Chapter Forty-Four
Kit couldn’t help an audible sigh of relief as he recognized Sophia and Laura. But after witnessing their agitation, he drew attention to himself cautiously. Laura cowered behind Sophia whose dark eyes were wide. The shock in them softened as she recognized his face beneath the women’s garment. He guided them away from the door.
He and Elias removed their black outer robes. “Quickly, wear these,” Kit ordered. There was no time for greetings.
“Selim Omar has just been killed,” Sophia whispered.
There was no time for good news either.
Shit. That complicated matters. The palace would be sealed as tight as a drum soon and guards would be on the street. Selim Omar’s death couldn’t have come at a worse time. Kit took a breath, giving himself a moment to process the news. Three faces stared at him expectantly. He looked to Elias first of all.
“We’ll take Sophia and Laura to the rendezvous point and signal the Calliope to tell Jonathan we’re going to start the fireworks early. I’ll get to Marco, help him light the fuse and run.”
Elias nodded his agreement. “We should split up from here. Two people will be less conspicuous than four together. Laura and I will leave first.”
“Laura needs to get to the Calliope without delay.”
Kit acknowledged Sophia’s demand with a nod. He could see for himself the girl’s face was still deathly pale. In fact, she looked close to vomiting. He turned to Elias.
“Then don’t wait for us. Get to the rendezvous, signal the Calliope and get on board as quickly as you can. Sophia, Marco and I will follow.”
*
The women’s infirmary was on the ground floor of the palace. There was one door to the outside. The only women who passed through it usually did so covered in a death shroud, carried across a garden courtyard to a small gate in the palace walls twenty yards beyond.
Elias and Kit peered around the door. Kit held up his free hand, a signal to stay. Sophia squeezed Laura’s hand and held her breath. She could hear someone approaching. They walked past.
“Go! Go!”
At Kit’s harsh whisper, Sophia let go of her cousin’s hand and pushed her forward. Elias snatched Laura’s wrist and they ran.
Sophia heard the sound of their running across the courtyard and looked to Kit. He waved her over to his side. The footsteps faded and, through the decorative latticework on the door, she could see the garden and external gate beyond slightly ajar.
Her heart fell when she saw the flash of red of the eunuch’s uniform cross her line of sight. Kit saw it, too. He handed her his knife.
“Use it if you have to,” he whispered, “and if I tell you to run, do it and don’t look back.”
She accepted the weapon and watched him pull a second blade from his boot. They cautiously opened the door a little wider. Kit eased her towards a large rosemary bush, tall enough to hide them both. The way before them was clear now.
Kit sprinted and she followed. They nearly made it to the external gate when a large man stepped in front of them. Kit pulled up short, the knife in his hand a puny defense against the two scimitars now wielded by the giant advancing toward him.
“Malik!” The man stopped, startled. Sophia swept back her head covering so he could see her. The wicked blades in each hand lowered. Sophia moved forward to stand by Kit’s side. Anguish was writ large on Malik’s face, the expression of torment she’d witnessed in the harem having only increased. She hesitated only for a moment before stepping forward and resting a hand on his arm.
“I’m so sorry about Yasmeen. I know how much you loved her and I know how much she loved you. My cousin and I owe her a great debt. I only wish I knew how to repay her kindness. But we cannot stay.”
The eunuch’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. He sheathed his blades. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see tension leaving Kit’s shoulders. Malik turned to Kit and said the first words she had ever heard him utter.
“Are you the man who records the stories of the tormented?”
Kit stood to attention. Malik held out his hand and, after a moment, the men clasped forearms. Sophia was conscious of the size difference between them. Malik could squeeze the life out of Kit if he so chose.
“I am.”
“Do not let her name be forgotten.”
“You have my vow. You will both be remembered.”
Malik turned his back to them then without a further word and walked towards the palace building. Kit wasted no time in pulling Sophia through the external gate. And as they went through, she heard Malik’s loud cry of anguish. Tears streamed down her own face.
*
The door squealed on its hinges and echoed loudly when it closed. Much of the cavernous space was in darkness. The only things disturbed were rats, which she heard scurry and squeak somewhere off in the distance. Salt-crusted skylights let in a meager amount of grey sunlight and, as they walked further in, he could see the warehouse had a mezzanine level.
Marco waited within, tasked with the job of setting an explosion to provide a distraction to draw attention from the Calliope’s hurried departure.
Kit whistled five notes. He held Sophia’s hand as they skirted the inside wall. There were plenty of places to hide amongst the crates and barrels.
A moment later, the same five notes were repeated back to him. Kit allowed himself a little sigh of relief. Marco!
They headed towards the sound.
Kit whistled the notes once more and waited. The returning call was above him. The mezzanine. Clever lad, the explosion would be the more devastating set at that level. He headed for the twelve foot tall ladder and climbed, Sophia following behind. The mezzanine floor extended half the length of the warehouse again and it, too, seemed deserted. In fact, it seemed there was no one in the building at all. He chanced a harsh whisper.
“Marco?”
From the middle of the space, he heard their code of five notes in response. Kit shook his head. He appreciated the lad’s caution, but this was ridiculous.
“Where are you?”
Silhouetted in the light from the high windows, Kit saw a figure rise from behind stacked crates. He headed towards him.
“Change of plans,” he called. “We’re detonating early. Take Sophia to the ship. Prepare to set sail.”
Sophia screamed. Then he saw. A figure, prone on the floor; life’s blood staining the timber beneath it.
Marco!
He must have said the name aloud because the boy, still alive, raised his head weakly.
“Sophia! Run!”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Not this time, my friend.”
Kit raised his eyes to the man in the shadow and heard the rustling of clothing as other men in hiding rose from their positions.
Ahmed Sharrouf emerged from the shadows. “You!” he heard Sophia yell. Sharrouf grinned in her direction and offered a slight bow.
“Your male guardian was most distressed by your disappearance, little one, and I’m led to believe he’s found much comfort in the bottom of a bottle. But I see your ordeal has not quenched your spirit. There are few things so satisfying as taming a feisty mare. Don’t you think so, Hardacre?”
Kit launched himself at Sharrouf but was restrained by three men. The arm around his neck was loose enough for him to turn to see Sophia standing unresistingly between two others, her hands clasped in front, hiding her knife. He glanced once more at Marco. The boy caught his eye and snaked his arm out from under his body. Kit nodded once.
He ceased his own struggle and looked at Sharrouf. The double-dealing bastard! A few more choice epithets rattled through his head but calm needed to serve him now.
Not one lost. He staked his reputation on making sure every man who served him returned. He wouldn’t fail now.
“What happened to wanting to be a simple farmer?” he asked matter-of-factly. Believing the fight had gone out of their captive, the two men holding his arms loosened their grip. The third who had held him in a headlock removed his hold altogether, but stood close enough behind to make his presence felt. Sharrouf nodded his approval.
“Ha! You still don’t understand, do you?”
“Explain it to me.”
“You’ve been a thorn in my side for too long, Hardacre, but I have also made you an instrument in my hand. Your assistance in ridding me of Kaddouri was most welcome. It was easy enough to set one against the other and profit from you both. It’s a pity the man didn’t live up to the bargain of ridding me of you, too. Kit… that’s another name for a cat in your language, is it not? And cats are said to have six lives.”
“In my culture, it’s nine.”
Sharrouf inclined his head to concede the difference.
“Nevertheless, your appearance here today is unexpected. Never mind. We can expend your remaining lives, and I’m sure Selim Omar will appreciate the return of one of his special doves.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Kit saw Marco fumble with a flint, his movement slow and agony written on his face.
Come on Marco, you can do it!
Kit pulled one arm away slowly and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m afraid that’s going to be a problem, Sharrouf. Selim Omar is dead. Why do you think the palace guards are out?”
He could see the news was a surprise to him. “Your doing?”
“Not I.”
Sharrouf turned to Sophia. “You?”
She smiled enigmatically, making sure his full attention was focused on her. His men followed suit, looking at her. Kit shifted on his feet.
That’s it, Sophia, a few more minutes, we need just a few minutes more.
He watched her shake her head slowly. “Another woman. Yasmeen,” she answered. “She stabbed him through the heart while he slept.”
Sharrouf laughed and looked back at Kit. “Empty shoes, eh? Another gift you’ve given me, Hardacre.”
He barked a command to the two men guarding Sophia. They left. Kit heard them descend the ladder.
“I will check what she says.” He held out his remaining whole arm to Sophia. “You, my dear, will join me over here,”
Sophia glanced at Kit and walked to Sharrouf’s side, positioning herself to obscure the view of Marco. The boy sweated with the exertion of reaching a thin line of black powder that disappeared out of sight behind a stack of crates.
“Selim Omar’s chief eunuch is loyal to me. I’ve always fancied myself a potentate. Four wives without direction is a hazardous thing. They will need a man to guide them.” He ended his observation with a knowing grin. He turned to Sophia and raised a hand to stroke her hair. “I look forward to getting to know you better.”
Sophia didn’t resist the gesture, and Kit forced boiling violence back within himself.
*
That odious man touching her hair was the least of the indignities she had suffered over the past year, so she bore it without flinching. She knew, without a doubt, one sign of distress from her would send Kit over the edge and sign all their death warrants. All they could do was wait and hope Marco could successfully light the fuse.
A loud groan drew Sharrouf’s attention at last to Marco who, in his pain, had fumbled the flint and steel striker. Sharrouf moved. Sophia was swifter.
She swung her right hand concealing the knife up and under the man’s ribs. He screamed in pain, raining closed-fisted blows on her head and back. She ignored them, withdrew the blade and stabbed him again.
One of Sharrouf’s henchmen pulled her off him. He squeezed her right wrist hard. She bit the inside of her lip, dropped the knife into her left hand, and slashed behind herself blindly. Her assailant hissed in pain and shoved her away from him. She tumbled across the floor. The sounds of other fighting around her in the gloom grew more violent.
She regained her feet. The man she had slashed behind her was slumped on the boards, clutching his neck soundlessly. Blood spurted between his fingers with the weakening beat of his heart. Sharrouf lay face down nearby, emitting a bubbling, gurgling sound interspersed with groans. Another man lay a few feet away, either dead or unconscious. Kit’s doing. Where was he?
Marco groaned and she rushed to the boy’s side. His tunic was soaked in blood. The knife used to stab him lay discarded nearby.
“Help me, Miss Sophia,” he whispered. She tried to sit him up but the young man yowled in pain.
“No. It’s too late… too late. Help me light the fuse… I don’t want to let the captain down.” His voice was weaker.
Sophia swept a lock of hair from his brow. Even now, she could see him fade before her eyes. Her tears fell onto Marco’s face.
“Do it for me…” the boy gasped and breathed his last.
The flint and striker fell to her hand. Without thinking, she scored the flint and, on the second attempt, the spark ignited the line of powder. She didn’t even know how far away the powder keg was.
She stood now on trembling legs. Two men wrestled at the edge of the mezzanine but there was so much dust in the air, she couldn’t tell which one was Kit.
Both disappeared over the edge. There was a scream and a thump. A moment passed before a man pulled himself up the ladder, silhouetted in the filtered light of the dust-filled store.
“Sophia!”
Her heart started beating again.
“Marco’s gone. I lit the fuse.”
Kit ignored her and staggered to Marco’s side. She joined him in time to see him slip off the ebony rosary and place it over the young sailor’s neck.
“Forgive me,” he whispered before rising to his feet. Sophia reached out to clasp his hand and squeeze it. Not one lost – the credo Kit lived by was now over.
“Come on,” he said, his voice hoarse. “We have about two minutes before this place goes up.”
He hefted Marco’s body over his shoulder and started down the ladder.