Blood and Oak- Wolves Will Eat

by Garrett Bettencourt

“If we do not, the sultan will send assassins to collect both our heads.”

  “If I were any other man, he would have long ago.” Naim looked into his pupil’s eyes. “Never forget I brought Sultan Selim into this world with my own hands. Even as he wore the blood of his mother’s womb, my touch anointed him with the blood of his enemies. He will not forget his debt to me—and to you. I ask you, my honored right hand, to place in me the trust I have placed in you.”

  Reluctantly, Isitan nodded. “I will prepare the men for the search.”

  “Thank you, Commander. Now, I would like to be alone.”

  ###

  “Let them go,” said Kaitlin, scooting closer. She spoke with calm beyond her years. “Lay down the gun. Come with me instead.”

  John watched Naim from behind the gunsight. Naim and Isitan had been calmly chatting, but now they were parting ways. Ethan’s words of a month ago echoed in his memory.

  “Anger is consuming you. Every time you betray your conscience in Kaitlin’s name, you lose another piece of your soul.”

  “Damnit, Kaitlin,” John said, refusing to abandon his aim. “If I wait much longer, I’ll miss my shot at Naim. And we’ll both be blown to hell.”

  “I cut the fuses,” Kaitlin replied.

  “You what?” John glared at his sister, spitting each whisper. “Do you realize what you’ve done? Stupid girl!”

  Kaitlin recoiled as if she’d been slapped, her eyes wide with shock, her brows trembling with hurt. “So, you fought an army of corsairs to save your sister, but I’m supposed to run away and watch my brother die? Well, I can’t. I don’t want you to die for me—or anyone else—and I don’t care if it makes you cross!”

  As he looked at his sister’s wounded expression, John felt a sickening guilt. Who had he become that he could speak to her that way? His little sister, whom he’d read to, played games with, and fought to protect? Ashamed, John looked back to his aim. His finger trembled near the trigger.

  “You think only of the day Katie and Nora are rescued,” Ethan says, “but what of the day after? What will be left of John Sullivan?”

  After a few terse words, Isitan and the rest of the Djedid in the room filed out. The doors of the Great Hall snapped closed. Naim was alone. The sultan’s agent paced a circle as if lost in thought, his bare feet scrunching the edge of the carpet.

  John could still make the kill. “Please, Katie, I’m begging you, get out of here. I have to finish this. I will not lose our one chance for revenge.”

  Naim at last lifted his gaze and started toward the courtyard. He stopped halfway to the Great Hall door. He cast a glance over his shoulder. His gaze swept over the spot where John and Kaitlin hid. A bead of sweat ran down John’s temple. His heart skipped a beat as he looked his enemy dead in the eye through the grate. Did Naim see the grate? Or did he see John?

  ###

  The moment the last Djedid soldier left and every door to the Great Hall clicked closed, Naim let go a sigh. Despite his confident words, it was unusual for his prey to slip their bonds. Something was amiss. Sullivan must have had help. A moment ago, Naim was tempted to draw his sword and execute one of Isitan’s soldiers as punishment. It took all his effort to stay in control and say what his protégé needed to hear. Resisting his violent urges got harder every day. Naim dug his bare toes into the carpet, reading the prayers embroidered at his feet. But their ancient wisdom could no longer move his heart—like a favorite story read one too many times. He could feel himself slipping toward oblivion, and since the death of his son, he could not stop the descent.

  Naim needed to write. He needed the quill and the chronicle. After he found Sullivan. Until then, there could be no peace. He set a brisk pace to the broad double doors of the Great Hall, ready to stride down into the courtyard as the indomitable Chronicler of Constantinople. But something made him stop.

  It wasn’t a sound, exactly, nor a smell, nor a sight. Something deep in Naim—an instinct sharpened in his youth, dulled with age, tempered with experience—felt the presence. Was someone else here? Were there eyes watching him from the shadows? Naim looked around the empty hall. Torch sconces flickered on the columns. Early dawn light shone through the windows. The stained glass above the balcony grew brighter. The hall was empty. Silent. And yet, he could not banish the tingling in his bones.

  A cord of pain tightened in Naim’s neck, tugged down his back, and drilled into his hips. Long hours on his feet got harder every year. He massaged the ache, realizing he wasn’t the man of his youth. Like a tarnished blade, the older Naim got, the more his senses needed the whetstone. He turned back toward the door. It was one thing to admit the ravages of time. Quite another to be fooled by tricks of shadow.

  ###

  John was surely spotted. But then Naim’s eyes relaxed, and he massaged his neck. The sultan’s agent strode toward the door, stopping to put on his boots before he exited the hall. John pressed the musket butt against his shoulder, eager to make the shot.

  “Let it go, John.” Kaitlin’s breath tickled his ear, much as it had when she was little. Back then, she liked to whisper questions while he read her Tommy Gingerbread. “Let go of revenge. Let go of hate.”

  “I can’t.” John’s lips trembled as he held back tears. His knuckles turned white on the rifle. “I can’t—and damn you for asking!”

  “Melisande is right,” hissed Kaitlin. “You’re a pigheaded ass!”

  “They took our home. They killed our brother. They killed our mam. Naim, the bey, the Barbary Pirates—they can’t get away with what they’ve done! If I don’t fire, Naim comes after us again.”

  “And if you fire, neither of us gets out alive. Let him go today—so you can live tomorrow.”

  Naim pulled on his second boot and started toward the double doors.

  A silver glint flashed in the side of John’s eye. Kaitlin held up the Islanded Lion—the unique silver coin John had given her as a child. “Remember what you told me? The Islanded Lion was magic. And he would keep me safe if I kept him close. Well, I did. And when I was strong enough on my own, I sent the Lion to you.”

  “It was a stupid story. There was never any real magic.”

  “You’re wrong. The magic was real. It brought you back to me.” Kaitlin’s cheeks flushed red as she fought against tears. “It wasn’t magic like in a story. It was love.”

  Naim opened the doors and stepped into the cold morning. Soon, he would be out of sight. John’s finger trembled near the trigger. He had to fire. He would fire.

  “We can be a family again,” Kaitlin continued. “Few slaves ever get that chance. Did you really travel all this way to die? To leave me again?”

  Ethan looks at John with solemn, penetrating eyes. Theirs is a friendship across oceans, across races, across time. A bond that preserved them in the darkest watches of the night. He says, “Part of saving your family is saving yourself.”

  John’s eyes opened, tears blurring the sight of his sister.

  Kaitlin’s hand closed on his. “Come home, Johnny.”

  John blinked, and a tear escaped his eye. A soothing warmth spread through his body. It was a feeling he couldn’t explain. After five years of clinging to a life raft, he’d finally found the shore. His grip loosened on the musket. He watched as Naim walked onto the battlements and the doors slammed shut.

  “Okay, Rabbit…” John uncocked the gun and laid it down. “Let’s go home.”

  Kaitlin nodded. She wiped away tears and threw her arms around him.

  As he parted from the embrace, John saw his sister with new eyes. “How did you get to be so strong, anyway?”

  “You learn a lot from having two big brothers.”

  John quietly laughed. His eyes roamed the ornate architecture. “I’m sorry, Katie. I’m afraid I’ve gotten us in real trouble. I don’t know a way out of here.”

  “Leave that to me,” said Kaitlin. “Do you trust me, Johnny?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then follow me
and do just like I do.” Kaitlin drew her cloak around her shoulders and stood up.

  “Right behind you.” John tucked a second pistol into his belt.

  “No.” Kaitlin stayed John’s hand. “You won’t need all those weapons. There’s another way.”

  Chapter 16

  The Lake Fort

  Great Hall

  Sunday, September 11th, 1803

  Day 2, Near Dawn

  John kept only one pistol. The rest he left on the floor with the muskets, grenades, and extra dirks. His sword and naval dagger—Ace and Spade—were sheathed at his belt. He followed Kaitlin down the spiral of stairs. The planks groaned under John’s feet, but somehow, Kaitlin’s steps made barely a sound. At the foot of the stairs, John was about to open the door a crack and peek into the hall, but she caught his hand.

  “No,” whispered Kaitlin. She was nearly invisible in the dark. “Wait.”

  John nodded and leaned against the opposite wall. Huddled in the tight space, he caught a subtle scent in the air. Like a spring flower, but not one he recognized. It was Kaitlin. She’d lived so long in this land, she not only dressed like Tunisians, she bathed with their soaps.

  A moment later, they heard a group of soldiers jog by on the other side of the door.

  “A little longer,” said Kaitlin.

  “Katie,” John whispered. He knew it wasn’t the time, but he could restrain his curiosity no longer. “How did you do all this? Get Melly and Ethan out? Sneak through this place unseen? Plan an escape for me and Da?”

  A shaft of light fell on Kaitlin’s freckled cheek as she looked through the keyhole. “A thief’s first tool. Knowledge.” She drew back into the darkness. “My fence helped me acquire a map to the castle. An ancient map, from centuries ago, when the Spanish built this fort. My fence says Crusaders were wily folk. Loved their secret exits. The map revealed a hidden passage not known to the Tunisians. It runs straight up the wall of the Grand Tower, from the dungeon, to the kitchen, to Naim’s room.”

  “Naim isn’t from this city,” said John with a smirk. “He didn’t know it was there.”

  “Still doesn’t. The passage was locked from the inside at every entrance, save one: the tower suite. Last night, after months of planning, casing the castle, and memorizing the soldiers’ patrols, I climbed the Grand Tower. After Da told you his story and Naim had gone, I stole through the window and picked the lock on his chest. I read his journals and letters.”

  “Katie! That was dangerous.”

  Kaitlin shrugged. “I did it lots of times. Last night, after I read his journals, I unlocked the passage and left you a note. Simple.”

  A stunning thought occurred to John. “Katie…you were there last night, when Naim made Declan tell me his chronicle…You saw.”

  “Aye,” she said in a faint whisper.

  Deciding it best to change the subject, John asked, “Can we take the passage back down?”

  “No. The Djedid will search the castle. Especially the dungeons and the sewer. We have to go up.”

  “Katie, there’s something else I need to ask.”

  Kaitlin’s eye moved back into the light of the keyhole.

  “Why oil? If you knew what would happen, why not wine or honey?”

  Kaitlin was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “It’s clear. We have to move.”

  “Katie…”

  “Must you keep calling me that?”

  “Why not?”

  Torchlight spilled into the stairwell as Kaitlin opened the door. “That was my name when I was a little girl. Call me Kaitlin. Or Kait.”

  John’s sister left him no time to press further as she hurried into an empty hall. Half the torches had burned out, but the horseshoe windows of the south hall added the hazy light of the coming dawn.

  As if talking to herself, Kaitlin recited, “Two guards on the east hall, two on the west. A sweep of the south every fourth circuit.”

  John’s leg bounced with nervous energy. “Kaitlin, a guard could come any second.”

  They came to the corner joining the south and east corridors. Kaitlin held up an arm clad in blue silk and a black pauldron. “Wait.” She peeked around the corner.

  John cast a glance back the way they came. Only arches, columns, and shadows.

  “Let’s go.” Kaitlin led him to the door of the castle’s other tower, which was shorter and more decrepit than Naim’s Grand Tower.

  John’s pulse rose when he looked down the east hall. Two guards were walking side-by-side, twenty paces away, their backs turned. If they turned around they would see the intruders. “Kait, there’s no time to pick the lock. They’ll see us.”

  “Don’t have to.” Kaitlin pulled a key from her belt and unlocked the door. “I copied the castle’s keys.” She slipped the brass key back into her belt and led John into the tower room.

  The door snapped closed on a dusty, ancient armory, complete with empty weapon racks and a naked armor mannequin. Most of the wooden upper floors had rotted away, leaving only a few jagged cross beams and piles of detritus. Pigeons nested in every nook, their droppings running down the circular walls like beards of wax. John could see all the way to the conical roof, half of it fallen away in patches.

  “You know, Kaitlin—since we’re on the subject—I haven’t gone by ‘Johnny’ since I was a boy.”

  “I’m your little sister.” Kaitlin puffed out her lower lip. “I can call you what I please.”

  “And how is that fair?”

  “Time to move.”

  “But the stairs…” John looked at the alcove leading to the spiral steps. A mound of crumbled stone was all that was left of them.

  Kaitlin unslung another tool from her shoulder. An odd stick, bent in the middle, with coils of rope wound around the end. “Watch this!”

  She threw the stick, and it spun upward, rope unwinding like a spider web. She caught it as it sailed back down, then made a series of strange knots. When she had a rope secured to a load-bearing beam, she started to climb. She was already stepping onto a crescent of boards on the floor above when she said, “It’s silk rope. Light, but very strong. Climb.”

  The scar across John’s back burned the moment he put his weight on the rope. He grimaced as he climbed. He could feel each place on his body where the Barbary Pirates nearly hacked him to death. When Kaitlin helped him onto the floor above, he was winded from the pain.

  “We can cross through the next room to a balcony,” said Kaitlin as she pulled John to his feet. “There’s a ledge running along the outer wall to the Grand Tower, and then to the tower roof. I have a rope ladder hidden up there with a few supplies we can use. We’ll have to swim the lake.” Kaitlin dashed over to the door and peeked out. “Damn!”

  “What is it?” John clutched the bullet scar aching in his side.

  “Djedid. Four in the storeroom. They’re not supposed to be up here.”

  John peeked through. From the corner where the room joined the tower, he could see all four Djedid picking through the stacks. A lantern on a stack of barrels set their buckles agleam. Two were on the far side, passing sacks of flour down from a shelf. A third was nearby, checking his pocket watch. The fourth was only a few paces from the tower door—a soldier with a paunch at the beltline. He was using his bayonet to pry the lid off of a cask.

  “Is there another way around?” whispered John.

  “No.” Kaitlin reached into her cloak and produced a small coin purse. She tied the drawstring into a loop. “I swiped some coins from their quartermaster. I was hoping to take at least one piece of loot.” She sighed, then used a pocketknife to cut a slit in the bottom.

  “Stand back.” John reached for the hilt of his sword. “I’ll handle this.”

  “No!” Kaitlin whispered. “You said you’d trust me.”

  Conflict welled up in John. Letting his little sister lead—a girl he’d come to save—went against every fiber of his being. But her pleading eyes got the better of him, and he let go of his sword.


  “I’ll be right back.” Kaitlin darted into the storeroom.

  She wove behind a stack of barrels, silent as falling snow. The portly Djedid was oblivious of the shadowy figure moving behind the tightly packed supplies a few feet to his right. She paused at the end of the row, behind a chest to Fat Djedid’s immediate left. Several crates hid her from the other three. The portly soldier pulled a partially molded wedge of cheese from a barrel. He sniffed it, his mustache ticking as he recoiled. Then, with a furtive glance at his comrades, he took a bite.

  The moment Fat Djedid’s back was turned, Kaitlin darted out. For two harrowing seconds, she was in the aisle of stacks, in full few of the other three soldiers ten paces away to her left. A balcony window threw a shaft of dawn light on her. John watched through the crack in the tower door, heart pounding, as his sister’s gloved fingers hung the drawstring of the pouch on the hilt of the soldier’s scimitar. The other three continued their work. The one with the pocket watch looked up, brows knitting, then glanced down the aisle. Kaitlin was already behind the barrels again.

  With a certain awe, John watched his sister sneak back to the tower door, moving and pausing in perfect time to the soldiers’ movements. Fat Djedid absently paced to another row of barrels as he nibbled the cheese. Kaitlin darted back into the tower room with John.

  “Damnit, Kait!” whispered John. “That was dangerous as Hell.”

  “Nonsense. I am the magnificent Red Hart.” Kaitlin flashed a grin. She tapped two fingers on her belt, showing where she hung the coin pouch on the soldier. “That’s the thief sign for ‘the loot is planted.’ A pocket is always easier to lade than pick.”

  John sighed. “Now what?”

  “We wait.”

  In the storeroom, Fat Djedid was finishing the wedge of cheese. He hurried to smear the crumbs on his pantaloons, erasing the last evidence of his indulgence.

  Ting!

  A gold coin landed at the soldier’s feet. His brows knit together. He stared at the coin, spinning on the floor, then bent to pick it up. He shrugged and slipped it into his pocket.