The old man was called Hoca, or teacher, but he was not a man of learning. He was a man of information. He kept spies all over the city and those who knew where to find him could ask, pay, and receive that information. If the man was feeling generous. Rory found him in a small, dirty cafe that, only rarely, actually served anything. It was peopled only by the teacher and one other man, wrapped in a burnoose with a filthy turban hiding his head.
When the teacher saw Rory he shouted in an aged, feeble voice. “You! What do you want? I have nothing for you. Nothing! Go away!”
The man was small, dark-skinned, and white haired. He was wizened, wrinkled from either the Bedouin trail or dissolute living, Rory was not sure. “You have ears and eyes all over this city, all over the coast. I know you’ve heard. Just tell me what happened when the Taibhse docked. The story came well ahead of us. Who responded?”
“I do not know of what you are speaking! Leave me alone!” the old man cried, his hand waving Rory away.
Rory grabbed his wrist and held. “The name. The response.” He placed two gold coins into the man’s palm.
The man laughed at him, his voice no longer simple or aged. “I like you. You ask simple questions.”
“I seek simple answers.”
Laughing again, he pulled his arm from Rory’s grasp. “I am sure you do.”
Rory did not laugh. “I could get those coins back, if I wanted.”
“Could you now?”
There was a sharp point pressing into his side. The man beside him wore his head cover low, shading his eyes, and wrapped around his mouth. There was no expression to read, nothing to show his intent. Still, Rory did not like being held at knife point. He struck only once, smashing his fist into the uncovered nose and wrenching the blade from the man’s hand. Rory flung him to the ground and turned in time to hold the knife up to the old man’s throat, causing him to freeze with his own knife raised to strike at Rory’s back.
“I have much at stake, Hoca, but what I ask from you is very small. It is nothing worth having your throat cut over.” Rory did not lower his knife.
The Teacher laughed. “Yet you are willing to cut it, aren’t you? Perhaps the stakes are becoming too high for you and your Ghost. You are sought by a dark man with silver eyes. He was less generous than you, or he would already know you sleep in the house of the Frenchman.”
“When did he come?”
“Just today, after the prayers,” the man answered, grinning.
Rory reached into his pouch and pulled out another gold coin. He placed it in the man’s hand. “Remember my generosity, old man, when he returns. Tell him I leave on the Taibhse today.”
The old man laughed. “We shall see.”
Wrapping his burnoose around his face, Rory turned away. He came to face the man he’d hit, who was now bleeding from the nose. The man stepped aside and gave a small bow. Rory narrowed his eyes, but returned the bow and left.
Hell and damnation! Rory swore, internally, moving quickly. This threw his plans into disarray, moved his schedule up considerably. Maarten’s men could not know where their encampment was located. If they found out where they were going, it would be the end of it all. His plans to leave two days hence, to have the ship take them to Tipaza, had to change. He needed to get the ship out of the harbor. He needed to get Andrew out of the city. He needed to do it now.
***
Rory went straight to Amira, seeking Malik. She greeted him with her hair uncovered, only a loose caftan covering her ample curves. “Of course, he is here. Come in, come in. What has happened?” she asked, seeing the dark look on his face.
“There is no time, Amira. I’m sorry. It is quite urgent,” Rory said, hands on her shoulders.
She took his hand and led him to the back of her villa. “Malik!” she called. “Your captain needs you! Make yourself presentable!”
There was rumbling laughter and Malik’s booming voice said, “And how would you have me do that, Amira? I am never presentable!”
Stopping before a large, ornate screen, Amira said, “You can cover your great, hairy body, at least! Your Captain does not want to see you looking like a wild bear.”
“In other circumstances, I would find this most amusing, Malik,” Rory added. “But I’m here with an emergency.”
Malik appeared, his head clearing the top of the screen easily. “Yes, Captain!”
Rory looked up at him, unable to contain a smile. “Sometimes, Malik, you put me in mind of an imp, which would not be funny if you were not so large. Listen, I need you to rouse the men and get the ship out to sea.”
“Tell me more, I will dress.”
“Things have progressed faster than I anticipated and the ship needs to leave the harbor as soon as possible,” Rory said. He squeezed Amira’s hands and looked at her as he continued. “The men that have been watching the ship have begun their machinations much too soon. I need Malik to take the ship out while I go to Tipaza over land.”
“Will you not be in more danger alone on the shore?” Malik asked, belting his tunic as he rounded the screen.
“I will be on board, as far as they know. Have the ship ready by sundown, with as many of the crew as you can muster. I’ll give you more information then,” Rory said, releasing Amira so she could go to Malik.
Malik nodded, but voiced his concern. “Ruaidhri, what is happening?”
“I hope that it is nothing, but there are too many eyes upon us. It doesn’t feel right. I’ll see you at the Taibhse tonight.” He grasped Malik’s forearm and gave Amira a chaste kiss on the lips. “I’m sorry that I have disrupted your time together.”
“Quiet, now. Go do what you must do,” she said, gently patting his cheek.
When Rory returned to Etienne’s house, he was directed to the baths by Nadir. “Monsieur is in the bath. He is not alone.”
“I need him, now. It’s urgent,” Rory told the young man. He saw the nervous way Nadir bit his lip and was taken by a sudden suspicion.
Rory strode to the bath. It was wide, low-ceilinged, with a raised, tiled platform in the corner and a sunken pool in the middle. There was a fire burning in the oven opposite the pool and a servant was pouring water over a grate in the floor. The effect was thick, fragrant steam filling the room. Etienne was in the pool, temples being rubbed by yet another lovely servant. Rory half expected Andrew to be in the water with him and was gratified to see that he was not.
Etienne cracked one eye to look at him. “You could have knocked.”
Before he answered, Rory cast a sweeping glance around the room. He did not see Andrew, at all. “We have to leave tonight. I need provisions for the journey and I need to get Andrew out of here without outside knowledge of his leaving.”
“What has happened?” Etienne asked, but did not sound overly concerned.
“Maarten’s man is here.”
“Are you certain?”
“A dark man with silver eyes was asking questions, just today. The old teacher said he didn’t tell him we were here, but he could be lying. I would not take that chance,” Rory clarified.
“You’re panicking, Rory. You should take a moment,” Etienne said, calmly. He brought one hand up out of the water. “Come, have a bath. Andrew thoroughly enjoyed his.”
Rory took a moment to clamp down on the surge of anger he felt, knowing Etienne took pleasure in goading him. “I am not panicking, but I am troubled. If Maarten’s man is here already, that means that he did not have to return to Esbjerg. Either he’s acting under orders delivered before we arrived or Maarten is not in Denmark,” Rory paused, running a hand over his sweaty face. “Either way, Andrew and I need to be away from here, no later than tonight. We’ll need to travel to Tipaza over land, on a less used trail.”
“Tonight? We leave tonight?” a voice said from behind him.
Rory turned. Andrew was there, wrapped in a light robe that clung to his damp body. His hair was wet and combed close to his head. Drops of water were still running down h
is cheeks and neck. Rory went half hard looking at him. He averted his eyes away from the outline of Andrew’s cock and thighs and answered, “We need to keep our destination unknown. The ship will set sail tonight for Majorca. I need you outside the city walls by nightfall.”
“Just you and I?” Andrew asked, stepping closer.
Rory nodded, raising his head. Andrew was flushed from the steam, his lips even more red and skin glowing with youthful health. “You had a bath?” Rory asked, his mouth gone dry.
“With hot water. I’ll wager I’ve never been so clean.” Andrew answered. His grin was infectious and Rory found himself returning it.
“They say it is next to godliness. A pity we don’t have time to get you dirty, again,” Rory teased.
“I can think unclean thoughts until we do,” Andrew offered, teeth catching his bottom lip.
Rory took a deep breath, and cursed with great feeling. “You do that, Coinin. I’ll have you in the dirt soon enough.” He had to turn away or there would be no stealthy escape for either of them. “The ship won’t be able to meet us for some time. We’ll need provisions, Etienne; food, water, and shelter. Have you an ass, or camel? I’ll pay for their use.”
There was splashing as Etienne rose from the water. His servants held up a large piece of crimson cloth and they wrapped it around him as he left the pool. “Tell me what you need, Rory,” Etienne said calmly. He looked like a Roman senator, swathed in his toga. With absolute assurance he told them, “It will be ready for you.”
Chapter Thirteen
The sun was nearly set, only shades of red and purple striped the horizon while the dark blue of night bled into the west. Rory waited below deck, listening to the activity of his crewmen as they readied the ship for departure. There was a screech and the anchor pulled free of the sea floor. The ship groaned against the dock, the wind catching in the sails to propel her away from land.
“Mind the mizzen, Yousef! We need no repeat of last time!” Malik called to the man at the jib.
“I seem to recall it was you at the jib when we knocked the piling over,” Yousef shouted back, good-naturedly.
“You were drunk, how do you know what happened?” Malik answered, leaning on the rudder to turn the ship sharply.
“You were drunk, as well. We’ll blame it on another,” Yousef argued.
“We’ll blame Ruaidhri!” Malik cried. All of the men present laughed and agreed.
Rory grinned and climbed out of the hold. “What are you blaming me for this time, Malik?”
“The piling at Essaouira, Captain, it is your ship after all.”
“Well, if that is the case I shall need all of your shares back to pay for the damages,” Rory announced.
“My apologies, Captain, that payload is already gone,” Yousef said.
He clapped Yousef on the shoulder as he passed and made his way to Malik. “Did you see him?”
Malik lowered his tremendous voice and said, “I saw him earlier, while we were refitting the boom. I am sure he is still there.”
“Good. I’ll stay until we clear the view of the city. Don’t take the ship north, take it to Tunis. Pass the word and do not shout it. Try to get to Tipaza within the week,” Rory reiterated. At the man’s worried frown, he continued, “Don’t worry, Malik, I’ll be fine. Etienne has seen to everything.“
“I do not like it, Captain; just you and Andrew, in untamed lands with no escort or guard?”
Rory was grateful for the concern. “If this is done correctly, there will be no need for added protection. I’ll be able to defend us.”
“You will keep the little wolf out of trouble?” Malik asked.
“Oh, no, Malik, I intend to get him in as much trouble as possible,” Rory answered, smiling.
Malik laughed, but lowered his voice again before he said, “I like the changes he has brought about in you. You seem a different man. “
“I may yet be a different man,” Rory said. “Perhaps even a better one.”
“One would hope, Ruaidhri.”
The ship swung about in the harbor and set out for the sea. They kept to the coast and made good time, rounding the last outcropping of rocks as the moon crested the horizon in the east. Rory stuffed his boots in an oiled leather bag and tied it securely. He slung it across his chest, letting it settle at his back. The daggers in the strap were secure, his boots and shirt would remain mostly dry in the sack. He was ready.
With only a nod towards Malik, Rory moved to the gunnel. None of the men looked in his direction, as ordered. Rory perched atop the rail for a moment and dove into the water, as far from the wake as possible. He came to the surface and heard the bell as the ship sailed on, not turning north but continuing west. The sky was clear above, showing no signs of any sudden storm to disrupt the swim to shore.
Taking a deep breath, Rory submerged, his long, powerful muscles carrying him through the water easily. He emerged some distance away, his momentum increased as he kicked up from the depths. He relished the exertion, clearing his mind of all distractions to simply swim. It took some time; keeping to the coast still put the ship quite a distance from the shore. Rory did not waste his energy on how fast but focused on how far. He still had to meet Andrew and the appointed place was at least another hour’s walk from this point.
The rocks finally rose up beneath him. Rory was able to climb from the ocean at a crevice in the cliff. After resting for a few moments, he resolutely pulled on his boots and shirt and carefully crawled up rocky incline. When he reached the top he stood and slowly surveyed the land and sea around him. He was alone. Only the night roaming animals would present any real danger. Rory laughed out loud in the silence and began the walk to Ayn Taya.
Rory knew it would not take him long. Despite the rocks, trees and crevices he was fast and agile. His stride was long, swift, and he could maintain it for miles. He could walk, run, swim, even climb far longer and farther than any one he had ever known. There were other talents in Rory’s arsenal which, some said, were supernatural, diabolical. Whispers abounded of satanic forces at work in his extraordinary endurance and his tolerance for pain only added to his disrepute. He could stay awake and alert for days. His disregard for pain, even pain that incapacitated men of greater stature, was made legend in the tales of his escape from the galley. All these things were part of him because of the lost years of his youth. He would have gladly forgone the extreme, brutal conditioning but since these gifts had been forced upon him, he used them unabashedly.
The stream of days being kept awake for naught but the whim of another taught him other gifts. Rory could escape his own mind, set loose his spirit and leave his body looking awake. When he took leave of his fleshly bonds, he returned with renewed stamina. A small, narrow-eyed man from the east had called it hesychasm, meaning the blocking of physical senses through inner focus, a Christian meditation. While he scoffed at the religious implications, Rory had found the word fascinating. He had consulted more scholars, priests, and discovered ways of prolonging the state, of being able to find it even as he labored. To some degree he went there as he tread the distance between he and Andrew, excluding all thought outside of completion.
When the moon had yet to reach its zenith, but it still cast silver light across the land from its heavenly perch. Rory crested a rocky hill and saw them. There were four camels, their riders still astride the beasts, and one unmanned black horse. They stood in a row, looking towards the north from whence he arrived. He knew they saw him, for there was an excited whinny from the horse and they struck out in his direction. One of the camel riders pulled out in front and Rory suspected it was Andrew. As it drew nearer, though, he saw black wrapping and delicate slippers, not Andrew’s white burnoose and boots. He was curious and slightly anxious to see who this mysterious rider was.
“Hold!” he called when they were closing on him, raising his hand to show the dagger in his grasp. The beast slowed, stopped, and lowered to its knees for the rider to dismount.
; “Rory!” It was Andrew, tearing the black wrap away to expose his face.
Andrew was smiling and breathless when he met Rory at the bottom of the hill. When Rory held his arms open Andrew willingly went, eagerly accepting the hungry kiss. It deepened, lengthened, and was veering towards immoderate when Etienne’s voice said, “I’ll return to my tent, then. Have a safe journey.”
Their lips parted but they remained in the embrace. “Wait,” Rory called, but was unable to look away from Andrew’s face. He noticed an oddity, more than the slippers and wrap. Andrew’s blue eyes were unusually bright and looked enormous, lashes thick and black against his pale skin. “Are you wearing kohl?”
Andrew laughed. “It was Etienne’s idea. He put me in these clothes, too. He claimed it was to smuggle me out, as I could not leave wearing the same garments I wore in.”
When Rory looked at him, Etienne shrugged. “A man must dream, Ruaidhri.”
Rory laughed and shook his head. “You are a rogue and a scoundrel.”
“A handsome rogue and scoundrel, merci. I personally ensured Esme is laden with food, water, and tent, and perhaps even some wine. Your horse is fed and watered, brushed and eager for her master.”
“Thank you, Etienne,” Rory said, releasing Andrew to take Etienne’s hand in both of his. “Again.”
“And again,” Andrew added, chastely kissing the man on his cheek. The action surprised Rory. Etienne’s reciprocal kiss on Andrew’s forehead, doubly so.
“You take care of this barbarian, Andrew,” he said.
“I will.”
“And mind your lessons.”
Andrew blushed. “I will.”
Etienne turned back to Rory. “Send word when it is time.”
Rory nodded and watched the man retreat. Etienne waved elegantly at his guard, who brought Brighid to Rory. Once mounted, Etienne bowed his head towards them and called for his escorts to follow. “Let us return to our comforts, mes amis, and leave these two to the wild.”
The Red King Page 12