Gabriel’s nostrils flared as they filed into the old tunnel. The atmosphere was damp and smelly and unpleasant, and the path was rough in places, but Siçan led them unerringly through different turns and levels.
At one point, they traversed a causeway over a vast underground lake where the ceiling was held up with giant stone pillars. This must be one of the cisterns Ramsay had mentioned. Siçan murmured, “People in the households above lower buckets here to get water. Sometimes they even catch fish.”
They finally reached a door set into a darkly shadowed alcove that was so old, filthy, and battered that it was almost invisible even to someone who knew where to look. Siçan produced a massive iron key and unlocked the door, revealing thick brick walls and oppressive darkness. He stood aside and the raiders filed in one by one. The Rat Thief and one of his servants would remain at the door to guide the men home later.
As each raider passed him, Siçan murmured, “Until you return, inshallah.”
God willing.
* * *
Malek lay in damp and filth in absolute darkness, and wondered drearily how long it would take for him to starve to death so the rats could gnaw his bones as Gürkan had promised. A water skin had been lowered so he could drink.
He should have refused it so he’d die sooner, but his thirst-ridden body betrayed him and he’d drunk it all. He would try to be strong enough to spill the next water skin without drinking.
Half delirious with pain, he didn’t think at first the hoarse whisper was real. “Malek Reis, Malek Reis! Are you there?” There was a burst of creative profanity. “Damn you for a foolish donkey, are you there?”
Stunned, he recognized the voice of Boran, second in command of his soldiers. Malek staggered dizzily to his feet and snarled, “Drop a rope with a loop in it and haul me from the depths of this hell, and I’ll teach you to respect your master!”
There was an excited babble of voices. “Malek Reis! Sir! Do you need help?”
“Just drop a damned rope!”
A couple of minutes later, a scratchy rope dropped down by him. As requested, there was a loop at the bottom large enough for Malek to put both his feet in. “Pull!”
The rope spun and he banged against the wall as he was hauled upward, but he didn’t care. When Boran and another of Malek’s men hauled him over the edge of the black hole, he found himself hugging them and weeping. The tongue lashing could wait till later.
* * *
Rory and Constance were escorted to the Valide’s quarters, where servants perfumed and polished and gowned them in robes of heavy silk. Luckily, their hair was left alone; the maids preparing them for the night’s ordeal seemed to find the style intriguing.
The two of them spoke little for there was nothing to say. They drank tea and silently worried until another woman was brought to the preparation chamber: Damla. Her eyes were huge and dark, and she seemed resigned to being ravished.
The three of them waited for hours as night fell and the harem became silent. Half mad with frustration, Rory wanted to scream and break things, but guessed that would only make her situation worse. So she plotted a story about maidens waiting to be summoned to their ruination, and how they murdered their captors and escaped.
What would the warrior maiden do? Rory thought about the sharpened whalebone busk and wondered if she would have the courage to use it.
Perhaps she might fight to save her life, but if she was merely ravished, it would surely be wisest to relax and endure. Even if she was brave and strong enough to slice Gürkan into small pieces, the cost would be her life, and she wasn’t ready to die yet. As long as she was alive, there was hope for freedom.
Finally, a large harem guard with vicious eyes came and collected them with a barked command in Turkish. Damla looked frightened at the sight of him, and Rory wondered what crimes the man had already committed. His elaborate insignia and turban said that he was high in the harem hierarchy, perhaps the captain of the harem guards.
Damla drew a deep breath, then rose and meekly followed the man, so Rory and Constance did the same. A second harem guard fell in behind them and they were escorted into a narrow passageway that ran between the harem buildings and the wall that separated it from the rest of the palace.
The passage ended in a broad door covered with hammered silver. Their escort knocked, then opened the door when a voice called in Turkish, “Enter, Captain Daud!”
The door led into Gürkan’s bedroom, a spacious, elaborately furnished chamber with a vast square bed, rich Turkish carpets layered about the floor, and hanging lights that cast eerie shadows. The air was thick with a heavy incense that made Rory gag.
A low table contained silver platters of meats and sweets, with an exquisitely made gold and enamel samovar gently steaming in the middle. All the decadent trappings of a rich, wicked man. When they entered, Gürkan rose from the giant cushion where he’d been lounging with a tall nargileh, a water pipe. The scent of tobacco mingled with the incense and made Rory long for cool, clean sea air.
The evil master of this vast household with the power of life and death over all within its walls, was a broad, powerful man now running to fat. He also had bruises and a black eye, and his nose was swollen. Rory hoped fervently that Malek had inflicted the injuries. There was a slight, unnerving resemblance to his cousin, but Gürkan’s dark eyes glinted with cruelty above his shaggy beard. Malek could be ruthless if necessary, but he’d never been wantonly cruel.
Damla hissed when she saw him. Gürkan smiled nastily and approached the three women. All of them wore head scarves, and he began by peeling away Damla’s. “So this is my cousin’s boring little squab of a wife,” he said in French. “Hard to imagine why he made such a fuss over losing you. In his place, I’d have been grateful to be rid of you.”
Damla’s expression was murderous, but she ducked her head and said nothing. Gürkan moved on to Constance, jerking off her head scarf. After scrutinizing her face, he sneered, “You must be the one with a whore’s skills since you’re certainly not beautiful enough to be the virgin.”
He turned to Rory and yanked her head scarf from her face. She stood rigid, fighting the impulse to attack him. His hand cupped her cheek, then stroked down over her breasts. Her skin shrank from his touch. With sudden viciousness, he yanked on a lock of her golden hair.
“Damn you!” She jerked away and he laughed, catching her jaw with one powerful hand and squeezing it painfully. “So at least one of you can talk,” he said in French. “You’ll all be screaming soon enough.”
He turned to Damla. “I will rape you first, taking your husband’s honor. Then Daud here will skin you alive. He’s very good with his knife, and he does so enjoy the opportunity to practice his skills. He can remove skin from muscle without killing you for a long time. I’ll send for your children next.”
Damla stared at him with horror while he continued, “While you scream and bleed, I’ll take tea to restore myself, and then I’ll proceed to the wanton widow. The golden virgin I shall leave for last.”
He waved a dismissive hand at Daud. “Watch and enjoy until I give her to you.”
Daud made a deep animal sound in his throat, his gaze hungry. Gürkan grabbed Damla’s arm and wrenched her down to the bed. She shrieked and fought him, but he was too large and only laughed at her resistance.
With a flash of absolute certainty, Rory knew he planned to murder them all this night, and Damla’s children as well.
Rage blazed through her veins. She would not stand still to be slaughtered like a sheep!
She glanced at Constance and said quietly in English, “He wants to kill us all. Remember The Warrior Maiden.”
In that story, her heroine had fought for her life with a chair and other furnishings, and ultimately the bone knife hidden in her busk. What here could be used as a weapon?
The samovar. A metal tube filled with burning coals ran down through the center and had raised the water in the main chamber to the boiling point.
This one was only a few feet away and small enough that Rory could lift it.
She looked at the samovar, then deliberately raised her gaze to Constance and flicked her eyes toward the water pipe, a tall brass and glass fixture. The device was a distant cousin of the samovar and also had charcoal and a tube so the tobacco smoke was drawn through water to cool and smooth the taste.
Constance nodded grimly. Their interchange took only an instant.
As Gürkan pinned Damla to the bed, Rory lunged for the table and grabbed the samovar, scorching her hands as she bashed Daud over the back of his head. As he pitched to the floor, she spun around, still swinging the heavy samovar. She rammed it into Gürkan’s back, hurling scalding water and coals over him.
As soon as Rory moved, Constance leaped for the water pipe and swung it like a club, hitting Gürkan so hard that the glass bowl shattered and splashed more coals into his face. Stunned, he collapsed on the bed as Damla rolled away so she wouldn’t be trapped under his body. He lurched to his feet and pulled a dagger from under his robe. Then he came at Rory with a guttural roar. At the same time, Daud staggered upright.
All five of the people in the room were moving, grabbing for weapons. Rory skittered backward and yanked the whalebone busk from her hair. She’d wondered if she would have the courage to kill. As she pulled the sharpened end from its scabbard, she realized that she was about to find out.
Constance swung the broken water pipe again and smashed it onto Gürkan’s hand, the one holding the dagger. It spun away, and suddenly the odds in their favor were much, much better.
As terror transformed into rage, Rory drove in with her razor-sharp bone knife, and found that she was indeed a warrior maiden....
* * *
Gabriel and Ramsay followed Kerem and the other two African soldiers into the harem. The soldiers were able to move without a sound, and were expert at silently taking down the real harem guards and gagging and tying them up.
Doors into individual women’s quarters were set around the perimeter of the courtyard and some showed slivers of light at the bottom, but no one moved through the vast gardens and the space was eerily quiet. Esma had explained earlier that harem inhabitants must stay in their quarters after dinner on pain of whipping, or worse.
While the imposter harem guards spread out through the courtyard to watch for possible trouble, Esma led Gabriel, Ramsay, and two of Siçan’s men to the room she thought two new arrivals would have been given.
Siçan had provided a skeleton key that he said should work on all the doors of the harem quarters. The ten thousand pounds he’d charged was a bargain. Heart in his throat, Gabriel unlocked the door and quietly opened it, raising the lamp high to dimly illuminate the room.
Empty. Neat piles of European clothing were on the beds so the room must be theirs, but of Rory and Constance there was no sign.
Looking worried, Esma led them around the edge of the courtyard to an area of larger apartments. She stopped in a corner unit with no light showing and whispered, “Mistress Suzanne, if she has not been moved to lesser quarters.”
Gabriel tapped softly but there was no answer. Warily, he unlocked the door and allowed Esma to enter first. The raiders followed, and Ramsay quietly closed the door behind them. The apartment was larger than the one Rory and Constance had been assigned, and they were in a sitting room with another door opening from it. Esma called softly, “Mistress Suzanne?”
“Who is there?” A frightened voice spoke from the bedroom in Turkish. In French, Gabriel said, “We are English and have come to free the English ladies, my beloved and her cousin. They are not in their quarters. Do you know where they are, Mistress Suzanne?”
Swathed in a luxurious night robe, Suzanne emerged warily, her eyes darting around the intruders. Her expression cleared when she recognized Esma.
“The Englishwomen were summoned to Gürkan’s quarters along with another woman who has been imprisoned here,” she replied in English, her expression agonized. “Such a summons is most unusual, and . . . and very dangerous. Sometimes a sick madness comes over Gürkan. When that happens, he is capable of anything.”
Gabriel sucked in a breath, fighting to control his fear for Rory and Constance. “Can you guide us there?”
Suzanne studied him, her gaze stark. In a rush of words, she said, “I can lead you to his rooms, but in return, take me with you to freedom!”
Esma had been right about Suzanne’s feelings concerning the harem. “Gladly, and I’ll see you safely back to France if we all survive long enough. Lead on.”
“Give me a moment to change.” It took her more than a moment, but not much more. She returned in dark, unobtrusive daytime robes and a head scarf, gesturing for the party to follow her. The door to freedom had opened, and she had the courage to bolt through it without looking back.
She led them into the courtyard, around a corner, and then through a door that opened into a long, narrow passage running between the women’s quarters and the high outer wall. It was a long walk since Gürkan’s quarters were on the far side of the harem and his large suite of rooms was the gateway between the women’s quarters and the rest of the palace.
They rounded another corner and saw a hammered silver door at the end of the passage, light visible under it. “Here,” Suzanne said in a choked whisper. “Usually the captain of the guard waits here. Daud is a monster, and if Gürkan has invited him inside, there will be murder done tonight.” She drew a shaky breath. “If there are screams, no one will come.”
Praying they were in time, Gabriel quickened his pace to a near run; the rest of the group raced after him. When they were a dozen feet from the door, it was thrown violently open, banging into the passage wall, and three women bolted out.
The woman in the lead was Rory, and all three of them were drenched in blood.
Chapter 29
At first Rory didn’t recognize the people running toward her and the other women, and for a horrific moment she thought it was Gürkan’s men come to slaughter them. Then Gabriel’s voice called out, “Rory!”
“Gabriel! Dear God, Gabriel!” she gasped and hurled herself into his arms, barely remembering in time not to stab him with her blood-stained busk. His skin had been darkened but his strength and warmth were unmistakable. “Thank heaven you’ve come!” she stammered. “G . . . Gürkan and his captain of the guard are dead!”
He glanced at the bloody busk before enfolding her shaking body in his arms. “What happened?”
“We k . . . killed them,” she said shakily. “All three of us. We killed them!”
Constance was two steps behind her, and Gabriel put out one arm and gathered her in as well. “My brave girls! Now come, we must get out of here as swiftly and silently as possible.”
Suzanne moved past them and hugged Damla. “Thank God you’re all right, Damla!”
Damla was shaking with sobs, but after a moment she broke free of the hug and started purposefully down the passage. “My children!”
“We’ll collect them on the way out,” Suzanne promised. “I’m escaping with you.”
A tall man with European features under skin darkened like Gabriel’s offered Constance his arm. “Come along with me, my lady,” he said in a crisp British accent. “We’ll be free soon.”
Constance took his arm, but said a little shakily, “I’m not a lady.”
“No, you’re a heroine,” he said. “I’m Ramsay, by the way, from the British embassy.”
“Such service for British subjects!” Rory said, beyond being surprised.
“It’s all unofficial,” Gabriel said as he wrapped a supportive arm around her shoulders. “Which is just as well.”
A large African man who looked like a harem guard but wasn’t dressed quite right touched a finger to his lips for silence, then led the group into the empty courtyard at a near run.
Damla’s quarters required only a short detour, and inside they found Malek’s son and daughter huddled together in one bed, tearstain
ed and shaking with terror. They greeted their mother with such relief that she had to shush them. “Quietly, my darlings! We are now going to flee this dreadful place!”
Two of the men with Gabriel lifted the children, and the group crossed the courtyard at a fast trot. They were challenged once by a genuine harem guard who swore and drew his scimitar. “Kerem, you traitor!”
Before the guard could shout an alarm, their large African guide whipped out a dagger and hurled it into the other man’s throat. As the man collapsed to the ground choking on blood, Kerem retrieved the dagger, wiped it on the fallen guard’s tunic, and said tersely, “I knew this man. He was evil.”
Rory flinched to see another swift death, but was willing to believe that Kerem had good reason. She clung to Gabriel as they exited the harem and followed a dingy passage to a long, steep flight of steps. Single file, they went down and down around the tight turns of the stairs, and she sensed that soon they were below ground level.
Gabriel put his arm around her shoulders again when they reached the bottom of the steps and started picking their way over a rough, cluttered stone floor. Rory was grateful for the support since she was still shaky. Quietly she asked, “Where are we going? How did you get in here?”
“There are ancient tunnels and sewers beneath the old city,” he explained. “Ramsay is the embassy’s special operations secretary, which probably means spy, and he’s very familiar with the city and its secrets. He knew a man called Siçan the Tunnel Rat, who is a master of the underground ways and who led us here. Siçan is waiting at the exit from Gürkan’s palace to guide us the rest of the way.”
“How far is it to the Zephyr?”
“Not far. We have to leave the city before midday, but we’ll be well away by then.” A smile sounded in Gabriel’s voice. “Ramsay is one of the men who cheated the firing squad with me in Portugal. We are skilled in improbable escapes.”
Once a Scoundrel Page 21