Panther's Prey (26 page)

Malik nodded. “And the travelers know about us by now and carry as little as possible with them.”

Silence reigned as they thought about the problem; Malik looked out of the tent at the unfamiliar trees, wondering how else he could raise money. The rebels had moved their base soon after Amelia left, and he felt uneasy in the new surroundings.
 

His memories of her were associated with the old camp.

“Why didn’t you rob the girl’s house when you were in Pera?” Anwar asked.

Malik threw him a dirty look.

“Just a few pieces of silver? A couple of rings? They’d never miss them.”

“Amelia’s family is off the target list permanently, Anwar. Forget it.”

“We have no reason to spare her relatives.
They’re
not in love with you and
they
didn’t save my life.”

“I said no, Anwar.”

“Well, we have to do better than this,” Anwar said angrily, sweeping the paper money from the table.

“We will. I’ll think of something.”
 

Anwar sat on an upturned crate and looked at Malik. “Are you going back there again?” he asked.

“Where?”

“To her house.”

“When I can.”

Anwar sighed. “It’s like putting your neck under the blade.”

“I have to see her.”

“I know that, I understand. But does it have to be at the risk of your life?”

“I risk my life every day, and so do you.”

Anwar leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Look, I know you love Amelia, but there’s something you should hear. Yuri just told me there’s a rumor that the Sultan is tripling the number of janissaries in the Pera section. The Europeans have been complaining about the rising crime rate. Hammid is anxious to keep them happy and keep those Western trade dollars rolling into his treasury.”

“He’s turning us all into thieves,” Malik said disgustedly.

“If the rumor is true, it will be even more difficult for you to get to her house,” Anwar pointed out to him.

Malik shrugged.

“Let me go with you next time.”

“No. If something goes wrong the cause can’t afford to lose both of us.”

“So you think I can replace you if you die?” Anwar asked incredulously.

“Of course.”

“Malik, you are blind. These people here listen to you because you’re
you
, because they have faith in
you
. If you are killed the band will fall apart and the cause will die.”

“That’s not true. No one man is that important.”

Anwar stood and threw up his hands. “Fine. Maybe you’re right. But if she means that much to you, go and get her. For good. She wanted to stay with you before–she’ll come with you now. She understands what life is like with us, she’s already lived it. You can’t go on this way, running back and forth between her life and yours, tempting the Sultan’s men to catch you at it every time. It’s sheer madness.”
 

There was a long pause before Malik said quietly, “I know that. I know.”

Anwar exchanged a telling look with him and then bent to retrieve the bills from the ground.
 

* * *

“James has rung for the carriage, Amelia, are you ready yet?” Beatrice called down the hall.

“I’m coming,” Amy replied, picking up her fan and moire reticule. She hadn’t dressed for a formal event since she left Boston, and she had almost forgotten how heavy a gown of double faced satin felt on the body. The pale rose ensemble she wore featured a scooped neckline and ornamental draped and gathered sleeves which stopped at the elbow. The short train on the trumpet skirt ended in the same draped and beribboned effect as the sleeves. Opera length kid gloves and matching glazed kid slippers completed the effect.

Amy picked up her cape, which was lightweight rose wool lined with satin to match her dress, and draped it over her arm. The marcasite hairpins which held her pompadour in place glittered as she turned her head, complementing the marcasite earrings and necklace she wore. She didn’t even glance in the mirror as she left; if Malik wasn’t going to see her she was only concerned with making a nice impression.

“Oh, don’t you look lovely,” Beatrice said, beaming, as Amy met her in the front hall. “What a picture! Your dance card is sure to be full.”

Amy smiled, glad that she had gone along with the dress her aunt had selected. Amy had been on her best behavior since her encounter with Mrs. Ballinger two weeks earlier, and it seemed that Beatrice had forgotten Amy’s
faux pas
. Her aunt, incandescent with diamonds, was attired in a gunmetal gray faille gown with dove gray feathers in her upswept hair. Her eyes shone and she was flushed with excitement. These social events were the high point of her life, a diversion which made her exile in Constantinople bearable, and Amy sincerely hoped the evening was a success.

James emerged from his den, attired in a swallowtail coat with silk faced lapels, slim trousers, and a boiled shirt. He was carrying a top hat.

“Ladies?” he said, and offered Bea his arm.

The evening was cool, as the day had been for early October, and Amy tied the satin bow of her cape at the neck as she settled in for the ride on the seat across from James and Bea. It was a short trip to the British Embassy, through the best sections of Pera to the heart of the ancient city, and Amy looked out at the well appointed, gaslit homes they passed on the way, wondering where Malik was and what he was doing. The clopping of the horses’ hooves and the swaying of the carriage almost made her feel that she was back in Boston, going out for the evening with her parents. But visible through her window were not the red brick colonials of Beacon Hill, but narrow cobbled streets dating back to the Byzantine era.
 

The embassy was ablaze, gas jets turned up to the highest setting, a yellow glow visible through every corniced window. The union jack was draped from the second floor balcony, fluttering slightly in the evening breeze above fluted Doric columns. Elegant carriages lined the crushed stone drive leading up to the porticoed entrance, its double doors standing open to admit the new arrivals. Amy and her companions walked up the wide stone steps past guards in red coats and white pith helmets and handed their wraps to a footman in the foyer. Then they passed beneath the largest chandelier Amy had ever seen and through an anteroom lined with gilt framed portraits and into the reception hall.
 

Mrs. Ballinger stood on the red carpet in front of a marble bust of the Duke of Wellington, her smartly uniformed husband beside her as she greeted the guests and took their donation cards. As she handed Amy her dance schedule, Amy noticed that the older woman was wearing an ivory gown which set off to perfection the magnificent Burmese ruby around her neck. It was a cabochon stone the size of a pigeon’s egg, set into a gold filigree base. Amy wondered how many of Malik’s men could be outfitted and fed with the fortune used to purchase it, and then resolved to not to think along those lines for the rest of the evening. Such ruminations might led to another outburst in defense of the rebels, and she couldn’t afford to embarrass Beatrice twice.
 

James and Bea lingered with Mrs. Ballinger, and Amy moved on down the receiving line. The British Ambassador was at the other end of it, medals gleaming on a scarlet sash, and next to him stood his American colleague, Secretary Danforth.

“How do you do, young lady?” the Secretary said. “I’m so glad to see you back among us again. Your disappearance had your uncle very worried, and I must say it was a great relief to all of us at the American consulate to learn that you were returned to him safe and sound.”

“Thank you, Mr. Secretary,” Amy said. “I wanted to come to your office personally to express my gratitude for your help, but my uncle told me you were out of the country for a while.”

“Yes, I just returned. And thanks are not necessary, Miss Ryder. I’m afraid I did very little to effect your release. The credit for that goes to the Pasha of Bursa.”
 

“Is he here?” Amy asked.

“Yes, he and his wife just arrived.” His smile widened. “The women of your family are very lovely.”

“How kind of you to say so,” Amy replied. “With your permission I think I’ll go into the ballroom and look for Kalid and Sarah.”

“By all means,” the Secretary said, nodding. “So nice to have met you.”

Amy left him and went into the ballroom, where another vintage Waterford crystal fixture, a product of the British dominion of Ireland, poured gaslight onto the celebrants. The floor to ceiling windows which looked out onto the courtyard were draped with crimson satin sashed with gold, and gilt chairs lined the dance floor for those participants who wished to take a rest. The orchestra launched into a waltz as Martin Fitzwater, one of the young officers of the British garrison she had met previously, materialized at her side to claim the dance listed on her card. Amy checked off his name with the little marker attached to the tasseled card by a golden cord and then stepped into his arms.

She had danced several times when she spotted Sarah standing with a group of women near the ballroom entrance. Amy made her way through the crowd, and when Sarah saw her coming she detached herself from her companions and headed for Amy, holding out both of her hands.
 

Sarah was wearing a pale green taffeta gown with a funnel neckline and triple tier sleeves trimmed in Chantilly lace. Its bell skirt was split by a center panel of dark green silk.

“My dear, how lovely you look!” Sarah said. “I’m so glad to see you.
 
I’ve been searching for you for over an hour.” She kissed Amy on the cheek.

“It’s not easy to find anyone in this crowd,” Amy replied. “Where is Kalid?”

Sarah nodded to her left and Amy saw the pasha, dressed in a deep blue ceremonial robe bordered with silver, talking with a man in a sack suit wearing a monocle. When Kalid looked up and saw Amy, he gave her a very Western wink over the other man’s head.

“He’s such a flirt,” Sarah muttered with mock indignation, and Amy giggled.

“And how are you?” Sarah asked, raising one delicate eyebrow. “Had any visitors?”

Amy smiled and looked down, the heat coming up in her face. “Yes,” she said shyly.

Sarah pressed her hand. “Did he come to the house?” Sarah murmured.

Amy nodded. “He climbed the balcony to my room and came in through the French doors.”

Sarah closed her eyes. “An Ottoman Romeo,” she said, sighing. She opened her eyes again. “He got away safely?”

Amy nodded. “I took him out through the flower room, but I haven’t heard from him since. I’m worried.”

“Don’t worry,” Sarah said reassuringly. “From everything I’ve heard he’s amazingly resourceful and I’m sure he’s fine.” She smiled. “Just busy.”

Amy smiled back at her, then they both turned as a sixtyish man came into the room wearing a white silk caftan, the sleeves slashed to reveal amber silk armlets matching the amber turban on his head. A white aigrette in the turban was studded with emeralds, as was the sheath containing his sword, and rings dazzled from his every finger. He was flanked by two massive men in loose shirts with baggy trousers fitted to their ankles, red sashes showing under their embroidered black waistcoats.

“The Sultan?” Amy asked.

Sarah nodded. “He never goes anywhere without his eunuchs, as if to remind everyone that he’s living in the past. At least he’s on his own two feet. He used to appear at all Western functions carried in a sedan chair.”
 

“What is he doing here?”

“He’s the country’s ruler. If the Embassy wants to remain open the Ambassador can’t exclude him from an event like this,” Sarah said simply.

“He doesn’t look evil,” Amy said, with a slight shudder.

“Men like him never do,” Sarah replied grimly.

Someone tapped Amy on the shoulder and she turned to find Martin back again. He bowed slightly.

“I know I signed up for just one dance,” he said in his King’s College accent, “but as you are free, Miss Ryder, may I have the pleasure once more?”

Amy looked at Sarah, who said, “Go ahead. But before you do, have you seen James?”

“No, not since I left him in the receiving line,” Amy replied, and stepped into Martin’s arms.

Martin made pleasant chatter about his posting to Turkey and his family back home in the West Riding of Yorkshire as he whirled her around the floor. When the musicians took a break he invited Amy to join him for refreshments in the next room, but Amy declined, saying that she wanted to find her aunt. As Martin walked off, disappointed, Amy looked around vainly for Beatrice, then decided instead to get a breath of air on the terrace. The ballroom was stuffy from the crush of people despite the cool weather, and she walked to the end of the long hall so she could slip through the last set of doors unnoticed.

As soon as she set foot on the flagstones she was grabbed from behind and a large male hand was clamped over her mouth. She struggled vainly as she was dragged into a clump of bushes by the side of the garden path.

“Amelia, stop wriggling!” Malik’s voice said in her ear. “It’s me.”