Sunshine sparkled over a fairytale sea. Sails of red, blue and yellow glided in serene dance, measured by the same gentle breeze that played over Lacie's dress as she reclined on her favourite grassy down. From its slope high over the water, she saw in the distance a large four-master on its way to fairyland. Or perhaps to return laden with perfumes from Siam, India and Persia. Might it bring a Persian girlfriend to be here beside her? So much more exciting than lying here; her older sister, Elsie, on one side, and her black Persian cat, H'adĭn, on the other.

The warm breeze wafted again from the sea. It kissed her bare feet, rippled over her legs, and ruffled her bodice. As it caressed her face she blew it a kiss. Eighteen-year-old Elsie sat, studying an orchestral score, as though oblivious to the sixteen-year old's presence.

How perfect it would be, to join nature, throw off her clothes, open up and share herself with the breeze and the sun. Maybe her fingers would help special places respond to the sun's invitation.

But she couldn't. Not with big sister, 'do-everything-right', Elsie sitting beside her. If Lacie put a stitch out of place in public, there'd be no end of the matter, let alone if she 'touched herself' on the downs.

No, now was not the time to strip and indulge herself. She kept her hands still, lay back and let the sun stimulate her.

It wasn't enough though. She sat up to observe the music Elsie was reading.

Both girls had spent the morning playing their violins. Each played beautifully but so differently. Elsie's way was to shut herself in her room, learn score-reading and theory, and practise endless scales. She was almost as academic as their brother, Till, to whom music was merely a noun to be declined in Latin. Lacie'd heard him reciting his exercises: "Music; to music; oh, music; by, with or from music." Where was the feeling in that?

Lacie played from the heart. She was a free spirit. She played by ear out in the sunshine and loved what she played. No way would she practise scales. As for learning to read music, no thank you, sir.

She looked over at Elsie's score. Scheherazade; the Sultan's bride, exotic, erotic, voluptuous. Lacie knew the tune so well. She could see it on the page. The ruthless command of the Sultan, and then, over an ethereal harp, the sinuous solo of the violin. Her solo. She could play it from memory, and even without reading music, you could see its sensuous curves as it snaked down from that gorgeous top note. Then, seductively, you leap to the bottom of the violin and start the ecstatic rise, almost to your highest reaches. Hopefully, the Sultan's desire rises with you. If it doesn't, you're in trouble. With the Sultan, you either harden him where it matters or you harden his heart, and that means death.

She turned from her sister's score. She had no time for a book that was just silent notes. She wanted the real thing or nothing at all. She dozed, one hand stroking black, Persian H'adĭn. It was no coincidence the cat's name rhymed with 'Queen'. Sleek, shiny and sexy, H'adĭn did everything from her heart. She stretched her supple body luxuriously the way only a cat can, and, oh, so much the way Lacie longed to; would have done had she been alone. Why did people have to wear clothes under sunshine like this? H'adĭn's oriental eyes looked into Lacie's as though she knew exactly what she was thinking and feeling. "Queen H'adĭn," whispered Lacie.

The sun was doing its work. Its rays mingled with her thoughts, concentrated now on her face, now warming her breast. It created strange, moist tingles in the places she so frustratingly wasn't allowed to share with the open air.

Her eyes closed.

A shadow passed in front of her. The tall, slender figure, superbly feminine, was clad only in a ring of coloured tassels around her hips. She stood between Lacie and the sun. Her silhouette against the bright light looked black, sleek, shiny; above all, sexy. 'How curious,' thought Lacie. 'I shouldn't be feeling sexy just because of the sunshine, still less should a woman make me feel like this. But is it a woman? Is it H'adĭn, showing me her real self?'

The woman spoke in a low, anxious whisper. "Oh, my hips and ribbons, I shall be late for the Sultan. Girl, come with me. He needs you." Lacie rose, the vision took her by the hand. Together they ran, down the slope and into the sea.

Out of the sea, from under their feet, rose a big four-master. All around them sailors raised masts, set rigging and unfurled the huge sails that would take them…to where? As the ship rose, water poured from canvas, rope, wood. A deluge swept over them. But to Lacie's amazement, it all happened without a sound, and she was not in the least wet.

The water stopped its play, the downs vanished, and across a serene, blue ocean appeared islands with palm trees and empty sandy beaches.

In the silence, music began to fill her mind, gently rocking, cradling, clear, soothing. It flowed over her, as real and sensuous as the breeze that had wafted over her thin dress on the downs. A seabird passed, and she even imagined its wings gliding to Scheherazade's tune. The imaginary music swayed in time to the movement of the ship over the calm, sun-glittered waves. From the hold floated scents of sandalwood, frankincense and patchouli.

She turned. The lady stood behind her, tall, slender, now in long black robe and hood, mysterious, but reassuringly smiling.

Before Lacie could speak, a rough-hewn sailor came forward. He bowed awkwardly and stood, uncouth, uncultured, but distinctly hunky. Were all the sailors like this? "Queen H'adĭn," he said, gruffly (even the sailor made the two words rhyme). "The captain wants to welcome you aboard the Golden Cockerel. He says to take the girl to him; the Sultan will be pleased."

The sailor showed them into a stateroom that would have been the envy of the Shah's palace. Lacie kept her eyes to the ground. What sort of sea captain had splendid surroundings like these?

A fruity bass voice greeted them with: "H'adĭn, my friend. I've not seen you for so long. And you have brought me a young lady. Look up, my treasure. Let me see you. Welcome aboard the Golden Cockerel; our Coq d'Or."

He spoke to H'adĭn. "You know, I do believe she will satisfy the Sultan." The voice was deep and jolly. Lacie looked up. Delight beamed through her. In a baggy blue suit was a rotund, jovial, bearded seaman with the biggest smile she had ever seen. "If ever," she thought, "Santa Claus were to take to the ocean, he would be this captain."

The captain of the Coq d'Or clapped his hands like a child. "Oh, this is wonderful, wonderful; you are just in time to dine with us. We shall do so much together. This evening you will meet the Sultan. We are sailing to Al Nen Drowd for the festival day, and I shall show you the bazaar personally."

H'adĭn took Lacie's hand. "Let me introduce you," she said. "This is Lacie. And this," she offered Lacie's hand to the seaman, "is Captain Sindwell."

"My dear, I'm enchanted to meet you. The Sultan will like you so much. H'adĭn, you will both be dancing for him tonight? If Lacie pleases the Sultan, we will tell you her two tasks. If she performs them well, the Sultan will take her to his bed." He beamed at Lacie. "Oh, it will be such an honour for you."

H'adĭn took her by the hand. "Yes, Captain, I'll prepare Lacie. She will do well."

"And now you must both dine. But not too much wine or sweetmeats. Remember you have to dance. There will be plenty of feasting to come if you please the Sultan. I look forward to your performance."

The 'performance' came. H'adĭn told Lacie: "Just watch what I do, then dance as beautifully as you can."

In the captain's anteroom, H'adĭn stripped. She donned the ribbons she'd worn around her hips, and a similar set to dangle over her breasts. To her consternation, Lacie was offered the same. Then H'adĭn dressed each in a long one-piece robe opening down the front. Surely Lacie wasn't going to have to show off the ribbons? But why wear them if they weren't going to be seen?

"H'adĭn," she began to exclaim.

But the only reply was: "Shhh. Just do what I do, after you've watched. They'll love you."

If the stateroom had looked palatial this afternoon, now, in the light of seven candelabras, and presided over by the Sultan's magnificence, it was luxuriant. He sat on a golden throne, flanked by two bodyguards, each bearing a ceremonial axe taller than himself. At one side of the platform, a lesser throne bore Captain Sindwell. Opposite, a similar throne stood empty.

The captain directed Lacie to curtsey. "Your Maleship," he said (this is how the Sultan is addressed in Al Nen Drowd), "This is the lady Your Maleship requested. She embarked this afternoon and has been found most agreeable."

The Sultan turned his huge bulk towards her. "Indeed? You will display her to me this evening, and in three days, if pleasing to me I shall have her. After she has performed her two tasks."

The captain showed Lacie to the empty throne opposite his own, where she was to sit while H'adĭn danced.

She looked towards the Sultan. For all his finery and gilded magnificence, Lacie's stomach was turned by his coarse, bloated features. His figure was disgustingly corpulent.

No doubt his ambition was for worldly luxuries, but decadent distractions had left him resembling one of those fat, laughing Buddhas, with the laugh replaced by a cruel sneer. 'Pure uglification,' thought Lacie, wondering where she'd heard the word; 'a dirty mind in a depraved body'. What was this talk of him 'taking her to his bed'? Even if she wanted to, would her offering to such a haughty man be met by anything but derision?

Even worse was the audience of sailors. Six of them, hand-picked. What were the others like? These six could have been handsome hunks if they'd sat up and looked interested. But they slouched in their seats, lascivious and depraved as the Sultan. Did she and H'adĭn have to dance in front of this bunch of pervs? At least, H'adĭn was going first. "Just copy me," she'd said.

Lacie was horrified. H'adĭn had hardly started dancing before she began to remove her robe. If Lacie were to copy her, the ribbons would be all too visible and would hardly hide… No, this was getting worse. H'adĭn had lowered the tassels over her breast. Then, with teasing looks, she replaced them. Now bit by bit she removed them altogether.

Lacie couldn't do that. In front of those men. Gawping, staring, leering.

She resolved just to look at H'adĭn. She seemed to hear that imaginary music; Scheherazade's sensuous violin with its snaking arabesques. And yes, H'adĭn was beautiful. Her silhouette in front of the sun had looked black. But she was Persian, olive-coloured, with a beautiful translucent shine like barley sugar. Her skin glowed, golden, her bare breasts were of gorgeous texture, full but firm. As Lacie looked, she felt that weird attraction again. Surely, she shouldn't be feeling like this about another woman.

To her surprise, she found herself wondering what H'adĭn was going to look like beneath the other ribbons, the ones still clinging to her hips, but which she was fingering tantalisingly as though about to loosen them…then changing her mind, to the frustration of the hunks.

Now the ribbons came off.

Lacie could feel the sailors' searing lust sullying the air. But it mattered not to her. She had eyes only for the beautiful perfect body in front of her. H'adĭn was pirouetting, showing off her glowing, golden features in practised seductiveness.

Lacie didn't know whether to be terrified of having to do the same in front of these uncouth louts, or whether the wild stirrings deep in her were making it impossible to resist exposing all as H'adĭn was doing. Something was happening to her inhibitions. Perhaps H'adĭn had known that and depended on it.

Now it was her turn. She stepped out in front of the men. God, if these were the 'select' ones, what would the others have been like, how horrid were the rest of the crew? She could almost smell them.

'Just think of H'adĭn' she told herself as she began to dance, still safely robed, but horribly conscious of the inadequacy of those ribbons.

Trying to forget the sailors, she danced towards Captain Sindwell on his throne. Cautiously, experimentally, she opened her robe to him. Dear man. No Santa Claus could have beamed like that. His eyes held nothing but innocent delight. Here was a man who genuinely loved female beauty. He unashamedly loved to look at a naked woman, and the childlike novelty had never worn. Something about him made her just want to throw her clothes off for him.

First, though, she had to face the tars again. Fired by the captain's encouragement, Lacie began to dance. Opening her robe, she teased the audience. Even from a safe distance, she felt a tremor of fear as she toyed with the ribbons over her breast and lowered them, playing with a nipple as she did so while leaving the other breast bare for the men to ogle. 'What', she thought, 'would Elsie and Till think of me now?'

She didn't care. Nor, now, did she think of the coarse hunks filling the room with their lust for her. She thought only of H'adĭn, the captain, and the music that filled her mind. Scheherazade's violin seduced her as surely as she was now blatantly and sinuously seducing the sailors and their captain.

Lacie's body, her limbs, her loins were all under the control of her inner music. It controlled her fingers as they played over the ribbons around her hips, hinting at her secrets. Soon she was going to have to reveal what Victorian patriarchs would have called 'her shame'.

Only, the intoxication, the strange blurring of all her inhibitions; the contrast between this den of masculinity and anything she'd known before; everything made her curious to experience that moment of public nakedness. What would it feel like? How would the men react? How would she react?

Maybe it wouldn't be so terrible. After all, she'd wanted to open herself to the sun. She didn't mind sharing her centre with H'adĭn. If the sailors wanted to share her secret too, how could she begrudge them? Most of all she was only too happy to share it with the captain.

She cast the ribbons away, to reveal the real Lacie. Her hands wanted to cover her. She forced them away and stood for the men to see.

She looked up to the captain. His eyes were fixed on her, where the ribbons had been. He radiated delight in the new and complete revelation. His face shone with the joy of sharing.

This moment of affirmation was worth all her fear. Someone regarded her body, her secret hidden body, as something precious.

It gave her the courage to face the Sultan. Everyone had stressed the importance of pleasing him if she were to keep her head.

She danced towards his throne. Bravely she proffered her breast to the potentate. He reached out with a beefy hand, to grope her nipples and areolae. She tried not to look at the axemen whose stares devoured every detail.

Emboldened, she swung her hips and flaunted her midriff.

The Sultan gave a barking order. Lacie froze. Was it to be, 'Off with her head?'

"Mareschal," he shouted. "Where is my Mareschal?". Lacie staggered, but the Sultan gestured to stay. She froze in her new nakedness. He repeated angrily, "Where is my Mareschal?"

A brocaded soldier appeared, trying vainly to resist ogling Lacie. Suddenly she was aware again of the waves of lechery emanating from so many men. How vulnerably naked could they make her feel?

"They told me the girl plays the violin. Where is it? Bring her one."

"Very well, Your Maleship."

The lackey returned, with the most beautiful of old Italian violins.

Lovingly, Lacie held it in her arms. Forgetting her nudity she started to play. But once the notes of Scheherazade's theme soared from her instrument her nakedness became again a source of delight. Even more; it was no 'shame'; it was an asset, a weapon. With this, she could conquer any Sultan, any Emperor, any Tyrant. Daringly she approached 'His Maleship', her exposure clothed with the most seductive, sensuous music. She lifted the violin before his hungry eyes, tempting him with her breasts, only to twirl and gyrate, all the time seducing him with her melody.

She turned her back to him and felt the lust of his eyes, his lechery creeping down the small of her back, over her ass, peering between her thighs, trying to see…Then she turned, looked him teasingly in the face, daring him to look at…everything. She felt his stare. She felt his glee, as of a hunter, delighting in a lithe deer that today frolics in the woods, but tomorrow furnishes his banquet. But she knew, for the time, that she'd won him.

He gestured for her to stop. "Captain Sindwell," he declaimed. " The woman pleases me. Bring her to me in three days. I will have her. Meanwhile, attend to the tasks she is to perform."

The Sultan said no more. Lacie picked up her robe and ribbons. She exited with the captain to the anteroom.

"Captain," she asked, once dressed again. "What are these tasks?"

"We will tell you everything in the morning. For now, all you need to know is that your first task will be to teach a sad prince the love of woman. Your second will be to deputise for a shy princess in a public act with a prince. Today's task was enough for one day and you have done well."

'Curiouser and curiouser' thought Lacie. Why wasn't she scared and revolted? The thought of making love to princes, and a Sultan wanting his way with…with her, of all people.

She could only wait and see.