Panther's Prey

by Doreen Owens Malek

  Amy got up suddenly and went to her writing desk, pulling out the sheets of British foolscap James bought for his office and uncapping her inkwell. She would write to Sarah. It was almost a month before the feast would be celebrated, and perhaps Kalid could get Amy in to see Malik before then. It would take a week for the letter to reach Bursa, but it was worth a try. Anything was worth a try, and at the moment she couldn’t think of anything else.

  Amy filled ten sheets of stationery with her fluid handwriting, pouring out her soul to Sarah. When her fingers refused to function further she folded the paper into an envelope and hid the letter in a book. Then she looked up and saw that it was eight o’clock; she had been writing for over two hours.

  She slipped into the hall and went downstairs, looking into the parlor. James and Bea were both reading by the fire, and she walked down the hall to James’ den, where the newspaper was lying discarded on his desk. She picked it up and took it into the foyer, reading the lead article by the gaslight of the brass fixture overhead.

  Malik had been seized at the home of Yuri’s brother, who was described as a “known cohort of the rebel leader.” Amy thought that someone must have seen him on his previous visit and decided to collect the reward. Or maybe Malik had been spotted elsewhere and then followed. It didn’t matter now. He had been arrested because he had forsaken his safe haven in the hills in order to see her, and now she had to help him. Somehow.

  The newspaper said that Malik had been taken to the imperial dungeon at Topkapi, there to await judgement.

  Amy replaced the newspaper on James’ desk and went back upstairs.

  Everyone knew what that judgement would be.

  Amy spent a sleepless night plotting and planning, to no avail; she was as powerless as the lowliest peasant in the Ottoman Empire.

  She appeared at breakfast, hollow eyed but determined to carry on as if nothing had happened. She even forced down some food as Beatrice chattered on about the wonderful turnout for the Victoria Mission Ball and how the committee was going to use the proceeds. Amy was pushing a fragment of muffin around on her plate when she realized that James had called her several times.

  “Yes?” she said, looking up at him.

  “You’re in a fog this morning,” he commented.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep very well.”

  “Is anything wrong, dear?” Bea asked.

  Amy looked at her aunt–at her kind, well meaning freckled face–and thought about the yawning gulf between them.

  What choice did Amy have but to lie?

  “I’m fine. Just a little tired. Maybe the ball was more exhausting than I realized,” Amy said.

  “Speaking of the ball, I was about to tell you that Martin Fitzwater came to my office and asked for formal permission to call on you,” James said.

  Amy almost groaned aloud; it was all she could do to keep back the despairing sound.

  “When did you see him?” she finally managed to say.

  “Yesterday. I saw you dancing with him and expected his visit. I planned to tell you about it last night at dinner, but you may recall that you didn’t stay.”

  Amy said nothing.

  “Your reaction is less than enthusiastic,” James observed.

  “I’m just surprised.”

  “How could you possibly be surprised?” James asked archly. “The man was following you around the Embassy ballroom like a spaniel puppy.”

  Beatrice giggled delightedly. Martin was her idea of a dream husband for Amy: wealthy, British, and well connected. The Woolcott stock would soar in the Western colony of Constantinople if Amy landed Martin Fitzwater.

  “I thought he was dancing with other girls,” Amy replied lamely.

  “Only when he couldn’t find you. Now what shall I tell him? I have no objection to his suit but I don’t want to encourage this young man if you aren’t interested in him,” James said.

  “You could hardly do better than Martin, my dear,” Bea added encouragingly. “He’s a fine young officer with a splendid career ahead of him.”

  Amy sighed inwardly. What could she say? If she refused to see Martin her relatives would certainly wonder why.

  “Of course Martin may call on me,” she said smoothly. “You can tell him he may send his card around during any of Aunt Bea’s ‘at home’ afternoons. I’ll be happy to visit with him.”

  Bea shot James a triumphant glance and then went back to her fruit compote. James watched Amy mutilating her muffin for a few seconds more and then said, “So what are your plans for the day, Amelia?”

  “I have some letters to write this morning, and I thought this afternoon I might go to Chumley’s and see if any new books have arrived from the States.”

  “Check if that book I ordered from The Delineator has come in, would you?” Bea asked.

  Amy nodded. She chewed diligently, tasting nothing, for a few minutes more and then said, “May I go up now? I really owe quite a few letters, I’ve been neglecting my correspondence lately.”

  “Go on, dear,” Bea said.

  After Amy had left Bea confided to James, “I’m thrilled she’s going to be seeing Martin Fitzwater, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t think Amy is quite as thrilled as we are,” James replied.

  “What does that mean?” Bea demanded, annoyed at her husband’s implied objection to her plans.

  “Something is on Amy’s mind. Any other young girl in her position would be delirious with joy at Martin’s attentions, but I had the impression Amy is going along with this scheme solely to please us.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Bea snapped. “She’s just confused and lonely after the loss of her parents, not to mention the horrible experience she had when she first arrived in this country.”

  “I’m not sure that experience was so horrible,” James muttered.

  Beatrice stared at him, her fork half way to her mouth. “I beg your pardon?” she said stiffly.

  “Did you see the expression on Amy’s face last night when she heard that Bey had been captured? She wasn’t overjoyed, she wasn’t even gratified. She was upset. Very upset.”

  Beatrice was silent, thinking about it.

  “And didn’t you tell me that at your Mission tea she got into some tiff with Mrs. Ballinger? I believe you said that Amy was defending the rebels. Didn’t that strike you as odd?”

  “It did at the time,” Bea said thoughtfully. “I guess I was so busy with the ball that I later dismissed it.”

  “Amy was gone for six weeks, Beatrice, she saw a lot of the rebel camp and the people there. And it was totally uncharacteristic of Bey to let her go, no matter what Kalid Shah said or did.”

  “What are you suggesting, James?” Bea asked, her eyes widening in horror. “That Amy had some sort of personal relationship with this man Bey?”

  “Has,” James said quietly. “Has.”

  “Oh, my God,” Bea moaned, putting down her fork. “Do you mean she has a crush on him?”

  James would have guessed from Amy’s behavior that the affair had gone well beyond the crush stage, but there was a limit to how much Beatrice could take. “Yes,” he said shortly.

  “We have to put a stop to it immediately, James. What can we do?” Beatrice gasped. She began to tremble and half rose from her seat.

  James held up his hand. “We don’t have to do anything, Bea, the man is going to be dead within a month,” he said firmly. “The Sultan’s executioner will solve the problem for us.”

  Beatrice relaxed visibly, looking at her husband. James was right.

  “I can’t believe that she has deceived us this way, every day since she came to this house,” Beatrice murmured, shaken by this new perspective on her niece.

  “From Amy’s point of view, she had no choice. It’s not the sort of thing we could be expected to understand.”

  “Certainly not,” Bea said indignantly.

  “If my guess is correct, it would explain Amelia’s lack of interest in your matchmaking sche
mes as well as her other odd behavior,” James said.

  Bea nodded slowly.

  “Now I don’t want you to say a word about this to Amelia, Bea,” James ordered his wife sternly. “No matter what you may feel personally about Amelia’s behavior, chastising her about whatever relationship she may have with this outlaw is pointless at this juncture. There is no prospect of future difficulties. Bey will be out of the picture soon, and there’s an end to it.”

  “And she’ll get over him in time,” Bea said, as much to herself as to James.

  “In time,” James agreed.

  Bea sighed heavily. “With myself as a notable exception, the women of our family certainly have a taste for these wild Turkish men,” she said, sniffing.

  “The women of our family have always done exactly as they pleased,” James said in a tired voice, and poured himself another cup of coffee.

  * * *

  Amy’s trip to the bookstore was an excuse to buy more newspapers, but after she had perused all of them she knew no more than she had that morning. The only thing clear from the varying journalistic accounts was that Malik had been arrested and was now being held in the Sultan’s dungeon. She discarded her purchases in a trash bin outside the store before climbing into the carriage to return to the house.

  As the driver turned into the Woolcott’s street, Amy saw that a coach was already there. She leaned forward to make out the insignia on the doors and her heart started beating faster.

  It was the Pasha of Bursa’s coach.

  Amy burst into the house and ran into the parlor, stopping short when she saw Sarah having tea with Beatrice.

  “Oh, Sarah, I’m so glad to see you!” Amy cried, almost in tears of relief at seeing Kalid’s wife.

  “How about me?” Beatrice said crisply. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”

  Amy undid the bow on her cape, dropping the garment on a chair, then bent to kiss her aunt’s cheek.

  “Of course I am,” she said, handing Bea the pattern book she had requested. “It’s just that I wasn’t expecting to see Sarah and it’s such a lovely surprise.”

  “I had to come to Pera for some shopping and I thought I would drop in and see all of you,” Sarah said smoothly, replacing her cup in its saucer. She was smiling as Amy kissed her, but when her eyes met the younger woman’s her gaze was serious.

  “Listak, bring another cup for Miss Amelia,” Beatrice said to the servant when she entered the room to clear the dishes.

  “Oh, no, thank you,” Amy said lightly. “I really don’t want anything.” The sooner the tea ceremony ended the sooner she could get Sarah alone.

  “Have my halberdiers been served in the kitchen?” Sarah asked Listak.

  “Yes, miss,” Listak replied, as she passed with a tray.

  “Kalid insisted they come with me, it’s such a nuisance traveling everywhere with an armed guard.”

  “But necessary these days,” Bea said pointedly.

  The women chatted amiably, Beatrice still full of gossip about the ball, until Amy finally said, “Sarah, I wonder if you would like to take a walk around the garden? Aunt Bea has it looking so beautiful, and everything will be dying soon. It seems such a shame for you to miss it.”

  Sarah rose immediately, seizing her cue. “Oh, I would love to see it,” she said warmly.

  “Aunt Bea, would you like to come with us?” asked Amy, who knew Beatrice hated exercise of any kind.

  “No, thank you, I’ll just go back to the kitchen and see how dinner is coming along. Sarah will be dining with us and staying overnight.”

  “How nice,” Amy said, edging toward the door. Sarah followed her, and once they were safely outside the house Sarah took Amy’s hands and said, “I came as soon as I heard.”

  “Is there any hope, Sarah? What does Kalid say?” Amy asked desperately.

  Sarah shook her head and sighed.. “Kalid has been involved in secret meetings for a week now, coming and going at all hours. He won’t tell me what’s happening, but I have reason to suspect it’s something big.”

  “Is it something that could help Malik?”

  “I just don’t know.”

  “You don’t sound optimistic.”

  Sarah shrugged. “Malik has been the most notorious criminal in the empire for some time. Hammid will be anxious to make an example of him.”

  “So Malik will be condemned.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “And the dungeon at Topkapi is impenetrable?”

  “If Malik is condemned, he’ll be moved to the Pamukkale jail in the old city as soon as the execution is scheduled. It’s tradition that state criminals be put to death there in full view of the people in the ancient square.”

  “Is it easier to escape from that jail?” Amy asked.

  “Yes, I think so, but you can be certain that Malik will be heavily guarded all the time.”

  “But surely Anwar and his friends will try to free him,” Amy said.

  “They may try. I don’t know if they can actually succeed.”

  Amy drew a deep breath. “Can I get in to see him?”

  Sarah stared at her, speechless.

  “Tell me. Is there any chance of it?” Amy demanded.

  “Do you realize what you’re asking?”

  “If he’s going to die I want to see him one last time. Is it possible?”

  “You would have to request the Sultan’s permission, and why on earth would he grant it?”

  “Maybe he would grant it to Kalid. And you,” Amy said.

  “Me?”

  “I could go in disguised as you,” Amy said.

  Sarah closed her eyes.

  “Think about it. If I were veiled and dressed in the Ottoman style, how would anyone at the jail know the difference? We’re about the same size and our coloring is similar, if I showed up with Kalid would anyone question that I was you?”

  Sarah opened her eyes again. “Aren’t you forgetting one thing? Kalid has not been on the best of terms with the Sultan, why would Hammid grant him this favor?”

  “Isn’t there a custom associated with the Feast of the Flowers called feytva? Each of the pashas asks the Sultan for one favor, and he cannot refuse.”

  “ How do you know that?”

  “Listak told me about it, and then I read more about it later in the newspapers.”

  “I know what you are thinking, but Kalid can’t ask the Sultan to release Malik. Pardoning capital criminals doesn’t fall under the feytva . It dates back to the Byzantines, who incorporated the Roman tradition of granting favors on feast days. But small favors, like removing the ban on a forbidden marriage between two rival tribe members, or restoring a prepaid dowry to the bride’s family when a betrothal is cancelled.”

  “But Kalid can ask to visit Malik just once, and bring you with him. Except that I will be you.”

  “Kalid is not going to like it. He won’t want to put you in danger.”

  “I’ll take the chance.”

  “Hammid might not let me go in with Kalid,” Sarah said.

  “But Malik is Roxalena’s brother-in-law.”

  “So?” Sarah said.

  “Roxalena is your friend. She would want her friend to visit her husband’s brother before he died, wouldn’t she?”

  Sarah sighed, shaking her head.

  “You told me in the past that the Sultan was very indulgent toward his daughter, even honoring her whim to learn English. That’s how you entered the harem and met Roxalena in the first place,” Amy said.

  “The Sultan was indulgent before Roxalena ran off with Osman Bey,” Sarah replied dryly. “I doubt if he’s much inclined to humor her wishes now.”

  “It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

  “Amy, you are talking about a man who killed the whole Bey family when he found out that Roxalena had married Osman. This plan is very doubtful.”

  “It’s the only one I can come up with!” Amy said despairingly. “I wrote you a ten page letter this morning trying to t
hink of a way to help Malik, but I have no influence here. So if I can’t save him at least I can be with him for a short time before he dies. Kalid says the Sultan is very vain and likes to make grand gestures to show his district commissioners how benevolent he is. What better way to do that than to honor a pasha’s request to visit a condemned criminal? What finer example of his indulgence and mercy?”

  “And you want Kalid to say this to Abdul Hammid?”

  “I’m sure Kalid will find his own way to say it, but please ask him to try.”

  Sarah was silent, thinking about it.

  Amy bit her lip, trying not to cry. “I just can’t let Malik go to his death with no word from me,” she whispered.

  Sarah put her arm around the younger woman and said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “How will you let me know if permission is granted?” Amy asked.

  “I’ll send one of Kalid’s fast riders with a message about the day and time. One of those horsemen can get from Bursa to your house in five hours.”

  “And what shall I tell Beatrice about where we are going?” Amy asked, wiping her eyes, which were tearing in spite of her best efforts to control herself.

  “Tell her Kalid is taking us on a tour of the old city. Bea knows you haven’t done much sightseeing. I’ll bring the right clothes for you to change into during the carriage ride.”

  Amy nodded. Was it feasible her idea could work?

  Sarah squeezed Amy’s arm. “Don’t count on this too much, Amelia. I can’t mislead you, it’s a long gamble at best.”

  “I have to hope for something,” Amy murmured.

  “I know. I’ll send word to you as soon as Kalid can see the Sultan. Now perk up and smile or Beatrice will be wondering what we’ve been doing out here.”

  The two women walked back to the house, arm in arm.

  * * *

  Malik stared up at the dripping ceiling of the dungeon, thinking about how many days he might have left to live. He was sprawled full length on a dirt floor strewn with filthy straw, his feet manacled together and his hands tightly cuffed to an iron peg set in the stone wall.

  He turned his head to look at the thin stream of lamplight filtering through a crack in the wall near the solid oak door. He had few regrets about his life, he had done what he wanted to do, and he knew that despite what Anwar had said the revolution would live on after he himself was dust. The people in his band had tasted freedom, and they would want more of it. Their victory in the Armenian mahalle had shown them that it was possible to affect and dilute the Sultan’s power; he was not an omnipotent being against whom they had no chance at all. They would grow in numbers and strength and eventually achieve their goal.