Authors: Doreen Owens Malek
Malik swallowed hard, not meeting his gaze.
Anwar chuckled knowingly. “You should go to bed with one of the camp women every now and then, my friend. It does ease the tension.”
Malik didn’t answer, remembering the captive’s yellow hair and creamy skin. “Let’s sell her off as quickly as possible,” he said abruptly. “Contact the Greek, Diomedes, the one who buys for the auctions in Medina, first thing in the morning.”
“He’s cheap, Malik, he won’t offer what she’s worth,” Anwar said.
“Then call in Halmad from Beirut. I want the top price, but she has to be gone by the end of the week.”
Anwar nodded, correctly reading the tight expression on his friend’s face.
Obviously, Malik didn’t trust himself around her.
* * *
Amy tried to get into a comfortable position on the ground, but she was bound so closely to the pole that she could only move a few inches. Darkness had descended and most of the camp was asleep, but she could see the shadow of her guards on the tent, moving slowly, a menacing puppet show backlit by the firelight.
The women had left her alone at last, and of her captor there was no sign.
Amy had rejected the dinner the old woman produced, and since then she’d been ignored. The noise outside the tent had gradually diminished with nightfall, and the silence seemed to conceal a thousand threats. She had rubbed her wrists raw trying to loosen her bonds. Her legs were cramped and she was starving and she had a skull cleaving headache.
And she was scared.
There was a sound outside and she quickly feigned sleep, cradling her head on her arm and watching the entrance through her lashes. Malik Bey came in and pulled his tunic over his head, exposing broad shoulders and sinewy arms to her view.
Amy quickly closed her eyes to slits, dropping her lids, straining to see by the light of the banked fire and the smoky oil lamp sitting on a chest. Bey took a step closer to her and unrolled a woven floor mat from a bundle in the corner. He dropped his belt, his hand going to the knife stuck into the waistband of his pants.
Amy caught her breath, keeping still with an effort. He was clearly undressing. Was he going to
sleep
here? It made sense in terms of his desire to safeguard his investment, but the thought of having him so close by all night, breathing the same air, made her shudder inwardly.
He moved and she shut her eyes completely, listening tensely as he knelt next to her. She froze, trying to keep her breathing deep and even, as he touched her hair and then put the back of his hand to her cheek. Then he rose abruptly, sighing deeply, and she heard him go back to the mat and drop onto it, his remaining clothes rustling softly as he settled down.
Amy risked a look and saw that he was turned away from her, a cloak flung carelessly over his upper body. She watched as his respiration settled into a steady rhythm, then she stretched her legs to ease a cramp and tried to relax a little herself.
Why had he touched her so tenderly? It was hardly the action of a ruthless body broker who was preparing to sell her, but she knew that must be his plan. Why else would he have taken her? No one was bothering her sexually, and that had to be because he wanted to get the maximum price for an innocent girl. Was he staying with her tonight to make sure none of the other men interfered with her? Amy was hardly sophisticated in such matters, but she had been fascinated by the details of the newspaper article about the rebels and remembered it vividly.
The light from the oil lamp was blurring as her eyes grew heavy. She couldn’t believe that she would sleep under such circumstances, but the events of the day had simply been too exhausting. Her mind drifted along the precipice of consciousness and then dropped over the edge.
Chapter 3
When Amy awoke it was full day and the old lady was with her again.
Bey’s pallet was back in the corner and he was gone.
“Where’s your boss?” Amy said to the old woman, who rose when she saw Amy looking at her and left the tent.
That accomplished a lot, Amy thought dismally, gazing down at her once spotless gown, which was now smeared with dirt from her night on the ground. Her head felt as if it were filled with cotton wool and her stomach was growling. She hardly had time to register these discomforts before the crone returned with a steaming bowl full of the same grayish meat Amy had rejected earlier.
“I’m not eating that,” Amy said firmly, although she was already feeling lightheaded from hunger.
The woman placed it on the dirt floor in front of her. Amy shook her head.
The woman reached under her shawl, took out a leather pouch, and began to roll cigarettes impassively.
The girl who had helped with Amy’s bath entered the tent and said, “Matka!”
The old woman glanced up and listened to the girl’s message, then nodded. The girl left.
“Matka,” Amy called.
Matka looked at her.
“You tell your boss for me that I’m not eating this or anything else. I’ll starve to death before I’ll let him auction me off like a side of beef.”
Matka didn’t understand the words but the defiant tone came through clearly. She looked down and continued to work, her expression neutral.
Amy passed the day in this fashion, refusing all meals while Matka continued to sit with her, going through her routine of homely tasks and ignoring Amy’s outbursts completely. Amy was taken outside twice for walks with the guards, and was subjected to the humiliation of being supervised by Matka while she relieved herself. It was dark again and Amy’s leg muscles were screaming for more exercise when
Malik swept through the tent opening and gestured abruptly for Matka to leave.
“Getting rid of my keeper?” Amy said, as the old lady vanished outside. “And she was such stimulating company, too.”
Malik squatted before her, his eyes on a level with hers, and said, “You must eat.”
“He speaks! And English too, what a miracle.”
“You have eaten nothing since you came here.”
“That’s right, genius. So if you plan to fatten me up for the slave market you’re going to be disappointed.”
“I’ll force you,” he said smoothly.
“Then I’ll bring it up again. If you think I can’t, try me and see.”
Malik sat back on his heels and said evenly, “You’ll make yourself ill.”
“That’s right. And I’ll be too skinny for you to sell me. What a shame.”
“You won’t be here long enough to lose much weight,” he said, standing up in one smooth motion.
“What does that mean?” Amy demanded, as he turned away from her.
He didn’t answer.
“Turn me loose!” Amy yelled as he left, yanking on her bonds.
“Don’t leave me tied up like this, I can’t stand it!”
Her voice echoed in the empty tent.
He was gone.
* * *
Sarah was s in her classroom when Memtaz entered and bowed, saying, “Pasha Kalid requests your presence in the audience room.”
Sarah nodded. She dipped her pen into the inkwell one more time, made a note, and then rose.
“Take my place here, Memtaz, all the children have their tasks and I should be back before they finish.” Sarah looked across the room at the bent heads as the Circassian slave bowed again.
“And if Nessim gets restless just play that ball game with him
until I return.” Sarah went into the hall as quietly as possible, remembering the time when she couldn’t travel anywhere in the palace without an escort of her husband’s eunuchs. Now she flew through the corridors, her lightly shod feet almost soundless on the pink marble floors. The tapers of ten years earlier had been replaced by oil lamps, but they cast the same glow on the sandstone walls. Two halberdiers bowed as she approached, then banged on the carved double doors with their truncheons.
“Come,” Kalid called from within, and the doors swung open to admit Sarah. She walked across the colorful bird of paradise carpet to the other end of the audience chamber, where Kalid sat with her cousin James in a small, plush anteroom hung with orchid silk. For friends and relatives Kalid ignored the large, formally appointed room where he received foreign dignitaries and used instead the cozy nook in which he felt more comfortable.
James rose to greet his cousin as Sarah offered her cheek for him to kiss.
“Dear Sarah,” James said. “You’re looking very well.”
“I wish I could say the same for you, James, what on earth is wrong?” She looked at her husband and then sat next to him on the brocade divan he occupied, her eyes still searching his face.
“James has come to us with a problem,” Kalid said.
Sarah looked at James, who had resumed his seat in a damask chair across from them.
James sighed. “Do you remember when I wrote you about Beatrice’s niece, Amelia Ryder, her brother’s girl who had been left in our care when her parents were killed?”
“Yes, of course. She was coming to stay with you, wasn’t she?” Sarah said, glancing from James to her husband and then back again.
James nodded. “She never made it. She was traveling from the train station to our house by coach when the party was overtaken by bandits. She was kidnapped.”
Sarah gasped.
“They think it was Malik Bey,” Kalid added.
“Oh, no,” Sarah whispered, clutching Kalid’s arm. “He deals with the...” she stopped.
“Slave traders. Yes, I know,” James said wearily.
“Are you sure it was Malik?” Sarah asked.
“He fits the description Amelia’s traveling companion gave. She said the bandit in charge was much taller than the other men, than the average Turk, and he spoke English with a British accent.”
“Thanks to Osman,” Sarah said softly. “And Malik is so brazen he doesn’t even try to disguise it.”
“Why bother?” Kalid said. “Everyone knows who’s behind these raids and they still can’t stop him.”
“The British papers write about him like he’s Robin Hood,” James said bitterly.
“James has asked me to intercede with the rebels and try to get Amelia back,” Kalid said to Sarah.
“Will they listen to you?” Sarah asked.
Kalid shrugged. “Malik knows I’ve sought to avoid bloodshed by reasoning with Hammid, though I think he still sees me as the Sultan’s man. But it can’t hurt to try.”
“Do you know where the rebels are?” James said.
“I have paid spies who can find them, go-betweens who have met with Malik before and know his haunts.”
“You’ll have to act fast, before Amelia is sold,” Sarah said worriedly.
“If Malik wants to get the most for her, as I suspect he does, he’ll have to wait for one of the bigger dealers to come to him,” Kalid replied. “Traveling with this girl would be too conspicuous, not to mention dangerous, since James says she is feisty and probably would try to get away. I think I have some time, but I’ll send a message right away.”
“Thank you, Kalid, “ James said, relief evident in his voice. “You may be my only chance.” He stood up and added, “I’ll let you get to it.”
“I’ll be in touch as soon as I know anything,” Kalid said, putting his hand on James’ shoulder and walking Sarah’s cousin across the audience room. Once James was entrusted to the escort who would see him out of the palace Kalid returned to Sarah and wrapped his arms around her.
“So another proper young lady from Boston has fallen afoul of the nefarious Turks,” Kalid said, his lips moving in her hair.
“She must be terrified,” Sarah said. “I was.”
“Of me?” Kalid said, holding her off to look at her. “You were not,
kourista
. You were spitting epithets every time I saw you.”
“That doesn’t mean I wasn’t afraid,” Sarah answered.
“Until I fell so hopelessly in love with you that I did anything you asked,” Kalid said, now kissing the shell of her ear.
“Strange, that’s not exactly the way I remember it,” Sarah said dryly.
“Do you remember the night we spent by the stream when I rescued you from the bedouins?” Kalid inquired softly, drawing her closer again.
“How could I forget that?” Sarah said. Then she looked up at him anxiously. “Kalid, tell me the truth. You’re planning to go off alone to find Malik Bey, aren’t you?”
“Not yet. I want to see how he responds to the inquiry first.
Merely sending a message will be less threatening to him.”
“He’s not going to just hand the girl over to you.”
“No. He’ll want something for her, and I need to know what that is.”
“Kalid, promise me you won’t go looking for him. It’s too dangerous.”
Kalid shook his head dismissively. “I’m his only path to the Sultan if his campaign fails. He may not trust me completely, but he’s not a fool. I’m worth far more to him alive than dead.”
“Let’s hope the same is true of Amelia Ryder,” Sarah said quietly.