“Son, don’t do this,” said Declan. “You’re limping almost as bad as me. You’re daft if you think you’re taking on an army single-handed.”
“There’s no more time,” John said. “Kaitlin, get them out. Get in that boat, leave these shores, and never look back. Maybe if I’d been stronger—a better man—I could have saved you all those years ago. Maybe things could have been different. But this is how it’s got to be.”
Tears ran down Kaitlin’s face. “I’ve only just got you and Da back. There’s always a way. A better way. Please don’t go…”
“Sorry, Rabbit.” John looked to his friend. “Ethan, for what it’s worth, I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. You always were the better man. But I’m sorry all the same.” John touched Kaitlin’s fingers through the bars. He gave her a big brother smile. “Goodbye, Rabbit. I love you.” And with a look at the others, he said, “I love you all.”
“Johnny!” Kaitlin cried.
But John Sullivan had already vanished into the darkness.
Chapter 14
The Estate of Unis ben Unis
The City of Tunis
A Year and a Half Ago
Before the Fall of the Silver Hand
“Katie, we’re out of time!” Rune pleaded. The young Indian thief was on his knees, palms raised to the ceiling of the underground cellar. “Please, we have to go!”
“I can get it!” Kaitlin’s tongue poked from her lip as she picked the lock on yet another treasure chest. Unis ben Unis was a savvy money lender—he mixed his real cash boxes with empty decoys—a crude but effective defense against thieves. Kaitlin could pick locks faster than most in the Silver Hand, but the sun was soon to rise, and the chests were too many. The money lender’s cellar was filled with chests of every shape and size, wrapped in chains and padlocks. Eight were open already, and all of them full of worthless scrap metal.
“It’s no use,” Rune pleaded as the sound of boots thudded on the floorboards above. He’d cracked three of the open chests to no avail. “We’re out of time.”
“My first two guesses were close, I know it. Five more minutes, and I’ll have the right one.”
Aruna the Tigerfoot knelt beside Kaitlin and looked sternly at her. “Katie, this is not practice walls or training locks at Red Mortar Redoubt. Those are real soldiers up there. What happens to thieves that are caught?”
Kaitlin’s hands worked by feel as she rolled her eyes. She quoted Rune’s often repeated words. “‘They lose a hand or a head.’”
Rune’s eyes, usually bright and playful, were stern. “A thief—”
“—must never be caught. I know, Rune. I can do it.”
Aruna sighed. “I was afraid you would say that. I’ll meet you at the usual spot.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Buy you some time.” And then Rune was off, dashing up the cellar steps with one of the decoy cash boxes. A few moments later, the sounds of muffled shouts echoed from the upper floor.
“Hey! Thief!” shouted a gruff voice. “Stop right there!”
“You’ll have to catch me first,” Rune taunted. A stampede of footsteps were soon trotting away. No doubt Rune would lead the guards on a merry chase across the rooftops. Worry for him tugged at Kaitlin’s heart. But she had a job to do.
The lock in Kaitlin’s hands made a snapping sound, and she felt a thrill. Yet when she opened the chest, she found another pile of rusted rivets. Kaitlin jumped up and kicked the chest.
“Feck it all!” she cursed.
Five minutes, thought Kaitlin as she paced the cellar with hands on her lower back. A good thief doesn’t panic. She thought back to what she learned when they cased the estate. “Know the mark”—the third most important lesson of the Silver Hand. Her eyes wandered over each chest. Some crafted of red wood and brass, others rotted and banded in iron.
The minutes ticked by.
Some were embossed with ornate filigree, religious symbols, or jewels. I can do it, Kaitlin thought. Her eyes passed over a chest made of unlacquered teak. It had a silver sparrow stamped on the lid. The plain one, thought Kaitlin. Of course, that’s the one. She remembered Unis ben Unis kept a menagerie filled with birds exotic and mundane. If she was wrong, there wouldn’t be time to open another.
With a confident smile, Kaitlin knelt in front of the bird-stamped chest and got to work.
###
The trip across the Silver Road was a mad dash through the grey light of dawn. Kaitlin found Rune waiting in their usual spot on an old aqueduct at the outskirts of the city. His feet dangled over a forty-foot drop and a shanty town of hovels. The Berbers, Mamluks, and Jews who populated this quarter were hostile to Janissaries and friendly toward the Silver Hand. Aruna was looking out across the Lake of Tunis, where the light of sunrise danced on the water.
As happened often these days, her heart felt a flutter of excitement at the sight of Rune. He’d grown considerably in his sixteenth year. Muscles had appeared on his once-skinny arms. His soft boyish face had become more chiseled, with stubble growing along his jaw. His waves of black hair shimmered in the sun. There was something more confident in his gaze—more manly. Sometime in the last several months, Kaitlin started thinking of him as handsome.
“Well?” asked Rune over a mouthful of bread. “Did you get it? I had to run across half the city to escape.”
Kaitlin stomped up to Rune, remained dramatically silent for a moment, then swung a heavy bag off her back.
“Well?!”
“Say it, Rune.”
Rune knit his brows. “I do not know of what—”
“Say it!”
Her mentor gave a long sigh. “You, Kaitlin Kaitlin Sullivan, are a master thief.”
Kaitlin dropped the bag in front of him. Rune pulled the drawstring, his eyes lighting up as he saw the gold and silver coins inside. His eyes were such a beautiful color—like wood trapped in amber.
“I never doubted you for a second!” Rune handed her a round of bread, and she sat down beside him.
“I told you I would get it,” Kaitlin said as she took a bite. She swept a curl from her face, blushing in spite of herself.
“Have you thought of a title? You must have one. Perhaps, ‘Kaitlin the Tiger Tail!’”
“What? You get to be the claws, and I’m the lousy tail?” Kaitlin’s Irish accent became exaggerated. “Kindly put that out of your head.”
“Come now, all great thieves must have a name. If not a tiger, then what?”
“I’ll think of something,” Kaitlin replied. She smiled as she ate her share of the bread. Another thing she liked about Rune. He was always so thoughtful. So kind and encouraging. Girls at Red Mortar Redoubt wanted her to tell him how she felt, but the notion gave her cold sweats. What if he didn’t feel the same? Besides, he was so much more mature, and handsome, and…
“Katie…” Rune paused in his chewing. “You’re staring at me.”
“Staring?” Kaitlin realized it was true and looked away. “No, I wasn’t. I wasn’t staring.”
Rune returned to his meal with a suspicious look in his eye. The two ate in silence for a few minutes. Kaitlin used the pause in conversation to work up her nerve. She cared deeply for him and she wanted to know if he felt the same. Kaitlin could pickpocket armed men and climb high walls without hesitation—so why were a few little words so terrifying? She took a deep breath.
“Rune, I have something to tell you.”
“Ah! What good fortune. I have something to tell you.”
“You first.” Kaitlin’s heart raced. Would he profess his love for her? Offer her a rose? Would he…?
“I want very much…” Rune began.
“Yes?” Kaitlin took in a breath.
“To help you find your mother.”
“Oh.” Kaitlin blinked. It was an oddly disappointing thing. Kaitlin had wanted to search for her lost parents for years, but training and thieving kept her busy. She ought to have felt grateful, but this wasn’t the news she wanted to
hear. “I mean, oh! Do you think Guildmaster Ibrahim will let me?”
“I know he will! You have become a fine thief, and your hauls have made him a much wealthier man. You could buy your freedom if you wished, but if you offer to stay with the Silver Hand a while longer, he will help in your search.”
“It’s a good idea. Thank you, Rune.”
“You’re welcome! Now, what did you want to talk to me about?”
“What?” A lump of bread nearly spilled out of Kaitlin’s mouth. She swallowed audibly. “Oh. Right. Well… Rune… Aruna…you know how—”
“Wait,” laughed Rune. “When was the last time you called me Aruna?”
“Do you want to hear this or not?”
Looking a little puzzled, Rune agreed. “As you wish. Continue.”
“You know how we’ve been friends for all these years? And how you’ve taught me the art of thieving?”
“Yes. This we have been, and this I have done.”
“And you know how sometimes…” Kaitlin stared out to sea, fumbling for the words. “Boys and girls become good friends…”
“Yes. This has been known to happen.”
“What I mean to say is,” said Kaitlin, her frustration growing, “I think of you as a very close friend. The closest friend. But…I wonder if you might want—”
“Of course, I do!”
“You do?” Butterflies stirred in Kaitlin’s stomach. It was true! He liked her, the way she liked him. And he was about to say…
“Why yes!” Rune pinched her cheek the way her brother Isaac once did. “Of course, I think of you as a friend. My very closest, and I want us always to be. In fact, you are dearer to my heart than a sister.”
“What?” Kaitlin’s smile was dashed like a ship on the rocks. “A sister?”
“Of which I am most proud!” Rune had a big smile on his face.
A storm cloud brewed in Kaitlin. She bolted to her feet, her anger rising like approaching thunder. The rain poured on her wounded heart.
Rune registered her frown. “What is the matter?”
“How can you be so dumb? How can you be such a fecking donkey?”
“What did I do?”
Kaitlin stomped off along the aqueduct, eager to rappel to the ground and follow their tunnel out of the city.
Rune scrambled to his feet, hands outstretched. “What did I do?!”
###
Near the River Falls Trading Post
The City of Tunis
One Month Ago
After the Fall of the Silver Hand
Kaitlin sprinted into the alley. She found the loose storm drain at the base of the stone wall and pried it up. Jogging footsteps were close behind. The rain poured in a torrent, soaking her to the skin. She had a dozen scrapes and bruises from her flight. The storm drain was her last chance, and she slipped down into the tiny gap. With only enough space to sit in a tight ball, she pulled the iron grate over her head. Freezing water poured over her, carrying with it the filth of manure, offal, and chamber pots.
Two Nizam-I Djedid rounded the alley corner. They shouted harsh words to one another as they searched. Their images were distorted by the stream of water pouring through the bars of the grating. Starving and penniless, Kaitlin attempted to pilfer their supply cart minutes ago. Now, the two guards who had spotted her were kicking over barrels, tossing aside boxes, stabbing at piles of trash. One of them looked in her direction, his eyes landing on the drain.
Kaitlin’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart hammered in her chest.
But then the Djedid soldier’s eyes moved on. After a few minutes more, he and his companion left the alley to continue their search elsewhere.
Twenty minutes later, Kaitlin stole into the wine cellar of the River Falls Trading Post. She made the secret knock on the kitchen door, and waited for the reply, wet and shivering. The door opened, and the black-bearded visage of the Tennessean, Buford, filled the doorway. The glow of candlelight and the melody of an Arab lute flowed around him. There had been a time when the gruff mountain man terrified Kaitlin. But over the years, she’d come to understand him as few people did. More importantly, he was the last contact in the city that wouldn’t sell her to the Chronicler.
“Miss Kaitlin.” Buford’s good eye looked her up and down. “Had a rough time of it, I expect?”
Kaitlin nodded, clutching her chest for warmth.
“Come on up, then.” The trader led the way through the kitchen and then into the circular taproom. The warmth of the repurposed windmill washed over her. Patrons of every walk of life filled the tables and chairs. They laughed and chatted over ale, coffee, and pipes, all of which blended into a familiar odor Kaitlin had come to love. Skewers of meat and a pot of stew bubbled on the large fire pit in the center of the room. She even found the glowering bear and deer heads to be friendly faces.
Rap-rap-rap!
A pounding at the door startled her. Several patrons looked over in alarm. Conversation died away, but the gentle strumming of the oud continued.
“Quickly, Miss Kaitlin,” said Buford. “Behind the bar.”
The door slammed open, and Kaitlin ducked out of sight in the nick of time. She sat between casks of ale, staring at Buford’s tall legs. She heard the menacing footfalls of soldiers as they spread through the taproom.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” said Buford, calmly cleaning a glass. “What’s your pleasure?”
“Spare us your forked tongue, infidel,” said one of the soldier’s in Arabic. Kaitlin recognized their Turkish accent, and she guessed they were Nizam-I Djedid. “We are not here for sin. We’re here for a thief.”
“To which do you refer?” Buford swept his hand around the room.
The patrons broke into laughter.
“I know you have sheltered the Silver Hand before.” The soldier’s boots clunked up to the bar. He was standing on the other side of the panels behind her. “I believe you are harboring one as we speak.”
“Slanderous lies, I can attest.”
Kaitlin found a crack between boards and peeked into the taproom. The motley group of Janissaries, tradesmen, and slaves stared at the Nizam-I Djedid with unfriendly eyes.
“Give up the thief, infidel!” shouted the trooper. “Or we’ll slit your throat and burn this tavern to the ground.”
Every patron stood up—goatherds, stall merchants, basket weavers, dock workers, cobblers, soldiers, pirates—all glowering at the two Djedid at the bar. Jews, Christians, and Muslims alike slid their hands to sword hilts and trigger guards. The gentle melody of the oud ground to a stop. The serving women froze with full flagons and trays of beef in their hands. Buford’s eyes were glassy with boredom.
A spur rang as one of the Djedid took a step back. He and his companion looked about uneasily.
Kaitlin couldn’t help but smile. Buford might be an “infidel,” but his neutrality had won him allies from the lowliest slave to the bey himself. No man in the city was a better smuggler, fence, and merchant. Without him, how would Bey Hammuda hide a portion of his spoils from the sultan’s tax collectors? How would Janissaries get access to forbidden liquors? How would slaves sell their pilfered goods? Buford didn’t flaunt his unspoken power in the city. He didn’t have to.
“As I politely informed you earlier.” Buford didn’t bother to speak Lingua Franca. “I am merely a server of drinks and trader of wares. I have no truck with fugitives.”
There was a deathly silence. Then the soldier piped up again. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Christian. If you’re lying, you will face the Chronicler’s wrath.”
“Duly noted.”
Several hours later, when Buford had sent his patrons home or up to their beds, he and Kaitlin had the taproom all to themselves. Kaitlin had spent most of the time in the kitchen, out of sight. Buford had brought her dry clothes, loaned from his serving women, then sat her at a table for supper. It wasn’t until she was devouring a bowl of his famous stew, scooping up mouthfuls on hunks of bread, that
she realized it had been four days since she ate. Before today, she hadn’t spoken to another soul in far longer—unless you counted the rats.
“You spring your paps, yet?” Buford asked.
Kaitlin shook her head, sucking at a thread of meat in her teeth. “Can’t. Climbed the tower. Read the Chronicler’s journals.”
“And?”
“His spy, Gilroy, found John.” Kaitlin dragged a sleeve across the juice running down her chin. “Naim has gone to capture my brother. I can’t make my move until he returns. If Naim has Johnny and Da, I can’t break out one without the other.”
Speaking her plan aloud snapped Kaitlin back to reality. She remembered the reason for her failed attempt to steal from a Nizam-I Djedid supply wagon. She was penniless.
“I’m sorry, Buford.” Kaitlin stood up. “I can’t pay for lodging…or food. I should go.”
“You’ll do no such thing.” Buford took the seat across the table and used the candlestick to light his pipe. He puffed as he said, “Sit. Eat.”
“But… I can’t pay…”
“Our account is settled. Now sit.”
Kaitlin sat back down, secretly relieved. She had nearly finished her bowl when she saw drops of water falling on the grains of bulgur. She realized they were her tears. It was surprising, because she hadn’t cried in weeks—not for Da, not for Mam, not for Rune—not even for herself. Whether from relief or despair, she had no idea why she wept now. Whatever the reason, the moment she heard herself sniffling, the floodgates opened, and she sobbed into her food.
Buford sat crunching his bread, biting off hunks with a sound like ripping linen. His eyes were on his plate of beef. He took a few puffs on his pipe, sopped up some juice with his bread, and chewed on a bit of gristle. “That’s enough of that, now.”
Kaitlin looked up at him, her eyes burning from the tears. Buford’s eyes were still on his plate, the beard at the corners of his mouth wet with grease. In her embarrassment, she wiped the snot from her face. When her sobbing was back under control, she continued eating.
Blood and Oak- Wolves Will Eat Page 9
