Читать книгу Desert Rogue - Erin Yorke - Страница 8

The great walls of Khartoum loomed ahead. Their dusty surface, awash with the light of morning, projected a foreboding aura that unsettled Ali Sharouk’s stomach and his throbbing head.

Last night he had thought to ease his plight by partaking of some more zabeeb at El Naharal, a village situated between Khartoum and the quarries to the north, where Jed Kincaid had freely spent a great deal of the ransom money for supplies in pursuit of his wild and improbable rescue scheme.

Though alcohol and Ali had not been acquainted before his encounter with the American, the shopkeeper had embraced it quite willingly yesterday evening, attempting to blot out the presence of the irritating foreigner to whom fate had bound him. Surely Allah would not withhold his forgiveness for such a small transgression, Ali had told himself, especially when the Almighty considered the reason for his humble servant’s uncharacteristic fall from grace. But this morning found Ali less than sharp, and that was a thing that worried him greatly.

“This is not going to work,” he muttered in exasperation. Nevertheless, he plodded along beside Jed as he had for the past few hours, ever since the horses and provisions the American had purchased had been left concealed within a narrow niche in the cliffs to the north.

“Quit your complaining,” Jed replied absently, his sharp green eyes already assessing Khartoum’s walls and the faluccas bobbing in the Blue Nile’s currents before the city’s main gate.

Looking at his fellow traveler, Ali could almost see Jed Kincaid’s silent calculations taking place, his rejection or acceptance of the various options he discerned. The cold, perilous gleam in Kincaid’s eyes made Ali shudder. Surely only a madman could be capable of such intense, single-minded concentration.

To conceal his uneasiness, the tall Egyptian shifted the saddlebag containing explosives that Kincaid had procured from a Frenchman running the quarry below Kerrari. The wisdom of transporting such materials was something else Ali had questioned, but the American was obviously comfortable with danger.

Yet for all Jed Kincaid’s preparations, Ali considered the plan so insane that he wondered how anyone with an ounce of intelligence could think it might succeed. It was the product of either a fool’s thinking or that of a man so bold and arrogant, he could not conceive of failing. Looking at Jed Kincaid, his stubborn jaw set in determination as he continued to scan the city walls, Ali knew into which category his companion fell.

“You know what to do once we pass into the city, don’t you, Ali?” the American drawled, his attention drawn to the swift currents of the Blue Nile as it flowed westward to join the White and form the Great Nile River.

“You’ve only explained it half a dozen times. I do comprehend your language, barbaric a tongue as it may be.”

“No need to get testy,” Jed rejoined, his mouth curved carelessly into a dangerous smile. “At least you’ll be entering Khartoum as a free man. You’re not the one posing as a captive and going into the slave pens.”

“This whole thing is preposterous. You’re simple guessing that’s where the woman is being held. I ought to really sell you for dragging me into this madness and be done with you,” Ali threatened.

Jed stopped abruptly and whirled around to face the merchant, roughly grabbing the neckline of Ali’s gallabiya and pulling the Egyptian so close to him that their faces were only inches apart. “Don’t even think about it, you desert-hatched son of a bitch. Should anything go wrong in there, I’ll track you down and leave your dismembered body for the jackals. Is that understood? Do you think your Fatima would enjoy being a widow?”

“You can’t hold me responsible when this business ends in disaster,” Ali replied, calmly removing Jed’s hands. “If it wasn’t for your damned impulsiveness, the money would have been delivered and we would be on our way back to Cairo.”

“Tell me you’d pay for a delivery of brass at that miserable little shop of yours without getting the goods. Go ahead, convince me of that. It’s no different with Victoria Shaw.”

“By Allah, look at you!” Ali exclaimed. “You’re enjoying every moment of this! If the Shaw woman had not been abducted, you’d be in the middle of something else right now, just as hazardous as this is.”

“Be quiet, Ali,” Jed growled in warning.

“It’s true! You are as drunk on impending danger as I was on last night’s liquor. It’s in your blood, something you crave. You’re so obsessed by it, Kincaid, you don’t even understand the audacity of what you’re doing—or what you’ve already done.”

“What I don’t understand is why a big fellow like you is hesitant about changing things and making them the way he wants them to be,” Jed stated, his voice as sincere as it was critical.

“Of course you don’t. There’s not a shred of civilization about you,” Ali replied with a snort. “Unlike me, you are a man with nothing to lose.”

“I’ve had just about enough of your jabbering,” Jed snapped, turning back to face Khartoum, the city now showing signs of the day’s business getting underway. “I swear, when we get back, I’m going to kill Reed for tying me to you.”

“If we get back. As for being tied, that was your idea, not mine.”

“And that’s why I’m certain this plan will work,” Jed answered with a grim smile as he glanced down at the rope imprisoning his wrists.

“You’ll need more than confidence to escape once you’re placed in the slave pens,” Ali fumed, an anxious frown furrowing his forehead as he wondered how he could ever return home without the woman, Kincaid or the ransom money.

“That’s where I have to rely on you, God help me,” Jed said with a sorry shake of his dark head. “But it can’t be avoided. Once we see the lay of the land, I’ll decide where to place the explosives, and if you can keep me in the shadows for a few moments, it will be easy for me to get that job done. From what we’ve heard, Khartoum is building up an arsenal and constructing a powder magazine outside the city on Tuti Island rather than in the city proper. But I’m sure there’ll be something else we can send to smithereens and cause a ruckus. When I give the signal, you set off the fireworks. By the time we’re through, it will look like the Fourth of July in there.”

“July? Your month of July is a few weeks away, isn’t it?” Ali asked, drawing his eyebrows together and regarding Jed curiously.

“Never mind,” Jed intoned, his deep voice rife with disgust. “All you have to know is that you light the fuses when you hear the signal.” With that, the rugged American whistled a few jaunty bars of “Yankee Doodle.” “Think you can remember that tune?”

“Who could forget such a disharmonious melody,” Ali responded dryly. “Still, it’s not too late to return to Cairo.”

“What do you reckon Reed will do if we show up without the woman and with a big chunk of the money gone? You have no choice, Ali. Now, come along,” ordered Jed as he began to lead the way.

“No,” said the merchant, his voice adamant.

“No?” repeated Jed in his most menacing fashion.

“No,” Ali reiterated. “If we are to have even a prayer of this insanity succeeding, I will do the leading and you will follow like a respectful slave. I shall hold the rifle, and, like a beast of burden, you will carry the sack containing the explosives. Should you enter Khartoum with your usual swagger and foul temper, you’ll be cast in irons the moment you enter the pens. And in all likelihood, I’ll be chained to the wall right beside you. You must appear to be submissive, resigned to your fate, perhaps even a bit timid or fearful. And above all, you must remember I will be the one giving the orders. Is that clear?”

“All right,” Jed yielded, irked that the Egyptian’s demeaning suggestions had merit. “But I’m warning you, don’t overplay your role.”

“I think this might be the only part of this ill-advised adventure that I enjoy,” Ali said. He grabbed the halter around Jed’s neck and gave it a tug. “Come, slave.”

“Watch it, you bastard,” Jed growled. Nonetheless, he affected a hopeless shuffle and followed in Ali’s wake. “Just remember, you’re going to have to live with me on the journey back to Cairo.”

* * *

She had come this far without giving in to tears, Victoria reminded herself as Zobeir’s men hurried her through the seemingly endless maze of corridors after preparations had been made to transfer her to the pens. No matter how desperate she felt, how hopeless it seemed, she would not surrender to emotion. Hadn’t she outmaneuvered Zobeir, the wealthiest slave merchant in Khartoum? The memory of his anger-mottled face cheered her immediately.

Indeed, since he had sent five guards to serve as her escort after making her wait hours alone in a closetlike cell, he no longer considered her helpless. Forcing him to take such precautions had to be a victory of sorts, Victoria assured her flagging spirits.

His men surrounded her, the one at her side grasping her elbow so firmly it was a wonder she had not lost circulation in her arm. The situation was intolerable for a British citizen.

“You are holding me too tightly,” Victoria announced curtly, stopping suddenly. While the men were still startled, she twisted her upper body forcefully to the left. Wrenching her arm free from its human vise, she glared at the one responsible for her discomfort, her blue eyes challenging his implacable black ones.

“Your manners are sadly lacking,” she chided. “I realize you answer to Zobeir, but aren’t you man enough to defend a helpless female from abuse rather than perpetrate such behavior?”

Fury flashed across the face of the guard and the feisty blonde found herself on her knees, her long hair wrapped tightly around the man’s hand as the pain of his tugging it caused unbidden tears. Even as she squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed to ease the agony, Victoria knew she was defeated.

“A man is always master, though he may in turn answer to another,” replied her tormentor while the others chuckled. An abrupt jerk of the hand forced Victoria to look up into his cruel smile. “Have I convinced you to walk or shall I drag you? It is the same to me.”

“Zobeir will—” she began to threaten weakly until his fingers twitched, viciously tightening his hold on her blond tresses.

“He won’t object since your skin won’t show any ill effects. Indeed, I shall make it a point to inform your buyer of this particular form of discipline,” promised Zobeir’s man. Then, using her hair, he yanked her roughly to her feet. “Now will you walk?”

“Yes.” There was no need to say more, nor any ability to do so. Stung now by the painful reality of her situation, Victoria regretted her pointless defiance. There would come a time when he was less vigilant, she promised herself, refusing to despair.

With a satisfied grunt, the Sudanese released her curls, took her elbow and addressed his cohorts, his words causing loud guffaws. Then they were moving once more through the still-deserted halls of Zobeir’s grand home.

With each step across the lush carpets, Victoria questioned her presence in this world of masculine brutality and power. It was more than a week since she had been kidnapped, nine days if she calculated correctly. Why hadn’t Hayden or her father found her? Cameron Shaw had always said, “Money buys power—or at least the semblance of it.” Surely if her father contacted the khedive, the political leader would interfere on her behalf.

Could it be possible that no one knew she was in Khartoum? For a long moment this thought stunned her, almost as badly as the harsh sunlight that blinded her as they left the sheltered rooms.

Outside, the guards moved closer, herding her at a quick pace through the dusty streets. A few heavily veiled women averted their eyes as they passed, while a large group of men leered openly and began to follow her, shouting in Arabic. Two particularly persistent fellows tried to push past Zobeir’s men to reach her, but they were easily repelled by her human shield. The slave trader had not exaggerated when he said many men would want her. But would Hayden continue to desire her, if he ever found her?

All too quickly, they stopped before a guarded enclosure, its eight-foot-high walls topped with spikes embedded in the sandstone. Heavy wooden gates provided the only interruption in the rough-textured expanse, at the top of which stood a sentry’s post.

“Zobeir wants her in the pens until tomorrow’s auction,” announced the man beside her. “We will take her through.”

“There is no need—”

“Zobeir knows you have sampled his wares in the past and he wants her untouched,” refuted the slave trader’s deputy.

Not understanding the sharply spoken exchange, Victoria dared hope for a moment that she was being turned away. Instead, the high gate opened and they were motioned inside.

As she moved, the young Englishwoman looked about and was startled to see men on every side of her: short, tall, dark-toned, light-skinned, bearded, clean-shaven, clothed in every possible garb. Some were asleep, but more were standing about, carefully watching her progress across the compound.

“Zobeir said the women’s pen,” she reminded her keeper. She was nervous because of the hungry leers on dozens of faces, most of them destined for slavery themselves.

“They are sheltered behind the men’s quarters to offer extra security from anyone who would interfere,” the man explained gruffly. “The guards and these slaves are between the women and the street in case of trouble.”

“Has anyone ever tried to free Zobeir’s women?” Victoria asked, a tiny glimmer of hope sparking to life.

“To be certain, no one has succeeded, though once in a while there’s been a halfhearted attempt by the Europeans to interrupt an auction. But all that happened was a temporary postponement or relocation of the sale.”

Dropping her eyes to the ground, Victoria tried not to acknowledge her fear as the guards led her forward. The lounging men awaiting their own purchase by others continued to watch her every move, devouring her pale flesh with their ravenous eyes, despite her escorts’ cursing and shoving them out of the way.

In front of the interior gate, she stood silently, searching for some chink in the security, determined to find a means of escape. If she could rally the other women, perhaps they could break and run when they were led to the market.... They couldn’t all be docile when it came to being sold into slavery.

“A word of advice, do as you are told or you will know pain,” said the leader of Zobeir’s contingent as he released her arm. “If you listen to your master, you may find your life not too unbearable, though I expect you’ve many more lessons to learn before that happens.”

Then, with his hand at the small of her back, he pushed her through the gate and signaled that it be shut.

The area was much the same as the men’s compound. Women of various shades, though none as light as Victoria, paced uneasily, apparently too nervous to stay still.

Victoria was the first white woman any of them had ever seen, and some of them crowded around her, reaching out to stroke her skin, only to pull back in fear when they saw her blue eyes.

“It is all right. I am a woman like you,” she assured them, holding out her hand to display its color. If she could convince these women that they had something in common, there might be a chance. “I am here against my will, just as you are, but I am not ready to be sold. What about you?”

But the women had withdrawn from her, eyeing the pale witch with suspicion and giving no indication of whether they had understood. Once more she was alone to contemplate her future.

* * *

In the short while they had been inside the city, he and Ali had learned a lot, Jed realized with satisfaction. The hardest part had been restraining himself from beating the hell out of his spurious captor to put a stop to that sand rat’s lordly manner.

If the damned Egyptian didn’t watch his step, Jed just might consider leaving Ali Sharouk behind when things started heating up and it came time to flee the city. But even as the temptation crossed his mind, Jed knew he would never do such a thing. Unaccustomed as he was to working with a partner, he and Ali were in this together, and Jed Kincaid was, if nothing else, an honorable man—at least of sorts.

A snap of the halter around his neck caused a resentful Jed to hasten his steps and struggle to keep his demeanor docile as he followed Ali along a dark, narrow alley.

Their path ran along the outer wall for a short distance, past a minor gate, Jed noted, surreptitiously raising his eyes to take in every detail while he planned their escape route and alternate ones, as well. Then the narrow street turned in upon itself, and shifted direction once more.

The slave block was located at the center of this maze full of twisting turns and forbidding passageways so that it was hidden from prying eyes. Slavery might be an accepted way of life in Khartoum, yet it appeared the local citizenry was smart enough not to want to offend the sensibilities of visiting Europeans, especially when one of those foreigners was occasionally placed on the block. From what he had heard about Khartoum, its foreign residents ignored the trading in human flesh that took place here, pretending it existed only in the realm of rumor. Nonetheless, they kept their women close at hand, knowing they would be lost forever if they disappeared into the serpentine streets of the city.

Jed’s thoughts ended abruptly as the alleyway left the darkness behind and spilled out into the strong, oppressive heat of a sunlit marketplace. Realizing danger surrounded them, the American felt a rush of excitement course through his blood. Ali had been right. Jed Kincaid needed adventure like this as surely as he needed air.

Anxious to set things into motion, Jed nonetheless patiently allowed Ali to lead him around the perimeter of the bazaar, the Egyptian stopping often to talk to Khartoum’s inhabitants in Arabic. Within a short time, Jed had discerned the layout of the pens, chosen the partially concealed spots in which to plant the explosives, and stealthily accomplished the task while Ali stood in front of him, presenting a shield to anyone who would be curious enough to observe them.

Still, they had yet to uncover the slave merchant mentioned by the kidnappers at the oasis. And without locating him, Jed couldn’t be certain Victoria Shaw was anywhere near Khartoum’s infamous marketplace.

“Time’s growing short, Ali. Find Zobeir,” Jed commanded with whispered authority. The Egyptian’s only response was to pull Jed behind him as he approached an ancient water seller.

This was hardly the time to get thirsty, Jed thought in disbelief when the old man, his back bent under the weight of the large, long-spouted cask he carried, leaned forward to pour Ali a cup of the precious liquid.

“I will have some more, grandfather, along with information,” Ali said, pressing a coin into the gnarled hand. “I need advice on how to sell this worthless slave. Can you direct me to a knowledgeable man, a slaver who knows what needs to be done in order to get a decent price for such poor merchandise?”

“The most celebrated of all is Zobeir. There he is, the fat one sitting in the midst of the others. It is he who can best advise you. And for such a pretty man as this, he might offer to purchase the slave himself. It would save you the auctioneer’s fee.”

Pretty man! a ruffled Jed balked in quiet indignation. He wasn’t at all sure he liked the water seller’s words as Ali thanked the elder and then crossed the compound, keeping the American tightly in tow.

“Es-salam ‘aleikum,” Ali called in greeting, nearing the men and dragging Jed none too gently.

The Egyptian hunkered down next to the others. With the rifle the ransom money had brought cradled in his hands and the glowering look he sent in Jed’s direction, Ali Sharouk seemed more like a formidable desert dweller than a harmless city shopkeeper. The journey from Cairo had hardened him, and Jed found no fault with Ali’s appearance while they waited for the slave merchants to acknowledge their presence.

“U ‘aleikum es-salam warahmet Allah wabarakatu,” one of the men finally replied, uttering the usual response to Ali’s greeting. He eyed the unknown pair suspiciously all the same.

“Can you tell me if there is to be an auction soon? I wish to earn some gold and at the same time shed this burden,” Ali stated with a jerk of his head in Jed’s direction.

“You are Egyptian, aren’t you?” the rotund figure identified as Zobeir asked shrewdly.

“Yes. My family roams the southern lands near Berenika,” a nonchalant Ali replied.

“And you came here to sell a slave?” inquired a third slaver, assessing the man tethered at the end of the rope.

“It is said that such a task is easier to accomplish and much more rewarding in Khartoum than in Egypt,” the newcomer said, his expression daring the others to contradict him, “especially when the slave is white.”

“Still, for a man living in a land ruled by Europeans rather than the khedive, who possesses a title and little else, selling a Caucasian is an audacious undertaking,” Zobeir stated quietly.

“Not as bold as the crime this jackal has committed,” Ali asserted, his face set in hard lines as he forced Jed to his knees and struck him harshly.

Son of a bitch! I owe you one, Jed thought savagely, resenting the need to cower under Ali’s blow.

“And that crime was?” Zobeir inquired politely.

“He approached my wife,” Ali announced through clenched teeth, telling the tale Jed had concocted. “I vowed before Allah that this heap of camel dung would pay for his transgression. Death is too easy for him. I would rather he know misery for years to come. Besides, I like the idea of filling my purse at his expense. Now, is there to be an auction or must I seek a buyer on my own?”

“There will be a private auction tomorrow. But I doubt you will get much for him. He looks rather submissive for so large and well muscled a man,” Zobeir said, his glittering eyes raking Jed’s huddled form speculatively.

“He has learned to be,” Ali stated grimly. “Still, he is strong and can do much work.”

“His back is well scarred, then?” asked Zobeir. His voice was dispassionate, but he continued to scrutinize Jed’s broad shoulders and slender hips with an intensity that made the American uneasy.

“Not at all,” Ali assured, knowing a lie would be uncovered. “I am wise enough to know that someone might want to buy him for reasons other than his capacity for labor. There are many ways to discipline a man, and this slave is practically flawless.”

A stunned Jed listened to the exchange, straining to remain silent as Ali deviated from the script he had worked out for him.

“I might be interested in buying this slave for myself,” Zobeir said, salacious interest fleeting across his face for an instant. “And I will give you a fair price, too.”

“Let us see what offers I receive tomorrow,” Ali replied smoothly, causing Jed to breathe a furtive sigh of relief.

“But what can you hope to get for him? You know he has no spirit,” the obese slave merchant argued.

“True, yet it could be that someone might want a man of size and meek temperament to stand guard over a harem.”

Jed’s eyes, hidden as he rested his head on his arms in an attempt to look dejected, popped open. What the hell was Ali doing? If his improvising didn’t stop, there would be an explosion in the marketplace that needed no match.

“It might be so, but wouldn’t alterations have to be made?” Zobeir asked with a wicked chuckle and a glance at Jed’s crotch.

“From what I have seen they would be very minor alterations,” Ali replied with a smirk, ignoring the look of disappointment that crossed Zobeir’s pudgy face.

That carrion-eating bastard was going to be dead when they got out of here, Jed raged inwardly, calling on all of his inner resources not to wrap his fingers around Ali’s lying throat.

“I see,” Zobeir said, stroking his beard thoughtfully, wondering if the Egyptian was telling the truth or merely bragging about his own endowment. “In that case, why don’t you take him into the pens and put him with the others to be sold tomorrow? Perhaps later I will inspect him and either make an offer or else advise you as to what you can expect to get for him. Tell the guards Zobeir sent you, and get a receipt for your merchandise.”

But we have to find out if the girl is in there first, otherwise we’re only creating more problems, Jed thought frantically. He swore Ali had the brains of a beetle. The Egyptian rose and yanked him roughly to his feet.

“Selling a Caucasian will bring no difficulty?” Ali asked as though reading the American’s mind.

“None at all,” Zobeir replied, raising a glass-lined cup to his lips and sipping at his heavily sweetened coffee.

“Still, I have reservations. I would hate to see this dog rescued. Perhaps I should seek a private sale,” Ali muttered.

You idiot, Jed wanted to scream. What are you trying to do, get him to make another offer so he can take me home to his bed?

“As you will. But I can tell you there is another European in there, a woman I, myself, am putting up for bid,” Zobeir stated with a shrug of his rounded shoulders.

“Is that so?” Ali inquired, his interest all too apparent to Jed’s way of thinking.

“Yes, and a lovely thing, too,” Zobeir replied, not bothering to mention her inherent disobedience and shrewish disposition.

“Then possibly we could trade. Your slave for mine. My wife could use a maid, and so could I. As for yourself, this man might be to your liking,” Ali said suggestively.

Sweet God in heaven! What are you, some Nile-spawned numskull? a disbelieving Jed fumed. He was ready to reach for the knife hidden in his boot and slit Zobeir’s throat if the bastard so much as touched him, and, at the moment, he’d enjoy opening Ali’s veins, as well.

“That’s not possible. The one I sell is too rich a prize for a man who wanders the desert. She’s destined for some wealthy sheik’s bed,” Zobeir responded pompously, his thoughts on the woman he had been ordered to kill.

“Ah, at least there was no harm in my asking,” Ali responded good-naturedly as he turned to lead Jed across the square to the slave pen, their retreat followed closely by Zobeir’s lusting eyes.

“That went well enough,” Ali said in a low voice.

“Well? You damned jackass,” Jed hissed. “What did you think you were doing back there? I’m going to wring your neck.”

“Quiet, slave,” Ali ordered, relishing the angry fire that sprang into Jed’s eyes at the command. Perhaps there was some pleasure to be had in dangerous adventuring, after all.

Jed didn’t see things in quite that light, however, as he stood in the shadows of the tall walls surrounding the slave pens. His ire continued to grow when Ali delivered his orders to the overseer in imperious tones. To Jed’s way of thinking, such posturing was becoming all too easy and familiar for the formerly reticent shopkeeper, and he vowed that as soon as they left Khartoum, Ali was one hombre who would be reminded quickly and effectively just who the leader of this operation actually was.

In the meantime, there was little Jed could do about it other than try to brush his anger aside and concentrate on the matter at hand. Calculating the strength of the forbidding sandstone walls enclosing the captives bound for slavery, he was satisfied as to the amount and placement of the explosives he had planted.

Things were under control if Ali could but accomplish the simple task that had been set him. Yet, as the overseer took Jed’s halter and led him through the slated wooden gates into the dreary interior of the holding area, Jed Kincaid felt uneasy, despite the fact that he didn’t expect to be here for very long. The sight of the towering walls and the restless milling about of men, some of them with eyes full of hatred and others wearing an expression bereft of hope, caused the fine hairs on the back of his neck to rise ominously.

It was only his natural abhorrence of confinement that made him feel as he did, Jed reminded himself—that and his perception of what it would feel like to be actually destined for the slave block the next morning. Ignoring the vivid workings of his imagination, Jed affected a dejected shuffle behind the overseer. The wandering adventurer knew that his accelerated heartbeat and the rushing of his blood gave him a decided edge. Everyone else confined in the pens would be momentarily stunned when the unexpected occurred. He would be ready. His hardened body would be prepared to spring into rapid action like the great cats that roamed this region.

When the overseer finally released his grip on the rope around the American’s neck and pushed him tumbling forward, Jed remained crouched, a seemingly defeated captive. Though the sight of a white man was not totally uncommon, a few curious eyes lit upon the Caucasian in their midst. But no one saw Jed extract the blade concealed in his boot top and begin his furtive shredding of the heavy rope binding his wrists. His slumping shoulders and curled body simply marked him as one more cowed bit of humanity unable to adjust to the miserable fate that had befallen him.