“So? You sold your father’s ships to free Katie—not pay off slavers. I would have said the same.”
John’s head slumped. He couldn’t bear to look Ethan in the eye. “Yes, but then we had that fight outside the City Tavern and you were abducted. It didn’t take long before Whitlock sent word to me of what he’d done. I traveled to Richmond with every penny I had, ready to turn it over to Clyde Tindall. But when I met Whitlock and Tindall at a public house, they demanded something else. Tindall said he would accept the sum if I apologized to him, before all the onlookers in the tavern, and admitted I was wrong to steal his property.”
Naim continued to circle like a predator.
Ethan’s brows furrowed. “But you said Clyde refused the money. You said a duel was the only price Tindall would accept.”
“That wasn’t…entirely true,” admitted John, swallowing hard. “Clyde Tindall would have taken the money. I almost gave it to him…but I couldn’t bear to grovel for that bastard. So, I insulted Clyde. I called him a coward. I goaded him into a rage, and he issued a challenge. As the man being challenged, I set the terms. If I won, you would go free. If he won, he would keep the money and…”
“Me.” Ethan’s expression was an open wound. He shook his head. “So many times, you promised me you wouldn’t challenge men to duels. But in the end, you got the duel you always wanted. You could have given him the money. Sacrificed your pride. But you wanted your first kill. So you wagered…me.” Ethan spoke the last word as quiet as a breath.
“Yes.” John’s head slumped.
Naim came into view as he completed his circuit of the room.
“I told myself it was the only way to save you and my family,” John murmured. “But after the duel, when I was on the run with Pavia and healing from a bullet in my shoulder, I had a lot of time to think. I realized I was telling myself a lie.”
“You…” Ethan’s voice scraped. “…gambled. With my life.”
“To my great shame… Ethan—”
“Don’t say it! I don’t want to hear it.”
John’s lame apology died in his throat. As terrible as he’d imagined the confession might be, the reality was far worse. Hurt and betrayal brimmed in Ethan’s eyes.
“You see, young Auldon,” said Naim, once again standing beside the hand crusher. “Sullivan did more than gamble with your life. He brought you to ruin.” He looked at John as he reached for the auger.
Ethan pulled desperately—an instinctive attempt to escape the iron clamps, but his hands wouldn’t budge.
“Naim, what are you doing?” John pulled against the rope binding his wrist. “I did what you wanted. I told the truth.”
“You fail to comprehend the chronicle you have written, John Sullivan.” Naim’s hand closed on the handle. “This is not the story of your redemption. Or your downfall. This is the tale of a fool who ruined every soul unfortunate enough to love him.”
“Naim!” John lunged forward, his arm pulling the rope taut. His joints screamed with pain, but he didn’t relent. “I’ll kill you! You hear me, Naim?” Spit flew from John’s mouth. Blood beat in his temples. “I will escape this trap and I will kill every last Nizam-I Djedid. You think you’ve seen Bloody Sully? I will run these walls red! I will cut every last pirate to pieces. I will carve the head from your neck! You hear me? You turn that handle, and I will make this place a monument to death to the last days of your miserable empire!”
Naim’s expression remained stolid as ever. “At last, Sullivan, you speak true.” Naim turned the handle.
Ethan screamed in pain.
John roared, straining against his tether.
The walls shook with the report of a cannon. The crackle of musket fire echoed through the horseshoe windows. Somewhere outside, elsewhere on the fort grounds, fighting had broken out. Naim let go of the hand crusher. Ethan collapsed against the bench, breathing hard. A soldier bounded through the door, speaking frantically in Arabic.
Naim gave a curt reply, then issued orders to his other guards. Shark Eyes and Bony Nose untied John’s hands. Then they released Ethan from the hand crusher. Naim said in English, “Take Sullivan back to his cell. When the Janissaries are dealt with, the work will continue—uninterrupted.”
The Chronicler of Constantinople marched out with military purpose.
Chapter 12
The Lake Fort
Second Floor Chamber
Sunday, September 11th, 1803
Day 2, Pre-Dawn Hours
Kaitlin Sullivan stood on a second-floor balcony beside John’s pretty—if slightly boyish—friend. From this vantage on the western side of the keep, she and Melisande could look down into the fortified docks. The docks were adjoined to the courtyard of the Lake Fort, with two parallel walls extending from the northwest corner of the castle into the water. On the shores of the dockyard, two groups of soldiers were facing off. Yussef Sapatapa, foreign minister to the Bey of Tunis, had his ranks of Janissaries lined up against Varlick Naim’s Nizam-I Djedid. Between the walls of the harbor, two Djedid ketches and the bey’s one-masted yacht floated at anchor. Naim’s right-hand man, Commander Isitan, was having a tense exchange with the gaudy foreign minister. Sapatapa was a slender, muscular man, with finer silks, cosmetics, and jewelry than most princes—the benefits of being Hammuda’s lover.
In theory, the soldiers were all subjects of the Ottoman Empire—allies united in a common cause. But gold wasn’t the only thing a thief could steal. Kaitlin had spent years learning Tunis’ dirty secrets—overhearing scandalous conversations, reading embarrassing diary entries, decoding letters of conspiracy—and she knew well how the Janissaries all over the Ottoman Empire hated the new, European-style army the sultan had created. Naim, Isitan, and the Nizam-I Djedid carried imperial authority, but they were outsiders. Bey Hammuda, his minister Sapatapa, and his Janissaries wanted them gone. The fact they were willing to confront the feared Chronicler of Constantinople showed how desperate they had become.
“So what’s the plan, Red?” whispered Melisande.
Kaitlin pulled Melisande into the shadows of the second-story chamber. The temporary Djedid residents had left this wing of the castle abandoned. The room was barren but for a few scraps of rotting furniture and piles of crumbling stone. The hearths and sconces were empty, leaving the place in total darkness. Even the curtains hadn’t survived the moths.
“I think I can sneak by the patrols and get to the bey’s yacht.” Kaitlin pointed out her proposed route. Taken together, the fortified docks, the fort courtyard, and the castle were connected in the shape of an “L”. She could climb down from the balcony, sneak along the castle’s ramparts, scale the gatehouse joining the courtyard to the docks, then sneak down to the anchored ships. “I’ll set a fire on the ship, providing a distraction. You must get to John and Ethan.”
“Not a chance. I’m not leaving you alone.”
Down in the dockyard, the voices of Isitan and Sapatapa were rising as nerves became frayed.
“I can take care of myself,” Kaitlin protested.
“Elle est trop mignonne,” Melisande cooed in French. Her lips pouted as she pinched Kaitlin’s cheek. “My dear Little Red. I’ve known your brother for two years. In all that time, not even the bloody fingers of Oniate could drag him away from his quest—to save you. Sully is family—and that means you are too. We do this together.”
“Have you got a better idea?”
Melisande peeked over the balcony to the walkway below. The few guards on patrol were clustered at the northwest end of the ramparts, straining for a look at the confrontation down on the docks. “What about that cannon?” asked Melisande, pointing to one of the several small guns aimed between the crenelations. “Is it loaded?”
“All the fort’s guns are loaded. Naim’s orders.”
The elder girl’s eyes lit up. Melisande withdrew a scissor-shaped flint striker from her bandolier bag. “I got it!” Without another word, she vaulted over the balcony rail and found a
toehold on a narrow ledge running along the wall.
“Melisande! Wait!” Kaitlin whispered as loud as she dared. Her heart pounded as she watched the war club-wielding woman drop onto a buttress ledge, then another five feet to the ramparts.
One of the Djedid some thirty feet away heard the sound as Melisande’s feet landed on stone. The soldier looked in her direction, but Melisande had already darted behind the buttress. His eyes narrowed. Then the soldiers in the dockyard burst into laughter, and the guard turned his attention back to the spectacle below. Melisande darted across the path and crept up to the nearest cannon. The muzzle pointed parallel to the dock walls, straight toward the open lake.
This is reckless! thought Kaitlin. Sloppy. A thief needed a plan. What was this woman thinking?
Melisande raised the striker to the touchhole.
###
“I demand to speak to The Chronicler,” said Yussef Sapatapa. The foreign minister for Bey Hammuda of Tunis glowered at the implacable Nizam-I Djedid soldiers. “I have been waiting for hours!”
The Djedid leader, Commander Isitan, blinked. “As I have been saying, Sidi Naim is occupied with imperial business.”
“How dare you delay me so!” Yussef shouted. He surprised even himself with the outburst—such brutish behavior was normally beneath him. But every man’s patience had limits. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, to the three dozen Janissary soldiers ranked up behind him at the shores of the lake. “This is no social call. The bey has given me command of his palace Janissaries with express authority to take possession of the Wolf of Tunis. Where is his flagship?”
“Not here,” said Isitan. “Which means it is on a mission, in service to the sultan and his chronicler. It will return when that mission is done.”
“The Wolf of Tunis was due back a month ago! The bey generously loaned the Chronicler his flagship on condition of its timely return. Much as he generously loaned the use of this fort.” Yussef swept a hand toward the pair of fort walls running along the wharves, ending in watchtowers fifty yards beyond the water’s edge. On the north dock, the bey’s single-masted yacht rested at anchor. On the south, two of the Djedid’s ketch-rigged troop transports were docked. “Do not test me, Commander! I speak for the bey—as surely as if I sat upon his throne.”
“I’m not surprised,” sniffed Isitan. “From what I hear, Hammuda’s throne isn’t the only possession of his you like to… ‘sit upon.’” The Djedid at the gate burst into laughter, as did several on the walls.
Even a few Janissaries chuckled—until Yussef flashed them a murderous look. He glared at Isitan. Even being a privileged court envoy, he was all too aware of his precarious position. Wearing his lover’s fine silks and gold jewelry—only partially covering his shapely torso—set him apart from the hardened soldiers. Yussef loved his wealth, authority, and finery. But at the moment, being the bey’s paramour had its disadvantages.
“Janissaries,” shouted Yussef. “Present arms!”
The dockyard echoed with clattering gunstocks and clicking hammers. Three dozen Janissaries unshouldered their guns, the front row kneeling as they aimed at the gate guards, the back rows fanning their aim among the patrols on the ramparts. The Djedid reacted with equal alarm, their muskets and pistols cocked and leveled in the next breath.
Only Isitan kept his weapons holstered. Yussef could hardly believe he’d uttered the command—a few simple words, and now he stood at the center of fifty-some soldiers, all on the point of slaughter. Yussef abhorred the thought of men maiming and murdering one another, and yet, with a word from him, they would. To Yussef’s surprise, he felt his cock harden.
“Don’t be a fool!” said Isitan. “Order your men to stand down. My garrison is five hundred strong! You’ll be slaughtered.”
“And the bey will send his fleet to surround this island. The soldiers of Istanbul have no authority in Tunis! If I do not receive proof of the sultan’s orders from his chronicler, I will have no choice but to consider you a hostile force and open fire. Now, what shall it be?”
Isitan’s jaw worked for a moment, then he raised a hand. “Lower your weapons,” he commanded. The Nizam-I Djedid obeyed. Looking at Yussef, Isitan said, “Call off your Janissaries and I will go to Sidi Naim with your message. Sufficient?”
“For the moment.” Yussef hid his relief, pretending reluctance as he gave his order to the Janissaries. “Very well, men. You may lower your weapons.”
Muskets shuffled back onto shoulders as the Janissaries relented. Isitan turned toward the gate.
A massive boom ripped through the night. One of the long guns above the gates belched a cloud of flame and smoke. A pistol fired. Then a musket. Yussef and Isitan shouted over the chaos of rifle reports.
###
Kaitlin covered her ears as the big cannon roared. There was a splash in the lake a good distance beyond the dock walls. Men were shouting and firing guns. In the dockyard, several Janissaries traded shots with Djedid. One soldier dropped his weapon and fell over the ramparts. Two of the Janissaries at the lake shore fell dead.
“Stop!” shouted two guards in Arabic. Below Kaitlin’s perch on the balcony, two of the Djedid were chasing after Melisande on the ramparts, guns drawn.
The lusty young woman ran from the smoking cannon with a big smile on her face. “Let’s go, Lil Red!” She dashed through the door beneath the balcony, her Djedid pursuers close behind.
Kaitlin reached for her belt, her fingers going straight for the tool she needed—one of the angled wooden sticks Rune taught her to make. As she drew the Indian weapon—called a valari—she scraped it against a shard of flint stuck through her tool belt. A fuse on the end burst to life. She called this particular weapon in her arsenal a “skunk”—a hollow valari filled with bright-burning, foul-smelling gunpowder. Kaitlin waited until the two soldiers converged below the balcony, oblivious of the thief crouching over their heads. She covered her eyes and threw. The curved stick exploded with blinding light. Kaitlin stole back through the window, leaving Melisande’s pursuers to cough on a cloud of smoke.
Kaitlin sprinted out of the abandoned second-floor chambers, through a torchlit hall, and down the stairs to the Great Hall. The voluminous room, which took up most of the center of the castle, was empty, but she took care to move from pillar to pillar, keeping to shadows. She cut across the first-floor hall and into the powder magazine. She found Melisande amid the aisles of stacked barrels and canvas bags. She was standing over two unconscious soldiers, her war club in hand. The place had a metallic odor, partly from the skunk valari, partly from all the gunpowder.
Melisande panted with hands on knees. “Thanks, Red. Good timing.”
“That was dangerous!” said Kaitlin.
“But it was fun!” The athletic young woman broke into a grin. She was about Kaitlin’s height, but the muscles of her arms were much more defined. She slapped Kaitlin on the shoulder. “That ought to get Ole Scruffy’s attention, eh?”
Kaitlin stared at Johnny’s odd…girlfriend…in amazement. She’s enjoying this! she realized. Despite the older woman’s obvious insanity, Kaitlin felt the urge to smile. In five years, she’d barely spoken to another girl. There weren’t many female thieves. Not that Kaitlin minded spending time with the boys—she and Rune had been inseparable. But to have a female friend…a woman she could confide in…it was a forgotten dream.
“We have to get Johnny,” said Kaitlin, brushing past Melisande. She cracked open the door and looked down the west hall. At the southern end, the entrance to Naim’s Grand Tower swarmed with Djedid soldiers.
“I take it that was our route?” said Melisande, her breath hot behind Kaitlin’s ear.
“That’s our only way into the secret passage,” said Kaitlin. “And to Johnny.”
“Maybe there’s another way to bag this cat,” said Melisande.
Down the hall to the north, Djedid soldiers tramped out of the barracks toward the main doors of the castle, on their way to confront the Janiss
aries. Kaitlin looked into the ice-blue eyes of her companion. “What do you have in mind?”
Chapter 13
The Lake Fort
Grand Tower Stairs
Sunday, September 11th, 1803
Day 2, Pre-Dawn Hours
Ethan Auldon couldn’t stop shaking. He wasn’t sure if the heavy drops on his cheeks were sweat or tears. He looked down at his trembling hands, rattling the shackles. A throbbing purple mound stretched from his wrist to his knuckles. He could still feel the crushing metal vice. Nothing could have prepared him for such pain. Like a dull heat spreading from fingertips to shoulders, steadily rising to red hot. Each tightening of the screws threatened the end of his ability to play his precious fiddle. But even that terrible thought couldn’t compare to John’s confession. His best friend of four years—a man Ethan had taken in from the street, marched beside in a nor’easter blizzard, trained with under Swordmaster Pavia—had gambled with his life.
Bony Nose and Shark Eyes marched down the spiral tower steps alongside Ethan. When they reached the bottom and passed into the junction of the west and south corridors, the guards jabbed him in the side with a musket butt. They prodded Ethan down the west hall along a series of torchlit marble columns.
“Where are you taking me?” Ethan croaked. It sounded more like a whimper than a demand. He didn’t even know why he said it.
“Silence!” The bony-nosed guard on Ethan’s right kicked him behind the knee.
Ethan groaned as he landed on all fours. The bruises from the vice flared with pain. Beads of sweat fell from his forehead to the stone. He gasped for air, feeling a great weight on his chest. The memory of his imprisonment on the Tindall Plantation flooded back.
“You learnin’ yet, boy!” says the cruel voice of Francis Whitlock. The whip cuts like piano wires.
Anger boiled up from somewhere deep in Ethan. Those terrible three weeks should never have happened. John Sullivan could have prevented them with an apology. A disgusting, unpalatable apology. But pride had been too high a price for John Sullivan. Better to kill a man in cold blood. Ethan had given John a home, and what had he gotten in return?
Blood and Oak- Wolves Will Eat Page 7