Page 20 of Silver Angel

“A friend of mine got me passage on one of the Royal Navy’s warships. I would have been here yesterday…only we ran into a little trouble with some Algerian corsairs and became separated from our escort. I imagine they’ll arrive either later today or tomorrow, once they regroup. I was dropped off up the coast late last night and rode in this morning. I needed a good enough excuse to get in to see you, and what better way than as Ahmad Khalifeh, come in from the desert with tribute for the Dey?”

“Ah, the horses!” Omar chuckled. “Wherever did you find such magnificent beasts?”

“Find them?” Derek’s lips curled with a touch of pride. “I raise them. And Jamil had better be around long enough to start a new line in Barikah.”

“Inshallah,” Omar replied in all seriousness.

“Yes,” Derek agreed, just as seriously now. “If God wills.”

Chapter Thirteen

Derek Sinclair, Earl of Mulbury and future Marquis of Hunstable, was riding an incredible high in spirits, and had been ever since he had entered the city this morning. The sights, sounds, and smells that greeted him made him realize how much he had missed this part of the world and how easily it was to slip back into the shoes of a Muslim Turk.

There was nothing English about the bazaars he had passed through, where sandalwood and gum scented the air from the spice stalls, camels plodded along with noisy complaint, bells tinkled in the breeze that turned the silk merchant’s stall into a waving riot of bright color. It was a sea of turbans and kohl-eyed women enshrouded in mystery. It was the din of merchants haggling over prices, the sweet song of nightingales in bamboo cages, the bubbling of fountains on each comer. It was Barikah, which Derek had never thought to know again.

And the Dey’s palace, spread out over more than twenty acres on the highest hill of the city, brought back a wealth of memories long forgotten. Derek moved through the labyrinth now, following in Omar’s wake. When he first arrived, he had only gotten as far as the outer court, enclosed in high walls that protected the arsenal, mint, bakery, guards’ barracks, and other service buildings. But Omar had taken him through several rooms off his office that led directly into the inner palace, thereby avoiding the second court, where only officials and ambassadors ever penetrated.

Unlike the outer court, which was usually easily accessed by the public, the second court was a cloistered garden with avenues running over its lawns to gates and low buildings. Gazelles and peacocks wandered at will under tall cypress trees, lavish pavilions stood in readiness for any state occasion, and slaves bent over flower beds, toiling beneath the hot sun.

The second court housed the offices of the palace officials and the council chambers where the Divan met several days each week. There foreign diplomats were entertained, the Dey’s sons were circumcised or his daughters married, and all ceremonies were performed. And from this courtyard was the iron-studded gate that led to the harem.

Beyond the second court was another gate leading into a third courtyard, the one Derek was most familiar with. It was a more intimate garden with chestnut and medlar trees, and cypresses hung with ivy. The treasury was located there, as well as the throne room and the palace school. And through yet another gate were the richly tiled corridors leading to the Dey’s apartments, which abutted the harem.

Omar took Derek instead through the heart of the palace, through a maze of corridors and chambers that skirted the domed kitchens, the baths, the harem, the courts, and finally led to the very corridor that the concubines used to reach the Dey’s apartments.

At last they stopped before a large cedarwood door, flanked on each side by two stiff-backed Nubians. It was only because Derek was accompanied by the Grand Vizier himself that he hadn’t been detained at least twenty times by now by the army of guards they had passed at different points along the way, especially when he had remained hooded and with lowered head, a thoroughly suspicious-looking character.

“I hope you have some password or the like to alert these fellows if all isn’t right,” Derek remarked thoughtfully before Omar could announce them.

“You were searched for weapons before you entered the palace, weren’t you?”

“Yes, but what if someone had found a way to get to one of your wives or children, and so coerced you into bringing them in here?”

Omar chuckled. “There is indeed a signal that would have had you or anyone else beheaded in an instant, but I am glad that you are taking such an interest in our security measures. You must feel free to mention anything that concerns you.”

A questioning brow rose. “Your family is protected? Killing the one who tells you your family is taken will not save your family.”

Omar nodded. “My sons, my grandsons, my great-grandsons, all are as safe as it is possible to make them. My wives?” He shrugged fatalistically, though there was now a twinkle in his gray eyes. “It would be no great loss were anything to happen tothem.”

Derek suppressed a grin and nodded toward the door. “I suppose you have to announce me?”

“It would be wise, unless you want his personal guards pouncing on you the moment you walk through the door.”

“I think I can do without that,” Derek replied dryly.

“Yes, it doesn’t pay to surprise the Dey, but nonetheless he will be surprised. With so many messengers killed, he had given up hope that one might reach you, Kasim.” At the sound of his name, Derek looked pointedly at the guards, but Omar shook his head. “Those who guard Jamil’s door are mutes, as are his personal guards.”

Omar finally knocked on the door, then waited a full ten seconds before opening it and stepping inside, with Derek following close on his heels. It was a typical Eastern room, large and uncluttered. Finely sculpted onyx columns supported a ceiling that was painted with floral motifs. Stucco panels of floral and geometric designs alternated with bands of calligraphy on the walls. Carved grilles covered the windows but still allowed in ample light to flood the marble floor, in the center of which was set a magnificent mosaic of a hunting scene. What little furniture there was, a few low tables and a single tall cabinet against one wall, was inlaid with mother-of-pearl. There were no chairs or sofas to sit on, nor even a divan in this room, just a low dais strewn with pillows where the Dey was sprawled in relaxation.

But the room was not empty by any means. The coffeemaker was there, Jamil’s pipe bearer, and a half-dozen other attendants, all personal slaves. Also present was one of Jamil’s concubines, who had had time in the ten seconds Omar had waited before entering to veil herself, and was sitting at Jamil’s side with her head demurely bowed.

“Did we have an appointment, Omar, that I have forgotten about?” Jamil broke the silence that had fallen over the room with their entrance.

“Not at all, my lord. But we do request a private word, if it would not be inconvenient. Even your guards should leave, I think.”

Jamil raised a brow at this request but did not ask why. He simply nodded his head and the many servants began backing out of the room, the customary way to leave the Dey’s presence, salaaming as they went. Even the woman left in this way and managed not to reveal her chagrin at having her hour with Jamil terminated by the Grand Vizier. Jamil wouldn’t have noticed in any case. His eyes were on Omar’s mysterious companion, whose eyes were likewise on him, though he couldn’t tell that with the hood of the burnoose drawn down so low.

The moment the room was empty, Jamil demanded, “Well? Has someonefinallycome forward with information on this cursed plot to see me in an early grave? What did he have to tell you, Omar?”