Page 17 of Silver Angel

With those conclusions drawn, which suited Rahmet much better than thinking he was down here as some sort of punishment, Rahmet continued on to the Marine Gate. There he stayed to visit with the guards, keeping his eye on Hamid Sharif’s ship and gleaning what information the guards could tell him about any activity that had gone on there. They didn’t know much. They had the night watch, and had arrived only shortly after the call to evening prayer.

Rahmet didn’t have long to wait to witness some activity for himself. The woman appeared on deck. Not only that, but she left the ship flanked by two men. But there was no clink of chains. She was not restrained in any way. Appearance-wise, she could be any Muslim woman wrapped up in her street robes. Even standing a mere few feet away from her while one of her escorts explained their business to the guards, he could discern nothing about her to mark her a foreigner, not even the color of her eyes, for she kept them demurely lowered, as was only proper.

Rahmet was disappointed, but should have expected no less. It was the bane of all men that on the streets, every woman looked alike. A princess could visit the bazaar unnoticed. A wife could walk down the street with her lover, and if her husband passed, he would never know it. And a female slave could be escorted through the streets in complete secrecy simply by not appearing to be a slave.

A name was given for her that was common, a tale told that could not be immediately disproved. She was said to be resident of Algiers and a friend of their captain, which was why he had agreed to give her passage on his ship to visit a cousin here in Barikah.

The guards accepted this without question. Rahmet didn’t believe a word of it, though he chose not to dispute it, for he wanted to know her destination and could do that only by following the three unnoticed. He was more intrigued than ever that they were going to this trouble for the Englishwoman. The only reason that he could think of for it was that she was too valuable to chance passing through the crowds that had turned out to watch the unloading of the Neapolitan slaves that afternoon. If he was right, she would be delivered to Hamid Sharif. If not, he would have to investigate further.

If Hamid Sharif weren’t so loyal to the Dey, and a slave dealer besides, Rahmet would have to consider other possibilities with such secrecy and deception involved, like an involvement in the plot against the Dey. Women were not above suspicion. No one was. It was the English tongue that made him doubt this possibility, however, for it was well known the English favored Jamil Reshid’s reign and would do nothing to jeopardize it. And, too, it would not be the first time a pretty slave was smuggled into the city for a private auction that the slave dealer wanted kept from the public. Such women were generally offered to the Dey first, and so this woman’s particulars would soon be known at the palace, to confirm one way or the other what Rahmet would report tonight.

He set off to follow the three, and as he had suspected, the woman was delivered to Hamid Sharif. Rahmet returned to the palace to let Omar Hassan make what he would of this information. Hopefully, this was the news the Grand Vizier had been waiting for, and Rahmet would no longer be sent to the harbor after tonight. But he could tell nothing from Omar Hassan’s reaction, and for five days, no foreign ships arrived in port. Then an English warship sailed into port for supplies, with two smaller escorts, and Rahmet’s suspicions were confirmed. He was not called on again to visit the harbor.

Chapter Eleven

The next morning, Omar Hassan met the Dey in the hall outside the audience chamber where a crowd had already gathered for the day’s business. This hall, leading from Jamil’s apartments, was empty except for the two Nubian bodyguards who were never far from Jamil’s side.

“A moment, Jamil.”

Omar had the privilege of using the Dey’s name at all times, though he did so only in private. He had known Jamil Reshid since he was born, had taken an active interest in his upbringing even before he was removed from the harem, and was totally in agreement with the Divan, Jamil’s council of advisors, that Barikah had never known such prosperity as under Jamil’s rule. His father, Mustafa, had been a good ruler, beloved of his people, but he had lacked Jamil’s diplomacy and shrewdness in dealing with Barikah’s foreign element, as well as with the consuls of the many foreign governments represented here. Barikah enjoyed peace under Jamil, not so under his father’s and older brother’s rule.

Of all Mustafa’s many children, Jamil and his brother Kasim had been Omar’s favorites, each showing at an early age a keen intelligence, but more important in the Grand Vizier’s opinion, a sense of honor and justice. They had been their father’s favorites, too, which was perhaps why his firstborn, Mahmud, whom he had all but ignored, had grown up with a grasping, vindictive nature that had earned him the title of “tyrant” during his short rule. But by Allah’s will, Mahmud had died without issue, and to Barikah’s benefit, Jamil had been next in line.

He made a fine ruler, in character as well as in appearance, which not a single one of his concubines could find fault with. From his father he had his exceptional height and coal-black hair tucked away right now under a white turban, but visible in a full beard, the pride of most Muslims. He had his mother’s high cheekbones and brow, his father’s strong chin and aquiline nose. But the eyes were strictly Lalla Rahine’s, not the eyes of a Turk or an Arab, eyes that gave Jamil the look of a European and put foreign diplomats at ease.

It was only recently that Jamil had stopped receiving diplomats, and all urgent business was conducted only once a week now, anything else to be handled by Omar. It showed the depth of Jamil’s wisdom that he willingly delegated his power at this time, for his frustration over the continued restrictions placed on him for his own protection had him on a short fuse, which grew shorter with each passing day. He was the first to realize that his easygoing temperament had taken a turn for the worse, which affected his judgment and made it too easy for him to make the wrong decisions or offend someone he shouldn’t.

“Skulking about in hallways now, Omar?” Jamil asked as he reached him.

The older man chuckled. “It does seem so.”

“What is it, then?”

“Nothing important,” Omar admitted. “I just thought you might want to consider purchasing another slave for the harem.”

Jamil frowned. “My ears deceive me, correct? You are not suggesting—”

“Hear me out, my lord.” Omar stepped back so he wouldn’t have to crane his neck to look up at Jamil. That was the only reason that he kept his distance, for he loved Jamil as he did his own sons and liked to think the feeling was mutual. It certainly wasn’t that he was intimidated by one of Jamil’s frowns. “I know you feel you have too many women already, but I was not actually thinking of this one for you.”

A dark brow shot up, and a grin appeared to lighten Jamil’s stern expression. “You wish me to purchase you a woman and hide her in my harem? Are your wives giving you trouble again, old friend?”

Omar laughed outright. “No, my lord, not for me. I was thinking of someone else who might make use of her. I am given to believe she is English, which is why I thought of it. She was secreted into the city last night and delivered to Hamid Sharif. The fact that he tried his best to conceal her can only mean she is either so ugly he is ashamed to have her seen, or so beautiful he is afraid to have her seen. You will recall that the last beauty he proudly had paraded through the streets nearly caused a riot. The reason I mention it now is he may not offer her to you this time, having become discouraged after you have turned him down so many times in recent months. If you want to buy her, I may have to contact him, and it should be done before he has a chance to sell her.”

Jamil considered this news for only a moment before he slowly shook his head. “No, I don’t think so, Omar. It was good of you to think of it, but I prefer not to prepare ahead in this instance, as there may be nothing to prepare for. Our ‘someone else’ has not arrived yet, nor might he ever. And the last thing I want to do is disturb my women with a new acquisition when they are already displeased with me.”

Omar refrained from commenting on that. He simply nodded his acceptance and salaamed, indicating he would detain the Dey no longer. What could he have said that wouldn’t have reminded Jamil of his own shortcomings? At least the Dey was not pretending an ignorance of the havoc his foul disposition caused in the palace. He was fully aware that his slaves walked in fear of him, his guards drew lots now to see who wouldnothave to show up for duty each day, and his concubines complained constantly of his neglect, or, as the case might be, his favor.

Omar knew that Jamil strived for control, and when he failed to achieve it, his anger only grew worse. The situation had just gone on too long. Jamil’s patience was at an end. His temper exploded now at the least provocation, and although he regretted the punishments he ordered and most times cut them short as his reason returned, they still occurred frequently.

Omar sighed and followed the Dey into the audience chamber. Waiting there to speak with Jamil was a servant of Hamid Sharif’s whom Omar recognized. Here was a prime excuse for Jamil to lose his temper this morning: having to deal with the same issue twice, since Omar had little doubt that the servant was here because of Hamid’s newest acquisition. He should not even have been allowed in, for his was certainly not urgent business. But this was Omar’s fault for not being present to screen today’s visitors, leaving the duty in the hands of Jamil’s harried clerk instead.

Quickly, he signaled to Hamid’s man and took him out into an antechamber, giving him no chance to state his business. “The Dey does not require any new slaves for his household or his harem.”

“But, my lord—”

“Yes?”

The tone was such that the man lowered his eyes humbly to the floor. One did not argue with the Dey’s chief minister.