Panther's Prey (33 page)

“Malik!” Amy gasped, too stunned at his sudden appearance to say anything more than his name.
 

He was filthy, his shirt ripped along the length of one sinewy arm, his forehead smeared with dirt and his cheeks covered with black stubble.
 

“Amelia,” he said, opening the half exposed arm in an embracing gesture.
 

Amy, her whole body flooding with joy as she recovered from his dramatic appearance, ran to his side. His arm came around her tightly.

“How?” she said to him breathlessly. “How did you get here?”

“I’ll tell you later. Go and get your bag,” he said.
 

Amy ran for the stairs as James said to Malik, “You’re not taking my niece anywhere.”

Amy turned to see Malik hold up his hand in a conciliating manner. “I don’t want to hurt anyone here,” he said, “but Amelia is coming with me. Now.”

“The hell she is,” Martin Fitzwater said grimly, reaching for his sword.

Malik drew a pistol from his waistband the same instant and shot at Martin’s feet. Martin jumped back as the report rang loudly, echoing in the confined space, kicking up a wood chip from the bare floor next to the carpet.

Beatrice shrieked and fell backward into a chair; Listak dove behind the stairwell, her apron flung over her head. James stood rooted to the rug in appalled silence.
 

Malik trained his weapon on all of them as Amy ran upstairs to her room, grabbed her canvas carryall, and then flew back down to the hall to stand at Malik’s side.

“Ready?” he said.

Amy nodded.

“Let’s go.” Malik grabbed Amy’s hand and they turned toward the door in unison.

“Are you sure this is what you want, Amelia?” James called after them urgently.

Amy whirled to face him.

“Yes, it is,” she said. She looked at Beatrice, who was sobbing now, unable to believe that all her careful plans had come to this awful end.
 

“Aunt Bea, please forgive me,” Amy said. “Uncle James, try to understand. Martin, I know misled you and I regret that, but I have to do this. I love Malik and I’m going with him.”

“You love him?” Martin gasped. “This is your kidnapper!”

“And my lover. I don’t expect you to understand, and I apologize to all three of you. I’m very sorry.”

They stared back at her wordlessly; James looked merely sad, Bea was crying silently. Martin was white with shock, his lips bloodless.
 

Malik tugged on Amy’s hand.

“Please don’t send anyone after us. Goodbye,” Amy said to the trio in the parlor, and then ran with Malik down the hall.

“Mehmet is tied up at the side of the house,” Malik said as they burst out of the door and ran through the back garden.

“How did you get him here?” Amy asked breathlessly as he lifted her onto the horse and strapped her bag to the saddle.

“Anwar brought him to the jail,” Malik replied. He settled behind her and then kicked Mehmet’s flanks, nudging the horse down the drive to the road.

“Where are we going?”

“Anwar has found us a safe house. It’s about twenty minutes’ ride, just hang on to me and I’ll explain what’s happening when we get there.”

The manicured streets of Pera were empty. Amy wondered what had happened to the ubiquitous janissaries; the patrols were gone and an eerie silence had replaced the sound of clanging weapons and marching feet. Just as they left the Woolcotts’ street a tremendous explosion split the stillness and Mehmet reared, his forefeet flailing the air.

It took several seconds for Malik to control the horse, and in that time people began to pour out of their homes, babbling excitedly, running into the street and pointing toward the water. A number of smaller blasts followed in rapid succession as Amy turned to look past Malik’s shoulder and saw a thick column of smoke rising toward the indigo sky.

“What was that?” she gasped.

“The gunpowder magazine at Topkapi,” Malik replied grimly, still grappling with the restive horse. “The janissaries just blew it up.”

Amy fell silent and grasped the pommel of the saddle more tightly, putting aside her questions for later as Mehmet settled down and they continued their ride. The startled population filling the streets paid them little attention; the residents gravitated in the opposite direction toward the park which offered an elevation and a better view of the harbor. Amy was glad they were so distracted they didn’t have the time to look closely at the two passing on horseback. She in her tea dress and Malik in his prison deshabille might have attracted more notice if the circumstances surrounding them at that moment had been less chaotic.

As they rode through the city, heading for the northern gate and the impenetrable hills which provided refuge for the rebels, Amy didn’t see a single soldier. The janissaries had been a constant presence in Constantinople for her whole time there, and she found to her surprise that their sudden absence was unsettling. She had always resented them, since they made her feel as if she were living in a state of siege, but now she realized that there was no force in place to control the agitated population which swelled around them. Nobody knew what was happening and the perpetually unhappy residents of the poorer sections gave every appearance of erupting into riots. She sighed with relief as Mehmet surged through the thinning suburbs and finally emerged onto the open plain with its scrub grass and thirsty trees. A silver moon rose while the sun set behind them, and the air grew chill. Malik steered the horse upward into the foothills, where the track was almost lost in the undergrowth and only a native would know the way. Mehmet slowed, picking his way around boulders and leaping across crags, inching his way through the difficult terrain. Just when Amy was sure they would have to stop to rest the horse, she spotted a corner of a thatched roof through the trees. Malik turned Mehmet toward it, and as they came closer she saw that the hut was made of fieldstone with an oak door hewn from the local wood.

Malik reined Mehmet in and jumped to the ground, tying the horse to a tree and then lifting Amy down from the saddle. As she moved out of his arms he pulled her back and said, “Stay here a moment. I thought I would never hold you again.”
 

Amy put her head on his shoulder, clinging to him, finding the familiar spot under his breastbone where her nose usually rested. “You frightened me so much when I saw you at the jail,” she whispered. “When you turned me away so harshly I knew you believed you were going to die.”

“Don’t think about that now,” he said, stroking her hair. “It’s over and we’re together.”

“But for how long? You still haven’t told me how you got out of jail, what happened to the janissaries, any of it.”

“Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you everything.”

The interior of the hut was stark, with just a table and two chairs, a bed, and a wooden storage chest on the dirt packed floor. A fire was laid in the stone grate, and Malik knelt to light it as Amy closed the door behind them, leaving them in semi-darkness. He rose with a burning twig in his hand and lit the fat tallow candles standing in wooden cups on the table, glancing at Amy as she shivered.

“Are you cold?” he said, his hand automatically going to his shirtfront to remove what he was wearing and give it to her. Then he looked down at his shirt, remembered that it was in rags, and grinned ruefully.

“I guess I’ll have to keep you warm,” he said, grabbing Amy and tumbling with her onto the bed. He pulled the faded, hand stitched quilt over both of them and wrapped her in his arms. Gradually her shuddering ceased and she lay peacefully against him.

“Better?” he said, his lips touching her ear.

“Yes. I guess it was just a reaction to all of this: two hours ago I was having tea with Martin Fitzwater and now here I am with you.”

“I should have shot that bastard when I had the chance,” Malik said grimly.

“Oh, darling, don’t be ridiculous,” Amy murmured. “I was just going along with Aunt Bea’s plans to buy some time.”

“He’s a lecher,” Malik said darkly.

“And you’re not?” Amy said smilingly, reaching up to touch his dirt smeared, hair covered cheek.

He turned his head to kiss her hand, his eyes looking very large and dark in the flickering candlelight. “Only for you.”

“Are you going to tell me how you got out of jail?” Amy asked him.

“Anwar got together with Kalid Shah and they staged a raid on the jail at the same time the janissaries walked off the job,” Malik replied.

Amy sat up and stared at him. “The janissaries walked off the job?” she repeated incredulously.

He nodded. “Most of them, anyway. The few who remained loyal to the Sultan gave us a bit of an argument, but there aren’t enough of them to matter. As I said, the explosion you heard when we left Pera was Kemal Sorek torching the fuel dump at Topkapi.”

Amy was stunned into silence. Finally she said, “Does this mean the Sultan has been deposed?”

Malik sighed. “It won’t be that easy. He’s still breathing and he has a loyal group around him at the palace. We could have stormed it this afternoon, but Kalid wants to keep Hammid alive. He’s afraid we’ll be cut off by the West if we look like bloodthirsty assassins.”

“That’s reasonable, isn’t it?”

Malik snorted. “Hammid has been murdering people for years, it hasn’t stopped the Western governments from sending ambassadors or doing business here.” He paused. “If it had been up to me alone, I would have killed him.”

“Even though it might have jeopardized the future of the new government you hope to form?” Amy asked.

Malik was silent. He was clearly torn between the two objectives; the old and deep seated desire for personal revenge on the man who had killed his family, and the more recent goal of establishing a Turkish democracy, which could not long survive without foreign friends.
 

“So what is the plan?” Amy finally asked.
 

“As a first step, Kalid has sent word to the Sultan, offering to act as negotiator. Shah wants to get some concessions for us in return for restoring the janissaries.”

“And you? What happens to you?” Amy said anxiously.

“I have to hide out for a few days until things cool down. Kalid said that my presence at the conference table would be too ‘inflammatory.’”

“Listen to him, Malik. He knows the Sultan and he knows what he’s doing.”

“I am listening to him,” Malik said shortly. “That’s why I’m here.”

“But you’d rather be with Anwar?”

He pulled her back to him and kissed her. “I would always rather be with you,” he said gently. “But after fighting for so long it is hard to leave the end game to somebody else.”

“In other words, you want to be there in person to shove your victory down Hammid’s throat,” Amy said dryly.
 

“It’s not a victory yet,” Malik replied.

“Why not? What can the Sultan do without his soldiers?”

“I don’t know how long the janissaries will be with us. It’s an uneasy alliance and could fall apart at any time.”

Amy sighed, then hugged him tighter. “I know it’s hard to wait and wonder,” she said softly. “It’s especially hard for someone like you.”
 

He drew back and looked at her.

“You’re not exactly the waiting type,” Amy said, and he glanced away from her impatiently.

She tugged on his neck and pulled him back down to the bed. “I have an idea how to pass the time,” she whispered, kissing the side of his throat.

“I’m filthy,” he muttered, already unhooking her bodice.

“I don’t care.”

“Neither do I,” he replied, and Amy could hear the smile in his voice.

Amy didn’t mind the beard stubble, the jail smell or the clothes which came off him in tattered layers. Underneath he was still Malik, and as the now blazing fire warmed the room, he made love to her hungrily, their time of separation making him ardent, demanding. As she lay in his arms afterward, gazing up at his carved profile, she almost had to pinch herself to make sure he was really there. She had gone from despair to joy in such a short time she was still reeling from the quick change; it was like a miracle to feel his body next to hers. She snuggled closer to him and he stirred.

“Are you awake?” Amy asked.

“I’m asleep,” he replied.

“You are not.”

He opened one eye and looked at her. “Yes, I am.”

“Malik, what will happen to you if the Sultan manages to regain his power?” she asked, ignoring him.
 

He sighed and rolled over on top of her, pinning her to the bed. “The revolt of his soldiers should have scared him enough to make him negotiate; I don’t think he will ever again be what he was. But it’s impossible to say what he’ll do now. He’s never been challenged before and I don’t know how he’ll behave if he thinks he’s cornered.” He kissed her bare shoulder.

Amy said nothing. Malik might be out of jail, but she was still afraid for him. He had spearheaded the revolt and if the Sultan retained any vestige of his former might he was not likely to forget that. Alarmed at her own thoughts, she realized that she would have preferred to hear that Hammid was dead.