Chapter Fourteen
The cuts and bruises they sported were all minor and Kit was proud to say Sharrouf and his friends were suffering equally, if not more. It had been worth the charade for the wealth of information the Arab was able to give him.
They had taken their fight downhill, away from the tavern and continued their conversation free from prying eyes, seated cross-legged in the mouth of a cave above a secluded cove.
Sharrouf went into great detail about the heroics that caused him to lose his limb. It had been a mighty sea battle and victory was theirs but, alas, a stray cannonball had taken his arm. He had been pensioned off and had bought a small vineyard on the island.
Kit had nodded along politely, knowing the truth was probably more mundane. The man was a mercenary, not a farmer at heart. Harvesting information woke the avarice in him.
“I hope what you bring me will make it worth my while, sadiqi. Kaddouri has got quite a bounty on your pretty head,” he said.
Kit nodded to Jonathan who opened up a satchel he carried. He pulled out a small, cloth bag and tossed it across.
Sharrouf caught it neatly with his one hand and prized the drawstring apart with his fingers.
“Allah has been smiling on you.”
Kit heard Elias snort derisively but ignored him.
Sharrouf continued. “I was told Kaddouri ranted for a month after the loss of his ship and cargo. You might be interested to know – he found the crew you set adrift on that miserable, leaky dhow. He had them all executed for their incompetence.”
“Where is the sand viper’s nest?” asked Kit.
“Ah, who can know the mind of a snake?” The man shrugged. “He slithers wherever he wills.”
Kit struck quickly and snatched back the purse. Sharrouf’s two friends growled. Elias and Jonathan were swift to their feet and pulled out two matching flintlock pistols but Kit remained seated.
“You wouldn’t cheat me, would you, friend?” Kit asked mildly. Sharrouf spoke rapidly in Arabic. The two men resumed their seats but continued to glower at Kit. Behind him, Kit could hear Elias and Jonathan lower themselves to the ground. Kit lobbed the bag back at Sharrouf.
“Do you really wish to hasten your advance to paradise?” Sharrouf asked. When he received no reply, he let out a long breath.
“Kaddouri’s palace is heavily guarded and fortified. I, myself, have been there and know the inside of it well,” he tapped the side of his head, “but my memory is not what it used to be.”
“Try.”
“I will, I will! You can trust I am a man of my word.”
“Where?” Kit reached behind him. Elias placed a rolled map in his hands. Kit unfurled it. Red ink marks denoted plundered villages within striking distance of Tunisia. Two blue parallel lines marked either side of the Tunisian coastline.
“Alas my friend, I don’t read maps, how can I possibly know such a thing?”
Another jingle of coins caused the man’s head to rise.
“I might be able to make an educated guess.”
“Make it a good one.”
Sharrouf studied the map and pointed. “This fortified town, the casbah, that is where he runs his Empire. It is just forty miles to Tunis and to Souk El Berka where the slave markets are.”
“I know where the slave markets are.” Kit ground out the words. When he looked up, Sharrouf regarded him thoughtfully.
“I see,” the man said. “I had no idea you had been an abeed like your friend here.” He nodded over at Jonathan. Kit swallowed the insult and trusted in his friend’s self-control.
“Where is Kaddouri now?”
Sharrouf threw his hands into the air.
“Now, you ask too much of me! Am I his brother? Am I his white eunuch who runs his business affairs?” Apparently, the question was rhetorical because he continued. “No. No, I am not. I am just a humble grower of grapes. I mind my own business for the good of my health, if you know what I mean.
“Occasionally, he and his men will come over here and, occasionally, I bump into them and they talk to me. And I, occasionally, listen to them. I had heard whispers that Kaddouri has a new patron who helped him to build Al-Min. A wealthy man. A man of great influence.”
“Who?”
“Alas, I do not know.”
Kit stared at Sharrouf for a long moment, but the man’s expression did not falter. There was every possibility it was a truthful answer. He rolled up the map and handed it to Elias who handed him another purse of coins.
Sharrouf’s eyes lit up covetously. He rose to his feet and the two men behind him did likewise.
“What would happen, I wonder, if my brothers killed you and your friends now, then took all your coin and your lovely pistols?”
“Then you will find your own place in Sheol.”
Kit stood, with Jonathan and Elias at his shoulder. He emitted a piercing whistle and man after man emerged all around them – half a dozen of the Calliope’s crew with swords and pistols drawn.
Kit tossed the second purse at Sharrouf’s feet.
“You keep listening and you keep letting them talk. I want to know who Kaddouri’s patron is.” He flicked a calling card which landed on top of the coin. “Send word here. But betray me and I will kill you, understand?”
“You can be sure of it, effendi,” said Sharrouf.
Kit walked away, well aware the man’s answer was no answer at all.
*
Kit winced as he hauled the ship’s wheel over fifteen degrees. He wanted a hot bath and a good night’s sleep.
It had been three weeks since the Calliope had left Pantelleria. They had gone about their business as a merchant vessel, visiting various islands to deliver and pick up cargo. They had sailed south until they reached the coastline of Tunisia. The Calliope now flew under a Tunisian flag and they followed its length until they found the fort Sharrouf called Al-Min.
On this occasion, the one-armed mercenary had not been lying. Just off the port, he could see the walls of a citadel. The ramparts were tall and thick, a darker shade of yellow than the sand that surrounded it.
“What can you make of it, Elias?”
Elias brought down the telescope from his eye. “I’d feel a whole lot better if we knew what was inside the walls of the medina.”
“Same as any medina, I guess – narrow, winding streets, blind alleys. Getting in isn’t the problem – getting out is.”
“So we need to lure Kaddouri out.”
“Agreed – and also mine the harbor so he can’t send his fleet after us.”
“That’s one hell of an operation you’re planning.”
“To avoid hell, we need a lot of planning,” said Kit.
He watched his friend consider the logistics. “It will have to be when he leaves for his next raid.”
Kit released a breath. If Elias truly expressed serious reservations about an incursion, he would have ended the matter there. He knew Kit held the welfare of the Calliope and her crew first and foremost. In that case, he would abandon the idea of a raid and simply deal with Kaddouri on his own. A suicide mission to be sure, but if he could bring an end to the terror, it would be an easy choice.
“Then back to Palermo,” said Kit. “We have a lot of work to do before the end of summer.”
A day later, just as the sun was setting, the shoreline of Palermo came into view. He was off duty, so he lingered at the rail. Over the Porta Felice, he could just make out the Hotel de France lit by the lingering rays of the late sun. Had Professor Fenton received permission to rummage around the ruins of Syracuse? There was Taormina. That was a good place for the fellow to practice his… what was it called? Archaeology? If he was willing to walk into one of the tumbledown ruins he would see the most detailed frescoes he had ever seen in his life – fresh as though they had been painted only in the past year.
They would be for the professor’s eyes alone, of course. Decadent images of men and women in all manner of sexual congress were most certainly not for the delicate sensibilities of Miss Bluestocking. He imagined her eyes widening in shock; then they would widen with arousal, and he would…
Stop it!
He was doing that more and more – whenever he allowed his mind to wander, it would always come back to Sophia. He liked her. She had no idea what a beauty she was with her honey-colored skin and black hair. As far as he was concerned, she outshone her cousin. He imagined her in finery and, in his most depraved moments, imagined her out of it.
His cock throbbed, reminding him he had been without a woman for months. Yet now, as he thought about it, he only wanted one.
The worst thing about it was he knew why he wanted her. It was the thrill of the chase yet again – knowing Sophia was so unattainable. She didn’t want him. She was in love with Cappleman – or so she believed. What little he’d seen of the wealthy young man didn’t impress him. He seemed weak. Indecisive. Sophia deserved better than that. If a little harmless flirtation made her realize she ought to have a man worthy of her, then that was all for the good.
It made her safe. It made him safe.
*
Sophia had never seen such a retinue in her life. A group of thirty men walked past the hotel to a palazzo that overlooked the harbor, just up from the Hotel de France. They appeared almost comical, dressed in large, red pantaloons, their shirts colorfully embroidered and topped with long, open robes.
One would mock at their peril, however – the men carried dangerous looking scimitars and equally angry-looking faces. Others trailed behind, carrying boxes and elaborately decorated trunks; some of them she was sure covered in real gold and cabochon gemstones. The procession seemed to stretch all the way back to the harbor.
“Who is that?” Laura breathed. “I’ve never seen such a spectacle.”
“The man is an envoy to the Kingdom of Sicily from the Ottoman Empire,” said Uncle Jonas.
“Do we know who he is?” asked Sophia.
“His name is Selim Omar; he is the first cousin of the Sultan of Turkey.”
“And when did you become so well informed?” she gently teased.
“Lord William is back from harrying Corsica, and it seems everyone is interested in the war with France. They want to know when this war is going to end – and who the victors are going to be. There’s no harm in being on good terms with both sides.”
“That’s dreadful!”
A new voice interrupted their conversation. “That’s diplomacy.”
Sophia’s heart leapt when she heard the voice, then the traitorous organ expressed disappointment when she turned because the face she saw wasn’t Kit Hardacre’s.
“Samuel!”
Laura squealed, throwing herself bodily into her brother’s arms. “When did you get here? Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?”
Sophia stared at Samuel for a moment, looking at a face at once familiar and dear to her, but somehow not.
Samuel released his sister and accepted Uncle Jonas’ outstretched hand.
“I jumped straight off the ship the minute we docked, my luggage is still onboard,” he said, his face bright and, dare she say it, almost giddy, like a schoolboy. Somehow, he seemed so much younger than she remembered.
“I have some news I can’t wait to share!”
“Don’t keep us in suspense, tell us!”
He shook his head. “Not here; not in the street. Such news is worth celebrating properly.”
Laura clapped her hands excitedly. “Oh, you are such a tease to make us wait. Will you not give us an inkling?”
“Well,” he started, before pausing for dramatic emphasis. Laura swatted him on the arm. “As you know, I’ve been doing serious contemplation about my future, and I’m delighted to say I have come to a happy conclusion.”
“But—”
“—No. Nothing more until after I’ve fetched my luggage and had a chance to turn myself into a respectable gentleman instead of a travelling vagabond.”
Sophia stood aside and listened to the chatter, estranged from the very people she called family. She could disappear from their eyes right now and not be missed.
Uncle Jonas excused himself, holding up a satchel. He was on his way to the university but promised faithfully to meet them at a trattoria in the center of the city. Finally, Samuel’s notice fell on her.
“Cousin Sophia! You look far too serious. Are you not pleased to see me?”
She found it within her to give a smile and to put her hands into his outstretched ones.
“Samuel, of course I’m pleased to see you. I was just away with the pixies,” she said, her voice low. On impulse, she leaned forward and gave him a peck on the cheek.
Nothing. Her breath never hitched. She didn’t feel her heart quicken. Nothing.
But then, Hardacre had kissed her – and on the lips. Perhaps, that had something to do with it. She followed Samuel and Laura as they walked arm in arm, chattering away while she remained a couple of steps behind. It felt like the story of her life.
A freshening breeze sprung up from the east. She breathed in the tangy salt air and immediately started to feel better. There should be no reason to mope on a day as glorious as this, when the clear blue sky seemed to stretch to heaven and beyond.
She raised her face to the sun for a moment and basked in its splendid heat. No matter how many creams and ointments she used, no matter how much she bathed her face in lemon juice, her olive skin was not going to suddenly change its color. She would never have the milky white complexion of her cousin – the type of dewy freshness that seemed to turn the heads of all the men. Perhaps, she should simply embrace who she was. A spinster – and one with an unfeminine interest in ancient history.
Activity at the harbor had nearly ceased. Cargo had been unloaded, passengers disembarked, crew on shore leave. Dockworkers and sailors had been beaten back by the midday sun, its heat exhausting. Those remaining kept in the shade, mending ropes and lengths of canvas, or listlessly swabbing decks. Ahead of them, neatly stacked together, were Samuel’s trunks and several smaller portmanteaux.
“Where the deuce are the porters around here?” he asked. “How am I supposed to get my luggage to the hotel?”
“They’re all at lunch, I expect, to escape from the heat,” answered Sophia. “Is there someone aboard your ship who could help?”
Laura tilted back her parasol and peered up to the ship. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone on deck.”
“Ahoy!” Samuel called and ventured a few steps up the gangplank. “I say, is there anyone aboard?”
“Can I be of service?”
Sophia started at the voice behind them. This time, there was no mistake. She turned.
Standing there was the captain of the Calliope with a lazy smile that seemed turned on just for her.