Ten strides from the gate.
Ethan’s breathing was strained. His limp was becoming more pronounced with every step.
“A little further, mate,” John whispered. “Stay with me.”
“I’m with you,” Ethan whispered back.
Another unfriendly face glanced at John. This time, it was a corsair in a colorful striped cloak and green turban. He was walking with two other pirates, the one to his right a tall man with a sharp goatee, the man to his left with a nose studded in gold rings. Once again, John kept his eyes forward, his pace constant, and the pirate passed by.
A harsh voice barked behind John.
Without looking back, he knew it had to be the voice of the pirate in the striped cloak. He didn’t know much of the Arab tongue, but he knew enough to know when someone was suspicious. John didn’t answer—just kept moving.
The man spoke again. More words in Arabic.
“He wants to know your name,” Kaitlin whispered.
“He’s following us, John,” Ethan added.
John looked over his shoulder. He saw Striped Cloak and his two companions following close. Not knowing enough Arabic to fake a convincing reply, John took his chances with Lingua Franca. “We are taking this slave to the bey’s barge. She escaped the seraglio. Piss off—unless you want to lose a hand.”
The corsair replied.
Kaitlin whispered the translation. “‘Why do you use the language of the slaves?’”
“No concern of yours!” John shouted, keeping his pace forward. He prayed the arrogance in his voice would work.
The three pirates crowded around John. “Who are you?” Striped Cloak said in Lingua Franca. “You look like a Christian.”
“I am no Christian…I…uh…” John’s mind raced for a lie that might persuade him. He gave up. “I’m the fucking Devil!”
John rounded on Striped Cloak and stuck his dagger into his neck. The pirate snarled as John pelted his neck with savage speed. Ethan caught Sharp Goatee’s sword on his left vambrace, then punched with a hard right cross. Goatee’s nose crumpled into a bloody mess, the result of Ethan’s steel knuckles, and collapsed in the street. Nose Rings pulled a pistol, and John shoved Striped Cloak into his aim. The gun discharged into the dying pirate’s back. Nose Rings caught John’s dagger thrust, and the two started to grapple. Ethan punched his Indian fist-dagger into the Nose Rings’ back, and his eyes went wide. Ethan threw the corsair off of John, the triangular blade slick with red.
Dozens of curious citizens saw the scuffle and were pointing and yelling in their direction. Several Janissaries were running toward them. The soldier on the white Arabian horse was galloping toward them.
“Go!” John shouted. “Get to the gate!”
Ethan limped past John. Kaitlin dropped the shackles and offered Ethan her shoulders. With no one between them and the gate, they could move faster. John pulled his last pistol from his belt, took aim at the charging officer, and fired. The bullet took the Janissary in the chest, and he fell off the horse, the Arabian whinnying and veering toward an alley.
“Open the gate!” John yelled to the disguised sailors on the wall. He threw an arm around Ethan’s shoulders, helping his friend limp as fast as he could. “Open the gate! It’s me, John.”
The Janissary imposters snapped to action, disappearing from the ramparts.
Five yards.
They hobbled forward, Ethan in the middle, John and Kaitlin to either side. But it wasn’t enough. John looked over his shoulder to find pirates, soldiers, and citizens all gaining fast. The three fugitives were exhausted, battered, and bruised. John could hear his own wheezing over the shouts of fury.
“You have to leave me!” Ethan cried.
“No!” cried John. “We’re almost there, mate.”
They were four strides from the door when a black-bearded man in a black leather kaftan strode out of an alley. Buford stood in their path like a granite statue. In his hands, he held the giant gun from the taproom of the River Falls, the circle of seven barrels aimed toward the sky. The stampede of feet was only seconds away.
“Buford, help!” cried Kaitlin.
The Tennessean looked at John. “Your oath!” Buford boomed. “Do I have it?”
John blinked, stunned at the absurdity of the split-second ultimatum. But with the full fury of the mob about to swallow them whole, he didn’t hesitate. John shouted, “Yes! You have my oath.”
“Stand aside,” said Buford.
They parted as Buford stepped forward. He planted his feet in a wide stance. The butt of the gun went to his shoulder. Seven long barrels, bundled together, were aimed nearly point blank at the charging crowd. Buford fired.
The report was like a cannon shot. The giant gun belched a cloud of fire and smoke, bucking high into the air. A dozen charging men tumbled to the ground as bullets shredded their flesh. Blood rained over the heap of wailing men like a mist.
“Disperse, ye rabble,” bellowed Buford in a growl summoned from Hell. “Or I shall gut you like pigs.”
Perhaps it was the carnage or the sheer terror of the Mountain Man, but the crowd skidded to a halt.
“Johnny, boy!” cried Thomas Keane. He was standing in an open door nestled within the larger gates. “Hurry!”
John, Ethan, and Kaitlin hurried through the door. Buford followed them through, the crowd screaming after him.
Keane and another sailor slammed the door shut. They slid the bar home in the nick of time. The weight of the mob piled against the other side. They pounded on the gate, but it held. John turned around, and what he saw filled his heart with joy.
The Wolf of Tunis floated near the mouth of the harbor. Her masts and yards were silhouettes against the twilight. Her bow pointed toward the lake. The anchor cable at her stern was pulled taut in the current of the ebb tide.
The towers on either side of the harbor entrance framed the Lake Fort, barely visible in the dusk. Distant cannon muzzles flashed, lighting up the lateen sails of pirate vessels circling the distant island. The report of shots slamming into the fort carried across the water. The defenders were still putting up a fight, but they wouldn’t last long.
“Tom.” John turned to Declan’s first mate. The Irish sailor had a few touches of grey in his long black hair, but his lean face and smiling eyes were familiar as ever. He’d been like an uncle to John on the Wandering Hart. “Where are the rest of the crew?”
“Already aboard the Wolf.” Keane pointed toward the south tower, where the ship’s jolly boat was tethered to a cleat on the nearby docks. There were boxes and barrels loaded between the thwarts, and torchlight spilled from the doorway at the base of the tower. “Your da’s in the powder magazine, gathering as many supplies as he can.”
Kaitlin looked across the water to the powder room. “Da!”
“How much of the munitions did we get?” asked Ethan.
“About half.” Keane scratched at his temple, his finger leaving a grimy streak. “We couldn’t move it all, short-handed as we were. A good number of small arms. About half the powder and shot. Escapees from the bastedan helped as they came in. A dozen or so made it. But your da worked harder than all of us, Johnny. He never gave up hope you would all make it back.”
“Smart to dress up like patrolling Janissaries,” said John.
“Wasn’t my idea.” Keane jerked his head toward the other side of the bay. “That was your da.”
John looked toward his father. The old Irish sailor hobbled out of the powder room with another cask. His back had a slight hunch as he moved, but he worked without complaint. “Right. Mr. Keane get everyone aboard the ship and weigh anchor. I’ll get Declan.”
“Aye, aye, Midshipman.” Keane waved to his men. “All aboard, you lazy salts. Or would you rather dine on rusk for the rest of your days?”
The freed quarry slaves chuckled at that.
Ethan accepted Keane’s offer of a shoulder and limped toward the boat. “Don’t be far behind, John.”
/> “I won’t,” John said.
Keane, Ethan, Buford, and the others loaded into the cutter, but Kaitlin didn’t move.
“You too, Kait,” said John.
“Forget it, John,” she said. “I’m coming with you to see Da, and that’s that.”
As John looked at the stubborn frown of his teenage sister, he knew the days of big brother coddling were long over. “All right, then. Let’s move.”
Precious minutes ticked by as John and Kaitlin to ran to the other end of the harbor. Stars were appearing in the sky. A row of torches lit the dock between Declan’s stack and the tower door. On the harbor, the yellow and black hull of the Wolf of Tunis melted into the deepening night. With Keane and the others aboard and the anchor raised, the last of the ebb tide was already carrying her toward the lake.
Declan dropped a sack when he saw his children.
“Da!” Kaitlin ran straight into her father’s arms. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”
“Katie, love.” The burn scars on Declan’s cheek crinkled as he planted a kiss on her crown. “I knew you’d come back to me.”
Declan gave John a single nod, and there was a quiet acknowledgment in his eyes. It left John dizzy with emotion. For the first time, his father was looking at him as one man to another.
“Let’s go home, Da,” said Kaitlin. “I can’t stand this city a moment longer.”
“Aye, lass.” Declan walked with Kaitlin toward the boat, his arm around her shoulder. “Off we go. You know what I always say. Many hands make light work.”
John couldn’t help but smile. Somehow, his father seemed like a different man. True to his word, he’d gotten the Wolf of Tunis ready to sail.
The sound of breaking wood echoed across the harbor. The gates warped under the impacts of a battering ram. It wouldn’t be long before the mob broke through, but that no longer mattered. Soon, John and his family would be aboard the powerful American-built frigate.
“Time to go.” John jumped down into Declan’s boat and started to untie the cleat. “They want their docks back—they can have ’em.”
Kaitlin was helping her father step onto the thwarts when a cry rose from the Wolf of Tunis.
“Ahoy!” called Ethan from the gangway. “The boom! John, the boom!”
Cuh-Clang-Clang!
Grinding gears screeched from across the harbor. The massive chains hanging slack from each tower rattled. They rose out of the water and drew taut across the ship’s path. If the Wolf of Tunis tried to sail through the giant pair of chains now spanning the harbor entrance, she would be dismasted and crippled.
“No…” John climbed out of the boat. “It’s not possible.”
“We were in that tower an hour ago,” Declan said. “Who could have…?”
“It’s him.” Kaitlin was looking across the mouth of the harbor. “He’s here.”
John followed Kaitlin’s gaze. At the top of the north boom tower, Varlick Naim watched as the Wolf of Tunis floated toward destruction.
###
The Chronicler of Constantinople stood on the roof of the north boom tower, relishing John Sullivan’s defeat. On the other side of the harbor, near the south tower, Ilyas’ murderer wore a familiar look. The look his enemies always had the moment before they saw the blade, or the cord, or the bolt. A smile spread across Naim’s lips.
Leading a handful of Nizam-I Djedid on a stealth trek through the city, well behind the Janissary lines, had been a gamble. Besides the danger of capture, the trip had come at the cost of searching the palace for Kaitlin. Isitan pleaded with Naim not to take the risk. But Naim knew his foe. Like all men, John Sullivan had more than one weakness. His need to liberate the American-built Wolf of Tunis sealed his fate. Naim had won in a masterstroke.
A Djedid lieutenant joined Naim at the parapet. “Chronicler, the boom has been raised. We should withdraw to the palace at once.”
Naim leaned on the stone crenelations, his rings gleaming in the soldier’s torchlight. A thousand screaming voices filled the night beyond the docks. The Janissary forces would soon batter through the gates and capture Sullivan. An uprising in the slave quarters had cost the Janissaries’ dearly, and the Nizam-I Djedid now controlled most of the city. It would be a simple matter for Naim and his small contingent to slip back behind their lines. Tomorrow, he would strike a bargain with Hammuda and his soldiers—the return of their Corbaci Ildemir and Naim’s withdrawal from the city in exchange for Sullivan and his family.
“My crossbow,” said Naim.
The lieutenant laid the intricate weapon in Naim’s waiting hand.
Naim inspected the crossbow, finding all six strings drawn within the metal housing. The bolts were ready to fire. This time, there would be no slow tortures or elaborate games for John Sullivan. The defeated midshipman would watch Naim execute the Allegheny crew, his woman, his father, and his sister. He would beg for death, and Naim would grant his wish. Before that, however, Naim needed to leave a message for the Janissaries—a message wrapped around a bolt would suffice. Otherwise, they might beat Sullivan to death in their fury.
One had to marvel at Sullivan’s ability to make enemies.
“Fetch my quill and inkpot,” Naim said to the lieutenant. “I wouldn’t want my prisoners harmed.”
###
The battering ram punched a second hole in the gate. The mob was almost through. With the Wolf of Tunis cut off from escape, John and all of his companions would soon be in chains.
“We should flee in the rowboats!” Kaitlin cried. “It’s the only way.”
“Rowboats won’t be enough to evacuate the fort,” Declan observed. “Naim will capture us all.”
“It won’t come to that.” John’s eyes hardened as he looked at the open powder room. He remembered Keane telling him they only loaded half the powder onto the ship. The fixed end of the boom hung directly above the other half of the gunpowder—just enough, perhaps, to bring it down. He fished a pistol from the stores in the boat, then leaped onto the dock. “Declan, take Kaitlin and get aboard the Wolf. I won’t lose my family again.”
Kaitlin tugged at John’s arm. “What are you doing?”
“Whatever it takes. You and Da get on that ship and don’t look back. That boom is coming down, one way or another.”
There was another wrenching sound as the gates bent inward.
“But what about you?” Kaitlin cried.
“I’ll be fine, Rabbit.” John put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll catch up. I promise.”
“No, son. You won’t.”
John whirled around.
Declan Sullivan plucked a torch from its pylon. His feet were planted like the gatekeeper of a bridge. “There’s no time to lay charges and light a fuse. This task falls to me. Your place is on the deck of your ship.”
“What?” John stomped toward his father. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not about to argue—”
With calm command, Declan planted a hand on John’s chest. “No, John.”
John was powerless to move. For the first time in five years, he saw not an old man, or a used-up slave or a failed captain. He saw the man who raised him at sea, who taught him to sail, who read to him as a boy. John saw his father. He felt his white-knuckled will losing its grip. The day took a terrible toll on John’s body. It turned old wounds into maws of pain. It battered and bruised his muscles. It taxed his lungs with every breath of smoke. He couldn’t resist the long-buried emotions bubbling up.
“Da…” John whispered.
Crash!
Several iron rivets exploded off the gate. Any second now, it would give way and hundreds of enemies would pour onto the docks.
“Da, no…” Tears welled in John’s eyes. For five years he told himself he never wanted to see his father again—a lie he didn’t realize he was telling. Now he knew the truth. And he also knew this was the last time he would ever speak to his father. “Please, don’t do this…”
Declan was resolute. “We Sullivans always fin
d a way, son.”
“Da?” said Kaitlin. “What are you saying? What are you saying, Da?”
“Katie, my darling.” There was no fear in Declan’s eyes. They were alert. Serene. “You and your brother have to go now.”
“No!” Kaitlin threw her arms around him, tears flowing fast. “Da, you can’t! Not after all we went through. I won’t lose you again!”
One of the gate hinges fell away. The faces of screaming pirates were visible through a crack in the doors, arms reaching through.
“You’re not losing me, darling girl.” Declan swayed as he held her. “We’ll meet again, you and I. On another sea.”
“Don’t go,” Kaitlin sobbed. “I love you, Da. I love you so much.”
“I love you too, Katie, lass.”
John felt the affection for his father return like a forgotten dream. Declan had spent his whole life in love with the sea, and his children, and Nora. And at that moment, John knew he’d been a fool.
“Da, those terrible things…” Tears choked John’s voice. “All the terrible things I said to you…I’m so sorry, Da. I didn’t mean it. Can you ever forgive me?”
Declan saw his son breaking down, and he laid a hand behind his neck. He pulled John close and whispered, “Hush, now, boy. It’s all in the past.”
“I love you, Da…” said John, tears flowing now.
Kaitlin closed her arms around them both.
Another loud crash against the gate.
“I love you both and I’m so proud. More than you’ll ever know.” Their time was up, and Declan slipped out of his children’s embrace. He looked at John with the stern expression he once wore on his quarterdeck. “I was your captain once, son. Let me be again, if only to give one last order?”
Blood and Oak- Wolves Will Eat Page 43
