"He must be a Balkan," remarked the Duke, apparently because of Jack's European coloration.
A third French chevalier rode on the Duke's right. He cleared his throat significantly as Monsieur Arlanc emerged from the stables and fell in beside Jack, on his left hand. Evidently this was to warn the Duke that they were now in the presence of a man who could understand French. Moseh now emerged and stood on Jack's right to even the count, three facing three.
The Frenchmen—wishing to command the field—rode forward all the way to the center of the alley. Likewise Jack strolled forward until he was drawing uncomfortably close to the Duke. Finally the Duke reined in his white horse and held up one hand in a signal for everyone to halt. De Jonzac and the other chevalier stopped immediately, their horses' noses even with the Duke's saddle. But Jack took another step forward, and then another, until de Jonzac reached down and drew a pistol halfway from a saddle-holster, and the other aide spurred his horse forward to cut Jack off.
Behind the Duke and his men, it was possible to hear a considerable number of French soldiers and Janissaries infiltrating the caravanserai, and before long Jack began to see musket-barrels gleaming in windows of the uppermost storeys. Likewise, men of Nyazi's clan had taken up positions on both sides of the alley to Jack's rear, and the burning punks of their matchlocks glowed in dark archways like demons' eyes. Jack stopped where he was: perhaps eight feet from the glabrous muzzle of the Duke's horse. But he chose a place where his sight-line to the Duke's face was blocked by the aide who had ridden forward. The Duke said something sotto voce and this man backed his mount out of the way, returning to his former position guarding the Duke's right flank.
"I comprehend your plan," said the Duke, dispensing with formalities altogether—which was probably meant to be some kind of insult. "It is essentially suicidal."
Jack pretended not to understand until Monsieur Arlanc had translated this into Sabir.
"We had to make it seem that way," answered Jack, "or you would have been afraid to show up."
The Duke smiled as if at some very dry dinner-table witticism. "Very well—it is like a dance, or a duel, beginning with formal steps: I try to frighten you, you try to impress me. We proceed now. Show me L'Emmerdeur!"
"He is very near by," said Jack. "First we must settle larger matters—the gold."
"I am a man of honor, not a slave, and so to me, the gold is nothing. But if you are so concerned about it, tell me what you propose."
"First, send your jewelers away—there are no jewels, and no silver. Only gold."
"It is done."
"This caravanserai is vast, as you have seen, and full of hay at the moment. The gold bars have been buried in the haystacks. We know where they are. You do not. As soon as you have given us the documents declaring us free men, and set us on the road, or the river, with our share of the money in our pockets—in the form of pieces of eight—we will tell you where to find the gold."
"That cannot be your entire plan," said the Duke. "There is not so much hay here that we cannot simply arrest you, and then search it all at our leisure."
"While we were going through the stables, hiding the gold, we spilled quite a bit of lamp-oil on the floor, and buried a few powder-kegs in haystacks for good measure," Jack said.
Pierre de Jonzac shouted a command to a junior officer back in the stables.
"You threaten to burn the caravanserai, then," said the Duke, as if everything Jack said had to be translated into childish language.
"The gold will melt and run into the drains. You will recover some of it, but you will lose more than you would by simply paying us our share and setting us free."
An officer came out on foot and whispered something to de Jonzac, who relayed it to the Duke.
"Very well," said the Duke.
"I beg your pardon?"
"My men have found the puddles of lamp-oil, your story seems to be correct, your proposal is accepted," said the Duke. He turned and nodded to his other aide, who opened up his saddle-bags and began to take out a series of identical-looking documents, formally sealed and beribboned in the style of the Ottoman bureaucracy.
Jack turned and beckoned toward the doorway where Nasr al-Ghuráb had been lurking. The raïs came out, laid down his arms, and approached the Duke's aide, who allowed him to inspect one of the documents. "It is a cancellation of a slave-deed," he said. "It is inscribed with the name of Jeronimo, and it declares him to be a free man."
"Read the others," Jack said.
"Now for the important matter, mentioned earlier," said the Duke, "which is the only reason I made the journey from Alexandria."
"Dappa," read al-Ghuráb from another scroll. "Nyazi."
A cart rattled out from behind the French lines, causing Jack to flinch; but it carried only a lock-box. "Your pieces of eight," the Duke explained, amused by Jack's nervousness.
"Yevgeny—and here is Gabriel Goto's," the raïs continued.
"Assuming that the wretch you displayed in Alexandria really was L'Emmerdeur, how much do you want for him?" the Duke inquired.
"As we are all free men now, or so it appears, we will likewise do the honorable thing, and let you have him for free—or not at all," said Jack.
"Here is that of van Hoek," said the raïs, "and here, a discharge for me."
Another tolerant smile from the Duke. "I cannot recommend strongly enough that you give him to me. Without L'Emmerdeur there is no transaction."
"Vrej Esphahnian—Padraig Tallow—Mr. Foot—"
"And despite your brave words," the Duke continued, "the fact remains that you are surrounded by my dragoons, musketeers, and Janissaries. The gold is mine, as surely as if it were locked up in my vault in Paris."
"This one has a blank space where the name should go," said Nasr al-Ghuráb, holding up the last document.
"That is only because we were not given this one's name," explained Pierre de Jonzac, pointing at Jack.
"Your vault in Paris," Jack said, echoing the Duke's words. He now spoke directly to the Duke, in the best French he could muster. "I amguessing that would be somewhere underneath the suite of bedchambers in the west wing, there, where you have that god-awful green marble statue of King Looie all tarted up as Neptune."
A Silence, now, almost as long as the one Jack had experienced, once, in the grand ballroom of the Hôtel Arcachon. But all things considered, the Duke recovered quickly—which meant either that he'd known all along, or that he was more adaptable than he looked. De Jonzac and the other aide were dumbfounded. The Duke moved his horse a couple of steps nearer, the better to peer down at Jack's face. Jack stepped forward, close enough to feel the breath from the horse's nostrils, and pulled the turban from his head.
"This need not alter the terms of the transaction, Jack," said the Duke. "Your comrades can all be free and rich, with a single word from you."
Jack stood there and considered it—genuinely—for a minute or two, as horses snorted and punks smoldered in the dark vaults of the caravanserai all around him. One small gesture of Christlike self-abnegation and he could give his comrades the wealth and freedom they deserved. At any earlier part of his life he would have scoffed at the idea. Now, it strangely tempted him.