared at the threshold of his chambers. A satin pouch draped down her arm. The Shah had had women with manly breasts, with childlike hips, with fleshy buttocks, with skins the color of coffee or ivory. With her unresponsive face, shaved eyebrows, bloody lips, and long-legged body, she was unlike the others.

She pried the neck of the pouch open and removed a stick of incense and lit it with the flame of a candle. The aroma of musk and sandalwood permeated the room. Her soulless eyes never leaving the Shah’s, she lubricated her toes with almond oil, her fingers crawling between the shallow valleys, lingering, sliding back and forth, and drawing tiny circles as if to dislodge a dark secret. She had come informed about his petty inclinations—even his obsession with feminine toes. When he raised an eyebrow, she knew her animated toes fascinated him. She searched her pouch. A flesh-colored object, molded from wax to the shape and measure of the Shah’s organ, lay in her palm. Would it please him that she had exaggerated the size of his sex?

She transformed herself into a wild animal, sucked, licked, then forced the organ into herself, sighing, trembling, and twisting. He embraced himself, his hand sliding up and down his shaft.

She had performed for him in the evenings and sometimes at dawn. One night she had pressed her mouth to his. Was it the taste of cherry unguent? The icy feel of her flesh? Or the disillusionment of consummation?

He had banished her from his bed.

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