Devil's Daughter (Devil 2)

“Why, Hajj Ahmad,” Kamal asked politely, “did you allow the delivery of the spices if the man did not pay you?”

“One of my sons arranged it, highness. He returned to me with the news”—he nearly spat on the other man—“that this insect refused to pay.”

The shopkeeper took his turn. “I paid, highness, but the son of Hajj Ahmad refused to give me a receipt for my payment.”

“A lie, highness,” Hajj shouted.

Kamal raised his hand for quiet. He gazed closely at both men, then turned to speak softly to Hassan, who stood beside his chair.

He said nothing more, and Hassan directed the two men to wait in the antechamber. Kamal rendered his judgments on two other cases, both involving matters of personal status, and thus under the Our’anic law. He then turned to Hassan and nodded to him.

A sloe-eyed young man, with the beginnings of a paunch as noble as his sire’s, strode into the hall of justice with Hajj Ahmad. Kamal turned to Hajj Ahmad. “This is the son you sent to deliver the spices to the shopkeeper?”

“Yes, highness.”

Kamal looked closely at the young man and smiled. “Tell us what happened,” he said.

The young man glanced briefly toward his father, and told the same story that Hajj Ahmad had recounted, embellishing upon it at the seemingly sympathetic smile from the Bey.

Kamal said quietly when he had finished, “And you serve your father so well that you would leave his goods with another, without payment?”

“The shopkeeper said he could not pay me, highness. He said he would send payment the next day to my father, but he did not.”

Kamal stared down at the huge emerald ring upon his third finger. “Hassan,” he said at last, “the bastinado for the son.”

“Highness,” Hajj shrieked. “He is my son. He is of my flesh. All his life he has served me faithfully.”

“Your son has stolen from you, Hajj Ahmad. If under the bastinado he does not admit where he has hidden the shopkeeper’s payment, I will still consider that justice has been rendered. It appears that you are not a good judge of men. You misjudged your son and you have misjudged me. Do not again attempt to bribe me.”

Hassan clapped his hands, and two of the Turkish soldiers, their scimitars glittering silver at their sides, dragged the young man away. “Do not let them beat the fool to death,” Kamal said to Hassan. “He is a coward. When he tells his father what he has done with the money, release him. Hajj Ahmad will treat him then as he should be treated, I would wager.”

When Kamal had finished with the last case, a dispute over a young bride’s dowry, Hassan’s wizened face crinkled into a smile of pride. “I feared, highness,” he said softly, “that a man who has spent so many years away from us would not see truth among us as would one born to it.”

Kamal laughed. “But you still pray that I will grow wiser as the years pass, do you not, Hassan?”

“Yes, highness. It is inevitable.” Hassan paused a moment as a slave handed Kamal a glass of fruit juice. “There is another matter, highness,” he said softly.

Kamal cocked his head in question, dismissing the slave with a wave of his hand.

“The reply you made to the English earl some weeks ago, highness, the Earl of Clare.”

“The missing ships. I told him that I knew nothing of it, Hassan, as you know. You have since discovered something?”

“Yes, highness. One of our captains, Bajor, was responsible.”

“We have broken tribute,” Kamal said after a moment, his voice blank with disbelief.

“Bajor claimed, highness, that your seal was on the order he received to destroy the ships.”

“The man lies,” Kamal said flatly. “Only you and I use the seal.”

“There is another, highness, if you will recall.”

Kamal could only gaze, appalled, at his minister. When he had gathered his thoughts, he said in a calm voice, “Please have Raj inform my mother that I will dine with her this evening in her chambers.”

“As you wish, highness,” Hassan Aga said.

Kamal left the hall and walked thoughtfully through the ornate passages and chambers that led to his suite of rooms in the west wing of his palace. The two spacious chambers had belonged to Hamil, and Kamal had not disturbed the memories of his half-brother. Precious tapestries from Egypt, spun in brilliant colors, fell from ceiling to floor on the whitewashed walls. The floors were covered with Persian carpets, each woven with swirls of blue, gold, and crimson. Low sandalwood tables, inlaid with ivory, elegant and simple, were surrounded by thick embroidered cushions. A long, narrow sofa stood along one wall, one of Kamal’s few concessions to his own comfort.