Chapter Forty-Two
Elias watched the look of intrigue and lust on Rabia’s face change to confusion, and then terror as he brought the chain that manacled his wrist against her neck.
Temptation whispered in his ear. Do it. Kill her now. Kill the Gorgon.
His vision narrowed to a pinpoint and the world became red as the voices whispered death in his ear.
Then a gentle tap fell on his shoulder which somehow seemed as forceful as a punch. Still holding the chain again Rabia’s throat, he turned and looked into the face of Rabia’s maid.
“Do not kill her.” The servant’s voice was low but carried authority. Elias prepared himself to feel a sharp steel cut into him; instead the woman held up a scarf.
“I will gag and bind her, and you can finish what you came here to do.”
He looked at her skeptically. Was this another trick? But the woman was already gagging her mistress with the fabric and the look of shock on Rabia’s face told him it was the truth.
“What of Toufik?”
The servant bound Rabia to the pillar with heavy curtain cords.
“He will not stop us. He’s not even here. He left the compound a little while ago.”
Elias saw Rabia’s eyes widen in horror.
“Yes, my lady,” smiled the brown-robed maid, “He was dismayed at the news the assassins wanted more money to finish their work. And when he learned another of Selim Omar’s sons was lost, he sought to protect his own interests. Even now, my lord Toufik is rushing for the harbor with two of his faithful guards and your gold and valuables.”
Abruptly, she drew back and slapped Rabia hard across the face, a blow that echoed once sharply on the walls of the room.
“I’m not such a little mouse after all, am I, mistress?”
Outside the chamber, Elias heard urgently running footsteps and the door being shoved open. Despite the pain in his feet and manacled hands, he prepared himself to take on the entering guards. But the running stopped behind the heavy drapes, then a deferential voice, breathless from running spoke.
“My lady,” a guard called, “I cannot find Toufik and there are people causing trouble at the gates! What should we do?”
“Deal with them!” the little maid yelled imperiously, sounding very much like Rabia.
Elias heard the guard bid a hasty retreat. He looked at Rabia. There was terror in her eyes and a red hand print blooming on her cheek. He turned to the maid.
“Get me down to the library. We can set that bomb off while the guards are occupied and use the distraction to escape.”
The mouse who had roared so ferociously now looked vulnerable. “You will take me with you?”
“Of course! But we have to keep moving. Whoever is making trouble at the gate may not keep the guards occupied for long.”
He suddenly stopped and thought again. Let’s make it a big distraction. He grabbed his satchel from beside the platform.
“Is there an armory here?”
The maid nodded.
“Then show me that instead.”
Every step was agony, but Elias pushed through the pain to keep up with the maid.
Rabia’s private garden was deserted and they ran across it to a squat block structure behind the barracks. Elias laid two of the shells and poured lines of black powder. His action was slowed by his shackled hands and he wished he had time to remove them. From the lid of one of the powder horns, he pulled a flint and a striker, then he looked at the maid.
“Get yourself to safety. Head for the hill north of here. Halfway up you’ll find my camp. Stay there. I’ll find you. Go! Run!”
On the second strike, the spark ignited the line of powder.
*
“Tell me again why I let you talk me into this?”
Captain Kit Hardacre was not happy. In the corner of a field, while he and Jonathan armed themselves – a cutlass, a pistol and a knife in their belts, another in their boots – Laura adjusted the short, pink veil covering her hair. She wore a traditional Turkish garment, wide red pantaloons tied at the ankles over a long, fitted tunic top. With her face covered, she would be disguised well enough.
“Because if my son is here, I want to be, too.”
“And if he’s not, you’ll only be in the way.”
“There’s no time for second thoughts. You agreed to this back in Sicily. Your men can’t go barging into the women’s quarters and no one knows the structure of a harem like I do.”
Kit walked off in disgust. Jonathan pulled her aside.
“Leave Kit be. His temper is always like this before a fight. We have the advantage because we’ve been in battle before. He knows us. Your presence complicates matters for him.”
Laura nodded. “I know you’re right. I just want my son home. And I want Elias home.”
Jonathan hugged her. “I know you do. We all do. All I ask is you follow my orders or Kit’s orders to the letter, promise me?”
She nodded, drawing herself to her full height. She looked around to see the other men from the Calliope awaiting their instructions. Some stood silently; others held rosary beads in their hands and prayed.
She’d not given much thought to fighting beyond the reports she read in newspapers but here they were, preparing to challenge against an enemy of unknown size. And all because they cared for her son and loved their fellow crew member and friend. How brave they were; how foolish. Laura closed her own eyes and prayed.
“So, how do you want to play this hand?” she heard Jonathan ask Kit.
“Apart from the walled villa, this looks like any other small holding. Let’s knock at the front door and see if they let us in. Giorgio, you come with us. First sign of trouble get Laura out of here. Gus, you and Quinn keep watch. Provide covering fire if we need it. The rest of you men wait on Gus’ orders.”
Kit turned to Laura once more. “Do not question my orders. Just obey. Do you understand?”
His imperiousness bridled, but she remembered Jonathan’s words, swallowed her pride and nodded.
“Good. Stay with Jonathan, do not let him out of your sight. Here, take this.” Kit handed over a dagger. “And don’t hurt yourself with it.”
She tucked it in her belt, then gaped in surprise as Kit pulled a battered fiddle from one of the two tin chests they had carried here with them. He tossed the musical instrument to Jonathan, quickly followed by a bow. Jonathan shouldered the fiddle and plucked the strings, adjusting the tuning pegs in all seriousness. Kit tossed Laura a tambourine which she caught with a jangle and took another for himself. Giorgio came over and picked a squeeze box from the chest.
“Let’s see if they’ll let in a group of traveling players. Laura, if you can dance, do it.”
Jonathan started playing a lively reel, backed by Gus. Kit danced like a jester, drawing the attention of the laborers in the field, and they made their way out onto the dusty road. As they approached the wall surrounding the compound, one guard appeared, and then another.
Laura beat her tambourine, and danced and twirled in time to the music, recalling the steps she had been forced to perform before Selim Omar’s guests. The troupe was now right outside the main gate and word of the traveling entertainers had spread. Servants and field hands alike had abandoned their duties to watch, but they were not the only ones gathering. Laura recognized one or two of the Calliope’s crew amongst the crowd. The gate was open and an argument had erupted between the servant who opened it and the guard who wanted to close it again.
Laura remained attentive to Jonathan, waiting for instruction.
Cra-ack!
The strange sound came from somewhere beyond the villa, followed by a plume of black smoke rising into the air. Everyone stopped. A few seconds later came a larger, more deafening sound.
BOOM!
The ground shook beneath Laura’s feet. Smoke and dust billowed. It seemed like the whole world was coming to an end.
Benjamin!
Laura ran before any other coherent thought formed. Her son was in there!
She heard her name called after her, and Kit’s loud curse as she shoved past the stunned people blocking the gate and she ran inside toward the danger – because that was what a mother did.
*
Elias ran back toward the villa, desperately trying to remember where the bloody library was. He should have asked the maid. He bit his cheek as remedy to the pain in his feet but he found it and slammed the library door closed behind him. He dove toward the table leg, sighing with relief as his bound hands found the shell he had hidden yesterday.
Boom! The explosion of the twin charges he had laid at the armory was loud and sharp. The room shook, and books and papers fell from the shelves but there was no subsequent blast. He raised his head in dismay. The detonation was supposed to –
The library glowed orange as if the sun itself sat outside the windows. A split second later – BOOM!
The windows shattered, shards of glass rained in, striking his legs. One bookcase disgorged its entire contents and teetered. Even sheltered as he was under the table, Elias felt the intense heat of the exploding munitions store.
Screams rent the house. Elias schooled his shaking hands to prime the fuse of the charge in the library, foregoing the line of black powder for a small heap. He would not remain undiscovered if he stayed here much longer, and this was now the most important part of his mission – destroying Ahmed Sharrouf’s records and his network of spies.
With her faithful eunuch gone – along with her money and power – Rabia was no longer a threat.
His fingers seemed to become clumsy and numb as he readied the striker for the charge, then the door opened.
Elias got to his knees, ready to swing his bound hands in a punishing blow, and found himself looking at Jonathan.
Elias was first to recover. “Brother, am I glad to see you.”
Jonathan acknowledged the greeting briefly and looked about the library.
“This is the place?”
Elias shifted on his feet, unable to stifle a groan. “There’s a shell under the table. I was about to light the fuse.”
“What length?”
“Ten seconds.”
“That’s bloody suicidal!”
“I wasn’t intending to hang about.”
“Well, I wouldn’t set it off right now if I were you,” said Jonathan. “We need to find Laura.”
“Laura’s here? Why?”
“She was supposed to stay outside. But after you demolished the armory, she disappeared into the house looking for you and Benjamin.”
Elias regarded Jonathan aghast. What was he talking about? Hadn’t they received the locket and painting meant to lead them to Monreal? Speechless, he stumbled toward to the door.
“You’re hurt, Elias,” said Jonathan, catching up with him.
Elias staggered on. “It’s nothing serious.”
“You’re bleeding, man.” Jonathan persisted, following.
“I’ve had worse.”
He nodded upward. “Upstairs, if Laura is looking for Benjamin then she’d be looking for Rabia first – that’s where she’ll be.”
*
In the confusion, Laura ran pell-mell through the villa and no one questioned her right to be there. Driven by instinct, she ran up the stairs and found the double door ajar.
How odd. There are no guards.
She entered through a carpet partition which opened out into a large room, sumptuously furnished.
She looked about – and there was Rabia. The woman sat on a large round ottoman, rubbing her wrists.
Once, Laura cowered at the sight of the exalted wife of Selim Omar. Now, white hot anger boiled instead. This was the woman who helped kidnap her, the woman who encouraged her own husband to rape her, the woman who tried to kidnap Benjamin and had burned down Arcadia.
Laura strode straight over to her, noting the red handprint of a slap on her cheek.
That was a good idea.
Rabia looked up just in time as to take another hard slap. The sting in Laura’s palm was as satisfying to her as was the red mark that deepened even further on the older woman’s face.
“Where is he, you bitch?”
Rabia looked back at her with wide, shocked eyes. Then something happened. Her eyes became hooded with malevolence.
“Look who it is. The stray dog returns.” Her voice was a harsh rasp. “Are you looking for something, whore?”
“I want my son. Give him to me!”
To Laura’s surprise, Rabia coughed out a laugh.
“I should have you flogged for stealing him from me. Everything you have, everything you are, everything you bear, is mine.”
Rabia stood. As she did, Laura’s eyes were drawn to a jagged line of red marks across the woman’s throat. A split-second later, lower down, she caught a flash of bright metal coming up.
Laura stumbled back, the swiping blade missing her face by a fraction of an inch. The knife was attached to a chain Rabia wore around her waist like a medieval chatelaine.
She grabbed the first thing that came to hand, a cushion, and thrust it forward as Rabia swiped again. Feathers filled the air. Laura staggered back another few steps.
“Where is he?” Rabia shrieked. “I want the boy! Where is he?”
Her words sank in. He’s not here! Benjamin’s not here!
Laura felt the words with each hammering heartbeat. Elation was a cloudburst inside her.
Rabia noticed her expression change.
“You know where he is, don’t you!” she screamed and charged at Laura. Rage bordering on insanity seemed to give the woman super human strength. She drove Laura to the floor, crashing her onto her back. Her knife flew away, skittering across the carpet, and her head banged so hard backwards she saw stars.
A split second later, Laura saw the dagger plunge toward her. She clutched Rabia’s wrist with both hands.
Her arms trembled with the force of the woman’s weight pressing down, her face now right above her own, florid with rage. Laura stared into the hypnotic brown eyes. She could not hold on –
Rabia stiffened abruptly and let out an ear-splitting scream. Something appeared to be embedded in the shoulder of the arm in which she held the knife. She released her grip on the blade, her arm starting to shudder wildly.
Laura saw with horror that a scimitar had been hacked downward into Rabia’s shoulder right next to her neck. Blood spurted on either side of the embedded blade as Rabia twisted round and looked up at the woman who stood behind her, holding on to the weapon’s grip with both hands.
An olive-skinned little woman was dressed in a mud-colored robe.
“Brown Mouse!” gasped Rabia. “Why did you do this?”
“My name is Mara,” the woman replied. Then she pulled out the scimitar with a tug and swung the blade horizontally this time.
Rabia’s body pitched forward onto Laura. She pushed it away with revulsion and rose to unsteady feet. Mara dropped the scimitar.
“Laura!”
Both women turned at the man’s voice. Standing in the doorway was Elias.
He stared at her as if at a dreadful apparition for a moment before she realized she was drenched in Rabia’s blood. Then the man she loved rushed to her, and brought his shackled wrists over her head to embrace her nonetheless.
Down in the courtyard, people milled about. Two of the guards, disarmed and suffering minor wounds, sat despondently on the ground. The bodies of three of their compatriots lay around about. The crew of the Calliope checked some of the outlying buildings for any holdouts. The fight had been over quickly.
Laura thought the look on Kit’s face when she and Elias emerged from the doorway mirrored Elias’ own expression when she had turned to him just a few minutes ago upstairs. What a sight they made – she covered in blood, he shackled and limping. Then Kit broke out in a broad grin.
“Make way! Make way!” he called out, shoving people aside. “Mr. Grace, bandages and turpentine, now!”
Elias’ legs failed him as Kit arrived. Jonathan caught him and lowered the first officer, his face creased in pain, to the ground. Laura fell to her knees beside him and Kit, kneeling awkwardly on his bad leg, joined her. “Thank God you’re both alive,” said Kit before turning to bark a command. “Head count, Gus! And someone gets these shackles off him!”
“All present and accounted for, Captain,” Gus called back as two other men arrived with a hammer and pliers to work at the irons on Elias’ wrists. He was soon freed and groaned as he lay back on the ground.
His white linen trousers were stained with blood, his bare chest covered in nicks and scratches, and a thin line of blood dripped down his left bicep.
“Careful, there’s glass there,” said Gus. “We’ll need to clean carefully.”
Mara, who had followed them downstairs, stepped forward and poured water from a canteen into a bowl. She began gently bathing his wounds.
Laura remained immobile, shocked at seeing his deep agony. One arm was over his face, a testament to his pain. The other lay beside him, so she held it, squeezing it to let him know she was there.
Elias shifted his raised arm to look at her.
“Don’t move, my love. You’re hurt,” she said.
“Seeing your face again makes it bearable.”
Kit loomed over them. “Don’t coddle him. He’s had worse.”
Laura glared up at him, but Elias laughed heartily. He squeezed her hand.
“The locket. The painting. Didn’t you get them?”
Laura nodded, her throat tight with tears.
“Yes. We went to Monreal, but Benjamin wasn’t there. We feared he was here with you.”
Elias tried to sit up, shock written across his face. Gus forced him back down. “Don’t, Mr. Nash,” he grumbled, “let me work.”
He acquiesced and looked up at Laura with pain-filled eyes. “But I left him at Monreal, I left him in the cathedral. I couldn’t risk keeping him with me.”
“We know, Preacher,” said Kit. “We’ll work it out, just rest easy for now.”
Then Gus pulled a chunk of glass out of Elias’ calf, and the pain had become too much. Elias passed out with a groan.
Smoke still rose from the ruins of Ahmed Sharrouf’s villa as the Calliope sailed past the headland at Pantelleria. Kit had insisted on a hasty examination of Sharrouf’s records for any useful intelligence and came away with several journals and assorted sheaves of paper. Their last act on leaving had been to set fire to what remained in the library. The flames quickly spread to the rest of the building.
Laura nursed a feverish Elias as he lapsed in and out of consciousness on the voyage back to Palermo. She fretted not only for him, also but for Benjamin.
If Elias died, then the chances of successfully finding her son would die with him. The loss of both would be more than she could bear.
Over the next few days, Elias recovered in a spare bedroom over Morwena’s shop.
It was on the third day, as Laura sat beside his bed, an unexpected visitor entered the room. Matteo had traveled down from Villagrazia. He held an envelope in his hand.
“Miss Laura,” the youth said, “I am so glad to see you again. I hope you and Mr. Elias will be glad also to see this.” He held out the envelope. “Father Giacomo tells me it’s good news.”
Elias straightened up and reached for the letter and read it out loud for Laura’s benefit.
Greetings Father Giacomo
A group of people recently visited Monreal to claim a boy child who was abandoned in the cathedral. They offered an extract from the Villagrazia register of births as proof of the child’s identity. The first name on the extract matched the name on a note pinned to the child’s clothing. They also had part of a broken locket. It appeared to match a locket that accompanied the note and the woman certainly did resemble the portrait of the woman in it.
Deacon Luciano heard their plea but decided to err on the side of caution and sent the party away until he could confirm their story.
If you are able, please tell the woman, Senora Laura Nash to present herself again at the cathedral.
Regards,
Father Fidele
Laura let out a cry and fell sobbing into Elias’ arms, much to the alarm of Matteo.
“I thought that was good news,” he said.
“Believe me, Matteo, it is,” Elias replied.
The young man looked uncertain. “Shall I tell the others?”
Elias nodded his agreement. “Tell them to give us a couple of minutes, will you?”
Matteo hesitated a moment, then left.
Laura took a moment to dry her tears.
“I love you, Elias,” she said.
“I know you do,” he said, looking away, “but for how long this time?” She hated the resignation in his voice; this acknowledgment of damaged and bruised feelings.
“Forever. I’m home, Elias. I’m home for good. Please don’t tell me you hate me.”
Laura squeezed his hand until he looked at her once more.
“For better or worse, until death do us part… Elias Winston Nash, will you marry me?”