Authors: Doreen Owens Malek
“For five thousand kurush, I’ll have to,” Malik said, and walked away.
* * *
Secretary Danforth accepted a cup of tea from Beatrice Woolcott and added a lump of sugar to it. He looked up as the servant, Listak, silently offered him a tray of comfits.
“Have one,” James said. “My wife makes them from an old family recipe, using the local hazelnuts in place of Georgia pecans. They’re very good.”
Danforth selected a delicacy and dropped it onto the gilt rimmed porcelain plate at his elbow. The china was the finest Limoges, in keeping with the rest of the appointments in the stately home.
James Woolcott was indeed prospering in Turkey.
“So the official word from the Sultan is that there is nothing he can do?” James said, continuing the conversation that the arrival of refreshments had interrupted.
Danforth nodded, his mouth full. He patted his lips with a napkin and swallowed before replying.
“He says that the people who kidnapped your niece are outlaws living under a death sentence. If apprehended, they will of course suffer the ultimate penalty, but until then no monarch can halt completely the commission of crimes in his country.”
“In other words, go scratch,” Beatrice said dryly, sniffing and flicking an invisible bit of lint from the tight cuff of her organdy sleeve.
“I’m afraid so,” Danforth agreed. “The Sultan knows that our country is in sympathy with the rebels so he’s not going to lift a finger to help locate a missing American woman. Your niece is a victim of international gamesmanship.”
“Then Kalid Shah is our only hope,” James observed.
“I told you he would be,” Beatrice said.
“Do you think this bandit will listen to him?” James asked the Secretary.
Danforth set down his cup and dusted crumbs from his fingertips.
“If he doesn’t, you’ll never see your niece again,” he said gravely.
* * *
The side street just off the main thoroughfare was more like an alley, too narrow for anything but foot traffic and deeply rutted from the carts used to transport goods to the shops. The adobe structure at its end was low and dark, full of the smells of closely packed humanity and the dense smoke from Turkish tobacco. The babble of many languages formed a background noise as Kalid Shah loomed in the doorway of the
cayhanesi
, or coffeehouse.
Kalid was dressed like a British businessman in a three piece suit, his
kaffe
skin, vaguely European features and Victorian beard enhancing the Western tourist effect. He spotted Malik Bey immediately at the back of the room. The younger man was disguised as a bedouin, with flowing robes and a headscarf obscuring his hair and the lower part of his face.
The disguise was a precaution. Malik had never been turned in for the substantial reward offered for his capture, but a desperate peasant in a moment of weakness might just recognize him and alter his fate forever.
The two men moved toward one another without haste, meeting next to a scarred table in the middle of the room. Kalid gestured for Malik to sit and then ordered two cups of
boza
, the fermented barley drink popular with the country’s working class majority. He spoke in Turkish to the barmaid and then switched to English when he addressed Malik, to reduce the chance of their conversation being overheard and understood.
“I am here to redeem the American girl,” Kalid said. “What do you want for her?”
“Five thousand kurush,” Malik replied.
“That’s quite a bit.”
“Not for a relative of your beloved pashana’s,” Malik replied dryly.
“The relation is not close, Sarah doesn’t even know her. The girl is the niece of Sarah’s cousin’s wife. Were you aware of this when you took her?”
Malik shook his head. “I saw that she was young and beautiful and knew she would bring a fine price on the slave market.”
“Then why haven’t you sold her?” Kalid demanded, watching the younger man’s face.
Malik looked away. “I tried. I couldn’t do it.”
The barmaid brought their drinks and Kalid handed her a coin.
When she left he leaned forward and said, “I’ll give you ten thousand if you’ll keep Amelia safe for three weeks and then turn her over to me at the end of that time.”
Malik stared at him, unable to speak.
“I mean it,” Kalid said. “I have the money with me.”
“Why?” Malik finally said.
“If you hold her that long the Sultan will be convinced that I was reluctant to pay the ransom and had to think about it, finally relenting in response to pressure from my wife.” He smiled. “It is well known that I indulge her, and sexual persuasion is a concept the Sultan will understand.”
Malik nodded, his mind racing.
“I want to avoid any appearance of collusion in the kidnapping,” Kalid said, “and there is another reason.” He took a sip of the boza. “The Sultan has convened a meeting of all the district pashas for the twentieth. I hope to win some concessions for Bursa at that time, and if Hammid thinks I’m still holding out on your extortion demands he’ll be in a more favorable mood.”
“Everyone says that you play him like an instrument,” Malik said admiringly.
“I have to, agha,” Kalid said, addressing Malik by the title that his men used for him. “He still has the janissaries, and they could lay waste to Bursa in a few days. The people rely on me to protect them. When I decide to fight it will be when I’ve eliminated Hammid’s personal army and am poised to win.”
“Anybody else in your position would be long gone, living in luxury in a townhouse in London,” Malik said.
“I’m not anybody else,” Kalid replied shortly.
“Where is the money?”
“Here.” Kalid lifted a leather bag onto the distressed wooden table. “I’m giving it to you now as a contribution to your cause because I think you may have need of it soon.”
“Why? What do you know?”
“I received a tip yesterday from one of my paid informants. The Sultan is planning a raid on the Armenian section in Constantinople. He suspects the Armenians of working with you.”
“When?”
“At dawn on Thursday. If you want to keep your allies there alive to fight another day, send reinforcements in the night before and have them ready and waiting for the attack.”
Malik took the bag of money and stood. “When we move against the Sultan I’ll make sure you’re warned in enough time to get your family out safely,” he said.
“When you move against the Sultan I’ll be with you,” Kalid replied.
Malik extended his hand and Kalid clasped it. Their eyes met and held.
“I’ll wager Amelia’s a handful, isn’t she?” Kalid said, his expression mischievous.
Malik nodded, smiling slightly.
“So was my wife, but well worth the trouble, I assure you. Take care of Amy.”
Malik nodded. He understood.
“Good luck on Thursday. I’ll send word to the camp with Moamar when and where you can meet me to release the girl.” Kalid rose and walked out of the shop.
Malik watched Shah’s wide shoulders disappear through the narrow doorway. Malik’s pulse was pounding, his fingers knotted around the purse in his hands.
He had heard many amazing stories about the young pasha of Bursa.
Now he knew they were true.
* * *
When Malik returned to the camp that evening he sent Matka out of his tent and ordered the guards away from the area. Amy watched, puzzled, as he knelt on the ground before her and pulled his knife from the sheath at his waist.
She drew in her breath, her eyes widening.
He slashed through her bonds with two strokes and said, “Stand up.”
Amy rose unsteadily, her cramped legs almost giving way beneath her. Malik extended his arm and she took it, leaning on it heavily.
“We’re going for a walk,” he said.
Amy felt the eyes of the camp women on her as she and her companion walked past the cooking fires and the stand where the horses were tied, past the main guard post and into the trees. They went a short distance to a clearing where fallen tree trunks and the remains of rotted stumps provided a natural seating gallery. Malik indicated for her to sit on a flat stump and then stood facing her, his arms folded.
“Why the dispensation?” Amy asked, holding up her naked wrists.
“What’s that?” he asked. Apparently his English vocabulary was not equal to this challenge.
“Why no ropes?” she translated.
He looked down at the ground, then up at her again. “I have met with your kinsman, Kalid Shah, the Pasha of Bursa.”
Amy stared back at him triumphantly. “Oh, really? How interesting. I told you I wasn’t lying about that.”
“You never mentioned his name.”
“I couldn’t recall it immediately...”
“I thought you were just trying another ploy to get...”
“You wouldn’t even listen to me!” Amy interrupted him indignantly.
He held up his hand for silence. “It doesn’t matter now. The pasha will be taking you back to your family in three weeks.”
Amy stared at him, unable to comprehend it.
“You aren’t tied up any more because there’s no further reason for you to attempt an escape. I have no plans to sell you to a dealer or harm you in any way. Kalid Shah has already given me what I want. You will be safe and well cared for here until he comes for you.”
“He paid you?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Why do you want to know?”
Amy picked up a wood chip and turned it over in her fingers. “Just curious. It would be a shame for you to go to so much trouble over me and not get what you were hoping for.”
“I am well satisfied with the price,” he said.
Amy said nothing.
“Well?” he prodded. “I would have thought you’d be happier at this news.”
“I’m not sure I believe you,” she said.
He eyed her warily. “Why not?”
“Why not? You’re surprised? A trustworthy fellow like yourself?” she said dryly.
“What makes you doubt me?”
“Oh, let me see. What could there possibly be? Your past history, your present occupation, your sterling reputation, your honest face?”
“Answer me seriously.”
“You could take Kalid’s money and then sell me anyway. By the time he showed up here to collect me I would be long gone and you’d have been paid double for one hostage.”
“Obviously, he trusts me.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
“I am a man of my word...”
She snorted. “What’s that? Honor among thieves? Or is it kidnappers? Oh excuse me, what
do
you call yourselves, agha, heroes of the people?”
“We call ourselves men who want to be free.”
“Please!” Amy said, standing up and clenching her fists. “Just tell me the truth for once! Why did Kalid give you the money now instead of when he gets me back? Isn’t that the standard procedure? And why is he waiting three weeks to come for me? Something else is going on here, Malik, and I want to know what it is.”
Malik said nothing. It was the first time she had called him by name, and hearing her say it with the native pronunciation his friends used clutched suddenly at his gut.
“Or are you lying to me about everything?” she went on, almost raving. “Have you just made all this up to confuse me?” She balled her fists at her temples, her knuckles white. “I don’t know what to believe!”
“Believe what I’m telling you.”
“Why should I? You might be lying to me about anything. Maybe the next slave trader you have lined up to inspect me can’t get here for three weeks. You could be telling me this story so I’ll be a good little girl and not give you any trouble until he arrives to make the deal.”
“You think too much,” Malik said, picking up a stick and snapping it in half disgustedly.
“I’ve had plenty of time to think, tied up all day,” she shot back.
“I’ve said that you won’t be tied up any more,” he replied heatedly.
“Oh, thank you, my lord and master,” Amy said sarcastically. “I’m so grateful for your kindness. And did I remember to thank you for dragging me off on horseback at gunpoint and installing me in this Queen’s Appointment hotel? Not to mention parading me like livestock before that insect with the nose ring and the turban. Why didn’t you sell me to Halmad anyway? Wasn’t the price high enough?”
Malik charged forward and grabbed her arms. “The price was fine. I just couldn’t let him strip you as bare as a strumpet to inspect the goods!” he said furiously.
“Why not? Did you want to do it yourself?” Amy countered, staring up at him.
A throbbing silence fell as they heard what they had said. Neither knew what to do; too much of what they’d been feeling had been exposed by the exchange.
Amy was the first to recover.