“You found it?” Ramsay asked.
The Frenchman led them toward the cliff face. “Oui, Captain. It took a bit of digging. I don’t think it has been used in years.” He shrugged. “Maybe not since we left.”
A clump of scrubby trees were growing beside the big outcrop of rock and when Delacroix pushed apart some of the lower branches Adam could see a rude plank door sitting beside a rectangular hole cut into the stone face of the cliff.
Ramsay peered into the blackness of the cave and nodded. “Good. Let’s hope Assad knows nothing of it.” Ramsay took off his heavy robe and turban and tossed them onto the ground beside the trees. Adam did the same, and Delacroix handed them both torches. Ramsay took the lead.
The tunnel was so low the baron had to crouch almost double. Even Adam, just shy of six feet, had to walk in an uncomfortable slouch. Although the tunnel was cramped, it was remarkably cool compared to the muggy warm air of the harbor. Three times they came to a split, and three times Ramsay took the right-hand tunnel.
“Where do the others lead?” Adam asked Delacroix, who was behind him.
“Two of them were caved in and the third had a locked door. The guard we bought the information from only knew of the tunnels, not where they led. We were lucky to find the exit at the bluff. Even so, it took us a good six hours of digging to free the old door.” Adam could hear the traces of long-ago anxiety in the other man’s voice.
“Why did you agree to come back here today?” Adam asked, truly curious as to why this man would risk death for the son of the man who’d made him a slave.
“The Captain asked me.” His words were simple, but Adam saw the complex emotions that lay beneath them. Bouchard had been correct; Ramsay commanded impressive loyalties.
The man in front of him stopped and turned to Adam.
“We are at the door to the first cell,” he whispered. “Ramsay says it is one of the larger ones and there will be many slaves inside. Extinguish your torch and take my belt.”
Adam nodded and snuffed the flame in the sandy floor of the tunnel. He hooked the fingers of his left hand through the other man’s belt and lowered his right to his sword.
Even in the dark Adam could tell when they entered the cell. The heat in the room and the odor of dozens of unwashed bodies was almost overwhelming.
Adam felt something under his boot—a hand?—and stepped back.
He could hear Ramsay’s voice a few feet away, the Arabic words low and soothing. Whatever he said must have been convincing because the only answering noises were a few soft words in return. He heard the sound of a flint being struck and a torch flared to life.
He blinked and opened his eyes to a sight that would stay with him until the day he died. Dozens of bodies lay around the room, some on pallets, but most on the uneven rock floor. A single waste bucket overflowed in one corner, bodies curled around it. The smell of excrement and despair made his eyes water. Most of the men were only sparsely clothed and many had scars, some still new and bleeding.
Ramsay spoke to a man stooped with either age or suffering or both. The people in the room, all men or boys, seemed remarkably wide awake. When Ramsay finished speaking, they rose almost as one body and moved toward the tunnel back to Quora’s Bluff.
“What did he tell them?” Adam asked the man who’d been in front of him.
“He told them they are free, to disappear into the desert and not into town.”
Adam relit his torch from Ramsay’s and then handed it to a boy of about twelve. The boy took the torch wordlessly, his eyes burning with desperate hope.
They waited until the room was empty and Ramsay turned to Adam.
“The old man told me Jibril was being held in a cell by himself. It is near the entrance to the slave quarters and two men always stand outside the door. The slaves pass it every day on the way to the outdoor pens. He says Assad was in the palace earlier today but he believes the guard presence is lighter than usual around the palace. Once we approach the cell, we will need to work quickly and quietly or they will alert whatever guards are left. Here is where your skills with the blade will be useful, Exley. You and I will go get the boy and Delacroix will go and release all the others.”
Adam had not known freeing slaves was part of the plan but after seeing the hell in this single room he could not disagree. Delacroix and Ramsay shook hands and the Frenchman turned away, his lethal-looking helpers following close behind him.
Ramsay turned to him and grinned. “Are you ready to have some fun?”
Chapter Thirty
The fetid smell of the cells grew less pungent as they approached the main entrance to the slave quarters. Ramsay put his hand on Adam’s shoulder as they neared a corner, motioning to let him know the cell was to the right.
They rounded the corner and found two guards outside, just as the slaves had warned. One of the men was slumped in a chair, asleep. The other man had his shoe off and was doing something with his foot. Adam was beside him, his blade on the man’s throat, before the guard could utter a peep. He looked up and Adam shook his head, placing a finger to his lips and pressing the blade closer.
The guard saw Ramsay and muttered something low in Arabic, his eyes becoming as big as cannonballs. Ramsay grabbed him, yanked the cloth from around his head, and stuffed a wad of it into the stunned man’s open mouth. He looped it around his neck and then to the back of his body, where he used it to bind his hands.
Adam whacked the sleeping guard at the base of his bowed head with the pommel of his rapier. The man grunted and slid to the floor. A battered pistol sat on the bench and Adam checked to see if it was loaded and then tucked it in his waistband.
“Nicely done, Exley.” Ramsay crouched beside his victim and searched for keys, finding a large ring on the one who was still conscious.
Adam tried key after key until one turned the heavy tumbler. The room beyond the door was perhaps six feet wide by ten feet long. There was only one occupant and he was lying on the floor, face to the wall. He muttered something in Arabic but did not turn. Adam could see his bare arms were striped with dried blood and welts.
“You’ll have to speak English if you expect me to understand you,” Adam said, raising the lantern and taking a step toward the silent figure.
A low laugh came from the pile of rags.
“Did my mother send you?” It was the voice of an English gentleman and Adam smiled. Mia had obviously schooled her son well.
“How did you guess?” Adam asked. “Now, can you get up? If I don’t get you back to her, there is no point in my going back, either.” He crouched down and put the lantern he’d taken from the guards on the floor beside the man.
Jibril rolled over and Adam winced when he saw his bruised and bloody face. A pair of familiar green eyes looked up at him but the face was darker and the eyes were separated by a beak that would have done a Roman senator proud. Jibril Marlington had his grandfather Carlisle’s nose.
His green eyes flickered to the door, to where Ramsay stood with the unresisting guard.
“Well met, Ramsay! I see you are still allowing my mother to push you about.”
Ramsay laughed. “I will remind you of those words later, you young rogue.”
Jibril rolled onto his knees and began to struggle to his feet. Adam put a hand under his shoulder and lifted. For his height the boy was dangerously thin.
“Will you be able to walk?”
He grinned. “I’ll bloody well be able to run, if it means leaving this cell.”
Adam left Jibril outside the door and dragged the other guard into the cell by the feet. He pulled off his sandals and tossed them to Jibril.
They’d just locked the cell door when the sound of boots on stone came from outside the squat building. A group of guards came skidding around the corner and Adam grabbed Jibril’s arm and dragged him back the way they’d come.
The guards yelled and the crack of a pistol deafened them in the stone hallway, chips of rock flying around them a
s they ran through the maze of corridors. Just as they turned into the hall that led to the big cell, voices came from the opposite end of the hall. There was a loud yell and the sound of feet running. Adam raised the pistol he’d taken from the guard and prepared to take aim.
Ramsay laid his hand on Adam’s arm. “Lower the gun, Exley. That was Delacroix yelling.”
Just then a torch flared to life in the gloom. It was Delacroix, with at least twenty-five men behind him. Adam raised his pistol again and then realized the men behind him were freed slaves rather than guards. Delacroix grinned when he saw Ramsay and motioned for the men behind him to halt.
The guards who’d been behind Adam, Jibril, and Ramsay fired blindly from behind a corner, clearly uninterested in coming out into the open.
“Only the east block of cells remains,” Delacroix said. “Assad’s men are returning double-time from town.” He jerked a thumb at the two men closest to him. “These men were heading toward the road when they saw them and came back to warn us.” The slaves were looking from man to man and following the English conversation with expressions of utter confusion.
“Was Assad with them?”
“Nobody has seen him.”
Another shot ricocheted around the corner, this one hitting the ceiling overhead and throwing chips of stone down like rain.
Ramsay turned to Adam. “I need to get to the last block of cells, and it’s obviously too hot in the harbor.” He gestured with his chin to the frightened guards. “Delacroix will handle them and cover us. Do you remember where the Scythe will be waiting?”
“I’ve memorized the map. We will meet you back there.”
“If we are not there in three hours, leave. Good luck, Exley.” He held out his arm in the traditional way of his men.
Adam returned the sailor’s greeting and turned to his stepson.
“Are you ready to leave?”
Jibril smiled, looking very like his mother. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Adam put him in front with the lantern. “I’ll keep an eye behind us.”
When they reached the cell that led to the caves, Jibril headed straight for the tunnel.
“You take only lefts to get back to the exit,” Adam told him, following close behind.
“I’ve been in these tunnels dozens of times in the last year. We used them to spy on my brother. You know where we are going?”
“Yes, we’ll leave through Quora’s Bluff and then I can lead us to a place where a boat should be waiting. Your mother is offshore, on Bouchard’s ship.”
Jibril stopped so suddenly, Adam ran into him. The boy turned and squinted at Adam.
“You brought my mother here?” he demanded in a menacing voice.
Adam gave the boy a withering look. “If you believe anyone could stop your mother from coming to get you, you are not as wise as I’d hoped.”
“Who are you to speak so casually of my mother?”
Adam sighed. “I am her husband. Now, get moving. We can have this family discussion once we reach the safety of our ship.”
Jibril gave him a look Adam had seen once or twice on Mia’s face. He did, however, turn around and head down the tunnel.
They’d just taken the second left when they heard voices ahead. Arab voices. They stopped and Jibril held up his hand, tilting his head to listen. He mumbled something in Arabic and then turned to Adam.
“It is Assad’s men. It sounds like they caught some of the escaped slaves and followed them back to the caves. We will have to go back.”
“What?”
“It is the only way.”
“What about the other tunnels? You said you’ve been using them for months?”
“One is closed off by rock and the other leads to the fort—you will find Turks waiting at the end of it.”
Adam cursed quietly.
“Come!” Jibril shoved past him and headed back the way they’d come.
“Where are you going?” Adam hissed.
“I know a place we can hide between the courtyard and the apartments. We should be safe if we can make our way there.”
“Safe until what?”
“Until I get us out.”
Adam sighed but held his tongue. He followed Jibril through the same area they’d just left, the cells and halls now eerily quiet. They went down the corridor Delacroix had emerged from earlier, Jibril leading him all the way to the end, where a smallish cell stood, the door open.
Jibril stepped inside and Adam saw the cell led to another larger room.
“Stay in here and wait.”
“What the hell am I waiting for?” Adam demanded.
“I’m going to leave you here while I go and search for some clothing—we’ll be able to move about more easily if we have guard uniforms.”
Adam thought about arguing and then realized the younger man was not only less conspicuous, even with his red hair, but he also knew his way around.
“Take the lantern,” he said. “I don’t need it.”
The boy nodded and bolted for the door. “I will be back soon.”
Adam gazed into the sudden darkness. He bloody well hoped so.
Chapter Thirty-One
Mia sat on the bed, the gun beside her, loaded and ready to fire. She’d also found a short sword and wicked-looking knife in Bouchard’s wardrobe and those lay within easy reach. Most importantly, she’d found a key to the cabin door. A second key Bouchard had forgotten, hidden inside a wooden box that held various trinkets.
Adam had left without the bag of ransom money, yet another little detail he and Ramsay had kept from her. They’d never planned to deliver it.
Men.
Mia bit back her pointless anger and thought about what she would do next.
It was late, very late. Adam and Ramsay should have been in the harbor hours ago. There had been plenty of time to reach the palace and get back to the Ghost or back here if they couldn’t approach the harbor after escaping with Jibril.
Yet the ship still remained silent and motionless. They were anchored surprisingly close to the golden sands and high cliff walls that hid the sultan’s palace. The Golden Scythe’s draft was such that she could go into remarkably shallow water with no trouble.
Mia had been staring at the dark outline of the shore, wondering what she should do, when a light flickered. It was a rowboat. She watched it come closer, until the sickness in her stomach almost doubled her over. Only one man sat in the boat.
She took the loaded gun and knife and tucked them under her djellaba. With a turban around her head, she could pass for a young boy in the dark—if a person wasn’t looking too closely. If she was careful, nobody would see her at all.
She slid the key into the lock and prayed while she turned. The click seemed deafening, but nothing happened so she opened the door. The corridor outside the cabin was empty. She padded toward the stairs on the wool slippers she’d brought with her. Even before she reached the top of the stairs she could hear the murmur of voices and see the soft glow of a lantern.
She peeked over the top step. There was only a half moon, but it was bright and low in the sky. Bouchard stood some feet away as he and his second mate talked to the man from the rowboat. The three men were crouched over something—a map, probably. She waited until they’d leaned down to look closer before scurrying across the deck toward the stern, to where the rowboat was tied. She crouched behind a trio of barrels and took a quick look over the side. A hemp ladder led to the small rowboat below.
“Show me again on the map where you think they went, Jacques,” Bouchard asked.
“Ramsay and Delacroix split from Jibril and the other Englishman here, and they distracted Assad’s men while Jibril took the tunnel. Ramsay sent me to the meeting place. He told me to come to you no matter who else showed up and tell you they found the boy. He believed Assad himself was at the harbor. We could hear the sound of cannon even at the palace. He, Delacroix, and about thirty others were going to join them.”
&nbs
p; “What others? He only took a few of his crew with him.”
“Some of the slaves he freed. They took weapons from the guards they captured and followed him.”
Bouchard snorted. “Trust Ramsay to start a bloody rebellion.” He paused. “I gather you met nobody at the beach? Did you see the entrance at Quora’s Bluff?”
“Somebody caved it in. It had to have been Assad’s men and they must have got there before Jibril and the Englishman escaped if they never made it back here.”
Mia gasped and the men looked around.
“What was that?” Bouchard demanded. Nobody spoke for a long, agonizing moment. Bouchard continued: “If they didn’t leave through Quora’s Bluff, then where did they go?”
“I don’t know. I never went down the other tunnels. We just followed Ramsay to the slave pens.”
“Ramsay said there were multiple tunnels off the main one that led to the slave quarters. They must still be in one of those.” Beauville pointed to something on the map. “They might have accessed any of them if they found the exit closed.”
“Or they could be trapped in the palace itself.” Bouchard turned back to Ramsay’s man. “I’ve never even been in the palace. Is it possible they are still in there, Jacques?”
“I’m sorry, Captain, but I only saw the tunnel and the slave quarters.”
“Maybe they doubled back from the tunnel and followed behind you?”
“I hope not,” Jacques said. “I saw yet another group of Assad’s men were headed back from the harbor, remember?” He paused. “It did not seem as if the slave area was connected to the rest of the palace—but could it be?”
“I believe it is,” Beauville said. “This corridor looks as though it might join the barracks to the kitchen. The kitchen is connected to the family portion. Surely somebody like Jibril, who grew up there, would know of ways to make it across the palace? I can’t see one on the map, but there must be a way out of the kitchens? An entrance for delivering supplies and removing waste from the palace, if nothing else?”
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