Still holding his breath to avoid inhaling any poison that might be carried on the steam, he bowed low once more and withdrew from direct sight. Suleiman splashed happily in the bath. The venom appeared to have no effect on him. Kidd cursed silently. The Tears probably made Suleiman immune to the toxin. How could he hope to stop such a powerful man?
Suleiman coughed, spluttered and swore. He sat up and spat over the side of the bath, apparently having swallowed some bathwater. Still he appeared to suffer no ill effects from the poison. He rose to his feet dripping, stepped out of the bath, and reached for a towel, calling out as he did so.
Kidd pressed his body against the wall. He was trapped, and for the first time in his life, he felt truly terrified. There was only one way to challenge Suleiman for The Tears now. He would have to fight the Ottoman Emperor, and he knew he would die doing so. He clenched his fists and prepared to face his doom.
As he turned he heard a loud slapping sound like a giant fish thrashing about on land. Suleiman had collapsed to the tiles. He writhed about with foam spilling from his lips. Kidd’s fear evaporated. He crossed the floor in several strides. Suleiman’s eyes rolled wildly, but still he resisted the poison, steadfastly refusing to lose consciousness.
Kidd placed his boot on Suleiman’s chest and grasped The Tears with his right hand. For the first time since losing his sense of touch, he was sure he could actually feel the stone, even through the steel plates. It was as cool as spring water, and yet infused him with warmth like mulled wine. He lifted the prize and was captivated by the way it sparkled with light, like the morning sun breaking on the horizon after a night filled with rain.
He drew the blade he had pulled from Lawrence’s chest and held it to Suleiman’s face to reveal the name engraved on the cross-guard. Suleiman’s eyes rolled and he uttered an unintelligible grunt.
“I return to you what is yours,” said Kidd, “and take what is not.” He unravelled his turban and hung The Tears around his neck.
Suleiman convulsed violently as the poison took hold, but his eyes mapped every feature of Kidd’s face before he passed out.
“Tom!”
Flint burst through the door with a pistol in hand. He quickly put it away when he saw Suleiman’s unconscious body. “Have you got them?” The excitement made his voice quiver.
Kidd nodded.
“Show them to me.”
“Not now. We’ve a mess to clean up first.”
Flint pressed his fingers into Suleiman’s neck. “He’s alive, but he’s pretty ill. What on earth did you do to him?”
“I put the snake venom in the bath to stun him. He should recover in a day or two.”
Flint shifted his hold to press his thumbs into Suleiman’s windpipe. “Maybe we should just put him out of his misery.”
“No! We came for The Tears, not to assassinate a Sultan and start a war.”
Flint shrugged. They lifted Suleiman and carried him to the bedchamber. Kidd carefully positioned the Ottoman Emperor on his side, and covered him with sheets as if he were asleep. He rested the sword against the wall so it would be plainly visible when the Emperor woke. They dragged the bound guards into the bathing room and covered them with towels.
Kidd covered his face once more. “Now, smarten up. We’ll take the place of the guards and wait to be relieved.”
“That could be hours.”
“Or minutes. Do you want to raise the alarm because the Sultan has been left unguarded? This way, we’ll have till morning before anyone realises something is wrong.”
They waited patiently outside the chamber until the changing of the guard. Two blue robed men arrived some time later. Flint spoke a few guttural words and gestured to the bedroom. The replacements stifled a laugh, and took their posts without question.
Kidd took a lantern from a bracket and they descended the stairwell. With brazen confidence, they crossed the courtyard. Flint calmly ordered the guards to open the front gate and let them pass. The sentry flatly refused. Kidd prepared himself for a fight. However, Flint flew into a heated rant, and said something that struck fear into the soldiers. The gate was opened immediately and they were ushered through with apologetic words.
Kidd waited until they were a street away from the mosque before he dared to speak. “What on earth did you say?”
Flint grinned. “I told them Suleiman had despatched us to be an escort for Roxolana.”
“Who’s Roxolana?”
“His favourite concubine. The Sultan shouldn’t write poetry and leave it lying around for strangers to read.”
They continued their escape through the moonlit streets in silence. Every now and then, Kidd thought he could hear whispers carried on the wind. The words were too distant to hear properly, and spoken in a language he didn’t understand. He strained his ear to the sound, but it vanished as quickly as it had come. Finally, they reached the rendezvous point at the base of the citadel tower. “Well met, Bay,” said Kidd into the darkness.
Bay emerged from a recess like a ghost materialising out of air. “You have good eyes,” he replied. “Come, we have lodgings.” He led them through the streets, never pausing until they reached a humble domicile with a small stable. He pushed the front gate open and ushered them across a courtyard to their room, ever wary of dangers that might lurk in the night.
Kemal woke from his slumber as the three men arrived. “I’m pleased to see you both,” he said rubbing his eyes. “I trust you were successful.”
Kidd nodded. “We have what we came for, but we need to leave with all haste.”
Kemal shook his head. “We must wait for dawn unless you happen to have a battering ram and an army on hand. The gate is barred by a portcullis and protected by hundreds of soldiers. The outer walls are constantly patrolled. Even if we were able to climb them undetected, we would have to abandon the horses. A desert crossing is long and arduous without a steed. Dawn is but a few hours away. Why such a hurry?”
Kidd’s breath whistled between his teeth. “With every passing moment, we come closer to having the combined might of the Ottoman Empire set against us.”
~ Chapter 31 ~
EDGE OF THE ANCIENT FRONTIER
The desert between Damascus and Beirut
Kidd’s eyes flicked open and he sat bolt upright. As he did so, he heard haunting whispers in the darkness. He clutched The Tears to his chest to make sure they were safe.
Candlelight spilled through the doorway. “William? Tom?” A figure appeared, sinister in the half-light. “Wake up, it’s almost dawn.” It was Kemal.
“I’m awake,” said Kidd. “Tom?”
There was no reply. Kemal shone the candle around the room. Flint was nowhere to be seen. The blankets on his bed had been cast aside.
“Put your hand on the mattress. Tell me if it’s still warm.”
Kemal shook his head.
“Then he has been gone for at least twenty minutes.” Kidd pulled his arms through his coat. “Something is wrong.”
Kemal roused Bay. The big man groaned, but at the news Flint was missing, he found his feet and blinked away the sleep. They quickly searched the courtyard taking care not to cause a disturbance, and found Flint in the stables strapping his pack to his horse. The other mares had been groomed, fed and watered.
“Not sleeping, Tom?”
“Someone had to get the horses ready.”
Kidd frowned. “You worried me.”
Flint shrugged as he threaded a buckle. “That was something special we pulled off last night, wasn’t it? I didn’t know if I still had it in me. Brought back so many old memories, I couldn’t sleep after.”
“The task is far from done. With Suleiman at our heels, the return journey will be rough.”
Flint petted his horse’s nose. “Then stop your prattling and grab your gear.”
They gathered their saddle bags and supplies and led the horses from the stable into the crisp morning air. Rich amber sunlight leached the stars from the night sky. Al
ready the city was bustling with merchants preparing for the morning bazaar. Tents were being erected and wagons parked along the ramparts to form rows of stalls selling everything from pumpkins to gunpowder.
Kidd felt pang of anxiety and his chest tightened at the sight of cobalt tunics working their way through the crowds. Why had he allowed Suleiman to see his face? The soldiers were asking questions. He fought the desire to grip The Tears through his tunic. They felt dangerously insecure, like the chain might suddenly snap. As they reached the portcullis that sealed Damascus from the outside world, Kidd saw it had yet to be raised. He tallied the soldiers positioned around the gate. There was no hope of making a dash for freedom. If Suleiman had recovered from the effects of the poison, they were as good as dead. He shuddered to think what punishments the Ottoman Emperor might dream up for him before his body gave out.
Kemal steered them onwards. “Remain patient. Turkish soldiers seem to relish the opportunity to delay men on urgent business.”
A long line had formed at the portcullis and there was a murmur of discontent from those that waited on both sides. As they joined the queue, a soldier singled Kidd out and barked a series of questions. Kidd looked around hopelessly, unable to understand what he had been asked. The guard was quickly annoyed by the lack of a response and pushed Kidd up against the wall, his hand falling on The Tears. Kemal gently prised the guard away with appeasing words. A bribe ended the soldier’s enquiry and he pocketed the purse with a glib comment.
Eventually the portcullis was raised, chains clinking in the gears. Kemal led them through. They mounted their horses and set off at a strong pace. “We’re safe for now,” he said after they had travelled some distance. “The gatekeepers are often testy in the morning. They have a quota to reach.”
Despite Kemal’s reassurance, Kidd held The Tears tight in his fist for many hours afterwards. He found the return trek across the desert much more bearable. The sand seemed to rush effortlessly under Esperanza’s hooves. Progress was swift. Even the sand didn’t bother him as much as before. He wasn’t even saddle sore when they dismounted for brief rests. He wondered if it might be an effect of wearing The Tears, but perhaps he had simply become accustomed to riding a horse.
Despite the accounts of Jabez and Lawrence, Kidd wasn’t aware of any benefits bestowed upon him by contact with The Tears. He could still feel the pins that held his metal gloves in place, and if he worked his hands too much they ached just as much as they had done before. Occasionally he heard more whispers on the wind, but the voices were so distant he decided it was just the desert playing tricks on his ears.
By the afternoon of the second day out of Damascus, the journey had become taxing and wearisome for the other riders. As they had done in the first crossing, they had chosen to avoid roads and established caravan routes. Kemal had to pause often to check their position with his compass. It was easy to drift off course in the shifting dunes. Navigating in the cool of night with the stars for a guide made for an easier journey, but haste was now imperative and every mile gained was precious. Kidd felt certain Suleiman would have despatched his forces to recapture The Tears by now. They rode on without rest.
Flint suffered the most from the forced march. He fell back repeatedly, desperately trying to wring the last drops of water from his empty skin. Kidd offered to share, but he refused with feverish outbursts. Finally, heat and exhaustion got the better of him and he slumped from the saddle and fell into the sand.
Kidd dismounted and lifted his partner in his arms. Flint was shivering despite the heat. “Man down!”
Bay rounded up the horses while Kemal examined Flint. He placed a broad hand across Flint’s brow. “He has the desert sickness. The only cure is plenty of water and bed rest.”
“We can’t afford to stop for long.”
“Then you have a difficult choice to make,” Kemal replied. “If we stop we risk being caught by the Turks. If we continue to ride we must leave Tom behind.”
“No.”
“He will slow us down, and the desert sickness will only take him sooner. I am not suggesting we leave him here to die. We can build the tent and leave water and supplies. If he recovers he may find his way out of the desert.”
Kidd clutched The Tears and looked long and hard at his friend lying in the sand. The memory of Flint’s face on the day he was dragged through London in chains returned with clarity. “No. I abandoned him once before and I won’t do it again. We’ll rest long enough to get him back on a horse and press on.”
Bay unbuckled the pack containing the tent. “Your kindness is more than your friend deserves. I don’t know if he would do the same for you.”
They pitched the tent and lay Flint on a blanket out of the burning sun. He woke for a short time and drank deeply before slipping back into a troubled sleep. After several hours his condition remained the same.
Kidd could do little but remove his boots and air his feet. He wished he could do the same with his gauntlets. He scrunched his toes and rested his heels in the sand. With all the tales of The Tears healing sickness and injury, he had secretly hoped they might restore his hands. Then he could take up a sabre and a pistol again, and settle the score with Hamilton Rush. A puff of wind blew into the tent bringing brief respite from the heat. As it died away Kidd heard the sound of hoof beats in the distance. He pulled on his boots, crept outside, and shielded his eyes against the sun.
There was nothing on the horizon in any direction, nothing but endless sand. The breeze washed over his face again and the same sound filled his ears. Every instinct in his body told him to flee. “Kemal! Bay! We’re being tracked.”
The Masala’s First Mate shook his head. “I see nothing.”
“They’re out there. Trust me.”
“Then we must leave now and ride fast,” Kemal replied. “We cannot hope to outrun trackers carrying someone sick. We must abandon Tom or perish ourselves.”
“Nobody gets left behind.” Kidd pulled the canvas from the tent and hoisted Flint onto his shoulder. “Help me get him onto his horse.”
“Ah, what the hell are you doing?” slurred Flint. “My head hurts. Leave me be.”
Bay lifted Flint into the saddle, and they tied his hands together around the horse’s neck. Kidd mounted Esperanza and gathered Flint’s reins with his own. “Too many men have died already,” he said and took off with Flint in tow. They pressed on at the best speed they could manage, but Flint’s horse was wayward, and Kidd soon found he couldn’t guide two horses effectively at a rapid pace.
His instinct that they were being followed was soon confirmed. Two sets of black specks appeared on the skyline, silhouetted against the orange sunset. They were moving fast, and Kidd knew there was little hope of outrunning them while they were hampered.
Bay raised his hand another thirty degrees along the horizon. A third group of riders were visible. He shifted his finger again and pointed out a fourth group. “Why do the horsemen choose to ride at such a distance from each other?”
“Yes, that’s strange,” agreed Kemal. “They cannot hide their numbers in the desert and are more vulnerable in small groups.”
Kidd counted them off. “Unless they’re not together. Four sets of riders and four sets of competitors for The Tears, the English, the French, the Spanish, and now the Turks. Our paths are about to cross.”
“If you will not abandon Flint,” said Kemal, “you must hold them off until I can bring aid.” He took a bearing from his compass. “An ancient watchtower lies in this direction, a ruin from the time when these sands were the frontier of the empire and Persia. It will make a suitable stronghold for a short time. I will ride hard for Beirut and muster aide, but you will have to defend your position for at least a day.”
Kidd snapped Esperanza’s reins. “I understand.”
They rode on while the darkness closed in. Kemal lit a candle and placed it in his travelling lantern. Late at night they found the watchtower, a huge black spear in the sand that blott
ed out the moon and stars. Once it had been a lighthouse in the sea of sand, a beacon on the border of the expanding Roman Empire. Now it was an abandoned ruin in the middle of nowhere.
“This is where we part ways.” Kemal unbuckled his saddlebags. “Take my munitions and supplies. I’ll ride faster without a burden. Good luck. I shall return soon with help.” He straddled his horse in one motion, checked his compass, and galloped off into the night.
Kidd risked lighting a lantern as they circled the ancient structure. The watchtower itself was protected by a twenty foot high ring-wall. They found the ruined remains of a gateway leading to a small inner courtyard. It would have accommodated two men on horseback once, but now there was only a narrow channel wide enough for one man to enter at a time. Bay gathered Flint in his arms like a child and they scrambled inside over the broken brickwork.
The tower was partially ruined, but looked sturdy enough. They crossed the courtyard, passed through an archway, and climbed a dusty staircase to the top of the turret. The watch room had eight windows facing each compass point. “This is where we’ll make our stand,” said Kidd. “We’ll be able to see the enemy for miles around.”
Once Flint had been settled on a blanket, they began the arduous task of ferrying supplies through the derelict outer wall. As Bay lifted the last of the saddle bags, Kidd was left to decide what to do with the horses. They would never fit through the breach. He scratched Esperanza behind the ear. She whinnied softly and nuzzled him on the cheek with her damp nose. “Good luck,” he said, “find your way home.” He turned to Bay. “Disband the horses. We have to seal the outer wall.”
“Ah, tis a shame,” said Bay, “they were some fine mares.” He led them away from the tower, and one by one, slapped their thighs to set them off at a gallop into the night.
Meanwhile, Kidd sorted through the supplies and gathered what he needed to block the entrance. First he tore a blanket into strips, and soaked one with lamp oil. He took some rum and grudgingly emptied the contents on the sand. He filled the bottle with gunpowder from a canister and packed the neck with the oil soaked strip. He carefully placed the makeshift bomb high in the loose brickwork and lit the fuse.
Iron William and the Carpenter's Tears Page 23