Sam rubbed a hand across his stubbled chin and frowned. “Maybe she’s not in any trouble, Mrs. del Cameron. If she didn’t know you were following her, it’s not surprising that you haven’t run across her yet.”
“Please, Mr. Featherstone. This is my daughter we are talking about. If you have known her for any amount of time, then you know she has a penchant for finding trouble and entering into the thick of it.”
Sam grinned. “That she does.” The grin faded and his brows furrowed as worry washed over his face. “Did she give any hint as to what she planned to do? Where she intended to go?”
“She didn’t confide in me.” The statement held a note of hurt rather than of blame. “Once Mr. Bachir returns, I hope he can lead us back to that house in which I was held. If he can, then I intend to bring along a herd of French soldiers.”
Sam smiled at the use of the word “herd.” It reminded him of the tale Jade told about her mutt dog and his own penchant for herding and picking up skunks. She’d named the animal Kaloff the Dog as a joke in itself. He erased the smile as soon as Inez turned back to him. “Something amusing you, Mr. Featherstone?” Inez asked.
“No, ma’am. Um, well, I was just imagining that dog of Jade’s running herd on the French.”
“Ah, you know about Kaloff, then?” She sighed. “I’m coming to believe that Jade and that dog are two of a kind, both completely untrainable.”
“If I may say so, ma’am, sometimes you just have to let a creature be what God made it to be. My father once told me there are two kinds of animals: critters and varmints. The first are happy inside the fences. The varmints are happiest outside.” He looked up as Bachir returned in a hurry, his arms swinging wide arcs as he waved them forward. “Looks like our friend here has some news. After you, ma’am.”
“Come quickly,” said Bachir in French. “Allala Jade.” He turned and pushed his way past a crowd of people busy inspecting a live chicken hanging by its feet. The crowd resisted and, after finally parting ranks for Bachir, closed up and glared at Inez and Sam, who had to elbow their way past. The chicken was the only one that didn’t mutter curses and imprecations at them.
“Do you have any idea where we’re going?” Sam called over the din to Inez.
“No, but wherever it is, we aren’t making much headway. And we’re losing Bachir. We must press on harder, Mr. Featherstone.”
Sam took the lead and shoved with renewed force through that group, but more clusters loomed ahead in the narrow streets as people came out for the late-afternoon business. Start shouting “Balek,” Inez suggested. “It’s what the donkey men yell. To clear the way, that is.”
“Balek. Balek!” yelled Sam. Immediately, the crowds moved to the side to avoid an oncoming donkey. Sam grabbed Inez’s hand and towed her along after him before the people closed back and separated them. “Works like Moses parting the sea,” he said. “Balek!” They caught up with Bachir.
“Where are we going?” asked Sam in his rudimentary French as they hurried after the Berber.
Bachir yelled over his shoulder, “Souk Joutia Zrabi.”
The guard took no chances with Jade this time. There were too many places for her to hide between the old palatial riad and the carpet auction district. He knew firsthand how feisty she could be and his face now bore the new marks to prove it. He hauled Jade at pistol point up the stairs to the central courtyard and shoved her down hard onto a threadbare rug. Jade didn’t go down without a fight. She lashed out with both feet, but the guard neatly sidestepped her kicks and added one of his own in her ribs.
The blow, while not hard enough to break bone, knocked the air out of Jade’s lungs. Tears flooded her eyes as she gasped for breath, her chained hands reflexively grasping her side. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and for a moment she lost her vision as exhaustion, pain, and thirst joined forces to overwhelm her. By the time her head cleared, the guard had rolled her up in the rug. She gagged on the carpet’s stale scent.
“Do not fear, little one,” said the guard in a mocking voice. “The rug is thin so you can breathe. My master said to drug you, but who would buy a limp rag? This will take enough fight out of you so that you will fetch a very good price. Perhaps I should buy you myself, huh? I could teach you obedience.”
An explosive sneeze cut short Jade’s muffled curses.
The guard lifted her up and slung her over his right shoulder. Jade tried kicking, then rolling, but each attempt required oxygen, and the carpet kept that in limited supply. She concentrated on tilting her head so she faced the open end and took a deep breath. It was enough to give her fresh courage and strength. This time instead of trying to kick her legs, she swung her entire body like a bar, using the point where the guard gripped her around the waist as a fulcrum.
Contact! She caught the guard in the throat with her legs. In retaliation, he slammed her down across her stomach on a donkey and tied her in place. She felt the pressure of the rope grip her across the shoulders and pull her head down. He passed the rope under the animal’s stomach and attached the other end to her ankles.
Her head swam, her ears buzzed, and for a moment Jade lost consciousness. Her next recollections were vague impressions of sounds: people haggling over prices, a water seller ringing his bell, the tremulous notes from a snake charmer’s reed, all mingled with the donkey’s rhythmic clopping step. She tried to sort out the voices for some clue as to her route. To the best of her knowledge, she’d passed the Square of the Dead, and gone through the fruit vendors’ market, followed by that of the herbalists’. The donkey stopped soon after and her bonds were loosened. Jade waited, biding her time and energy. What was north of the herbalists? The carpet dealers? She remembered the little plaza with benches set for auctions. Through her rug, she caught the guard’s words and managed to understand enough of his Arabic.
“I have a woman to sell.”
“Where?”
“Here.” The guard patted the rug over Jade’s back.
“What? You bring her like this?”
“We did not want anyone to see her before she went on the market. Do you understand?” Jade heard the clink of coins and knew that news of her kidnapping had been stifled by a bribe. “Do not ask any questions. She wears the tattoos of a Berber. Sell her as such. Sell her to someone from far away. She must not stay here.”
“I cannot guarantee who will bid and who will not bid.”
“You can do a lot with your tongue to sway the right bidder. Do you want the French to get word of your sales again?”
“Take her in there with the others and write your name on the books so I know who receives the money.”
“I have been told you may keep the money. It is your payment to sell her far. And my dagger,” he added, “is your payment if you fail.” Jade heard a jingling of metal. “There is the key. But do not release her yourself. Give the key to the one who buys her.”
The conversation did not go unnoticed by the surrounding people. Jade heard the hum of murmuring voices, like bees. The buzz became louder as news of this unusual woman went from person to person. By the time the guard hauled Jade off the donkey and toted her into a nearby building, the voices had reached a clamoring din. The guard slid her off his shoulder and plopped her onto the floor.
“Careful,” said the auctioneer. “Do not bruise my goods.”
“The bruise won’t show right away,” said the guard with a growl, but Jade suspected he unrolled the rug more gently than he probably wanted.
“Achoo,” Jade sneezed, then struggled to her feet before she could be manhandled further.
The guard took one last look at Jade and shoved a finger in front of the auctioneer’s nose. “Remember. Sell her far away.” He picked up the old rug and stomped out the door into a large, covered courtyard.
Immediately, the five women hiding in the shadows against the far wall ventured forward. It was as though the multihued tile work came to life. Their brilliantly colored caftans glittered as bits of gold embroide
ry caught the lamplight. The auctioneer clapped his hands twice and an old crone rose from a tattered cushion, a ragged crow in black among a flock of songbirds.
“Clean her,” the auctioneer commanded. Jade recognized the old woman as the one Patrido de Portillo had pointed out to her during the breakfast in Tangier. Jade studied the young women edging timidly forward to view her and recognized them by their general height and numbers as the young women she’d seen in tow. They clustered around her, eager now to inspect this unusual woman who’d come rolled up like a packet of fish in an old newspaper. One of them reached out a tentative finger to touch Jade’s short black hair, and the old woman barked at them. Immediately, like birds startled from their crumbs, they fluttered back a few paces. Then they settled, unwilling to completely vacate the area in the hopes that they could edge forward again.
The old woman dipped one end of her black robe in a dribbling wall fountain and swiped at Jade’s face. Jade pulled back and swatted at the crone with her chained hands. “Get away from me,” she said in French before adding an imshi in Arabic. Whether the woman understood or not, she didn’t appear to want to risk getting struck by the chains and returned to her cushion.
Jade took the opportunity to quickly examine her newest prison, but found little to encourage her hopes of escape. The building might have been a home at one time, based on the mosaic of turquoise, blue, and red wall tiles. Now this room at least seemed to be a storage room for rugs waiting to be auctioned off in the airy courtyard. Half of the room held rolled-up carpets. The rest was devoted to some low cushions, a teapot, and a brazier for heating the water. Goods other than rugs were destined to go on sale today.
True to most homes in Morocco, there were no windows looking out on the ground floor. All light came in from the open skylight in the central courtyard on the other side of the door. A skylight she couldn’t reach even when she was put up for auction. Jade surmised she was in the carpet sellers’ souk and that the area had been selected for the secretive slave auction. She tried the door. Locked. Can’t let the merchandise slip out.
The auctioneer’s voice sounded from outside the door. The slave mart had begun with the male slaves. From the auctioneer’s description, most of his goods were boys with an occasional beggarly man thrown in for heavy work. The girls edged forward to listen at the door. They conversed among themselves in nervous voices in a language Jade didn’t know. Normally her heart would have gone out to them in their plight, but hers wasn’t any better. She decided her best chance lay in being as disagreeable as possible to forestall any bidding. Then, when she’d created maximum confusion, she’d make a break for it and run like she had a hive of angry hornets on her tail.
The auctioneer announced the sale of some rare beauties, and the girls whispered again and held each other. The youngest stifled a sob. Okay. Before I bolt, I’ll knock out the auctioneer. If Jade could put a halt to the auction for the day, she might be able to get the French military in to save these girls before they were sold. She turned and gently shooed them from the door, then pointed to herself in an effort to tell them that she would go first.
She heard the exterior bolt slide back and stepped back and to the side, waiting for the door to open inward. It did and she blinked against the late-afternoon sunshine filtering down through the skylight. The auctioneer tried to push her back to get one of the other girls. Jade refused and stood her ground. With a tired sigh, the man took hold of her arm and pulled her outside, shutting the door behind him.
“What am I bid for this . . .” Immediately Jade slammed her elbow up and into the man’s ribs.
He doubled over and the crowd roared their delight at the unexpected entertainment. Jade never gave him a chance to regain his breath. She immediately jumped behind him, threw her wrist chains over his head, and pulled back, his throat caught in her irons.
The little man was no match for Jade, even in her exhausted condition. She had youth, well-honed muscles, and a great deal of rage on her side. As she watched, his face turned red, then purple. Jade had no intention of killing him; just rendering him unconscious would do.
“Ahmad,” the auctioneer squeaked to a large Arab who had just returned from handing off a male slave, “help me.”
Ahmad grabbed Jade’s waist from behind in a hard grip while his second hand forced her to relax her vicelike hold on the auctioneer’s throat. The auctioneer slid down in front of her, his hands clawing at his neck while he gasped for air. Jade raised both her legs and kicked back. She felt contact, but not in a vulnerable spot, and without boots she didn’t manage to inflict any damage. The hell with that. She leaned forward and sank her teeth into her assailant’s hand.
By this time, the auctioneer had regained his breath and at least part of his voice. “A very strong woman. A hard worker.” As his brawny assistant howled from Jade’s savage bite, the auctioneer added, “Good teeth.”
The crowd laughed, clapped, and hooted, but no one placed any bids. If anything, some of the men seemed to be placing wagers as to the outcome. “She is a lion from the Atlas,” suggested one spectator, and the other laughed.
“A man of the desert would know how to tame this creature, ” suggested the auctioneer, apparently remembering his orders to sell her to someone from far away. “Who will give me five hundred dinar?”
Jade twisted in Ahmad’s grip and punched him in the face, her chains striking him on the chin.
“A hundred dinar? Fifty?”
Just as Jade thought she had a chance to strike another blow and completely destroy all chances of being sold, someone from the crowd tossed a leather bag at the auctioneer’s feet. A gold coin spilled partly out of the open mouth and glittered on the stone floor.
“Sold,” croaked the auctioneer.
CHAPTER 23
Someone forgot to tell the slave traders that they are out of business.
I have it on good authority that the auctions still take place in secret.
—The Traveler
NO SOONER HAD THE AUCTIONEER GASPED the word “Sold!” than the burly assistant released Jade as readily as he would a nearly grown and very scrappy Barbary lion cub. Jade dropped to the stone floor with a thud, her face just inches from the little leather sack.
“Do not let her escape, Ahmad,” shouted the auctioneer. Before Jade could recover her breath and get up, the big Arab planted a foot on her back and pressed down. The auctioneer squatted and reached a tentative hand towards his money. Jade snarled at him, and he scrambled back.
A pair of booted feet stepped in front of her. There was something familiar about them. “You may release her,” said a man in very poor French. Something very familiar.
“Sam!” exclaimed Jade to the boots’ occupant. “Am I ever glad to see you.” Sam extended a hand, which she took, and helped her to her feet. The auctioneer made good use of Jade’s preoccupation and snatched his money before she could revert back to a wild beast.
“Sam, my mother—”
“Is safe outside with Bachir,” he finished for her. “Let’s get out of here.” He took the key from the auctioneer and unlocked the wrist irons.
He started to lead her away but she dug in with both feet planted firmly. “No,” she said, shaking her short black curls. “Those other girls. I can’t let them be sold.” She pointed to the adjoining room, where even as they spoke Ahmad was leading out the younger and more timid of the women. She pulled back from the man’s grip with all the force of a mewling kitten, a striking contrast to Jade’s behavior.
“By all means,” said Sam. He stepped quickly around to the auctioneer. “The sale is over.”
“What do you mean?” demanded the auctioneer. “If you want this girl, buy her as you did the wild cat.”
Sam inched closer, maneuvering behind the man’s left side. “I said, the sale is over.”
“Your French is very bad,” retorted the auctioneer with a sneer.
“But my aim is not.” Sam pulled a Colt revolver from his holst
er and shoved it into the man’s flesh just below the ribs. Ahmad took a step towards Sam, but the auctioneer waved him back.
“The sale is over,” called the auctioneer, waving his arms to disperse the crowd. “Please go home.”
The crowd disbanded without too much grumbling. After all, it had been a far more entertaining sale than usual. A few coins exchanged hands as the previously made bets on Jade versus Ahmad were won or lost.
Ahmad didn’t back away with the crowd until Sam pointed the gun at him. The size of the huge pistol clearly intimidated the guard, who was more used to bullying chained men and helpless women.
“And I will take the other girls with me,” added Sam.
As the crowd left the building’s courtyard, Inez and Bachir pushed their way inside while Sam kept his Colt trained on the two slavers. Inez ran over to her daughter, opened her mouth to say something, decided against it, and settled for stroking Jade’s hair.
Jade saw her mother’s lower lip tremble and knew that her mother had undergone a tremendous amount of emotional and physical pain to get to her. She longed to hug her mother as she could her dad, but settled for something that would not likely be rejected. She took her mother’s hand and gave a gentle squeeze. Her mother returned it and held on tightly while her other hand caressed her daughter’s wrists where the irons had bruised them. Even that gentle touch hurt, but Jade wasn’t about to wince and end the first maternal touch she’d experienced in several years. She fought back the tears welling up behind her eyes and swallowed down the tightness in her throat.
“Mother,” said Jade with a tender smile. “Why am I not surprised to see you here?” She gently pulled her hand free of Inez’s tight grip and kissed her mother’s hand. “It’s a wonderful surprise at that. Will you let the other young ladies out, please? And Sam, I think our two friends here should see what it is like to be locked up inside for a while.”
The Serpent's Daughter Page 23