Dark Wolves

by J A Deriu

  “Did you ever have anything like this in your village?” Gaspar asked.

  “We had dances,” Jack answered, “but not like this with so many people.”

  “Enjoy yourself, but no liquor. I know it is here. I can smell it.”

  Jack sniffed at the air but could not discern any unusual smells other than the food and the sweat of the bodies.

  He sat against a wall, unsure of what to do. It was a similar feeling to that of his time alone in the forest. Odo and Hoston went toward the food. Gaspar spoke to people and was pulled away to talk to more. An old man next to Jack slept. People looked in his direction. He assumed they were looking at the old man. He sat uncomfortably. He was too young to join or play a part in this. He tried to focus on the music and the songs that were being sung. The singing was in English, but they were singing so fast that he could not follow the words.

  There was someone watching him. He could feel their stare. He turned his head sharply, and the person was startled. She turned away to pretend that she had been looking elsewhere and then, a few moments later, guiltily turned back. She was a girl of about the same age as he.

  He looked away to the wild dancers but could not help turning back. She had disappeared into the crowd. He was relieved that he would not need to talk to her. He was unsure whether Templars were allowed to talk to women. Along their journey the Templars had spoken to many, always courteous and overly helpful. They had cleaned a pigsty and changed a wheel on a motor vehicle for women who had looked like they needed aid. And afterward without comment about the unavoidable relationships between men and women and how they were expressed. He left his seat. He wanted to see if the Templars were speaking to women so that if a girl looked at him again, he would know what to do.

  Hoston certainly was. There was an older woman with the look of a serving maid who was feeling his golden hair as though it were a silk fabric. He was enjoying the touch with a smile across his face, his arm over her shoulders, and his eyes falling helplessly to her bosom. Odo spoke to a group as though he were lecturing. They stood around a table with plates of food being the subject of the conversation. The group included women, and Odo’s face was covered with concentration as they exchanged viewpoints in regard to the feast before them.

  Jack thought that they were not the best example of the behavior of a Templar. Gaspar was his mentor. He searched for him. He was not among the exuberant groups that were dancing. He moved through the groups without hindrance and was mostly ignored. He thought he saw the same girl peep at him from behind the shield of a body, but when he looked a second time, she was not there. The people overflowed to the outside. A boy and girl were kissing in an alcove with their hands moving over each other’s bodies with no restraint. They looked the same age as he. He stopped to look longer than he should have and rebuked himself for the ungodly thoughts that followed.

  He moved freely, glad to be away from the crowd. He saw three men standing under a large tree. The familiar, lean figure of Gaspar was among them. One of the other men was the barber, Roberto. The third man, he did not know. They were lit by a lantern that hung from a branch. Jack was covered by the shadow thrown by the building. He could move close to them without being seen, which is what he did, without any thought. He was sure that Gaspar was not involved in the frivolity of the others, and he did not want to disturb, but rather observe.

  “What is that date?” Gaspar was asking. “I do not keep the Ottoman calendar.”

  “It is the current year,” Roberto answered, “the year of our Lord two thousand and twenty.”

  “Then this is the time,” the third man said. “The dates match. The time is prescient. We are called to duty.” He was a tall man. His voice was familiar to Jack, and he strained his eyes to see him better.

  ‘Then we act,” Gaspar said. “I had no doubt we would act. I did not cross the lands as a sightseer. It is our time.”

  “I will have the largest store of hair cream in the city then,” Roberto said.

  “And I will get it to you,” the tall man said. The wind changed, and a sniff of the group passed Jack. He recalled the perfumed smell. He was the traveling salesman who had visited the tall timbers. Jack edged backward. He thought that he was not supposed to hear this conversation, as he was not supposed to hear the one in the village that long time ago. When he got farther away, he quickened his pace until he stopped for the hall, which he did not want to re-enter. He stood outside watching the revelers that preferred the outside. He stood away from them, his eyes pulled to the young couples.

  The hands clasped down on his shoulders. Startled, he turned quickly. He had not heard a noise to give away somebody approaching him from behind. It was Gaspar. “What is it, Landry?” he said. “Is the dancing not enjoyable for you?”

  “I don’t know anyone,” Jack replied.

  “Ah, that’s the idea. You are to make friends.” The other two men were with him. “You remember Roberto, the haircutter. And this is Felix.” Jack nodded at the two. The barber smiled. The tall man studied him. “It is well that you are out here. There is some news for you.” He turned to the tall man. “Brother Felix, this is the boy, Landry.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, young man,” Felix said.

  “Brother Felix has news in regard to your friend Joy,” Gaspar said to Jack.

  “Have you heard of the Children of Liberty?” Felix asked and looked across the square to make sure that no one was within hearing distance.

  “Only what Gaspar has said,” Jack answered.

  “I have told him how these times are not right. That there was a free country before the Ottomans. That had freed itself from an empire, only to be crushed by another and stamped into darkness. Those that defeated the first empire were known as the Sons of Liberty. Those that will defeat the second are known as the Children of Liberty.”

  “Brother Gaspar has told you well then,” Brother Felix said. “The Children of Liberty are readying themselves. We are not their masters, nor they ours. Yet we have the same goals, albeit from different motivations. Theirs is from the yearn for freedom. Ours is as fighters for Christ. Thus, we share much information. They have spies in the governor’s palace. I am a man, as a trader, that is allowed to cross into the city each day. I am our contact with the Children. Brother Gaspar and Brother Roberto have told me of your quest to free this girl from a life of slavery and gave me your exact description. I met with one of the spies this morning. He said that it is certain that the girl is in the palace and serving the governess.”

  Gaspar firmly touched Jack’s shoulder. “Landry, she is there. I have not forgotten, nor will I forget. We will find a way for her to be free.”

  “She is in danger,” Brother Felix said. “A way needs to be found. Time will not be friendly. She will be selected or not for a harem shortly. If she is selected, it will be impossible to free her, and if she fails, it will be a life of misery.”

  The others waited for Jack to understand what had been said. His thinking was interrupted by cries from the hall. Gaspar looked across. “That time already.” The music had stopped, and the revelers were hurrying out of the hall. He turned to the other two. “We will talk again soon.” Then he turned to Jack. “Let’s go.”

  Gaspar jogged toward the street. Jack followed. The revelers were scattering, still in joyous spirits, laughing and jesting. “What is happening?” Jack asked.

  “It is curfew time,” Gaspar answered. “Where are the others?”

  They passed a liquor seller who was loading his half-empty bottles onto his cart. He looked across at them. “The governor wants his taxes but gives us little time to trade,” he annoyedly said.

  They leaped down the steps to the street. “If they catch him selling liquor, it will be more than taxes. He will be whipped,” Gaspar quipped to Jack.

  “Why is there a curfew?” Jack asked.

  Gaspar shrugged.
“It has always been.” He considered for a moment. “This is a Christian town, and this is how the Ottomans rule.”

  On their flanks doors of homes were being closed and window curtains pulled down. Shouts came from behind. It was the familiar voices of Odo and Hoston.

  Chapter Twelve

  She could not pick which one was him and worried that he was not among them. She moved closer to the pier and used her hand to cover her eyes from the glare of the sun. Side by side with the livestock, the passengers came off the boat. They wore the headgear and camel-hair robes of the Arabs. She was wearing the clothes of a civilian with a cap pulled low to cover most of her face. The Guild of Assassins stalked the island, and it was thus a necessity for her to conceal her identity. As the last of the passengers shuffled across the gangplank, she felt the emptiness of a missed appointment. The message had said that he would be on the boat.

  She had come alone. She walked to the end of the pier and watched the unloading of the grain. She felt a presence behind her and turned like a soldier. Her fists were ready to strike. He looked back at her with a clever smile. He had become an Arab. His skin was tanned and his jawline unshaven. His head was wrapped in an Arab scarf with a spiral of the material hanging to cover part of his face.

  They walked along the dirt road. She stopped when they were clear of other people, only a goat chewing tilted its head to watch them pass. “I got to know. I can’t wait,” she said.

  “Yes,” he answered, “I think there is a way.”

  She smiled. They were the words that she had been wanting to hear from him. “I knew you would answer like that, Frank. I knew it. Walk quickly. There is much to talk about.” They moved through the camp. The sentry nodded when he recognized her. Frank Paulus studied the camp with long glances of either side. His look did not tell her if he was impressed by its swelling size. Tents were as far as could be seen with lines hung for the drying of clothes, rifles standing with bayonets fixed leaning against each other, and above it all the gray and black Templar banners swayed in the humid breeze.

  Greta guarded the command tent. Frank stopped to look at her. “You look different,” he said.

  “And you do too,” she answered.

  Clavdia touched his shoulder. “Let’s go inside. Remain on duty, Captain. What happened to Pedro?”

  “He is not well, Lord Commander.”

  Clavdia and Frank Paulus went into the command tent. “What happened in here?” he said. “What have you been doing?” Across the floor there were empty bottles of alcohol. Frank picked one up. It was brandy. There was a hookah pipe among messed cushions and silk sheets.

  “Ah, it hasn’t been cleaned. There was an assassin.”

  “And he did this?”

  “No, this was the idea of the Janissary general, Deen.”

  Frank looked at her blankly.

  “The assassin tried to kill me. I caught him. This was Deen’s idea to get him to talk and divulge who he was working for.”

  “How?”

  “Assassins don’t talk to their captors. They would rather die. It is unforgivable for them to be captured. There is a trick. Captain Miles questioned him hard and could not get any information out of him. Then he lost his patience. He poisoned him. Poured poison down his throat and told him that he was on his way to hell. Only it wasn’t poison. It was a strong sleeping drug. The assassin woke up a day later in here. But it didn’t look like this. There were gold and purple silks hanging from the walls, the best utensils we could find, gold and silver, embroidered cushions, narcotics, liquor, and beautiful women.”

  “Ah, explains Greta. It was makeup on her face.”

  “Yes, Greta was one of them. She is very beautiful. She looked stunning last night, as did the other women. The ruse is to convince him that he is dead. Then he will talk, as he has no fear in regard to divulging who hired him. It is delicate, though, like an elaborate play, and the language is an added complication. We only had one woman who speaks Turk.” She picked up a cushion. “Find a spot. Sit down. We have much to talk about.”

  “And who is he working for? I mean, and also, how did you survive? An assassin … no one survives an assassin.”

  “I was swimming. There was a fight. I had the strength of the Blessed Virgin Mary, nothing more. As to who he was working for we got some information, it is being checked. Captain Miles will report.”

  “And the assassin?”

  “He is at the bottom of the ocean.”

  Frank nodded.

  “There is no mercy for assassins in this war,” she said.

  “Nor should there be. But who, who would he be in the employ of?”

  “Templars have many enemies. A Templar Commander many more. Now tell me of your adventures.”

  He wrinkled his nose at the smell of hashish that lingered and moved a bottle before sitting on a cushion across from her. “There were many, but I admit to being flustered. It would have been terrible to return to the news that you had fallen to an assassin.”

  “As I said, the Blessed Virgin Mary protected me.”

  “Of course, she did,” he said. His eyes were as observant as they always were.

  “Are you hungry. Eat something. There is food about. Eat while you talk.”

  “I will tell you, as I can see that you are eager. There is plenty of time for food later. I will need sleep as well. The African continent is not conducive to sleep, and my mission did not encourage it either. I will tell you what you need to know. I will keep it short. I arrived at the Port of Djibouti. It is a large city, full of intrigue. Easy to find information. Harder to find out if that information is true.”

  “Ha, yes, a nice opening line.”

  “I am not trying to be too dramatic. I arrived when the Abyssinian rebellion was only weeks old. The city is a Persian garrison. The garrison commander had not decided to leave yet, so I was able to see both sides. The rebels took control of the city. The commander stayed in the barracks. But the soldiers did not. They continued to enjoy the taverns, cathouses, as they always did, as though nothing had happened, drinking alongside the rebels. My Persian is good. I learned it at the academy, mainly to study their war manuals. Many of the close-fought wars of the last centuries have involved the Persians. I spent time in the taverns masking myself as a freelancer. The city was full of mercenaries attracted to the smell of war. I learned nothing of use in the taverns other than mercenaries like to drink beer. I am not trained in these arts. I waited, aware that I was being watched and studied. After days it seemed that whoever was watching me was confident enough to make contact. It was early morning. I was returning to my room at the hotel. My senses are good. I had not been drinking. Yet they kidnapped me with ease. I did not hear them. At first, I thought they could be common robbers, but they were too careful, too polite. I knew that this was to be our contact. They put a sack over my head that was pulled tightly, but not a mark on me.” He pulled down on his collar to show his neck.

  “I was moved quickly. There were many of them. Four at the least. Firstly, I was shoved into the boot of a motor vehicle, a rattler. I was in there for a long time, close to a full day. The only stops for gasoline. I was moved to another motor vehicle, all the time my head still hooded. The men said nothing. Even their breathing was hard to hear. But they were not rough, guiding me like a blind man, not an abductee. This motor vehicle moved with speed, and it was hours more in there, with stops, but no one opened the boot, not until much later, when I had fallen asleep. I was parched, exhausted, dead, and thinking that your mission was the end for me. I was pulled out. I could hear the noises and the smell of the wilderness. I was walked across gravel, then stones, sharp turns, and then steps to a very cold place. I was sat down and the hood taken off. My eyes adjusted. I was sitting on a stool. It was dark except for a lamp that sat on a table in front of me. On the table there was a jug of water and a bowl with cereal. I
drank and ate. I was alone. Or I thought I was alone. I finished the food and was wiping my mouth when someone spoke from the dark.

  “‘I am going to ask you some questions to establish who you are,’ he said. He then asked background questions. I answered them all. He was satisfied. He then asked, ‘Do you know who we are?’ I said no. He said, ‘The New Europeans will be landing a force on these lands to aid the rebellion. We are supporting their cause. We will be their eyes and ears, and a spoke in the wheel of the enemy. We are the Brotherhood of Saint George, Protectors of the Ark of the Covenant. We are as old as the time of the Christian Kings of Jerusalem. Your people will find us a powerful ally.’ I told him of my mission. He answered, ‘We will meet again. There is much work to be done.’

  “Hands reached for me out of the darkness, and I was tapped to stand. I expected to be hooded again, thinking that the meeting was over. Instead, I was led out of the room and through a hallway with barely enough light to see. The men in front and behind, although only a touch away – I could not see their faces. They steered me into a room. A fire was lit so more could be seen than before. They did not enter the room. I was left standing. I could tell that it was a holy place. There was a stone altar in front of me and a wooden cross on the wall. I did not know what to do. I waited. Maybe someone would talk again. There was nothing. I began to focus on my surrounds. The fire burning from the corner threw shadows over the room. The plain altar. The bare cross. I felt what was expected. I dropped to my knees and bowed my head. I was a man of faith in those moments. But that is another discussion. I was touched on the shoulder, and we were moving again. I was hooded and taken away. That was the end of my first meeting with these people. It was the boot of the motor vehicle again and the long trip back to the port.”