Silver Angel

by Johanna Lindsey

  Omar finally knocked on the door, then waited a full ten seconds before opening it and stepping inside, with Derek following close on his heels. It was a typical Eastern room, large and uncluttered. Finely sculpted onyx columns supported a ceiling that was painted with floral motifs. Stucco panels of floral and geometric designs alternated with bands of calligraphy on the walls. Carved grilles covered the windows but still allowed in ample light to flood the marble floor, in the center of which was set a magnificent mosaic of a hunting scene. What little furniture there was, a few low tables and a single tall cabinet against one wall, was inlaid with mother-of-pearl. There were no chairs or sofas to sit on, nor even a divan in this room, just a low dais strewn with pillows where the Dey was sprawled in relaxation.

  But the room was not empty by any means. The coffeemaker was there, Jamil's pipe bearer, and a half-dozen other attendants, all personal slaves. Also present was one of Jamil's concubines, who had had time in the ten seconds Omar had waited before entering to veil herself, and was sitting at Jamil's side with her head demurely bowed.

  "Did we have an appointment, Omar, that I have forgotten about?" Jamil broke the silence that had fallen over the room with their entrance.

  "Not at all, my lord. But we do request a private word, if it would not be inconvenient. Even your guards should leave, I think."

  Jamil raised a brow at this request but did not ask why. He simply nodded his head and the many servants began backing out of the room, the customary way to leave the Dey's presence, salaaming as they went. Even the woman left in this way and managed not to reveal her chagrin at having her hour with Jamil terminated by the Grand Vizier. Jamil wouldn't have noticed in any case. His eyes were on Omar's mysterious companion, whose eyes were likewise on him, though he couldn't tell that with the hood of the bur-noose drawn down so low.

  The moment the room was empty, Jamil demanded, "Well? Has someone finally come forward with information on this cursed plot to see me in an early grave? What did he have to tell you, Omar?"

  "Just that he had a pleasant voyage, if more than a month at sea can be considered pleasant without any women aboard to aid a man's comfort."

  Jamil scowled at his Grand Vizier. "Is this your idea of a joke, old friend?"

  Omar couldn't help himself; he laughed delightedly, then sputtered to a mere grin when Jamil's scowl darkened. He turned watering eyes on Derek. "Reveal yourself before he thinks I've gone mad."

  Derek raised a hand and tugged back his hood even as he began walking forward. Jamil sat up, then stood up. One step brought him down from the dais, but he moved no farther than that. Derek had reached him, and they stood eye to eye, one pair of green eyes incredulous, the other identical pair moist with emotion.

  "Jamil," Derek said simply, but there was a wealth of meaning in that one utterance.

  Jamil slowly smiled, and then he let out a great shout and crushed Derek in a bear hug powerful enough to crack the bones of a smaller man, and grunted when the same hug was returned.

  "Allah's mercy, Kasim! I never thought to look on you again."

  "Nor I you."

  And they both burst out laughing, for one had only to look in a mirror to see the other. Of course, that was not the same thing as being together.

  "Nineteen years," Derek continued, his eyes still roving over Jamil. "God, I've missed you."

  "No more than I have you. I don't think I ever forgave our mother for separating us."

  "It made an old man very happy, Jamil," Derek said in a subdued voice.

  "What is that to me when I nearly destroyed myself in my grief?" Jamil demanded in a burst of resentment that he had never been able to overcome. "Did you know that they tried to convince me, too, that you had died, as they did everyone else? Me? As if I couldn't sense the truth. I thought I was going mad, with even Rahine insisting you were dead, when I knew, I knew here"—he struck his chest hard—"that it couldn't be so. She finally had to admit what she had done." That was the day he had stopped calling her mother.

  "You should have told me."

  Jamil waved that aside. "I was fifteen before she would even tell me how I could contact you. I didn't want to bring up feelings that had been buried for five years, feelings that I knew would be read by others before my letters could reach you."

  "And I was afraid to ask why you never answered my letters, which I began writing immediately."

  "I never received them. Our father saw to that, again at Rahine's request."

  "Why?" Derek demanded, some of his own resentment resurfacing.

  "She wanted no reminders. There were two of us, so one was easily sacrificed. But she wanted no reminders."

  Derek looked away before saying, "I remember her words when she took me down to that ship. " 'I can't go back, Kasim,' " she told me. " 'And even if I could, I can bear no more children. You are the only one who can carry on my family line, and that means as much to the English as it does here. Jamil was the firstborn. Your father would never let him go. But you, you are all I can give my father, and I love him, Kasim. I can't bear to think of him dying alone, with no hope for the future. You are all that he will have of me. You will be his heir, his joy, his reason to live. Please, don't hate me for sending you to him.' "

  "She had no right!"

  "No," Derek agreed softly. "But I also remember her tears as I sailed away."

  They looked at each other for a long, silent moment before Jamil finally admitted, "I know. I often heard her crying when she thought she was alone, but I was young and unforgiving then. I hardened my heart to the fact that she missed you as much as I did. I refused to believe that she could still love you after what she did. And I hated Mustafa for a long time for letting her convince him to go along with it."

  "He had many sons at that time, even if we were his favorites."

  "Don't make excuses for him, Kasim. Serves him right that he began to worry later when half of those sons died before they left the harem."

  That spiteful statement made them both suddenly grin. "You don't mean that," Derek said.

  "No," Jamil replied. "But he did finally bemoan the fact that he only had five sons left, one of which he had willingly given away, and as everyone believed this son dead, he might as well be. Of course he could rail at Omar, the only other one to know about it, for not stopping him from being so generous with his favorite kadine. "

  When they both turned for Omar's comments on this, they found that he had quietly left them alone for their reunion. They smiled at the old man's thoughtfulness and moved onto the cushions scattered about the low dais. Jamil offered a long Turkish pipe with an amber mouthpiece, but Derek declined. He sprawled back in a very English pose, leaning on one elbow, his other hand resting on a bent knee. Beneath his now-open burnoose was revealed a white linen shirt with open collar tucked into clinging buff-colored trousers, likewise tucked into knee-high boots.

  Jamil's Turkish trousers were large and loose, ending at the knee, easily accommodating the Eastern fashion of sitting cross-legged, as he did now. His feet were bare, his collarless tunic green silk and lined with yellow gems about the neck and in several layers about the cuffless sleeves. An emerald the size of a walnut was in the center of the turban that he removed now that they were alone, giving his head a shake to loosen coal-black hair that was worn at least three inches longer than Derek's.

  When their eyes met again, Jamil asked pointedly, "Did you forgive her?"

  "I think I understood her motives better once I came to know Robert Sinclair. I came to love him, Jamil, just as she does."

  "And how I hated him for being the reason you were taken from me." This was said quietly, without the earlier heat Jamil had displayed.

  "I did, too, at first. I hated everything English. But then a little girl of no more than six put me in my place, demanding of me, 'What have you to be so high and mighty and god-awful arrogant about? You're just a boy, and an orphan at that.' "

  "An orphan?"

  "It's the stor

y our grandfather put out, to explain why I showed up alone on his doorstep. My father was supposedly a foreign diplomat my mother had met and married while abroad, and both parents died, leaving the Marquis to raise me. It kept things simple and generated sympathy. Ah, the sympathy." Derek chuckled. "When I was only twelve, there was the prettiest little kitchen wench who insisted on showing me how very sympathetic she could be."

  "Twelve?" Jamil snorted. "And our father made me wait until I was thirteen before any female slaves were allowed to serve me."

  They both grinned, remembering their first attempts at making love and how very hesitant and scared they had been at that early age. Then Jamil added, "And the unwise female child who insulted you?"

  Derek laughed. "She became my closest friend." He laughed harder at Jamil's incredulous look. "It's true. She made me realize what an utter ass I was for taking out my loneliness and resentment on everyone around me. I was there, and there to stay, so I began to make the best of it."

  "But a female friend, Kasim? I know Europeans feel differently about women, but you're only half English."

  "I had only just left the harem, Jamil. It felt more natural for me at the time to associate with this girl rather than with the men of the Marquis's household. And as you say, Europeans feel differently about it.

  There, it was all right for me to remain friends with Caroline, even as we grew older. And now," he added with a grin, "I'm going to marry the lady when I return.''

  Jamil shook his head. "You have waited a long time to marry."

  "It takes a bit more time to think about it when you're stuck with your first choice."

  "Yes, only one wife." Again the Dey shook his head. "Can you be satisfied with only one?"

  "Come on, Jamil. You know very well that Europeans enjoy as much variety as you do. We just have to be discreet about it. Actually," Derek added truthfully, "I still wouldn't be getting married just yet if the Marquis hadn't insisted on it. He wants to see some children before he passes on."

  "You have none yet?"

  "None that I know of. And you? How many are there now?"

  "Sixteen, but only four are sons."

  "Then you've had three more daughters since I last heard from you? Congratulations."

  Jamil started to shrug that aside, for daughters were not considered at all important except when it came time to marry them off, but the fact was that he adored all his little girls, and they were all still young, under the age of six.

  He was grinning proudly when he replied, "My first wife has given me two daughters now, as well as my oldest son. They are angels, Kasim, the youngest only three months old."

  "I hope I'll get to see them while I'm here. I am their uncle, after all."

  "Of course," Jamil said with some surprise, for if Kasim agreed to Omar's idea, he would see not only Jamil's children while he was here but all of his women as well. "Didn't Omar tell you—" He fell silent at his brother's bland look, only to explode, "That son of a camel's turd! He didn't tell you why you're here, did he? He left it to me!"

  Derek grinned. "Actually, it didn't come up. We ended up discussing horse breeding instead."

  "Horse breeding!"

  "Yes, because of the matched pair of Thoroughbreds I brought along for you."

  Jamil's expression changed to one of boyish delight. "You did?"

  Derek chuckled. "Yes. But now that you've mentioned it, why am I here?"

  Jamil cringed at the reminder. "It was Omar's idea. I refused at first to even consider it, but he wouldn't give up badgering me about it, and finally I let him convince me to at least ask you. Even so, I would have refused if I weren't certain Selim is behind this plot. He hates me, Kasim, and always has. You know that. You must remember. He was even worse than Mahmud in his spitefulness and cruelty. If he succeeds in eliminating me and comes to power, he would see that my wives, my children, all perish."

  Derek did indeed remember Selim. "Yes, I've no doubt of that. So what is Omar's idea?"

  "For you to take my place."

  Derek was not surprised. He had already surmised this was what he was needed for, the only thing he could be needed for. But he wasn't about to become the next Dey of Barikah, even if he was next in line for the position. He simply didn't want that kind of power and the headaches that went along with it. He had lived the simple life of an Englishman too long, even if he had spent a few years embroiled in intrigue and spying for Marshall. It was one thing to have a little adventure, a little risk for the sake of excitement, when you knew you only had to cross the Channel to put it behind you. Here, it would never end.

  "I won't succeed you, Jamil. I'll tell you that right off. As far as anyone here is concerned, I'm dead and forgotten, and I'd like to leave it that way. But temporarily, for the few days it would take to see your family safe if Selim does succeed, of course I'll take your place. You didn't even have to ask. But as long as I'm here, why don't we see that nothing happens to you instead."

  Jamil did not show the relief Derek expected. "I think you misunderstood, Kasim. Omar's idea is not for you to impersonate me if I die, but before it comes to that."

  For five seconds Derek said nothing, and then he said in a rush, "Jesus Christ! Do you know what you're asking?"

  The pain in Jamil's eyes said he did, but he, too, misunderstood, in this case Derek's reaction. "You are right. It is too much to ask, to risk your life—"

  "To hell with the-"

  "No, no, I should never have brought you here. And I wouldn't have for myself. It is my loved ones . . . but you are right. The danger is still there, whether it is you or me. Omar was a fool to even think of it."

  "Jamil-"

  "All he is concerned with is Barikah, not the lives he endangers—"

  "Jamil, shut up!" Derek finally had to shout to get his attention.

  Jamil did. That there wasn't a single person in all of Barikah, not Omar, not their mother, Rahine, not even Jamil's beloved Sheelah, who would have dared speak to him so was irrelevant. Jamil had barely noticed, and Derek wouldn't have cared if he had.

  "I'm not concerned about the risk," Derek continued impatiently. "I'm used to risking my life, and for less reason than this. So don't mention it again, Jamil, if you don't want to see me lose my temper. But you're talking about weeks, months maybe, of my pretending to be you! How the hell am I supposed to do that when I haven't seen you for nineteen years?"

  Jamil's teeth flashed white in a relieved grin. "But that is the easy part. We would take a week, maybe a little longer, for you to watch me, study my mannerisms, see how I deal with those around me. Omar would instruct you, and he will be on hand to see you make no mistakes."

  "And if he isn't always there? If someone should ask me something I haven't the faintest idea of how to answer, then what?"

  "Come now, Kasim, you have not forgotten the prerogatives of the Dey. You can dismiss any and all persons from your presence at any time, and no one would dare ask you why. I have done so enough times in these past months that it would seem quite natural for you to order a room vacated of all except my mutes, and even they have suffered from my recent temper."

  Derek chuckled. "The confinement getting to you, is it?"

  "About three months ago," Jamil replied in disgust.

  "All right, so that tells me how I could avoid any ticklish situations that arise, but what about the running of your little empire?"

  "Omar is capable of making all decisions. It is his responsibility when I am unavailable."

  "Then you don't intend to remain in the palace?" "No. It is my intention to find Selim, and for this I would enlist the help of his namesake, Sultan Selim. Our half brother was last seen at the Sultan's court. But no one I now have searching for Selim has the rank to get in to see the Sultan, and he does not respond well to letters. So I would go first to Istanbul, and hopefully, from there to wherever Selim is hiding. If the Sultan doesn't know where he has gone, he can find out. My network of spies is nothing compared with his."

  "I'm surprised you haven't already done this." "I wanted to, but Omar wouldn't hear of it, and my councillors all concurred with him. Allah's mercy, they are like a bunch of old women, afraid for me to even step into my outer court, much less outside the palace walls. The trouble is, with more than a thousand slaves in the palace, it is too easy to bribe dozens of my own people to spy on me and report my every move. I cannot leave the palace, even in disguise, without the assassins knowing about it, and that is all they are waiting for."

  "Yes, the palace is too easy to watch from without with only one main gate."

  Jamil nodded. "Occasionally they grow impatient and send in one or two of their numbers to try and take me. Just last month one got as far as my bedchamber, killed the two guards at the door, and tried crawling across the floor to my bed. Fortunately, my personal guards are more alert than the others, and one spotted the dog before he reached me." "And all the other guards along the way?" "Most were drugged somehow, and we have still not discovered how. A few were killed. As far as we could discover, they came over the walls of the third court after poisoning my lions, which are let loose there at night."

  -->