Panther's Prey (7 page)

* * *

“Halmad is here to see you,” Anwar said to Malik.

Malik put down the pistol he was cleaning and wiped his fingers on a rag.

It was dusk, and the moment he’d been dreading all day had arrived.

“Leave me alone with him,” Malik said curtly.

Anwar left the cave and then came back seconds later with the slave dealer at his side. He waited until the two men had greeted one another before slipping outside again.

“Anwar tells me you have a prize for me this time,” Halmad said to Malik in his heavily accented Turkish.

Malik nodded. He didn’t like the Lebanese, who dealt in human flesh from along the Nile into North Africa, across the Mediterranean into Europe and east into Asia, but he had become a necessary part of the rebel enterprise. Since he had a massive shipping business following all the best trade routes, Halmad could pay the premium price, and if Malik was going to part with this woman who so stirred his blood he was going to be well compensated for it.

“Where is she?” Halmad asked.

“She’s nearby, don’t worry. I want to know what you’ll do with her first.”

“I’d have to see her to be able to tell you that. She’s British?” Halmad said.

“American.”

Halmad shrugged, negating the difference. “Blonde?” he inquired, smiling.

“Very,” Malik replied shortly.

“And with the
gavur
eyes?”
 

“Yes. Gray, not blue.”

“Young?”

“Still in her teens, is my guess.”

“And you have not had her?” Halmad asked, brows raised skeptically.

“No. She is a virgin.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Young American ladies of her class save it for their husbands, and she is unmarried. She has no wedding ring.”

“How can you tell her class? Anwar said. “You kidnapped her from a traveling coach. It would seem then that you know nothing about her.”

“I can tell her class from her clothes, her speech, the condition of her skin and hair and hands. She is well educated and well cared for, she has never done menial work.”

Halmad frowned. “Then someone will be looking for her,” he said worriedly.

“That’s going to stop you?” Malik replied dryly.

“I don’t want trouble with the American authorities.”

“The Sultan can’t find us, do you think the Americans will do any better? Do you want to see her or not?”

Halmad threw up his hands. “Bring her on,” he said.

Malik held up a warning finger. “I want to know what you plan to do with her. Will you bring her to the market in Beirut?”

“What difference will it make to you once you have your money?” Halmad replied. “You have never asked such a question before, you were counting the kurush before the woman had left the camp. What is special about this one?”

“I just want to know,” Malik said unresponsively.

Halmad shrugged. “It would probably be Beirut, there is the most traffic through that market.”

“Not at the Burnt Column,” Malik said, naming the huge slave market in Constantinople.

“Of course not, I would never get enough for here there. Come now, Bey, you are wasting my time. Either bring the girl in here or I’m leaving, and I can tell you that I won’t be so quick to answer your next summons.”

Malik said nothing, but moved to the cave entrance and signaled to Anwar, who was waiting outside. Shortly afterward Anwar came in, dragging a struggling Amy, who was wearing a fresh cotton gown, her hands tightly bound, her hair streaming loosely over her shoulders.

Halmad stepped forward and looked her over with a professional eye, lifting her chin to examine her face in the lamplight and running his hands over her hair. Amy resisted as violently as she could, her defiant expression indicating that she knew what was happening.

“Very nice,” Halmad said, nodding. “Two thousand at least. But she’s a frisky filly, she may be a problem to transport. Strip her and let me see if she’s worth the effort.”

Malik, who had known this was coming, stepped forward to unbutton the bodice of Amy’s gown. Her head was down, she wouldn’t look at him, but he could see the tears seeping slowly from under her lashes.

She was crying at last.

His hand fell away. “No,” he said.

The slave dealer gazed at him in astonishment. “You expect me to buy her without seeing her?”

“I expect you to leave. I have changed my mind. She is not for sale.”

Anwar stared at Malik, equally amazed, but said nothing, unwilling to disagree with his friend in front of an outsider.

“You brought me all the way out here for nothing?” Halmad sputtered. “You think I have nothing better to do but run around the Turkish countryside at the beck and call of you rabble?”

“Anwar will compensate you for the trip,” Malik said shortly. “Now go.”

“Don’t call me again,” Halmad said angrily, and swept from the cave.

Anwar glared at Malik, waiting for his instructions.

“Give Halmad five hundred and get rid of him,” Malik ordered him.

Anwar shot Malik a disgusted glance, but he turned to obey the command.

Malik looked back at Amy, who was gazing at him warily, her expression a combination of relief and fear; she was glad that Halmad was gone but she didn’t know what was coming next.

Malik met her searching gaze, then took the rope that tied her hands together and led her back to his tent. He didn’t look up as he bound her to the pole and then he left immediately, not trusting himself to meet her eyes.

Anwar was waiting for him outside the tent.

“Have you lost your mind?” Anwar demanded angrily. “Why didn’t you let her go, you fool, to turn down that much money is madness!”

“Two thousand was not enough,” Malik replied calmly. “She will bring more elsewhere.”

“She will bring nothing because you won’t sell her! Do you think I am an idiot? Halmad would have upped the price considerably if you had stripped her, as he requested. Now he’s gone off in a huff, swearing never to deal with us again, and we’re out five hundred kurush. All because you wanted to preserve the modesty of this gavur girl who obviously despises you.”

“Halmad will cool down. And if he doesn’t, there are other dealers. We’ll get some in from Medina this week.”

“And you’ll refuse their offers too. That’s your plan, isn’t it, to turn everybody down and keep her here?”

Malik gazed back at him levelly. “You’re jumping to conclusions. I know what I’m doing.”

“You’re lying to yourself, that’s what you’re doing.”

“I don’t tell you everything, Anwar. There are answers you’ll learn only when the time is right.”

Anwar was silent, but he looked skeptical.

“Don’t worry,” Malik said.

Anwar shook his head. “Malik, I don’t care if you keep a harem as big as the Sultan’s. But this woman could bring in a lot of money
and
you made fools of us in front of a business connection we’ll need in the future.”

“Halmad needs us as much as we need him.”

“That isn’t the point. You’re letting this girl interfere with the cause.”

“I’m not doing that. I simply want to get more money for her, and I will.”

“And if she knifes you while you sleep in the meantime?” Anwar said.

“No chance of that. I’m keeping her tied up.”

“She’s the one who has you tied,
agha
,” Anwar said, and walked away.

* * *

Amy listened to the two men arguing outside, unable to make sense of the heated Turkish but glad that the discussion was keeping the pair of them occupied. When Matka was leaving the tent earlier one of her crewel hooks had slipped out of her workbag, and the nearsighted old lady had not noticed it. Now the metal object lay just a few inches away from Amy, near her feet on the dirt floor.
 

If she could get to it she could use it to unravel the hemp rope that bound her and possibly get free.

Amy strained against her bonds, trying to get the toe of her right slipper near enough to touch it, but her awkward position didn’t give her enough leverage to reach it. She tried again, huffing and puffing in the process. She looked up anxiously, afraid that she might attract the attention of the bandits. They went on talking, but she decided to wait until they were gone to continue.
 

It seemed a long time before they separated and left. She knew that the guards were still posted outside, but they were a little further off and less likely to hear her. She began again, twisting and writhing until she was covered with a thin film of sweat and she had scored a rut in the ground with the heel of her shoe. She bit her lip in concentration; someone might come in at any time and if she didn’t succeed before Bey returned to sleep for the night her chance would be gone. She stretched out her leg once more, her calf muscles straining with the effort, and finally knocked the hook toward her with the side of her shoe.

She felt a violent surge of triumph and bent forward from the waist, wiggling the fingers of her bound right hand to touch it. She groaned aloud; it was still too far away. She blinked as salty sweat ran into her eyes and then licked beads of perspiration from her upper lip. She forced herself to pause, breathe deeply, and take stock of the situation.

She had to escape before more slave dealers came to look her over; sooner or later Bey would get the price he wanted. She had no desire to repeat the day’s humiliating experience of being paraded like an expensive whore before a prospective client, not to mention the horrible fate which would follow once she was bought.
 

She had to escape now.
 

Amy had known what was coming when Matka and the young girl arrived to give her another bath and a change of clothes. She had let them perfume her skin with oil of cloves and apply henna to her face and hands, but she had objected when they wanted to rub butter into her hair. The women gave up when she struggled, apparently because the dealer had already arrived and was waiting to see her. So she was presented with her oil free Western hair unbraided and unbound.

Amy had no idea why Malik Bey had refused to sell her, but she was sure her reprieve wouldn’t last very long. Even stranger than Malik’s failure to consummate the deal was his objection when the trader wanted to disrobe her. Amy was sure it was standard for the buyer to inspect the goods before agreeing to a price, but she had no time to waste pondering the eccentricities of her kidnapper.
 

Her goal was to get away from him.

When her strength was restored she tried to reach the hook again, and was shocked when she almost grasped it. Maybe her rest had actually done some good. Heartened, she held her breath and made a desperate lunge forward, grabbing the hook with her thumb and forefinger.

She was so overjoyed that she had to restrain herself from shouting. She pressed the hook to her breast thankfully and then panicked when she heard a sound outside. She thrust the hook into the bodice of her gown, then felt the cold metal slip down to her waist, where the cord belt stopped it.

Footsteps halted by the tent entrance and she held her breath, listening. The camp rose and retired with the sun, and it was now dark. Malik was coming in to retire, and he left the oil lamp burning in the tent all night.

She would be able to begin work on her ropes as soon as he was asleep.

Amy closed her eyes, feigning sleep herself until she heard him discard his tunic and settle on the mat. She peeked through her lashes and saw that he was lying face down with his head pillowed on one arm. His position brought out the fine musculature of his upper arms and back, and Amy’s gaze lingered on the slim torso and smooth skin, then moved up to the glossy black curls shining in the lamplight. She could just see his partial profile, the strong nose and sculpted mouth, and she looked away deliberately, not wanting to see him in this moment of vulnerability as a human being. This was her captor, her tormentor, her enemy. He could never be anything else.

Amy waited until he was breathing deeply and regularly, then took out the crewel hook and set to work. It took hours of picking at the woven hemp to get it to fray, and then unravel, but once she got one hand loose the process accelerated rapidly. Still it was almost dawn before both hands were free. She rubbed her abraded wrists, which were chafed and bleeding, then bent to work the knots binding her ankles. When she finally stood unsteadily she could see through the tent flap that first light was streaking the sky.

She didn’t have much time.

She had spent long nights planning her escape, and she knew just what to do. She had noticed a spot where the tent’s posting to the ground was uneven, creating a gap. She was slight enough to wriggle under the canvas, and best of all, the escape location was a distance from the guards. If she could make it to the woods, about thirty feet away from the tent, she’d be safe.

Amy crept soundlessly to the tent’s edge and then flattened herself on the ground, digging with her hands and pushing up the heavy canvas until she had created an opening big enough to admit her body. She began to crawl through it, glancing back once at Malik Bey to make sure he hadn’t heard her scrabbling. Then she smelled the fresh night air and it urged her on until she had emerged on the other side of the tent, filthy and scabbed, but free.