Devil's Daughter (Devil 2)

Kamal rose from a sofa of pillows and furs and silently studied the Heliotrope’s captain. He was a man of Hamil’s age, Kamal thought, and he was frightened. He said to Droso, “I want you to captain the ship into port. Ensure that there is no violence.”

“Yes, highness,” Droso said, and bowed himself from the cabin.

Kamal switched from Arabic to Italian to reassure the man. “There will be no harm done to your men, captain. Will you be seated?”

Sordello drew himself up to his full height. The man he faced was young, a good ten years younger than he, with sun-bleached blond hair and eyes as blue as the Mediterranean. He looked to Sordello more like a Viking than a corsair.

“Who are you?”

“I am Kamal, Bey of Oran and foreign-affairs minister to the Dey of Algiers.”

“Hamil is dead?”

“Yes, my half-brother died some seven months ago.”

The new Bey did not realize he had taken a Parese ship. “There is a mistake, highness,” Sordello said. “I travel under tribute.” He thrust his papers toward Kamal.

To his astonishment, Kamal waved the papers away and said gently, “Yes, I know. Unfortunately, my friend, you must be detained, you and your men, and your ship. Your cargo will be confiscated, for the time being.”

Detained? What the devil did that mean? Sordello thought again of Maria, waiting for him, of his two sons, and of a future as a slave. Would he be gelded or sent to the mines for the rest of his years? “I don’t understand,” he said, choking on the words.

Kamal guessed his thoughts. “Have no fear. It is not slavery that awaits you. You will be held at my palace in Oran until all has been settled with your master, the Earl of Clare.”

Sordello gaped at him.

“Join me for a glass of wine, captain. It is quite sweet, from Tunis. It will relax you.”

Was the wine drugged? He shook his head as Kamal held out a glass of the red wine to him.

Slowly Kamal raised the glass and sipped the wine. “You see, captain? I do not seek to harm you.”

Sordello accepted the glass with trembling fingers and downed the sweet wine. “Tribute is never broken,” he said. “I do not understand.”

“There is much you do not understand, captain. Ali will show you to your cabin. Do not worry about your men. They will not be mistreated.”

Both men whirled toward the door at the sound of a piercing scream. Kamal cursed under his breath and rushed from the cabin, Sordello at his heels. He gained the deck in time to see Droso strike one of his men, Sard, with the flat of his scimitar.

“Marco,” Sordello yelled. “Your word, highness.” He turned to Kamal. “He is just a boy.” His cabin boy was weaving where he stood, his blue shirt rent at his shoulder, his blood rushing down his arm. In his other hand he clasped Sordello’s strongbox.

“The boy tried to break away, highness,” Droso said to Kamal.

Sordello raised anguished eyes to Kamal. “He had not given me all our papers. He was afraid you would kill me.”

Kamal knelt beside Marco. He removed his wide leather belt and fashioned a tourniquet to slow the bleeding. The boy raised wide eyes to Kamal’s face. “The papers,” he whispered between pinched lips. “I have papers for you.”

Hassan was right to say he had mixed wisdom with folly, Kamal thought. What he had done might mean this boy’s life. “Take him below, to my cabin,” he told Droso. “Ali will see to him.” He rose and stared long at Sordello. “If the boy can be saved, my physicians will do it. Do you wish vengeance on the man who struck him?”

Sordello said in a voice of deadly calm, “Unlike your pirates, highness, we are not butchers.”

“No,” Kamal said, “I did not think so. Come, captain, you may stay with the boy until we reach Oran.”

Kamal spoke with Ali, who had been watching the exchange, walked slowly to the railing of the xebec, and stared down into the rippling water. The xebec heeled sharply to port, its black sails beating loudly in the wind. He raised his head and met Droso’s black eyes.

“Sard is dead, highness,” Droso said calmly.

Chapter 10

Naples