An Interlude!

In the harem of his palace, Hospodar Casimir has summoned into his presence a newly arrived emissary from The Empire of All the Fenwicks. In considering who it is that he should ally with in what seems to be an imminent Mittelheim conflict, he has deemed it expedient to gather as much information as possible.

While he waits for the arrival of the Fenwickian ambassador, the Hospodar is passing the time by going through one of his periodic 'getting to know you' interviews with one of his concubines. It isn't something he generally looks forward to because the conversations tend not to be massively stimulating.

'So' says Casimir without much enthusiasm to one of the reclining concubines, 'tell me about yourself'.

The girl squints. 'Well, Dread Lord, it’s made of wood and it has some books on it'.
Casimir sighs. 'No, that's your shelf - what about yourself: that is, you'.
The concubine seems panicked by Casimir's line of questioning. 'But my Lord! I've never been on a shelf. I think I'd fall off'.

'I ...' Casimir seems about to say something else to the poor lass, but then gives up. He gestures his Grand Vizier, Radu Pasha, over. 'Radu slave, you've got to get me a better quality of dancing girl'.

Radu looks concerned. 'Better quality, sire? Are they not sufficiently ...'  Radu searches for the words. After years in the Hospodar's service, Radu has realised that, in matters such as these, he needs to be careful. Whilst Casimir has few constraints whatsoever when it comes to inflicting pain, being quite happy to poke, stab, fillet, peel, stretch, mangle, and/or incinerate others at the drop of hat (or indeed in cases of a disloyal sounding sneeze) he is actually rather conservative when it comes to matters relating to the boudoir. After all, he might be a psychopath with a bevy of harem slave girls ready to service his every carnal whim, but he is also a married man. 

Radu finally alights on what seems a suitably innocuous line of analogy. 'Are they not sufficiently well ... ah ... upholstered?'

'Upholstered?' asks Casimir suspiciously. 

'Perhaps their ... ah ... pillows need plumping up?' 

The hospodar looks perplexed. 'In God's name, what Radu Pasha?'

'Perhaps ones more appreciative of having their ... ah ... ornaments handled? Or whose doors don't ... ah ... creak so much when you ... when you ... open and shut them ...'. His voice trails off, Radu sensing that this might be the sort of metaphorical dead end that also comes equipped with a hole full of scorpions with a sign next to it saying "Put Head Here". 

'I have no idea what you're talking about, vizier, with your strange references to furniture! I want a girl that's more intelligent, not one that smells of polish!'

Radu bows very low. 'Alas, my lord, we have tried, but it never works out. If they are intelligent then they have ideas of their own; and if they have ideas of their own, it means that they can disagree with you; and if they disagree with you ...'

'Slave Radu, I'm after a woman intelligent enough to know that their very survival depends upon them agreeing with me. Someone like yourself, but who looks better in gauze undergarments'. He eyes Radu. 'Much, much better'.

'You are too kind, sire'.

'No, that's rarely been one of my faults'.

There is a sudden blast of trumpets.

Casimir sighs. 'Thank goodness. Rescued by the Fenwickian ambassador. Well, let's have him, then'.