“You are the boy that delivered the missive to the palace gates, yes?” said the man.
“Yes, beyefendi.”
A kind smile spread across the man’s lips. “Well met, boy. I am the sultan’s court calligrapher, Soysal. And I received your message. Thank you. Now, what is your name?”
“Varlick, Nisanci.”
“It was a matter of some difficulty finding you, little Varlick. I had to ask many other beggars in the nearby alleys. But a city will always whisper her secrets if only you are quiet enough to listen. Is there anyone in that tent with you?”
“My mother, Nisanci. She died.”
“Oh.” Soysal looked at his velvet shoes. “I see. I am sorry, boy. Alas, I am too late to save her. But I can save her son.”
Varlick blinked, filled with questions.
“You see, Varlick, today you carried my agent’s chronicle to the palace and saved my dearest friend from an assassin’s plot. Had it not been for a brave boy, Sultan Mustafa III would have sipped poison soup. Why did you do it?”
Varlick hesitated, uncertain of what to say. “Allah gave me a great gift. I owed Him a gift in return.”
Soysal dropped to a knee and smiled into Varlick’s eyes. “I would say he has given you more gifts than you know. Come with me, boy. You deserve more than a few piastres for saving a sultan.”
“Where will we go?”
“To the palace. Where I shall give you knowledge of language, mathematics, history, art, and the sciences. I will see you trained in military tactics and the deadly arts. And you shall never again lack the power to save those you love.”
“Will you ask nothing in return?”
Soysal’s eyes flickered with energy. “You are wise beyond your years. Indeed, when your education is complete, I shall ask your help with work of great importance. But the choice of whether to serve will always be yours.”
“I cannot leave without Mama.”
“We will see her buried with honor. You have my word. Will you come with me?”
“Yes, Nisanci.”
Soysal smiled. “Good. Henceforth, I shall call you by a new title: Naim. Do you know what your new title means, Varlick Naim?”
“No, Nisanci.”
“It is the cause you shall serve. It means ‘peace.’”
Chapter 20
The Lake Fort
Grand Tower Suite
Sunday, September 11th, 1803
Day 2, After Sunset
John Sullivan climbed out of the secret passage. Naim’s tower suite was empty. It was lit only by twilight and quiet as a mausoleum. Cool wind stirred the curtains, carrying a miasma of gutter runoff and cookfire spices from the city. Beyond the horseshoe windows, lights were appearing in the city across the lake. Naim’s chest, tea service, and crossbow were all gone. Only a few dying embers glowed in the hearth. It looked as though the plan had worked, and Naim was leaving for the city. Nevertheless, this place sent a tingle down John’s spine.
“Is it still there?” whispered Kaitlin as she climbed out after him.
John went to the table and knelt down. A disc of flesh-colored puddy lay hidden near the table’s sculpted foot. He picked up the soft clay and saw the perfect imprint of Naim’s signet ring. “It’s here.”
Kaitlin knelt beside him. She took the puddy, carefully pulled away the excess, and then placed the impression in a small ring box. Next, she molded a lump of beeswax around the box until it was waterproofed. “She did good.”
“Aye, she did,” smiled John.
It had been nerve-wracking to watch through the peephole of the secret passage. Dominique had no choice but to degrade herself and pretend seduction with Naim. But her courage and cleverness paid off. She managed to make the copy and stash it under the table before they hauled her away. She used her own fear to convince Naim of an alliance between John and the Janissaries. Despite her success, the means was bitter medicine for John.
“It’s nightfall.” Kaitlin went to the door on the opposite side of the room and started picking the lock. A minute later she had the door open, revealing a balcony on the other side. “Time to go.”
“I can’t,” John replied, surprising himself.
“What do you mean you can’t? Da and the others will be waiting for us in Carthage. There’s a lot to do, and we can’t waste a minute.”
John stared at the two chairs sitting by the fireplace. Had it really been one night ago that he sat beside Naim, moments before his torture? The aching in his foot and wrist gave a ready answer. He was certain Naim wouldn’t have tortured Dominique—not without John to witness her fate. Still, what kind of man left his love at the mercy of a monster?
“All right,” nods Dominique. “I’ll do it, Sully. I’ll get the copy of the ring.”
“All right.” John reaches into his pocket and gives Dominique a key. “One more thing before I go. This is a skeleton key. Katie made it, and it will open most of the locks in the fort—including the cages. Get it to the men. Once most of the Djedid leave with Naim, that will be the crew’s chance to overpower the guards.”
Dominique studies the key for a moment, then slips it into her bodice.
“I swear, Dom—I will find us a ship, and I will come back for you.” John turns toward the passageway.
“Sully, wait!” Dominique takes his hand, pulling him back to her.
He looks into her eyes—blue as the sea and every bit as fierce. She’s afraid, but like always, she underestimates her own strength.
Tears brim at the edges of her eyes.”You and Melly have always been so brave. But not me. I’m so afraid… Help me not to be. Help me to be like you.”
“You think I’m not afraid? I’m terrified.” John touches a hand to her smudged cheek. Her blonde hair is frayed, her evening gown blackened with soot. She smells of saltwater and smoke, but he still catches her scent. Like orchids in the rain. She’s as intoxicating as ever. He’s loved her since the day they met. “I know you’re scared, Dom. But that doesn’t matter. Because I also know you’re the bravest woman I’ve ever met.”
Dominique touches her forehead to his. She nods, tears dropping from her eyes.
Parting from her is agony, but their time is up. John let’s go of her hand, looks into her eyes one more time, and steps back into the secret passage.
Before the door closes, Dominique says, “I know something too, Sully. This isn’t your fault. You had every right to fight back against Naim’s son. So get going and do what you’ve gotta do. The sooner you get us that ship, the sooner we can all go home.”
Her fiery gaze ignites his resolve like a torch. He nods, and the passage door snaps shut.
John gripped the rapier hilt at his belt. “Kait, I left Dominique once before, to settle my own selfish grudge against the Tindalls. Not again.”
“Don’t be daft,” Kaitlin scolded. “It’s a damn miracle your lass got Naim to leave the fort. If she hadn’t, he would have found us. This plan of yours is mad as a box of frogs! I can’t do it by myself.”
“You’ll have Melly, Ethan, and Declan. They’ll help you steal the ship. Try to understand, Kait. This is the woman I love.”
“Ugh.” Kaitlin shook her head in frustration. “You don’t know anything! I’ve been in love too, Johnny. All I wanted in the world was to stay with him, but I left him dead. On a beach. You know why? To save you and Da. Now it’s your turn to leave because none of this works if you don’t. At least Dominique has a chance. That’s more than Rune got, you stubborn ass!”
John blinked as if he’d been punched. He didn’t remember his sister being so brazen. “I can’t abandon her, Kait.”
“But you can abandon me?”
The words stung John to the core. He could read the fear in his sister’s eyes, and he suddenly felt like a fool. She had become so strong, but she was still so young. He was her big brother, and she needed him more than Dominique did. “No, Kait. Never again. You have the right of it.”
“Good.” Kaitlin
breathed her relief. “Catch.”
An empty waterskin slapped John in the face. He peeled it off and pulled the stopper. “What’s this for?”
“Blow it up. We’ll use it to float.” Kaitlin went out onto the balcony and secured her grappling rope to the railing. She used knots he didn’t recognize—certainly nothing she learned growing up on the Wandering Hart.
John inflated the goatskin, stoppered it, and did the same with another. He stepped onto the balcony, crouching low and peeking over the rail. The rising tide lapped at the base of the tower where long centuries had eroded the shore. Across the lake to the west, John could make out the shadows of the Carthaginian ruins. Below the tower to the north, several Nizam-I Djedid patrolled the dockyard walls. John and Kaitlin were high above them and shrouded in the gathering dark, keeping them hidden from notice. Most of the Nizam-I Djedid were busy loading supplies onto the Wolf of Tunis, preparing for a return to the city. Naim would soon have his soldiers searching Tunis under the belief the Janissaries were harboring John.
“How far is the swim?” John asked.
“A couple miles.” Kaitlin fed the rope over the rail.
John pulled his sheathed rapier and dagger from his belt. He tied them together with a length of twine, then tethered them to his wrist.
“You should leave the knives behind,” Kaitlin said.
“Leave Ace and Spade? Not on your life!”
Kaitlin looked at John with a puzzled expression. “You named your weapons?”
“Of course I did. I won them at a game of brag.”
“What’s brag?”
“A game you’re not old enough to play.”
“I’m old enough!” protested Kaitlin.
“Time to go, Kait.” John winked. “You first.”
Kaitlin groaned and climbed over the rail. The last traces of twilight were gone, and the darkness gave them cover as they climbed down the rope. When they were both in the water, Kaitlin waited for the patrol of guards on the castle ramparts to move out of earshot, then tugged on the rope until her knots came free and the grapple plunked in the water. Soon, John and Kaitlin were each clinging to a floating goatskin, paddling toward Carthage. Several minutes later, the island was a good distance behind them.
“When we have the ship, and this is all over,” Kaitlin said, “I want to play brag.”
“Why do you care?” John panted as he swam. “You don’t even know what it is.”
“So, what is it?”
“A card game for adults.”
“I am an adult.” Kaitlin splashed him with water. “I am a master thief of the Silver Hand, and I broke you out of prison.”
“A master thief, you may be.” John splashed back. “An adult, you are not.”
“Am so!”
“Are not.”
“Am so!”
“Are not.”
Discovering that he still had the power to tease his little sister, John grinned.
Chapter 21
The Ruins of Ancient Carthage
Outside the City of Tunis
Sunday, September 11th, 1803
Day 2, Near Midnight
“Are you sure about this, Melly?” John asked. He stood on the shore of the Lake of Tunis, watching as Melisande floated away in Kaitlin’s rowboat. The island fort was visible in the distance behind her, a tiny cluster of lights in a sea of dark. A few miles to the southwest, the numerous buildings of Tunis put off a much brighter glow. “You’ll be alone outside the walls. No one to guard your flank.”
“She’s my sister.” Melisande was dressed in her deerskin breeches, black waistcoat, and Iroquois moccasins. An hour ago, when John and Kaitlin had reached the rendezvous in the ruins of Carthage, they told Declan, Ethan, and Melisande of the Allegheny disaster. The moment Melisande heard news of her sister’s capture, she collected her gear and prepared for a return to the Lake Fort. “I can’t leave Dom a prisoner behind those walls. I know you understand, Sully.”
John nodded. “Better than anyone.”
The boat carried Melisande several yards from shore. “Before you say a teary farewell, I haven’t forgotten how you tossed me out with the rubbish. Mule-headed mick!”
John scratched his head. “Aye, I suppose I deserve that.”
“Damn right you do.” Melisande crossed her arms, a smirk tugging at her lip. “I’ll forgive you this once.”
“Don’t tell tales, Melly.” John gave her a rakish grin. “You always forgive me.”
Melisande groaned. “It’s those big eyes of yours. Like a puppy left in the rain.”
“Thank you for all you did for my family, lass,” offered Declan, leaning on his driftwood cane.
“You’re welcome, Papa Sully.”
“Take care of yourself, Melisande,” said Ethan.
“You too, Fiddles.”
“Don’t forget,” said Kaitlin, “Dominique has my skeleton key.”
“That’s right,” added John. “Aubert will be planning their escape by now. Keep Dom safe until I bring the ship.”
“I will, Sully,” said Melisande. “Good luck, ole mick.”
“Hey, Melisande.” Kaitlin dug something out of a pouch on her belt. “You said something about no bloodroot for your warpaint. I don’t have any of that, but…catch!” Kaitlin tossed a small stick across the water.
Melisande caught the object and examined it between thumb and forefinger.
“Sanguine chalk,” Kaitlin said.
“Thanks, Lil Red.” Melisande shared a smile with Kaitlin, then took up the oars and rowed for the Lake Fort island.
An hour later, John and his companions passed under crumbling sandstone arches on their way to Kaitlin’s hideout. The crescent moon spilled between broken pillars, once the load-bearing supports of grand buildings, now the broken bones of a dead city. John followed his sister as she picked her way through Ancient Carthage, several paces ahead of the party. A good deal of strength had returned to John’s limbs since the gallows, but he still had to limp through the ruins. He couldn’t deny a certain haunted feeling. Two thousand years ago, these streets were the beating heart of a mighty naval empire—until Rome sacked the city. A potent reminder that one battle could be the difference between a thriving civilization and a lifeless wreck.
Kaitlin’s feet were whisper-silent as she zig-zagged in odd patterns, disappearing through a grove one minute, walking along a wall the next. She often vanished into the shadows, only to reappear where least expected. One such time, John squinted along a row of broken facades as he tried to spot her.
“Hurry up!” said Kaitlin. “There’s no time to lose.”
John jumped back a step as he discovered her two paces to his left. His sister crouched on a cornerstone like a gargoyle. “Aye, Kait, we’re doing our best.”
Kaitlin’s eyes gleamed in a ray of moonlight. She jumped down and scrambled behind a bank of sand, once again lost to the darkness.
There was a painful grunt a few paces behind him.
“How are you doing, Declan?” said John over his shoulder.
Declan hobbled as fast as he could on his crutch. Sweat beaded on his weathered face. He clutched at his side. “I’m all right, son.”
It was to Declan’s credit that he didn’t complain. John couldn’t deny the change in his father since their escape—the old sailor was more alert, more determined. But Declan was still a coward—a fact no amount of sympathy could make John forget.
“You’re not all right,” said Ethan. He came alongside Declan and offered him an arm. “Let me help you.”
“Thank you, lad.” Declan put his arm around Ethan’s shoulders, grunting as he shifted his weight. “That’s most kind.”
“Don’t overdo it. Your legs have been out of use for a while.”
John let the two men catch up to him and said, “Ethan, while we have a chance, I wanted to say—”
“Forget it, John.” Ethan kept his eyes forward. “I came because your plan is the only way we’re ge
tting out of this mess. I’m here to help Kaitlin and Declan like I promised, and my fellow sailors if I can. That’s all.”
Declan cleared his throat, caught in the awkward space between Ethan and his son.
“This is no time to be ornery,” John said. “We need to talk about what happened.”
“No. We don’t.” Ethan said. “You need to talk about what happened. And I’m sure you’re very sorry for your choices, and you had your reasons and on and on. The fact is, I don’t want to hear it.”
John reluctantly let the matter drop.
They reached a honeycomb of ancient passages. The roofs over the interconnected walls had long since crumbled away, replacing the ceiling with the starry sky. John remembered Kaitlin’s description of where they were going and realized they must be in the Baths of Antoninus. How Kaitlin navigated the maze of sauna rooms and dried up pools, John had no idea. The only landmark was a towering column, perhaps three stories high, textured with vertical grooves. Every time John looked up, it appeared to be on a different point of the compass. Occasionally, an opening in the passages gave him a view of the Mediterranean Sea, shimmering in the moonlight like white gold. He sucked in a lungful of fresh, briny air. A welcome relief after two days trapped in the bowels of the Lake Fort.
The sound of nearby voices snapped John to attention. He came around a bend and saw firelight spilling through an old door frame a few paces ahead. He drew and cocked his pistol, then sidled up to the doorway. Before he could peek around the corner, Kaitlin stepped past him and across the threshold. John pulled his sister back, then stormed ahead of her, ready for a battle. Five Turk faces looked up at him from a small fire in the remains of a bath chamber. A man and his wife, an elderly woman, and two small boys. They all froze in alarm.
“Put that away!” Kaitlin pushed down the barrel of John’s pistol.
Noticing the family was unarmed, John sheepishly holstered his gun. They sat around a cookpot, which hung over the flames on a tripod of sticks. The man had been tanning goatskin on a crude rack, the woman stirring supper, their two boys playing a game involving smooth pebbles. An old woman sat cross-legged before the fire, which burned in an ancient stone basin. They were all dressed in plain kaftans and sandals. Two camels lay nearby dozing, bundles of possessions on their humps.
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