The Last Bazaar by David Leadbeater Read Free Book Online

capacity of the various commodities on offer that would make him linger for days.
    Ramses walked the circuit slowly, taking pleasure in seeing the emerging skeleton of the dream he had created. The shops were small but well built, and currently being draped with fineries to hide any remnants of the jungle. Inside the larger pavilions, heavy-duty tables and crates were being positioned to display items like nuclear warheads and artillery. Refreshment stands were being installed. Staff were being trained, flown in sightlessly from various camps that Ramses owned. They would respect their new minimum contract—work hard or die—for obvious reasons.
    Crates cracked and revealed their exciting possibilities as Ramses wandered around, the variety of goods he’d acquired lending a carnival atmosphere to proceedings. A nuke here. A prototype ray-gun there. A missile with guiding capabilities there; some sarin over here. Communications devices, passwords to dark web forums and the computers on which they were operational. Pounds of yellowcake. The list went on.
    Ramses soon found another clearing, and here sat several great prizes for lucky customers. Attack choppers once owned by the Americans and one by the British, captured, repaired, ready for action. Akatash then took him toward the edge of the camp where a wide river flowed, the largest and deepest in the general area. This was a far tributary of the Jutai River, a twisting body of water whose extremes were largely unexplored. Ramses watched the river flow at a rapid pace, then turned to his bodyguard.
    “This is where the barges will land?”
    “Yes.”
    “We need a dock. A landing area.”
    Akatash nodded toward a new pile of timbers. “It will be ready in time.”
    A barge appeared as they waited, loaded down with more product, eager men ready to disembark and offload the floating vehicle. Ramses nodded. “All seems to be in order.”
    “It will soon be ready.”
    “I want to see the pond,” Ramses said. “Is it where I specified it should be?”
    “Almost to the precise inch,” Akatash said. “The crew had to dig the hole, fill it with river water and then haul the—um, new residents—by hand.”
    Ramses laughed. “What fun. I hope nobody got eaten.”
    He followed the map in his own head now, the one he’d drawn by hand and expected to be able to follow on foot. Soon, he arrived at a freshly dug hole ringed by a high chain-link fence. Beyond, and deep down, the water churned.
    Ramses stared. “Are they being fed human flesh?”
    “Of course. As per instructions.”
    “Excellent. But I want them starved for the start of proceedings.”
    Ramses let his eyes linger onto those that stared back at him, unblinking. Black caimans were dark in color, carnivorous, and the largest predator in the ecosystem. They would make a good spectacle for his more jaded guests.
    “Akatash,” he said, “show me my tent.”
    “Of course, sir.”
    The bodyguard led the way and Ramses easily followed. He had employed the man many years ago now, and still shuddered a little when recalling his story. Born into privilege, Akatash had rebelled time and again until his parents could stomach the insubordination no more. With pure malice aforethought they explained what would happen, took him to some squalid warehouse and handed him over to slavers in exchange for nothing except the promise of future favors. Akatash grew up hard; old enough by then to know the difference between a life of honor and a life of adversity. Old enough to know what his indiscretions had cost him.
    The lesson had been learned. But by then it was too late. Still, in later years, Akatash made sure he dealt out his own lessons. He was now the sole surviving heir of that family, though he could never set foot in the country again. At least, not officially.
    Ramses entered his own luxurious tent, smiling at what he saw. All the comforts of home had already been shipped in: clothes, watches, oils, enormous TV,