Revenge of the Corsairs

by Elizabeth Ellen Carter

  Again, as if in a performance, she raised her hand to show a piece of parchment.

  “Elias Winston Nash, you would be surprised what I know of you. You are an Englishman, an able commander, gifted with the guitar, a man with no obvious vices, a religious man although, alas, not of the true religion.”

  Elias wasn’t sure whether she expected him to answer but he did not. Rabia put down the document and looked at him.

  “You are more handsome than I expected.”

  “You flatter me, my lady.”

  “You don’t look like a man who would succumb to flattery. I wonder what you would succumb to? Toufik tells me you endured your rough treatment like a man.”

  Again, there was nothing that required him to answer.

  “Why are you here?”

  Ah, a real question at last.

  “You threatened my family.”

  “Your family?” she said with exaggerated concern. “Then you have my apologies. I don’t want anything which is not mine.”

  “Your apologies are accepted, my lady. You leave my wife and son alone, and you will never hear from me again.”

  “Wife and child? No, you have no wife and child. The concubine is mine and so is any offspring she bears. I want them back.”

  “No. Human life is not a product to be bought, sold or bartered.”

  Rabia laughed brightly, deeply with amusement.

  “My dear Elias, so naive in the ways of the world.”

  “An idealist, surely,” he countered.

  Her amusement ended. “An idealist carrying bombs.” She gestured at his satchel which had stood unnoticed beside the platform. Inside, he could see three shells and two powder horns.

  Elias fought the leap in his chest. The count should be five, which meant two were unaccounted for. Perhaps he hadn’t been betrayed by the servant after all. He prayed that one of the bombs not found was still in the library. He turned his attention back to Rabia.

  “You destroyed my home. An eye for an eye, my lady. Surely you must understand that.”

  “I believe I do. So tell me where the boy is and you can keep the woman and your life.”

  “I don’t know where he is.”

  “Liar!” she screamed, making him jump. He heard the sound of feet shuffling from within the curtained alcove. He waited for Rabia to call for her guards.

  “I could torture the information out of you,” she added more softly.

  “And no doubt you would succeed, but I cannot tell you what I do not know,” he answered. “You know of the Prophet Moses? As a babe, he was placed in a basket made of bulrushes and set adrift on the Nile by his sister to escape the slaughter of the innocent. Not even his mother knew where he had gone.”

  Rabia frowned.

  “Under torture I could lead you to the Nile, but where the current took the boy after that, only God knows.”

  Elias watched Rabia struggle with the analogy, trying to decide how much was fact and how much was a tale. After a while, she gave him a smile – a serpent’s smile.

  “In that case, there’s very little point in still keeping you alive. Yet you do amuse me. I might keep you for a while. I’m sure you’ll prefer being my pet to becoming Basri’s bitch.”

  Once again he said nothing.

  “I believe you are talented with an instrument.”

  Elias forced a smile on his face and raised his shackled hands.

  “Not with these on my wrists.”

  Rabia’s eyes provocatively and slowly lowered until they fixed on his crotch.

  “A guitar wasn’t the instrument I was thinking of…”

  Rabia stepped down from the platform slowly, step by mesmerizing step. Although she was tall, he was taller still by at least two inches. She drew near and the smell of jasmine and gardenia grew stronger. She ran a soft hand across his shoulders and down to his manacled hands. She pressed her breasts against his chest.

  “It has been a very long time since I felt a man’s touch.”

  Elias stood stock still to prevent the revulsion he felt from rising in his stomach. He snatched her hands and held them tight. Even so, a glint of excitement lit her eyes.

  He leaned forward until he was scant inches from her face before he spoke. “No.”

  Rabia tugged her hand, but Elias kept the grip firm.

  “One word from me and you will be dead,” she whispered.

  “And the answer will still be the same.”

  “I could compel you.”

  Elias took an agonizing step forward, forcing Rabia to take a step back. He spoke through gritted teeth.

  “Perhaps you could.”

  He took another step forward and then another, until her back was against one of the balcony pillars.

  “And while you take your pleasure of me, perhaps my hands would circle your throat and choke off the air. You may have had your satisfaction, but you would be dead.”

  He pressed forward, feeling her body against his. He felt nothing but fire and anger.

  “Would that satisfy you, my lady?”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Elias watched the look of intrigue and lust on Rabia’s face change to confusion, and then terror as he brought the chain that manacled his wrist against her neck.

  Temptation whispered in his ear. Do it. Kill her now. Kill the Gorgon.

  His vision narrowed to a pinpoint and the world became red as the voices whispered death in his ear.

  Then a gentle tap fell on his shoulder which somehow seemed as forceful as a punch. Still holding the chain again Rabia’s throat, he turned and looked into the face of Rabia’s maid.

  “Do not kill her.” The servant’s voice was low but carried authority. Elias prepared himself to feel a sharp steel cut into him; instead the woman held up a scarf.

  “I will gag and bind her, and you can finish what you came here to do.”

  He looked at her skeptically. Was this another trick? But the woman was already gagging her mistress with the fabric and the look of shock on Rabia’s face told him it was the truth.

  “What of Toufik?”

  The servant bound Rabia to the pillar with heavy curtain cords.

  “He will not stop us. He’s not even here. He left the compound a little while ago.”

  Elias saw Rabia’s eyes widen in horror.

  “Yes, my lady,” smiled the brown-robed maid, “He was dismayed at the news the assassins wanted more money to finish their work. And when he learned another of Selim Omar’s sons was lost, he sought to protect his own interests. Even now, my lord Toufik is rushing for the harbor with two of his faithful guards and your gold and valuables.”

  Abruptly, she drew back and slapped Rabia hard across the face, a blow that echoed once sharply on the walls of the room.

  “I’m not such a little mouse after all, am I, mistress?”

  Outside the chamber, Elias heard urgently running footsteps and the door being shoved open. Despite the pain in his feet and manacled hands, he prepared himself to take on the entering guards. But the running stopped behind the heavy drapes, then a deferential voice, breathless from running spoke.

  “My lady,” a guard called, “I cannot find Toufik and there are people causing trouble at the gates! What should we do?”

  “Deal with them!” the little maid yelled imperiously, sounding very much like Rabia.

  Elias heard the guard bid a hasty retreat. He looked at Rabia. There was terror in her eyes and a red hand print blooming on her cheek. He turned to the maid.

  “Get me down to the library. We can set that bomb off while the guards are occupied and use the distraction to escape.”

  The mouse who had roared so ferociously now looked vulnerable. “You will take me with you?”

  “Of course! But we have to keep moving. Whoever is making trouble at the gate may not keep the guards occupied for long.”

  He suddenly stopped and thought again. Let’s make it a big distraction. He grabbed his satchel from beside the platfor
m.

  “Is there an armory here?”

  The maid nodded.

  “Then show me that instead.”

  Every step was agony, but Elias pushed through the pain to keep up with the maid.

  Rabia’s private garden was deserted and they ran across it to a squat block structure behind the barracks. Elias laid two of the shells and poured lines of black powder. His action was slowed by his shackled hands and he wished he had time to remove them. From the lid of one of the powder horns, he pulled a flint and a striker, then he looked at the maid.

  “Get yourself to safety. Head for the hill north of here. Halfway up you’ll find my camp. Stay there. I’ll find you. Go! Run!”

  On the second strike, the spark ignited the line of powder.

  *

  “Tell me again why I let you talk me into this?”

  Captain Kit Hardacre was not happy. In the corner of a field, while he and Jonathan armed themselves – a cutlass, a pistol and a knife in their belts, another in their boots – Laura adjusted the short, pink veil covering her hair. She wore a traditional Turkish garment, wide red pantaloons tied at the ankles over a long, fitted tunic top. With her face covered, she would be disguised well enough.

  “Because if my son is here, I want to be, too.”

  “And if he’s not, you’ll only be in the way.”

  “There’s no time for second thoughts. You agreed to this back in Sicily. Your men can’t go barging into the women’s quarters and no one knows the structure of a harem like I do.”

  Kit walked off in disgust. Jonathan pulled her aside.

  “Leave Kit be. His temper is always like this before a fight. We have the advantage because we’ve been in battle before. He knows us. Your presence complicates matters for him.”

  Laura nodded. “I know you’re right. I just want my son home. And I want Elias home.”

  Jonathan hugged her. “I know you do. We all do. All I ask is you follow my orders or Kit’s orders to the letter, promise me?”

  She nodded, drawing herself to her full height. She looked around to see the other men from the Calliope awaiting their instructions. Some stood silently; others held rosary beads in their hands and prayed.

  She’d not given much thought to fighting beyond the reports she read in newspapers but here they were, preparing to challenge against an enemy of unknown size. And all because they cared for her son and loved their fellow crew member and friend. How brave they were; how foolish. Laura closed her own eyes and prayed.

  “So, how do you want to play this hand?” she heard Jonathan ask Kit.

  “Apart from the walled villa, this looks like any other small holding. Let’s knock at the front door and see if they let us in. Giorgio, you come with us. First sign of trouble get Laura out of here. Gus, you and Quinn keep watch. Provide covering fire if we need it. The rest of you men wait on Gus’ orders.”

  Kit turned to Laura once more. “Do not question my orders. Just obey. Do you understand?”

  His imperiousness bridled, but she remembered Jonathan’s words, swallowed her pride and nodded.

  “Good. Stay with Jonathan, do not let him out of your sight. Here, take this.” Kit handed over a dagger. “And don’t hurt yourself with it.”

  She tucked it in her belt, then gaped in surprise as Kit pulled a battered fiddle from one of the two tin chests they had carried here with them. He tossed the musical instrument to Jonathan, quickly followed by a bow. Jonathan shouldered the fiddle and plucked the strings, adjusting the tuning pegs in all seriousness. Kit tossed Laura a tambourine which she caught with a jangle and took another for himself. Giorgio came over and picked a squeeze box from the chest.

  “Let’s see if they’ll let in a group of traveling players. Laura, if you can dance, do it.”

  Jonathan started playing a lively reel, backed by Gus. Kit danced like a jester, drawing the attention of the laborers in the field, and they made their way out onto the dusty road. As they approached the wall surrounding the compound, one guard appeared, and then another.

  Laura beat her tambourine, and danced and twirled in time to the music, recalling the steps she had been forced to perform before Selim Omar’s guests. The troupe was now right outside the main gate and word of the traveling entertainers had spread. Servants and field hands alike had abandoned their duties to watch, but they were not the only ones gathering. Laura recognized one or two of the Calliope’s crew amongst the crowd. The gate was open and an argument had erupted between the servant who opened it and the guard who wanted to close it again.

  Laura remained attentive to Jonathan, waiting for instruction.

  Cra-ack!

  The strange sound came from somewhere beyond the villa, followed by a plume of black smoke rising into the air. Everyone stopped. A few seconds later came a larger, more deafening sound.

  BOOM!

  The ground shook beneath Laura’s feet. Smoke and dust billowed. It seemed like the whole world was coming to an end.

  Benjamin!

  Laura ran before any other coherent thought formed. Her son was in there!

  She heard her name called after her, and Kit’s loud curse as she shoved past the stunned people blocking the gate and she ran inside toward the danger – because that was what a mother did.

  *

  Elias ran back toward the villa, desperately trying to remember where the bloody library was. He should have asked the maid. He bit his cheek as remedy to the pain in his feet but he found it and slammed the library door closed behind him. He dove toward the table leg, sighing with relief as his bound hands found the shell he had hidden yesterday.

  Boom! The explosion of the twin charges he had laid at the armory was loud and sharp. The room shook, and books and papers fell from the shelves but there was no subsequent blast. He raised his head in dismay. The detonation was supposed to –

  The library glowed orange as if the sun itself sat outside the windows. A split second later – BOOM!

  The windows shattered, shards of glass rained in, striking his legs. One bookcase disgorged its entire contents and teetered. Even sheltered as he was under the table, Elias felt the intense heat of the exploding munitions store.

  Screams rent the house. Elias schooled his shaking hands to prime the fuse of the charge in the library, foregoing the line of black powder for a small heap. He would not remain undiscovered if he stayed here much longer, and this was now the most important part of his mission – destroying Ahmed Sharrouf’s records and his network of spies.

  With her faithful eunuch gone – along with her money and power – Rabia was no longer a threat.

  His fingers seemed to become clumsy and numb as he readied the striker for the charge, then the door opened.

  Elias got to his knees, ready to swing his bound hands in a punishing blow, and found himself looking at Jonathan.

  Elias was first to recover. “Brother, am I glad to see you.”

  Jonathan acknowledged the greeting briefly and looked about the library.

  “This is the place?”

  Elias shifted on his feet, unable to stifle a groan. “There’s a shell under the table. I was about to light the fuse.”

  “What length?”

  “Ten seconds.”

  “That’s bloody suicidal!”

  “I wasn’t intending to hang about.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t set it off right now if I were you,” said Jonathan. “We need to find Laura.”

  “Laura’s here? Why?”

  “She was supposed to stay outside. But after you demolished the armory, she disappeared into the house looking for you and Benjamin.”

  Elias regarded Jonathan aghast. What was he talking about? Hadn’t they received the locket and painting meant to lead them to Monreal? Speechless, he stumbled toward to the door.

  “You’re hurt, Elias,” said Jonathan, catching up with him.

  Elias staggered on. “It’s nothing serious.”

  “You’re bleeding, man.” Jonat
han persisted, following.

  “I’ve had worse.”

  He nodded upward. “Upstairs, if Laura is looking for Benjamin then she’d be looking for Rabia first – that’s where she’ll be.”

  *

  In the confusion, Laura ran pell-mell through the villa and no one questioned her right to be there. Driven by instinct, she ran up the stairs and found the double door ajar.

  How odd. There are no guards.

  She entered through a carpet partition which opened out into a large room, sumptuously furnished.

  She looked about – and there was Rabia. The woman sat on a large round ottoman, rubbing her wrists.

  Once, Laura cowered at the sight of the exalted wife of Selim Omar. Now, white hot anger boiled instead. This was the woman who helped kidnap her, the woman who encouraged her own husband to rape her, the woman who tried to kidnap Benjamin and had burned down Arcadia.

  Laura strode straight over to her, noting the red handprint of a slap on her cheek.

  That was a good idea.

  Rabia looked up just in time as to take another hard slap. The sting in Laura’s palm was as satisfying to her as was the red mark that deepened even further on the older woman’s face.

  “Where is he, you bitch?”

  Rabia looked back at her with wide, shocked eyes. Then something happened. Her eyes became hooded with malevolence.

  “Look who it is. The stray dog returns.” Her voice was a harsh rasp. “Are you looking for something, whore?”

  “I want my son. Give him to me!”

  To Laura’s surprise, Rabia coughed out a laugh.

  “I should have you flogged for stealing him from me. Everything you have, everything you are, everything you bear, is mine.”

  Rabia stood. As she did, Laura’s eyes were drawn to a jagged line of red marks across the woman’s throat. A split-second later, lower down, she caught a flash of bright metal coming up.

  Laura stumbled back, the swiping blade missing her face by a fraction of an inch. The knife was attached to a chain Rabia wore around her waist like a medieval chatelaine.