Panther's Prey (32 page)

“This will all be over soon,”Sarah said, turning to face Amy. “The prospect of Malik’s execution will force the rebels into action, so one way or another, we won’t have much longer to wait.”
 

Amy nodded, but did not say what she was thinking: that the amount of time didn’t matter, because every second that Malik’s fate hung in the balance was an eternity.
 

* * *

Kalid tied Khan’s tether to a tree and looked around the clearing. He had arranged to meet Anwar Talit here, in the hills beyond the city, but he wasn’t confident that Malik Bey’s lieutenant would show up at the appointed time. Talit had a reputation for being more impulsive and less reasonable than his friend, and he had to be pretty desperate to free Malik by now. Kalid didn’t know Talit and felt that he was dealing with a volatile element in the mix; he had to reach Anwar and stop him from doing something that might damage his own plan with the janissaries.

If Kalid’s strategy was to succeed, all three factions had to work together against the Sultan.

Kalid heard a rustling sound behind him and turned to face Talit, who was regarding him suspiciously, his eyes narrowed. He nodded once at Kalid’s greeting, his expression glacial, and Kalid sighed inwardly.

He hoped he wouldn’t have to waste a lot of time persuading Talit that they were now on the same side. Peasants like Bey’s lieutenant grew up with the idea of the Pasha of Bursa as the Sultan’s man; unlike Malik, who had the foresight and the ability to compromise of a true leader, Talit might be unable to perceive that their relative positions had changed. If the Sultan was to be defeated it was necessary for the rebels to work with aristocrats and janissaries alike toward the common goal.

“Your message said that you had a plan for Malik’s escape,” Talit said shortly.

“You know I had promised to help Malik against the Sultan when the occasion arose,” Kalid replied.

“He told me that,” Talit said flatly, making it clear that he himself remained unconvinced.

Kalid waited a moment and then tried again. “I have been meeting with the Captain of the Janissaries, Kemal Sorek, for the past two months,” he said.

Talit spat on the ground.

“I know what you think of Hammid’s private soldiers, but most of them want the Sultan deposed as badly as you do right now.”

Talit was silent.

“It’s the truth. They haven’t been paid on time once during the past year and they are being worked to death. You haven’t heard about this?”

Talit shrugged. “I’ve heard rumors,” he said shortly. “In the Empire, there are always rumors.”

“These have a sound foundation. Sorek is ready to turn.”

Talit shook his head.

“You cannot get rid of Hammid alone, Talit,” Kalid said impatiently. “You don’t have enough men to do the job.”

“We will.”

“When? After Malik is dead?”

Talit eyed Kalid warily, then propped one booted foot up on a rock and leaned forward intently, his forearm across his knee. “What do you propose?”

“I propose that you don’t try to break him out of the Cotton Castle on your own. Wait until you can make a joint effort with me when the janissaries walk off the job.”

Talit stared at him in amazement. “And when are they going to do that?”

“When they receive the word from me. They’ll lay down their arms and get to safety before Sorek blows up the main arsenal at Topkapi.”

Talit snorted. “You’re dreaming.”

Kalid cursed vehemently and threw up his hands. “Will you open your eyes and see that this is your chance?” he demanded. “Stop thinking of me as some overlord in a palace and the janissaries as the Sultan’s secret police! Most of them have roots as poor as yours and are as disgusted with him as you are. In this instance we all want the same thing, and we can’t get it unless we work together.”

Talit didn’t answer for a long moment, then said, “What is your plan regarding Malik?”
 

“We’ll spring him when the Sultan is distracted by the revolt of his troops. I saw Malik in jail this afternoon and I told him not to try to escape but to wait until we come for him.”
 

Talit stared at him. “You take quite a bit on yourself, don’t you?”

“I thought I could make you see reason.”

“And reason is doing what you say?” Talit countered challengingly.

“Reason is planning carefully and striking when the time is right, rather than staging a guerilla raid on a prison in the middle of a city where it has little chance of success.”

Anwar examined Kalid critically. “What makes you think you can trust the janissaries? They don’t have a reputation for keeping their word.”

“They have a reputation for acting in their own best interest. Sorek assures me that his men are fed up and looking for a change. The Sultan’s younger brother is not a megalomaniac like Abdul Hammid. The new Sultan would pay his soldiers on time and be grateful that they allowed him to keep his head.”

“And convene a parliament?” Talit said.

Kalid nodded.

“And you think Sorek is telling you the truth?”

Kalid shrugged. “He’s not Osman Bey, whose word I would take for anything, but Sorek is also not a fool. He sees the direction of the future.”

Talit walked a short distance away, his head bent, his hands clasped behind him. Then he turned to face Kalid and asked, “How did you get in to see Malik?”

“Feytva. My position allowed me to ask for a favor. Amelia Ryder went with me disguised as my wife.”

Anwar’s expression softened a little. “How is she?”

“She was upset to see Malik in jail, but she’ll be able to help us if we need her. She’s a lot tougher than she looks.”

“Yes, I know.” Anwar looked down at his hands thoughtfully, then up at Kalid.

“What do you want me to do?” he said.

“I want you to go with me to see Sorek so we can get organized and act in concert. Several of the other pashas are with me in this. If Hammid sees that we, and the rebels,
and
 
his own army are all against him, he’ll cave in and abdicate. He has no personal courage, but all his life he’s had the backing of men stronger than himself. Without that he’s nothing. You’ll achieve your goal and avoid the civil war we’ve all been dreading.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“I didn’t say it would be simple. Some of the janissaries will remain loyal to the Sultan even if Sorek goes against him, and you’ll have to fight them.”

“I’ve been fighting all my life, but if I commit my men to this plan I have to know all the details before we see Sorek.”

Kalid exhaled slowly. He hadn’t allowed himself to consider what might happen if Talit wouldn’t listen to him, and he was very relieved that he didn’t have to face that challenge.

“All right,” Kalid said. “This is what we’re going to do.”

* * *

Amy gazed into the pier glass in her room, adjusting the bodice of her shirtwaist and wondering how she was going to get through the long afternoon. She had not heard from Sarah during the past week, which meant there was nothing new on Malik’s situation, and now Martin Fitzwater was coming for tea at Bea’s suggestion. Amy felt as if she were participating in a charade, encouraging a suitor she had no intention of marrying, but she could only deal with one crisis at a time. If nibbling ginger snaps with Martin would keep everyone happy until Malik’s fate was determined, she was prepared to go through with the performance.

Amy tucked up a stray strand of her hair and left her room, the ticking of the grandfather clock audible in the quiet foyer as she descended the stairs. The silver tray on the ormolu table was ready to receive Martin’s card and the footman stood at attention just inside the door. Everything in sight was in a highly polished state of readiness, seemingly in wait for the visitor’s arrival.

When Amy entered the parlor she saw immediately that James was in his “man of the house” mode for the occasion, dressed in a frock coat accessorized with monocle and watch fob, smoking a cigar and reading the newspaper. Beatrice was bustling around the drop leaf table arranging plates and cups, and looked up to smile widely at her niece.

“You look very nice, dear,” she said.

“Thank you.”
 

They both turned as the footman straightened, responding to the sound of a carriage on the drive.

Amy looked at the clock. As she might have expected, Martin was arriving exactly at three.

Beatrice moved to stand next to Amy in the hall as the footman opened the door.

Martin entered and bowed, first to Bea, then to Amy.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Woolcott, Miss Ryder,” he said. “Thank you for inviting me into your home.”

Martin looked like he was about to go on parade: his scarlet uniform was spotless, his black boots were polished to a high sheen, and the sword scabbard at his side glittered. He was carrying a sheaf of wildflowers wrapped in a regimental scarf.

“From Mrs. Ballinger’s garden,” he said, handing them to Amy. “It’s the last of them, I’m afraid.”
 

“How lovely, thank you,” Amy said.

“Let me take them,” Bea said. “I’ll add them to one of the vases inside.”

They followed her into the parlor, where Martin made polite conversation with Beatrice until she vanished into the kitchen, then talked man to man with James about the state of Turkish politics while Amy poured tea. James finally took his leave and went into his study, leaving Amy and Martin alone.

“Your uncle is very interested in the local power plays,” Martin said, selecting a tiny sandwich from the plate Amy offered him.

“They affect his business,” Amy replied, raising her teacup and taking a sip.

“I imagine it must be difficult to run an enterprise like his in such volatile surroundings,” Martin observed. “You never know who’s going to be in charge from day to day.”

“He manages to get along with everyone, but I think walking a tightrope all the time takes its toll on him.” Amy replaced her cup in its saucer.

Martin nodded. “It isn’t easy for any of us Westerners here, the difference between the cultures is so enormous.” He stopped, then added, “But you must have discovered that for yourself.”

“Yes.”

“Have you recovered fully from the ordeal you experienced when you first arrived?” he asked delicately.

Amy didn’t know what to say. Of course everyone in the Western enclave knew about her kidnapping, but she no longer thought of it as an ‘ordeal’, so she was stymied for a response.

Martin mistook her hesitation and said quickly, “Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to introduce an unpleasant subject. Of course you don’t want to discuss your abduction and it was churlish of me to mention it.”

“That’s all right, Martin,” Amy said quietly, relieved that he was too well mannered to pursue such a sensitive topic, even with a woman he regarded as a prospective wife.

“Have you been to any of the bazaars?” he asked brightly, obviously groping for an innocuous theme.

“Yes. I must say I found the experience rather overwhelming, there was too much to see on one trip.”

“Then we must go back for a visit,” Martin said lightly, holding her gaze and smiling.

Amy looked away from him, unwilling to agree yet loath to hurt his feelings. She wished she could explain why she was being so elusive, but knew she couldn’t.

Beatrice appeared in the doorway with a tray of gooseberry tarts; Amy noticed that Listak had been banished and Bea was serving them.
 

Clearly her aunt wanted to keep track of the conversation.

“Please try one of these, Lieutenant, I made them myself,” Bea said, placing the tray on the table in front of Martin. “My cook tends to have a heavy hand with pastry and I didn’t want to risk them.”

Martin reached for one of the tarts and bit into it, nodding and smiling as he chewed. Amy looked away again, ashamed of herself. He was trying so hard and she was such a lost cause; she felt sorry for him. The only thing that saved her from running from the room was the knowledge that if Martin ever learned the truth, he would not be sitting in the Woolcott parlor, consuming her Aunt Bea’s pastry.
 

Bea joined them and they all sipped tea for another twenty minutes, discussing mutual friends and local gossip. Then after the proper interval had elapsed Martin rose to take his leave.

“I would like your permission to return in two weeks’ time,” he said to Bea, “and enjoy your company once more.”
 

James came in from the hall and Martin said to him, “Sir, I was just asking your wife if I might come back in a fortnight and visit with you again.”

James looked at Amy.

“Of course,” she said, thinking that in two weeks Malik might be dead, and in that event she wouldn’t care what happened.
 

“Then we’ll look forward to seeing you, Martin,” James said, extending his hand.

Martin shook it, then bowed to the ladies.
 

Suddenly there was a loud commotion at the rear of the house. They all turned to look as Listak flew into the hall, her eyes huge and her hands clasped to her mouth. A tall figure came rushing after her, whirling to face the three in the parlor.