Panther's Prey (34 page)

“Don’t look so worried, “ Malik said, reading her expression. “I’m in one piece, and we’re a lot closer to getting rid of that monster than we were yesterday.”

Amy held him against her and stroked his hair, hoping that he was right.

Malik suddenly raised his head and said, “Anwar told me he would leave some food here. I’m hungry.”

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Not any more.” He got out of the bed, picked up his ragged pants from the floor, then dropped them again in disgust. He went to the wooden chest and began rummaging through it, tossing out several bundles, one containing soap and a hairbrush, another a couple of garments.

“Change of clothes,” he said, donning the pants and tying the drawstring waist.

“That should come in handy.”

“Ah–ha,” Malik said, holding aloft a canvas bag. He untied the string at its mouth and produced two apples, a wheel of pita bread and several hardening borek.

“Want one?” he said, displaying an apple.

Amy shook her head. “Aunt Beatrice had enough to feed an army when...” She stopped when she saw his expression change.

“When your suitor came to visit?” he said sourly, biting into the fruit.

“Don’t start.”

“He looks like a paraffin dummy in that uniform,” Malik said.

“I thought you admired the British.”

“Not when they’re after my woman.”

Amy slipped out of the bed, wrapping the quilt around her and kneeling next to him on the dirt floor. “Is that what I am?” she whispered, touching his cheek.

“That’s what you are.”

“Since I met you, I feel like a woman.”

“You feel like a woman to me, too,” he said teasingly, dropping the apple and wrestling her under him.

“Malik, I know you don’t want me see how anxious you are,” she said, looking up at him.

“I’m not anxious.”

“Restless, then.”

He bent his head and clenched his fists. “I want to know what’s happening!” he blurted, closing his eyes. “I’ve lived for this moment for years and I’m missing it!”

“Let Kalid do the talking. You know that’s the right thing.”

“Yes, but when I agreed to stay out of it I didn’t realize it would be this difficult.”

“I know what you need,” Amy said soothingly.

He smiled.

“I meant a nice, hot bath.”

“Oh.”

“I saw a rain barrel out back and the fire is old enough now to heat the water.”

He nodded and stood up, going outside for the water and then hanging the iron kettle on a peg over the roaring fire. Amy took out the soap and brush picked up the clean shirt, dusting it off ineffectually.

“I don’t think that’s going to help,” Malik said ruefully, coming up behind her.

“You’re lucky to have it at all, considering the condition of your own clothes.”

“Someday soon all the people in this country will have enough of everything,” he said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I know that’s your dream,” Amy responded, standing in front of him and putting her hands on his shoulders

He turned his head and kissed her fingers. “I hope it’s coming true.”

“It will come true, I can feel it. The Sultan’s days are numbered.”

He murmured something in Turkish, and Amy asked, “What was that?”

“How do you say it in English? It’s the last word to all of your prayers.”
 

Amy smiled. “Amen.”

He nodded. “Amen.”

When the water was heated Malik added some from the barrel and soaped up, the firelight playing over his bare body as Amy watched. He had lost weight in jail, and the muscles were clearly defined under his skin, his ribcage visible. He was still beautiful, but if he dropped a few more pounds he would begin to look gaunt.

Amy resolved to fatten him up as quickly as possible.

Malik went back outside to rinse off on the grass, and Amy handed him the quilt. He bundled into it, rubbing briskly and glancing up at the emerging stars.

“It feels good to be clean,” he admitted.

“Let me wash your hair now,” Amy said.

He ran his hand through the ragged waves, his look rueful. “Pretty bad, eh?” he said.

“Pretty dusty. It looks gray.”

“It probably
is
gray,” he observed, following Amy back inside the hut and sitting on the edge of the bed. He pulled on the clean pants he’d found.
 

She dipped into the kettle and wet down the dark mass of his hair, soaping it with the pine smelling lump Anwar had supplied and then massaging the thick tresses, digging her fingers into Malik’s scalp.

“Feels good,” he grunted. “See anything crawling out of there?”

Amy stepped back suddenly.

He laughed. “You can pick up a lot of miniature company in jail,” he said.

“Let’s not talk about it,” Amy said, forcing his head forward and rinsing the back of his hair.

“Water’s getting cold already,” he said.

“Almost done.” She rinsed again and ran her fingernail along a natural part in his hair.

“Looking for vermin?” he asked.

“Just making sure it’s still black.” She began to squeeze the moisture out of it with her fingers, since there was no towel and the quilt was already wet.

“I wish I had a razor,” he said, rubbing his bearded jaw.

“I’ll settle for just clean right now.” Amy replied, admiring how his wet sable hair gleamed.

“I feel like a new man.”

“I kind of liked the old one.” She bent forward and wound her arms around his neck. “I missed you so much.”

“I didn’t miss you at all,” he said teasingly, pulling her into his lap. “I liked the Sultan’s jail, there were lots of like minded people there for me to talk to: thieves, rapists, murderers...”

“You’re none of those things,” Amy murmured, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Hammid would disagree with you.”

“His opinion no longer matters.” She kissed him tenderly.

Malik rolled over onto the bed, pinning Amy under him. “I never would have predicted things would turn out this way,” he said softly. “When I first met you I saw you only as a means to an end. But you changed that very quickly.”

“And when I first met you my only goal in life was to get away from you,” Amy countered.

“What’s your goal now?” he asked, smiling, moving back onto his side

“Let me show you,” Amy replied, reaching for the drawstring at his waist.

He closed his eyes as she loosened his pants and caressed him, his breathing escalating as his skin flushed deeply. Finally he stayed her hand and said to her thickly, “You’ll never touch another man this way.”

“Never,” she whispered.

He drew her to him fiercely, his lips against her hair. “I’ll make sure you keep that promise,” he said.

“I will. But it seems like we’ve been in love so long, Malik, and we’ve only been able to snatch little bits of time together,” Amy said. “I want more. I want to be with you all the time, have a family, build a life together.”

“We’ll have everything we want, you’ll see. Very soon,” he said soothingly, and kissed her.

Amy responded avidly, and all conversation in the cottage stopped.
 

* * *

They spent the night in each other’s arms, and just after dawn the next morning there was a knock at the cottage door.

Amy stirred in the semi-darkness, glancing at Malik, who sat up quickly, throwing off the sheet.

“Who is it?” Amy hissed in alarm.

“It’s probably just Anwar, he’s the only one who knows we’re here.”

We hope, Amy added silently, shivering and drawing the blanket over her shoulders. The fire was out but her chill was not just a product of the temperature in the room. She watched Malik pull on his trousers and then walk to the door, then sighed with relief when she saw Anwar standing outside.

“What news?” Malik asked him.

Anwar glanced at Amy in the bed, then looked away quickly.

“I have a message from Kalid Shah,” he said soberly. “He has received the Sultan’s terms.”

Malik waited.

“He will step down in favor of his brother, who will grant the formation of a parliament with elected representatives, if you will meet with Abdul Hammid at noon tomorrow.”

Chapter 13

“I can’t believe you even listened to that nonsense!” Sarah said in an outraged tone to her husband.

“My role was to hear what the Sultan had to say,” Kalid replied mildly. “I didn’t indicate to him in any way that I agreed to accept his terms.”

“You are not going to sacrifice that boy,” Sarah declared in strong voice. She had been reclining on a chaise in their bedroom and rose quickly, gathering her dressing gown about her.

“Of course not.”

“The Sultan is ruthless. He knows that he is going to lose his throne and he wants to take Malik with him. He’ll be waiting for Osman’s brother with a firing squad.”

“Not if he wants to get out of this with his life. I think he’s intelligent enough to imagine what will happen to him if he kills Malik Bey on the eve of this compromise.”

“Then why make this demand?”

“Maybe he just wants to meet the man who has given him so much trouble.”

“Is he that curious?” Sarah asked.

“Wouldn’t you be? If you were one of the most powerful rulers in the world and you were about to be overthrown by an upstart peasant barely out of his teens?”

Sarah shook her head. She still didn’t like it.

“I’ll make it clear that if anything happens to Malik the janissaries will not return and Hammid’s imperial head will be back on the block again.” Malik sat on the edge of their bed and pulled on his boots.
 

“Maybe he doesn’t care,” Sarah said. “He’s about to lose his position and his power. Maybe he doesn’t want to live.”
 

Kalid shook his head. “Hammid is a coward. Cowards always want to live. Anyway, I don’t know if Malik will go.”

“Malik will go.”

Kalid looked at her.

“He’s nothing if not courageous. Surely you have noticed that about him.”

“You sound like you’re the one in love with him instead of Amy,” Kalid said tightly.

Sarah sat next to him on the bed and put her head on his shoulder.

“Are you jealous, you foolish man?” she said softly.

“I think I could be.”

“Oh, Kalid, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Why ridiculous? You admit that you admire the kid’s nerve, and it’s been quite some time since I impressed you with my feats of derring do.”

“If you get us all through this to a democracy without a bloodbath, that will be quite enough derring do for me.”

He stared at the floor. “I’m tired, kourista,” he said.

Sarah said nothing. He rarely commented on how he felt when in a crisis, but this time he really
looked
tired. He had been wearing himself out, occupying center stage in this clash of wills which could explode at any moment into real warfare, and the toll it had taken on him was visible.

A servant knocked and at Sarah’s command entered the room. The girl was carrying a silver tray containing Kalid’s Turkish coffee and a samovar for Sarah’s tea.

“Set it on the table,” Sarah said.

The girl put it on the serving stand and then vanished, closing the door quietly behind her.

“I won’t let Malik go alone,” Kalid said suddenly to Sarah. “Whatever happens.”

Sarah kissed him. “Thank you.”

He kissed her back, then pulled her down to the bed as their breakfast drinks cooled on the tray.

* * *

The Imperial Palace at Topkapi was almost deserted; the few janissaries who had remained loyal to the Sultan stood about, armed to the teeth, watching stolidly as Kalid and Malik walked through the vast hall leading to the Sultan’s audience room.

In stark contrast to the soldiers who served the Sultan, they were unarmed.

At the end of a long, wide hall tiled with marble and hung with ornate tapestries stood a pair of doors, covered with gold leaf and overhung by a plaque which listed the Sultan’s titles in lapis enameled script. As the visitors approached the guards on either side presented arms. The doors swung open, revealing the Sultan seated on his throne at the far end of the reception hall. It seemed to Malik that it took a long time for him to cross the intricate bird of paradise carpet which covered the mosaic floor and stand in front of the man who had been his enemy for so many years.

Abdul Hammid II, the Lion of the Desert, Defender of Allah and Master of the Two Continents, Ruler of Destinies and Sultan of the Sublime Porte, Shadow of God on Earth, looked back at him. Hammid, his graying black hair covered by a scarlet fez, dressed in his finest array, was alone in the room except for the two guards at the door. After studying Malik for some moments with obsidian eyes he turned to Kalid and said, “Your presence was not requested for this audience, Kalid Shah.”