Kidd stumbled backwards, hit the wall, and fell on his backside. He had risked all and gained nothing. Now, their fate was too gruesome to contemplate, to disappear from the world and rot in the depths of a French prison. From what he had heard, life expectancy was only a matter of weeks in such a place.
Flint groaned, stirred, and mumbled a few words. Kidd bent his ear to his old friend, but it was only feverish talk. The guards had also taken an interest in Flint’s condition. They exchanged a few words, and returned to their game. The dice rattled across the table. Kidd caught a snippet of their conversation. They were betting on the number of hours that Flint would live.
Later, there was a light rap at the door. Kidd squinted out of the corner of his eye as one of the guards opened the peep shutter to see who had knocked. He grunted a few words that were unmistakable in any language. He liked what he’d seen and opened the door wide. A woman stepped over the threshold in a swirl of diaphanous fabric. The creamy silk clung to her body in ways that accentuated her femininity, but revealed only a suggestion of her skin. The men gazed with stupefied wonder.
Kidd’s breath caught in his throat and he forgot his woes. She was as invigorating as a breath of fresh air, and as intoxicating as perfume. He swallowed hard and tried to see past his desire. Something about her seemed familiar. Maybe it was her hair, coiled into tight braids underneath her headdress. Or maybe it was the hint of blushing red cheeks and sparkling eyes just visible behind her veil. Regardless, she utterly dazzled the guard, who stood spellbound. His partner rubbed his hands together with glee and whooped with joy.
Kidd buried his face in his hands. The combination of cold metal, dust, and grit against his skin was infinitely preferable to witnessing two lowly guards take pleasure from such a fine woman, something he would never experience again. He couldn’t help but think it was the first of many tortures The Caretaker had planned for the breaking of his spirit.
The woman wove her way into the small room, caressing cheeks and muttering soft promises of delights to come. A kind of wildness appeared in the guard’s eyes. A gentle push became a shove as they competed to be the first to embrace this goddess of the night. The senior of the two grabbed his colleague and pushed him against the wall with harsh words. The younger man shoved back and retorted with equally strong language. A knife was pulled. The other man drew his own. Steel flashed in the lamplight as they began to circle.
The silk-wrapped woman retreated to the shadows, unperturbed by the sight of the naked blades. Her demeanour was calm. She adjusted her veil gracefully. Something silver flashed from her sleeve, and Kidd realised that things were not as they appeared.
The quarrel grew bitter. Blades whistled through the air, but neither man looked like an experienced knife fighter. Stabbing a man at close quarters with a short blade needs a cold heart and a cool head, but their blood was hot. Each thrust looked more like the feints of rutting stags than serious attempts to kill. The elder guard paused for breath, his gaze grew icy, and he spoke a vile insult. He had the killer instinct after all. The young guard lowered his dagger and retorted with an equally base remark. The distraction was all the older man required to slash his opponent’s shoulder and draw first blood.
The young man lashed out in frustration, reacting to the sting of the wound, his blade poorly aimed. The elder man dodged the blow and plunged his weapon into the soft flesh between the young man’s ribs. An ugly grunt signalled the end of the fight. The victor grinned. He wiped the bloody knife on the shirt of his fallen opponent.
The mysterious woman stepped forward, seeming to offer herself to the victor. Kidd watched the events unfold through half-closed eyelids. There was still another knife to enter this melee. She opened her arms to her victorious lover. He dropped his knife without a second thought, looped his arm around her waist, and fell into her neck greedily. She ran her left hand across his shoulder, but the caress only steadied her weight as she plunged her bright dagger into his back. He made a vile noise as the life departed his body. She allowed him to fall next to his former comrade, and turned her attention to rifling through his pockets.
Kidd knew that thieves came in all shapes and guises, but it was a dangerous ploy for what could only be a few coins at best. Tunis was a rough place indeed. He rose to his feet and eyed the thief. “Set me free, and I’ll remain silent,” he said in a firm tone.
She turned to look at him for the first time since she’d arrived, held up the cell key, and removed her veil so he could see her face. “Look lively, William! Don’t you know a jail break when you see one?”
Kidd recognised her at last. She looked entirely different in feminine apparel, but she was unmistakably the captain of the Masala. “Harissa?”
“The same. Shame on you for failing to recognise your saviour!”
“Salvation never looked so pleasant. How did you know we were here?”
“Oh, we’ve kept a weather eye out for you.” She inserted the key into the lock and cranked the tumbler with both hands.
“You’ve had us followed?”
“Nay, just a watchful eye. I told you Tunis is a dangerous place.”
Kidd abandoned his suspicions, although he still felt they were warranted. Too many people had an interest in his affairs. “Flint is ill and in urgent need of care. Do you have a physician aboard the Masala?”
“Aye.” She unlocked the outer door and Kemal and Ramiro crashed through with cutlasses drawn. The curved blades soon returned to their scabbards at the sight of the dead guards. “Let’s go. Flint will have to be carried.”
Kemal stooped and pressed his fingers into Flint’s neck. “His heart beats fast. We must act quickly, or the reaper will come for him.”
“There are more of the watchers lurking in the shadows,” said Ramiro. He whispered something in Harissa’s ear. She nodded and began to unravel the folds of fabric wrapped about her body. Kidd was amazed how much fabric could come free without revealing even an inch of flesh. She held up the scarves and wraps. “Cover your face and get Flint to his feet. Seaworthy or not, he may have to walk if he wants to live.”
Kidd gathered the Damascus sword and Flint’s pistol, and they headed for the pier where the Masala was now berthed. Kemal and Harissa led the way arm in arm, singing bawdy songs at the tops of their voices. Kidd followed with Ramiro. They supported Flint between them as if he were blind drunk. They passed several figures in the dark, but encountered no trouble, drunken sailors being renowned for their love of a good fight. Eventually they scrambled up the Masala’s gangplank to safety.
Kemal lifted Flint over his shoulder like a child and took him below deck. Kidd went in search of water and a new shirt. He found both in the hold, drank deeply, and dressed. He had just pulled his arms through his coat sleeves when Harissa appeared in the doorway, now wearing her familiar garb. “We haven’t a chance of leaving port with the ship in this condition. We’ve barely patched our battle damage, and I’ll wager your captors have a tall ship with a large compliment of guns.”
Kidd cleared his throat. “We were detained by some Frenchmen with a common interest. They will most certainly attempt to recapture us.”
“Indeed you are a popular man, Iron William Kidd. And this ‘common interest’ must be valuable to attract the attention of such men.” Harissa cocked an eyebrow and produced a small flask from her coat. It was probably filled with rum, but after the evening’s events, Kidd couldn’t be sure.
She offered him the first drink. “So, it appears we’re both run aground. What say we discuss this item of value?”
~ Chapter 21 ~
AN ARM-WRESTLE
Kidd took the measure of the Masala’s captain. There was intelligence and cunning in her eyes. It didn’t come as a surprise. She had proven she was capable of sticking a knife into a man’s back. She also had a badly-damaged galley, no cargo to trade, and sixty hungry mouths to feed. Now she was aware the French wanted the knowledge in his head. If she intended to profit from that, he w
as no better off than if he were still in The Caretaker’s jail. If what he told her was of no interest, she might also turn him over and claim a sizeable reward.
Before Kidd could speak, Kemal burst through the door. His voice rumbled in his chest. “I require your help if your friend is to survive the night. Drastic treatments are necessary.”
Kidd excused himself, but Harissa held him back. “Meet me when you are done. We have unfinished business.” He agreed reluctantly, but then again, he had little choice in the matter.
Flint was caught in the grip of his fever, drenched with sweat, his breathing shallow. Kemal had removed most of his clothes, and washed the wound, but it had done little good. “His fever rages with hellfire.” He handed Kidd a pail of water and a rag. “You must cool him down and drive the demons out.”
Kidd mopped Flint’s brow and washed him thoroughly while Kemal attended to the wound. It festered and refused to close. Kemal took a small double-edged blade and made a neat incision. “Here’s the culprit.” He withdrew a splinter of rusty iron. He cut deeper so the blood flowed freely from Flint’s thigh once more. “Keep it clean with salt water, but allow him to bleed. I have no leeches.” He left the cabin, and soon returned with a knife in his hand. The tip of the blade was red-hot. Kidd thought the worst when he saw the molten glow reflected in Kemal’s dark eyes. The First Mate leaned over Flint, pinched the wound together, and cauterized it with the flat of the blade. Flint tensed and groaned while his flesh sizzled. “Ah, that’s good,” said Kemal with a deep sigh. “If he is aware of my dagger, he may yet live.” He withdrew the blade. Flint’s wound was angry and raw, but the burn had stemmed the flow of blood. The First Mate was a handy physician and Flint probably owed him his life. Kemal applied a salve and bandages. “His fate is out of my hands now. Let me see your wounds.”
Kidd opened his shirt and allowed Kemal to inspect the lesions he had acquired from the cat’s claws. “These should heal without complication. Be grateful you don’t have the sickness like your friend.”
In the early hours of the morning Flint’s fever broke and his delirium passed into sleep. Kidd dropped the rag in the pail and mopped his own brow on his sleeve. He dozed for a few hours and woke again at dawn. Flint was still unconscious, but was taking deep even breaths. Kidd was relieved. He knew he would never recover The Tears without the help of his eccentric companion.
Kemal appeared soon after with a small bottle of rum, which he set on the bench next to Flint’s cot. “He may sleep like a baby now, but he won’t feel so good when he wakes.” He sloshed the bottle. “We have no opium to dull the pain, so make him drink this.”
Flint woke some hours later and howled like a starving dog. Kidd helped him to drink the rum and he soon returned to sleep. Kemal returned and placed his thick fingertips on Flint’s forehead. “The worst has passed. I’ll watch him now. The Captain is waiting for you.”
Kidd felt a growing unease as he knocked lightly on Harissa’s cabin door. He was admitted immediately. Her chamber was neat and orderly. A set of shelves was filled with tightly rolled maps and various nautical tools. Exotic trinkets of all shapes and sizes dangled from the rafters on silken cords like some exotic spider’s web. “Close the door behind you.” Harissa sat at a small table, her emerald scarf tucked into her lapel. She lifted a bottle of rum and poured a generous measure into two mugs. “How’s your friend faring?”
Kidd swallowed the contents in a mouthful, relishing the warmth the liquor brought to his tired limbs, and the soothing lightness to his head. “Tom is made of stern stuff, even if he isn’t the man he used to be. He’ll pull through.” He held out his mug for a refill. “I wouldn’t have come this far without his help.”
“This far? What’s so damned important about you both that the French want to clap you in irons?” She fixed him with a penetrating stare. “You needn’t fear that I’ll hand you over for a fistful of coins. I’d rather drown at the bottom of the sea than betray friends. However, this ship and her crew are now involved in your business, and as Captain, I demand to know the risks!”
He took another pull on the rum. “The risks are great. Tom and I aren’t competing with just the French for the prize we seek. The English and the Spanish are close behind, and our search requires us to go into the heart of the Ottoman Empire. Enemies will come from all sides.”
Harissa’s eyes flashed, green as her scarf. “What prize?”
“The Tears Jesus wept at Lazarus’ tomb.” He waited for her reaction.
She raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”
Kidd gave her an account of the events that had led to them to the Masala, carefully avoiding key facts he wished to keep secret.
She listened earnestly and at no time expressed disbelief in his story, even when he described The Tears as giving Jabez and Lawrence life beyond their mortal limits. There was a long silence when he finished speaking. Waiting for her response to the tale, he was struck with the notion of how absurd it must have sounded.
“Well now,” she said at last. “Mischievous fate has conspired to include us in your quest, for better or worse. We set sail for Beirut, but I’ll not be reckless. The anchor stays down until the repairs are done. With fugitives on the loose, any ship that flees port will be marked. I fancy you won’t be repeating that trick of sinking a man-of-war single-handed,” she added with a grin.
“However we can, we’ll see to it that you’re rewarded.”
“It’s a bargain.” She spat into her palm and offered her hand.
Kidd accepted the handshake, but it was a strange experience. He felt neither the moisture of her spittle, nor the grip of her fingers, fundamental to such a binding gesture. He wondered if this invalidated the agreement.
There was a gentle rap at the door and Kemal appeared. “Excuse me, Captain. We’ve more company.”
They strode onto deck and Harissa raised a spyglass to her eye. A tall ship had sailed into sight, headed for the Tunisian harbour. It was a formidable galleon, her sails gleaming in the morning sun, the French flag flying proudly at the top of her central mast. “They build them bigger with each passing year.” Her voice was a mixture of dread and awe. “I pray we never have to tangle with such a monster. That’s La Fortresse, one of the finest in the French fleet. She carries a hundred guns. We’d best make haste with the repairs and get seaworthy. It won’t take them long to obtain a warrant, genuine or not, and search our hold. And I fear we’ll not be able to stage a jail break again once they have you safely locked away in the brig.”
Kidd nodded. “What can I do to help?”
“Grab a hammer and start plugging the leaks.”
Kidd joined the sailors rebuilding the forecastle, although he could do little more than ferry wood, his fingers too clumsy to saw the planks or drive a nail. All the while, he kept a vigilant eye on the French galleon, and the endless stream of naval officers making their way ashore in rowing boats, plainly visible in red coats and high hats. The situation seemed hopeless. There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.
A contingent of French soldiers massed along the pier within a few hours. More were despatched into the city to set up blockades and sentry stations along the roads. The Turkish guard neither questioned nor impeded them, indifferent to their activities, likely bribed to look the other way. Before long, word reached their ears that the French were determined to find their missing prisoners at any cost. Coordinating the search was The Caretaker, tenacious in his hunt. He stood prominently on the pier, cloak flapping in the breeze, taking note of each vessel in harbour, from the smallest fishing boat to the tallest sailing ship. Kidd would not underestimate the Frenchman again. He was shrewd, and knew Flint wouldn’t have got far by road. The sea was their only escape.
Sooner than they would have hoped, a patrol of soldiers wearing red doublets arrived at the Masala’s boarding ramp with a warrant to search the ship. Harissa rushed out to intercept them, along with a gang of heavily armed sailors. Despite the heat, she wore her co
at buttoned to the collar and her scarf knotted tight. Kidd heard blustering and the rattling of sabres.
While Harissa questioned the French soldier’s authority, and parentage, among other things, Kemal led Kidd to the sleeping quarters below the forecastle. There, he kicked a lever at the base of a bunk and pushed hard. The bunk was set on wheels and rolled to one side. It was a smuggling compartment.
“Honest traders?”
Kemal lifted the trapdoor. “Even honest traders get boarded sometimes.” A shallow berth lay underneath, just large enough to accommodate one man. They laid Flint inside, closed the trapdoor, and set the bunks back in place. “Let’s hope the French don’t take too long to search the ship. Not a lot of air in there.” The First Mate fixed Kidd with a thoughtful gaze. “We need to make you less recognisable. Those leather gloves don’t hide your oversized hands. You look like a circus freak. No offence intended.”
“None taken.”
Harissa was unable to delay the Frenchmen. The parley became heated and she was forced to allow the soldiers aboard. Kidd heard their boots on the deck above. “Is there another compartment?”
Kemal shook his head. “We’ve never had the need. There’s only one thing for it.”
“And that is?”
Kemal threw a punch at Kidd’s jaw.
Kidd dodged the blow. “What are you doing?” The door burst open and group of French soldiers piled through with muskets and sabres at the ready. Perhaps he was being sold to the French after all.
Kemal knocked him on his back and began to throw wild punches at his chest. All the while he shouted some of the vilest abuse Kidd had ever heard in his life. It was enough to give the French pause.
Harissa pushed past the soldiers with her own men in tow. “Break it up or you’ll be swabbing the decks for the rest of your unnatural lives.” Her tone was menacing. “Get them out of my sight!” With a great deal more pushing, shouting and swearing, Kidd and Kemal were hauled from the cabin. They were guided below decks by friendly hands, and met by two more of the Masala’s crew carrying long brown coats. The coat for Kidd had baggy sleeves and he was urged to dress quickly. One sailor smeared his face with tar while the other wrapped a bright blue scarf around his head and knotted it tight, concealing his red hair. The men aboard the Masala looked after their own. He was taken to the oars and seated next to a man called Bay, a Moor.
Iron William and the Carpenter's Tears Page 15