Tag Archives: slavery

Lies are free. Profits are huge.

As Jay hauled her luggage up the path a small figure darted out of nowhere, grabbed the luggage from her and darted ahead.

“Hi. I’m Lin” she called over her shoulder. “you must be the new tenant”.

“I hope so saying you now have my luggage”.

Lin giggled, then pushed the front door open with her foot. “You are on the first floor, overlooking the garden. Can I help you carry that upstairs?”

Together the two girls walked up the stairs balancing the luggage between them. The room was indeed small, like a student’s study bedroom, just a single bed, storage and desk. But the view  made up for it. A large garden enclosed by mature trees and a tennis/volleyball court. Lin put her end of the luggage down and bounced on the bed. Jay looked at her curiously. The landlords hadn’t mentioned that they had a daughter. Lin looked about 13 and full of life. She glanced round the room which she was obviously familiar with and commented. “A bit of a change from the countryside”.

Jay felt a pang of loss. Open fields, quiet, gentle neighbours, but most of all her parents. It had been hard to decide to move away, but there was no work in the countryside.

“Work or study?” Lin asked.

“Work” Jay muttered. Lin looked at her not understanding her morose response. Her face fell slightly. “Well, OK. I hope you like it here. Most people do”. With that she bounded off the bed and out of the room.


Jay found work immediately and when her first pay cheque arrived took herself out to a local restaurant to celebrate. The Head Waiter was very friendly and Jay told him she was newly arrived and celebrating getting a job. He told her he owned the restaurant and he hoped she would have many more things to celebrate in future. Jay laughed and later a complimentary bottle of wine appeared on her table. The meal was mouth watering, and for the first time since she arrived she felt relaxed and less unhappy at leaving her parents.

The weeks passed and Jay worked, dined out at the restaurant on a regular basis and soon was dating the waiter/owner. The other residents in the house were from every part of the world, some had come for work, but most were students at the nearby university. Apart from the landlords, Jay was one of the few white residents. But the house was friendly. Some evenings groups would turn out to play volley ball or hold ping pong tournaments in the basement.


One evening the landlord came home from work and took his wife aside. He looked worried.

“What’s the matter, Sam?”

“What do you know about the new tenant?”

“Jay? She works hard. Has a boyfriend. Gets on well with everyone. Why do you ask?”

“A policeman dropped in at the office today. He said he needed to talk, privately. Jay isn’t what she seems. She’s a criminal, pet. She takes drugs, and is a prostitute”.

“Oh, Lord”. Sue stand down suddenly on the sofa. She looked worried. “Can we get her out of here? What do we do?”

“The policeman said to let her stay. This way they know where she is and they can watch her. Just be careful. Watch her relationships with the other residents”.

“But what about her boyfriend? He’s a respectable businessman”.

“He’s her main customer, the policeman said. Her bread and butter. He wanted to marry her but she refused. She’s milking him for what she can get”.

Sue nodded her head. “It doesn’t make any sense. Her qualifications – “.

“All lies. She doesn’t have any qualifications. She’s taking her employers for a ride too”.

“I want her out of here. This is a respectable house. Our tenants are all honest people. And what about Lin?”

“I know. I don’t like it either. But the police said it is very important that she stays. They don’t want her to suspect she is under surveillance. They want to catch her out”.

“OK. But I still don’t like it”.


When the new term started some Muslim students came to the house. Jay found when she went into the communal kitchen they stared at her hostilely. She couldn’t figure out what she had done to anger them, but she felt uncomfortable and avoided going into the kitchen and other communal areas.

She was doing well at work but her job was only temporary and she was applying for other jobs. She attended an interview at the polytechnic. Her qualifications and experience were a perfect match. The interview seemed to being going well when one of the panel asked about periods of unemployment on her CV. She was about to explain that being unable to find work was why she had moved to the city when he said “How do we know you were not in prison?” Jay stared at him flabbergasted. Where had that come from? If they didn’t want her for the job, fair enough, but was an outrageous insult really necessary?

Then her boyfriend started to act oddly. One day he took her arm and turned it over exposing the inner joint. “Why the needle marks?”

“I’m a blood donor”.

He humphed, but after that he called to see her less often.

Even the shopkeepers were looking at her in an odd way.

She still had not found another job and the atmosphere in the house was no longer friendly. Jay decided to move to another town where the cost of living was cheaper but there was still plenty of work.

As she was struggling with her luggage Lin suddenly appeared and helped her haul her luggage to the waiting taxi.

“I’m sorry you’re going”.

Jay wondered what was in store for her in the new town, but she nodded. This place had given her a good start.  Her work record was now looking respectable. Moving from home appeared to have been the right decision.


Shortly after Lin went missing. Then her parents received a ransom note for half a million pounds. Desperate to get their daughter back they paid, selling everything they owned and borrowing from relatives. Their house was bought by a property developer who demolished the historic building to build luxury high-rise flats. But Lin was never returned. They sought out some of the Muslim men who had been previous residents to see if they could suggest any contacts. They were treated with scorn. “You were running a brothel” they were told. “You had a prostitute in the house. Your daughter was a whore. You dare ask us for help?”

The northern Controller was counting his ducats. The value of a healthy, well brought up, white Virgin on the Middle Eastern market?

Worth considerably more than a few free lies.


Copyright 2015



The Honour of Kings

There once was a King. His word was law. He acknowledged no law higher than himself, nor morality, nor god.

One day riding in the countryside he saw a pretty peasant working in the fields. He returned to his palace in great excitement. “I must have her” he said. “She will add to my collection of butterflies in the Court harem”.

Later in the day Emissaries from the Court knocked at the door of the peasant’s hovel. Ostentatiously holding their nose and smirking at each other, they put on straight faces when an old man answered. He stared at them, frozen, speechless.

“We would like to speak to your daughter” one said.

The girl looked at them with suspicion and listened carefully to what they had to say. When they finished and waited for her reply she said one word.


“But you can’t say , “no”, said one.

“You don’t understand” said the other.

“I understand. The King wants me to be his whore. Dressed up in shiny clothes, that is all I will be. Will the people at Court view me as an equal? Will they talk to me as one of themselves? Oh, they will be polite  – on the surface. But they will mock me among themselves. And if the King is a thug, a pervert, where do I go for help? The police? And since when does a King go trawling in the gutter for a mate? Has he run out of princesses. Or do those princesses know what they would be getting into?”

The girl held out her hands, worn hard and calloused with work. “If I’d wanted to be a whore, would I have hands like these?”

“But, but ..” stuttered one Emissary, “It is an honour!”

“Who is the King’s General?” the girl asked. “Give the honour to him. He deserves it”.

She turned and walked back into the hut.

The Emissaries looked at each other, white faced.

“We can’t say that to the King”

“We have to” said the other, grim-faced. “It is our job”.

The Emissaries returned to the Palace. The grim-faced Emissary reported the conversation verbatim, as he was trained.

The King raged. “A peasant? A worthless female dares to insult me?”

Early next morning soldiers descended on the village. They not only rounded up the girl and her family, but everyone. They killed all stock and burnt the village and surrounding fields to the ground.

They took everyone back to the Kings dungeons and slowly tortured everyone to death. Men women and children. They forced them to carry out every perversion on each other known. Fathers were forced to rape their children while their torturers stood round laughing. And worse.

When the peasant girl gave up her dying breath she thought, “And we respected these bastards? We worked for them? And fought for them? What fools we were”. She laughed. “All that work of our ancestors. Working hard, struggling to bring up children. Why did we bother? Their deeds proclaim  them for what they are – the honour of kings”.


Copyright 2014 Prayerwarriorpsychicnot