macShiel tied the rope off, and they bumped against the vessel’s hull. Va swayed. ‘It’s the Caliphate.’
‘It might not be,’ said Elenya. She called up in her best Turkic, ‘Is this one of the caliph’s ships?’
The answer came not in Turkic, but in something else. Then two of the sailors were elbowed aside and a man wearing a black turban leaned out. ‘Who’s this that greets us in the name of our enemy?’
‘Me,’ shouted Elenya. ‘The caliph is our enemy too. We thought you were his men.’
‘May Allah pluck out my living entrails and feed them to the vultures if that was true. I spit on the caliph and his sons.’
‘You know Turkic though.’
‘So do you. Come up. We can discuss terms.’ The turbaned captain ordered his men to throw down a net, and Elenya climbed the side of the ship, followed by Akisi.
Va and macShiel looked at each other. ‘You first,’ said Va.
‘My boat. You first.’
Va stared at the sea. He might make it to shore, but probably not. It was still a very long way, and once there, he’d have to contend with the incurably violent Sasans. Could it be that this boatload of foreign devil-worshippers was being used by God to His ineffable ends? He had to trust the Almighty’s plans, not second-guess Him – or worse, assume he knew better.
God was God. If Va believed anything, it was that he was a servant, and servants did not question their master’s orders. He climbed up the net. Rough brown hands helped him over to the deck.
macShiel followed Va. ‘What type of ship is this, and who are its crew?’
‘I think they are Mahgrebi,’ said Va. ‘Slavers.’
‘I’ll not be taken,’ said macShiel. ‘I’d rather die first.’ He backed to the gunwale and looked at the drop.
Va laid hold of him. ‘Do nothing. Keep quiet. Trust God.’
Elenya broke off her Turkic discussions. ‘Listen to him, Rory. There’s a way through this that might mean we stay free, but you need to keep your nerve. If you don’t want to trust Va’s invisible friend, trust me instead.’
She carried on talking to the captain in the one language they had in common, the language of their shared enemy. Akisi gnawed at his knuckles. Va kept a tight grip on macShiel’s arm and, for his part, muttered his way through a prayer of deliverance.
The sailors stood around them in a loose semicircle, hands on their short swords and clubs, which dangled from sashes around their waists. Their interest and intent was clear. They only held back because their captain hadn’t given the order to subdue the captives.
Then the captain and Elenya slid their palms together. A deal was done, and the order finally given.
Va and macShiel stiffened as the sailors rushed them, but only Akisi went down under a barrage of blows. He was dragged, heels scraping along the deck, to one of the hatches.
‘What? What have you done, you witch? You’ve tricked me. You can’t treat one of the emperor’s subjects like this. I appeal to the emperor himself for justice!’
He was pushed into the hold, and the sailors swarmed after him.
‘You can stop hanging onto each other like frightened girls,’ said Elenya. ‘I’ve made a devil’s pact, but it’s bought us some time.’
‘What did you say? And what’s happened to Akisi?’ asked Va.
‘I told Captain Haida that we were agents of His Imperial Majesty, the Kenyan emperor, escorting a prisoner back to Great Nairobi to be tried by the emperor himself.’
‘And he believed you?’
‘No. But neither can he take the risk of not believing me. If he’s wrong, he’ll lose his ship, his liberty and probably his life. What he’s going to do is dump us at the nearest friendly port in the Maghreb and let the local Kenyan ambassador sort it out. We’re not slaves, and if we play this right, we can get passage all the way to Kenya.’
‘And what of me?’ asked macShiel. ‘Do I go with you?’
‘You still have your boat. Go back to your wife while you still have a chance. Every moment you stand here takes you further away.’
‘They’re setting me free?’ He was already half over the gunwale.
‘In the name of God, get on with it, before they change their mind.’ She reached forward to push him away, and he caught her arm.
‘I should say something.’
‘Goodbye, Rory.’ She pulled away, and his fingers slid from hers.
They watched him cast off, and soon he became a dark spot on a darker ocean.
Va folded his arms in satisfaction. ‘God blesses us even in our darkest moment.’
‘Oh, shut up. Where do you think I learned Turkic?’
Va shrugged.
‘Novy Rostov was under siege for two years. My father thought it politic that I learned: better to survive as some Turkman’s wife than as a common slave-whore. Everything I ever do is a compromise, an expedience against something worse. One day I’ll do something just for me, and surprise everybody. Now,’ Elenya told him, ‘act like you’re in the pay of the Kenyans, or they’ll guess the truth. If they do, I might get to see you die sooner than you’d like.’
CHAPTER 27
BENZAMIR HAD NEVER thought of himself as a thief before, but since only thieves skulked around in shadows made in the dead of night, he had to accept that that was what he was.
He craned his neck out around the corner. At one end of the street was Said, revealed by the slightest glimmer from a shaded lantern. At the other was Wahir, perched like a gargoyle in the join between an ornate ceremonial arch and the roof of a bathhouse. A white strip of cloth waved.
‘All clear,’ whispered Benzamir, and he and Alessandra slid with their backs against the wall down to the doorway. The gaps around the frame were dark, and the occupants long asleep.
A tight-fitting wooden trapdoor was set into the side of the building, right down at the level of the dusty street. Benzamir crouched down and pushed it. It rattled, but didn’t move. Alessandra squatted beside him and tugged her black headscarf away from her mouth and nose.
‘Locked?’
‘Not for long.’ Benzamir reached into his leather satchel and came out with a thick metal tube. He pressed the open end of the tube to the corner of the trapdoor and drew slowly around three sides of it. Part way along the third side, the door swung open under its own weight.
Alessandra darted out her hand to stop it from making a noise. Benzamir pushed her arm away, and the door slapped against the cellar stonework.
‘Hot,’ he said. ‘Molten hot. Give it a moment to cool.’
He checked Said and Wahir again, then slid through the opening. When he was sure of his footing, he helped Alessandra inside.
The ice store was cool and damp, the sound of dripping water playing softly. It was completely dark.
‘I’m scared to move,’ said Alessandra.
Benzamir could see: the dark-blue blocks of ice wrapped in sheets of hessian, the pink ceiling above him, the turquoise of the shelving and the dull red rectangle of the entrance, spotted with white where he’d cut through the retaining bolts with his laser. Alessandra was a mix of oranges and reds, except for her mouth and nose, which flared brightly as she breathed.
‘Don’t worry. The floor’s perfectly level.’
He spotted an ice hook, which he used to wedge the trapdoor closed again, then looked in his bag for a couple of light-bees. They fluttered out, causing Alessandra to gasp, and after circling the room, they stationed themselves a little way behind and above Benzamir’s head.
She shielded her eyes as the glow from the bees grew from a pinprick of light to a radiance that amazed her.
When Benzamir turned to look at something new, the bees moved.
‘You have two faeries following you.’
Since they were always behind him, his instinctive glance just made the lights flit this way, then that.