Only when they started back down the path did Falconer ask, “What did God say to you, son?”
“That He would hold you close and bring you back safely.”
Falconer took hold of his son’s hand. “The comfort in those words will take me through whatever comes.”
Admiral La Rue’s answer arrived late the next afternoon, a single word written in bold print.
The brigand’s response was delivered by Bernard Lemi. The banker arrived with the sunset, grim and alone. He doffed his hat to the middy on duty by the gangplank, then a second time to the captain. He waited until the other officers were gathered before handing over the sheet to the captain.
Harkness looked at it a long moment, then gave the parchment to Reginald Langston, who had returned from his offices a few minutes earlier and appeared as grim as the banker. He stared at the message.
Agreed
. Beneath that was a date four days hence.
Lemi informed the group, “My superior returned from Paris last night. He ordered me to appear before Raban and apologize. He threatened to write to my father and complain of my behavior. He described you as little more than simple ruffians, British and American louts who had no place in French society. All but you, good sir.” Bernard nodded in Reginald’s direction.
“Naturally,” Reginald replied dryly. “Monsieur Sancerre would fear losing my company’s trade.”
“He described you, Monsieur Langston, as deluded by the presence of these hooligans.” Bernard Lemi’s words were bitten off in angry precision, his accent made thicker by his rage. “Raban kept me waiting since eight this morning. When I was finally permitted to enter, he sat at his table at the rear of the café” He gestured at the paper Reginald still held. “I was given this note.”
Harkness drew out his pocket watch, observed the time, and said to Bivens, “We have until midnight to depart with the outgoing tide. How many men do we have on shore?”
“Less than half the watch. The bosun’s been ordered to keep track of their whereabouts.”
“Have him fetch them back, if you please.”
Bivens touched his forelock. “Aye, Captain.”
“Tell him to do so quietly.” Harkness clicked the watch shut. “Though Raban will no doubt know of our actions long before we leave harbor.”
“Aye, sir.”
Harkness said to Bernard, “We are indebted for your service as messenger. Join us for dinner, if you please.”
Lemi bowed his acceptance, then added, “La Rue will have developed a scheme, Captain. Mark my words, he will be out to trap you.”
Harkness shared a look with Falconer. “That is indeed our fervent hope.”
“The Barbary sailors called themselves privateers,” Bernard Lemi explained, “because they carried letters of marque from the princes that ruled the North Africa coast. But the princes were brigands themselves, and the letters were meaningless. They were nothing more or less than pirates.”
Seating at the captain’s table was cramped that evening, for Harkness had invited the midshipmen to dine with them. The four youngsters, the banker, and Amelia Henning took the seats opposite the skipper, who this night was seated closest to the door. Behind Lemi the harbor glinted a dullish copper in the fading light. In the distance, torches were lit around the keep of Fort Saint Jean.
“The Barbary pirates have been a scourge for over five hundred years,” Lemi continued. “The term Barbary came from the largest coastland tribe, the Berbers. The correct name for the coastline is Maghreb. The pirates attacked ships ferrying your knights to the Crusades. Fifty years ago, they controlled over a dozen ports along the southern Mediterranean coast.”
“Weren’t they defeated some time back?” Bivens asked.
“Indeed so. Their stronghold at Tangier was destroyed by the Gibraltar fleet in 1816.”
“Then who, pray tell, is this Ali Saleem?”
Bernard shrugged with his entire upper body, a particularly French gesture. “A brigand, for sure. But also a prince. He is secure enough in his power and his alliances to take up the habits of his predecessors.”
“He is not alone,” Falconer added. “There are similar pirate princes operating in the Somali lands of eastern Africa. Others rule fiefdoms in the southern islands, especially Mauritius. Still more further east, around the Malay Peninsula.”
“You know this for a fact, do you?” Harkness demanded.
Falconer unthinkingly traced the scar on his face. “I do indeed.”
A church bell sounded the hour. Harkness checked the time against his pocket watch, then clicked the face shut and returned his attention to the banker. “You were speaking of this Ali Saleem.”
“He gains most of his wealth from trading in slaves,” the banker explained. “He cares nothing for current treaties. He also takes great pride in Christian slaves, particularly Europeans. In his twisted logic, as a Muslim, his taking Christians as slaves justifies his acts. Regardless of the fact that most of his victims are drawn from other regional tribes.”
Amelia Henning protested, “But my daughter is a hostage held for ransom, not as a slave.”
Bernard Lemi bowed in the woman’s direction. “Indeed so, madam.” But as he straightened, he shot a glance at Falconer. One look was enough for both men.
The look was also not lost upon Harkness, who said, “I have heard tales of castles built entirely by Christian slaves.”
“The tales, I fear, are true. The largest was the fortress of Moulay Ismail, on the Morroccan coast.”
Bivens demanded, “How do you know so much about these men?”
Bernard’s features looked haggard in the twilight. “Because, sir, my bank has been involved in their despicable trade for a long time.”
Reginald Langston was shocked. “I had no idea.”
“It is a fact the bank seeks desperately to hide,” Bernard said apologetically. “But it is true nonetheless.”
Harkness said to Bernard, “This explains the alliance between Raban and your superior.”
“Precisely.” Bernard Lemi leaned across the table.
“Take me with you,” he implored. “Let me perform some small penance for centuries of foul deeds. I shall do whatever you ask of me. Anything.”
The ensuing silence was broken by Reginald’s pushing his chair away from the table. “I cannot permit my business to remain with that bank for another moment!”
“The tide,” Harkness said. “There is not time—”
“My conscience! My convictions! My commitment to God!”
As though in response, there came a knock on the wardroom’s door. “Begging your pardon, Skipper,” Soap said. “Bosun’s compliments, and the tide has gone still.”
Harkness opened his watch, but more to give his hands something to do than check the time. He asked Reginald, “Where then would you have us place the gold?”
“We did not take it to my offices because we knew neither my agent nor his security.” Reginald’s tone was determined. “But the man is trustworthy, and you have seen the safe with your own eyes.”
“How long would it take to transfer the gold from your bank to the Langston safe?” Harkness demanded.
“With me at your men’s side,” Lemi responded, “a matter of minutes. Otherwise it could take days, perhaps weeks. Monsieur Sancerre does dearly love gold, even that which is not his.”
Harkness looked from one face to the next. “Very well.” Harkness snapped the watch shut and stowed it away. “Soap, gather your hearty sailors. We must shift some bullion, and be quick about it. Falconer, you would be so good as to lead them?”
“Of course.”
“Lieutenant, order the bosun to lower the longboats. The harbor wind is so fitful with the surrounding hills we shall tow the ship into open waters.”
“Aye, sir.”
Harkness turned to the company owner. “What say you of the banker’s request to join our band, sir?”
“I can hardly refuse such a request—not when Falconer also holds a desire to offer penance for past deeds.”
Bernard Lemi followed the master’s gaze across to where Falconer sat. “You were…a slaver?”
“To my eternal dishonor,” Falconer replied.
“Not eternal, good sir.” It was Harkness who countered Falconer’s words. “Not when the Savior gave up His blood so that we might all be washed clean.”
Falconer’s nod was deep enough to be a half bow. “I stand corrected, Captain.”
Once more the banker was silenced by words he scarcely comprehended. As he looked from one face to the other, Amelia Henning asked, “Am I to sail with you as well?”
“Unless you prefer to wait on land, madam.”
“But I thought you said I was not to be brought along. That we, the ship, that is…”
“What I said was true.” The captain’s tone gentled, as it often did when addressing the lady. “We sail fearing that La Rue’s agreement is a lie.”
Her voice rose to a very soft wail. “Then what of my daughter?”
“My dear lady,” Harkness replied, “we have prepared a few surprises of our own.”
When the captain was about to dismiss the group, Falconer decided they had all watched Bernard fret long enough. “There is clearly something else which disturbs you this night.”
Bernard shot him a look from beneath furrowed brows. “You have enough troubles of your own without hearing of mine.”
“More than you are aware of,” Falconer solemnly agreed. “More than I would wish upon anyone. But I also have allies. People with whom I can entrust my woes and who offer their strength when my own is not enough.”
“There is nothing anyone can do,” Bernard muttered to the candlelight.
Amelia Henning stirred on the table’s other side. “Sir, forgive me, but you are wrong not to hope. Despair such as yours is as bleak and wearying as the grave. It saps your will, it defeats you long before the battle begins. There are only two answers to such desolation. One is prayer. The other is trust in the strength of true friends.”
Bernard lifted his gaze and studied the woman. He seemed to be working through the words and their softly spoken challenge. “My friend has been taken,” he finally said, “and it is my fault.”
“This is the gambler?” Falconer asked.
“Yes.” Bernard returned his attention to the candles. “City guards took him at dawn. He has been pilloried.”
Amelia Henning protested, “That dreadful practice can’t possibly still be in use—not in a civilized land.”
Harkness replied, “France brought it back during the Revolution. Some towns still keep a pillory on hand.”
Bernard continued to address the flickering flames. “He has been accused of running from his debts. The truth is, Raban knows I am aiding you. He wants your gold, and he knows my father’s power. So we are safe, but my friend is not. Raban hurts me by hurting my friend.”
There was a moment’s silence, then Harkness said, “Forgive me, sir. But we are pressed into action by the tide’s timing. Will you aid us in moving the gold to the Langston safe?”
“Of course, but won’t you require it as ransom?”
Harkness glanced at Reginald, who replied, “We brought double the amount demanded. Just in case part was stolen or the demands changed.”
The young banker pushed his chair back from the table. “I see you know our foe well.”
Bernard’s concerns were so great he was not conscious of his own words,
our foe
. But the rest of the table took note of how he had joined with them. Harkness gave Falconer a hard look from beneath his heavy brows and said, “You will take charge of this duty?”
“Aye, Captain. That I will.”
“How long will you require?”
“Not an instant longer than necessary.”
Harkness dismissed them with, “Make all possible haste. And beware the unseen reefs.”
Transferring the gold to the Langston building took less than a half hour. The bank manager tried in vain to at least slow things considerably. A rotund little man with tiny feet, he protested and fluttered like a ballerina in dark broadcloth. He repeatedly pointed at his watch and waved them off, demanding they return during normal business hours. When that failed, he issued dire threats in Bernard Lemi’s direction, particularly when the sacks of gold began to gather upon his office desk. But Bernard was beyond caring. When the myriad objections failed to halt them, Monsieur Sancerre sought to take hold of the bags. Falconer planted himself next to the banker, bent in close, and scowled. The banker’s features turned greasy with genuine fear. His intended protest came out as a squeak, and he went utterly still.
Reginald’s local director was an unsmiling bloodless man, far better with numbers than people. The Langston safe was in fact a windowless cellar room, with an interior casing of concrete and a steel door so thick the key was longer than Falconer’s hand. The former clerk sniffed over the gold and offered them a stamped chit. Clearly the manager thought the gold should have gone there in the first place and thus saved everyone a good deal of bother.
Outside the company offices, Falconer asked Bernard, “Where is he?”
“Who?”
“Your friend. What is his name?”
“Pierre. But the sheriff ’s men—”
Falconer gripped the banker’s shoulder. “Did you hear the captain speak of the tide?”
“Yes, of course. But…”
“We have no time to lose.” To the sailors, he said, “Stay close and be ready.”
Bernard looked at the hardened men, saw how the sailors grinned with anticipation. Even the older Soap looked pleased. Bernard asked Falconer, “You would do this for me?”
“I told you before. It is the least we can do for a friend.”
Once again Falconer and his small band skirted the quayside, following Bernard through a maze of alleys that grew increasingly cramped the deeper they moved into the Panier district. Beyond the Hôtel de Ville, the quarter started up an incline, becoming steeper the further they traveled. Most of the houses were medieval in age and design and offered a narrow façade to the streets—usually only one or two windows wide. The balconies were rusted iron over crumbling bricks and flaking paint. The support timbers were angled and as twisted as the original trees. On any other evening, the visit might have been a pleasant diversion. Tonight, however, Falconer pushed himself and the men hard. He had to achieve their goal before enemy reinforcements arrived.