Nubians: Part 4
By - email@example.com
published May 26, 2019
The ancient past holds many strange mysteries
London, Friday 25th November 1904.
After lunch, Victor settled back in his chair, stuck a slim cigar between his full lips and snapped his fingers. Ron, who had been adding more fuel to the dining room fire, glanced over his shoulder to see what was required of him, then reached up, took a taper from the jar of spills on the mantelpiece and thrust it into the glowing coals. He then carried the flickering flame across to light his superior’s cigar.
“Poke the fire and then go and clean all the boots and shoes,” Victor ordered, exhaling a cloud of aromatic blue smoke.
“Yes, Sir,” Ron said, bowing his head respectfully before scurrying back to the fireplace to obey his first instruction. The scent of tobacco in his nostrils intensified his terrible nicotine cravings, but Master had forbidden him to smoke ever again and that was that…
Victor watched Ron hurry out of the room and smiled with satisfaction. Who would have thought that he could ever have landed such a wonderful position as this?
For the first week after arriving at the house, Victor had carried out the usual menial household duties which he had expected to have to do. Apart from the fact that Professor Govan, the owner of the property, appeared always to defer to his servant Joseph, everything had seemed pretty normal in the house. Then, one morning, Joseph had announced that, from now on, all of Victor’s daily duties would be performed by Mr Ronald, the Professor’s assistant, who was henceforth to be referred to simply as ‘Ron’.
Lost for words, Victor had stared at the young white man in disbelief. Ronald Forrest, now ‘Ron’, stood just behind Joseph, dressed in simple servant’s attire, with his head bowed. He looked both fearful and subservient.
“You are to treat him as a mere underling from now on,” Joseph said. “I have instructed him to take orders from you and to treat you with the respect you deserve as a proud Nubian…”
Victor had been initially dumbfounded. It was as though the natural order of the world was being completely overturned…
As if sensing his confusion, Joseph had pointed down to Victor’s feet. “Show your superior some respect, slave,” he had said to the cowering white man.
Ron had immediately fallen to his knees and, crawling forward a few feet to where Victor was standing, had begun enthusiastically kissing his shoes.
“You see? He will do anything you ask of him…”
Victor had looked down at the young white man grovelling at his feet and, after the initial surprise wore off, began to smile…
London, Monday 28th November 1904.
Ronald awoke from a deep and dreamless sleep at exactly six o’clock. For a few moments, before he was fully conscious, he thought that he was still living his old life as a free man, but then he remembered the truth. He was not upstairs in his comfortable former room, but downstairs in the semi-basement, lying on the hard and narrow single bed in the little cell next to the kitchen. He was no longer Ronald Forrest, but ‘Ron’, a lowly and obedient slave.
Fumbling for the box of matches on the table next to him, Ron struck one and lit his candle stump before standing up. He shivered. London was presently experiencing a decidedly cold snap. Outside, there had been a hard frost overnight and Ron could not only see his breath even indoors, but found that a thin layer of ice had formed on the surface of his washbowl. Bravely, he plunged his hands into the freezing water and splashed it over his face and head before drying himself with a thin towel.
He stared at his face in the mottled and pitted mirror above the wash stand. Although the light was dim, he could see that he was completely hairless now. His luxuriant walrus moustache and side whiskers were gone along with the thick blond hair from his head. Although hidden under his cotton long-johns, Ron knew that his limbs and chest were also now as smooth as those of a boy. In addition, his genitals were shrinking fast. His scrotum and testicles appeared to be retreating back into his body while his penis had reduced from over six inches to a tiny little worm of a thing which never became erect. Although Ron did not understand exactly how these transformations had taken place, he knew that they was all his Master’s doing. While he had been shocked and troubled by the changes at first, the sight of his boyish-looking face now made him smile. It was Master’s decree that he looked this way and therefore it must be right…
Ron put on his work trousers and collarless white shirt over his long-johns and then sat on the side of the bed to lace up his heavy boots. Although he still possessed a few of his old ‘good’ clothes, he was no longer allowed to wear these without Master’s permission. He had been a slave for just over a month now and was gradually getting used to it.
The kitchen felt slightly warmer because the massive cast-iron range, which dominated one side of the room, was never allowed to go out. Ron used a small pair of bellows to coax the glowing coals alight before adding some kindling and fresh fuel to get the fire going. Turning on the kitchen tap, he sent up a silent prayer that the lead pipes had not frozen overnight and filled two enormous kettles with water which he then carried over to place on top of the range. It would take about half an hour for the hot plates to warm up sufficiently to bring them to the boil, but it was essential that Master and the other gentlemen had their shaving water and their morning tea…
Next, Ron picked up the coal scuttle and took it down to the cellar to fill it to the brim. Carrying this, some old newspapers, a bag of wooden kindling and a box of matches up to Master’s bedroom, he entered as silently as he could and began the laborious process of quietly making up the fire. Coming from a much warmer climate than that of Great Britain, Master disliked the cold and it was important that the room was comfortable for Him when He got out of bed…
Once that was successfully done without waking Master, Ron returned to the ground floor and lit fires in the breakfast room, morning room and in Professor Govan’s study. The Professor rarely left his study these days. Strangely, the old archaeologist appeared not to have noticed the changes in his household or in Ron’s status or appearance. It was as though he existed in a dream world, spending his days pottering about, examining and cataloguing his collection of antiquities. Like Ron, he did everything Master asked of him, but, unlike Ron, the Professor did not seem to realise he was doing so. He seemed totally unaware that he now slept in one of the minor guest bedrooms, his belongings having been moved there by Ron a week before. Although he still ate Mrs Cooper’s superb meals every day, he was served these alone in his study so that his two African ‘servants’ could enjoy the dining room to themselves.
By the time Ron had made up the fires, the kettles on top of the range were boiling away merrily. Ron made three small pots of tea and arranged these on individual silver trays, each with its own cup and saucer, milk jug, sugar bowl and teaspoon. He then filled three large pitchers with the rest of the boiling water. Placing the trays and jugs on the shelves in the dumb waiter, he hauled on the rope and lifted them all the way up to the first floor. He then went back upstairs and took the first tray to Victor Browne, who now slept in the bedroom which had once belonged to him.
“Good morning, Sir,” Ron said respectfully as he set the tray down on the night stand next to the young black man’s bed and lit the gaslight nearby. “It is a quarter to seven…”
Victor opened his eyes, looked around his comfortable bedroom and sighed with satisfaction. He still could not quite believe his good fortune. For most of his short adult life he had always been one of the lowest servants in the many different households in which he had worked and now he was being treated just like a gentleman…
Ron left the room and returned with one of the pitchers of hot water which he placed on Victor’s wash stand. “Your shaving water, Sir…”
“Thank you, Ron.” Victor sat up and sipped his tea. He had fifteen minutes to drink this, wash, shave and dress before he had to attend to Professor Govan’s ablutions, but not so long ago he would have been up with the lark, doing the same lowly tasks as Ron, so he still felt very privileged. Life was good!
Ron took the next tray to Professor Govan.
The old man turned over in bed and cleared his throat. “Oh… Ron, isn’t it? One of the new men Joseph hired?”
“Yes, Sir…” Ron almost laughed at the Professor’s confusion. He seemed unaware that Ronald Forrest, his assistant for over three years, had ever existed.
“Mr Browne will attend you presently, Sir…”
“Mr Browne?” The Professor muttered.
“One of the new men, Sir…”
“Oh yes… Very well… Carry on, carry on…”
Ron left the Professor to drink his tea and went to pick up the last tray. Master now occupied the ‘master’ bedroom, as was appropriate. Thanks to the fire he had lit there earlier, the atmosphere in the room was a great deal warmer than elsewhere in the house. As Ron set the tray down on the night stand, Master opened His amber-coloured eyes and fixed him with His intense stare.
The deep bass voice made Ron’s heart flutter. “Good morning, Master…” he replied, sinking gracefully down onto his knees and then bending forwards so that his forehead touched the floor. Above him, he heard the sheets rustle as his Master sat up and swung His muscular legs over the side of the bed.
Ron sat up and gloried in the sight of his Master’s God-like naked form. Right in front of him dangled the long dark snake which he had come to worship. Tentatively, he edged closer until he could take the magnificent member gently between his lips. With his nose now so near to his Master’s groin, the glorious smell of His musk was almost overpowering. Ron could feel his shrunken penis and anal passage both becoming wet as his arousal juices began to flow.
Above him, Ron heard his Master let out a soft grunt. A second later and his mouth began to fill with the beautiful bitter-sweet nectar that was his Master’s urine. Ron swallowed the pungent drink as quickly as he could, but the stream was strong and some of the precious liquid dribbled down his chin onto his shirt. Ron continued gulping down mouthful after mouthful of the hot piss for what seemed like several minutes until finally, his Master’s bladder was empty.
“Thank you, Master for Your gift,” Ron said, after licking the final drops from the mighty black phallus.
“You are improving, my slave,” Master observed. “You did not spill too much today…”
“Thank you, Master…” Ron said, prostrating himself once more.
Master continued sipping his morning tea for some moments while Ron crouched on the floor at His feet, waiting patiently for his next instruction…
Almost everything about this new epoch is disturbing and profoundly wrong.
Since my awakening, I have discovered that this ‘modern’ world I find myself living in today is a complete perversion of the old one I used to inhabit. The descendants of our former slaves are now the dominant race on the planet, superior in technology and military power to all others. Not only have they colonised the lands of their superiors, they have enslaved them or reduced them to the status of servants. I have also found out that this city of ‘London’, despite being situated on a cold and insignificant northerly island, is presently the largest metropolis on Earth and the capital of the most extensive empire ever seen in recent human history. The knowledge that these former cave-dwelling savages now dominate what is left of my people eats at my soul. Unfortunately, redressing such wrongs and restoring the natural order is going to take an extremely long time…
However, even in the midst of all this chaos, I tell myself that I must remain positive and strong. I have to begin somewhere and the creation of my new body slave is the first step in returning this planet to some kind of sanity. I have seeded him many times now and his body is quickly changing to assume the natural form of a fully bonded servant. His head and body are already hairless and his anal secretions flow when he is aroused. Soon, his genitals, already tiny, will shrink to nothingness and he will gradually lose height until he is only two-thirds as tall as his superiors, as is appropriate. I call him ‘Ron’ which is the first syllable of his old name; familiar to him, but much easier for me to remember and pronounce. Slaves should not have long names; it gives them an over-inflated sense of their own importance…
Victor, my new brother, is also developing well. Using my staff to place him in a deep sleep every night, I have been steadily manipulating his mind and tweaking his DNA to match my own. Although his understanding of his destiny is as yet limited, he will soon become a most useful assistant in my endeavours.
As for ‘Professor’ Govan, he is my willing, if unwitting, pawn. I have simply programmed him to obey me, ignore most of what goes on around him and to concentrate solely on his archaeological work. Two nights ago, during my usual nocturnal manipulation of his brain, I detected a serious heart defect which will surely kill him within a few months. For this reason, I have decided to command him to make immediate arrangements to transfer ownership of his entire fortune as well as this house and its contents to my slave according to the primitive laws these savages have concerning such matters…
I set down my empty teacup and nudge the slave’s shoulder with my foot to gain its full attention. “After you have finished serving breakfast, you will change into one of the suits you used to wear and go to visit Professor Govan’s lawyer. Tell whoever it is that he must come to see the Professor here at the house within the next three days. Professor Govan wishes to make a new will leaving everything he possesses to you.”
I hear the slave allow a small gasp of surprise to escape from between its lips at this momentous news.
“Yes, my slave. You are to be the Professor’s sole beneficiary. As matters presently stand in this perverted, slave-dominated world, it will occasion less shock and controversy for one such as you to inherit his wealth. Do you understand, my slave?”
“Naturally, of course, as my slave, everything you own will, in reality, belong to me…”
“Now, you will assist me to wash and dress…”
London, the Present:
“All in all, there are about thirty Sudanese artefacts for which I have photographic evidence, which are not in the museum’s collection,” Alex said, showing Yemisi the list he had typed up.
“I suppose that out of nearly three hundred items the Professor left to the museum, thirty isn’t so many,” Yemisi said.
Alex shook his head. “The problem is that the missing artefacts are among the most important. Apart from the metal sarcophagus, there’s this sandstone throne and these large statues of various deities…” He placed a series of sepia photographs on the table in front of them so that Yemisi could see what he was talking about.
Yemisi picked up the first and examined it closely. “I see what you mean… We have nothing like this royal throne in our collection. If we did, it would be one of our most popular exhibits…”
“Precisely my point,” Alex said.
“It is a shame that Professor Govan decided to hold on to them. I guess it was his choice, though…”
“That’s just it; he had no right to them.”
“What do you mean?” Yemisi asked. “He found them during his expedition in 1904. Surely they were his to dispose of as he wished.”
Alex shook his head. “Not so. The expedition was almost entirely funded by this museum on the sole condition that the Professor hand everything he found over to us. He had absolutely no right to hold on to any of these things at all.” Alex rummaged in the archive box for a particular document. “Ah! Here it is!” He showed Yemisi the expedition contract drawn up between the museum and the archaeologist. It dated from August 1903 and was signed by Professor Govan and the Head Curator as well as two independent witnesses. “This proves that, legally speaking, the ‘missing’ artefacts were the property of the museum. Essentially, therefore, the Professor stole them.”
Yemisi sighed. “I wonder what happened to them all…” She stared down at the thirty photographs. “Most of them are absolutely beautiful and unique pieces. If only we could recover them, we wouldn’t have to worry about sending a few bits back to South Sudan…”
“I expect that the Professor sold them to private collectors,” Alex said, “but perhaps he left them to a relative when he died. Whatever the case may be, I’m going to do my best to find out.” He began replacing the papers and photographs back in the archive box. “I’ve got a few days leave coming up and I’m going to spend it investigating what happened to Professor Govan’s estate.”
“I thought you and Jaxon were flying to New York for the week,” Yemisi said.
Alex shrugged. “Yes, but plans change… I’m determined to track down at least some of these priceless artefacts…”
“Does Jaxon know this yet?”
Alex’s face fell.
Yemisi nodded and gave her manager a tight little smile. “I thought not…” She swivelled her chair around and looked back at her own computer screen. “Good luck with that…”