Cybele's Secret (23 page)

Stoyan sat down abruptly on the edge of Pero’s narrow bunk and put his good hand up to touch the bandage around his brow. “A slight headache only,” he said, perhaps seeing some change in my expression. “Paula, I already know about that part of it. That fellow who was here knew enough Turkish to tell me. You know of the raids on various trading centers by representatives of the Sheikh-ul-Islam. It is this party Aguiar suspects of following him. That makes sense—who else would have the resources to mount a chase by sea?”

“The Mufti? But why? Isn’t he only interested in tracking down the cult in Istanbul, if it exists?”

“That, you must ask Aguiar. I do know his crew anticipates an attempt to seize Cybele’s Gift, either at sea or in the place to which we sail, wherever that may be. They think they can outrun the other vessel if it does not leave the city too soon after the
Esperança.
But they have no time for un-scheduled stops. It seems we are with them all the way.”

I gaped at him, astonished that he had learned so much when I had failed to get any of this out of Duarte. After a moment, Stoyan managed a smile.

“The man was keen to ask me about some tricks I used on the docks,” he said. “Techniques that may be employed to good effect when a fight is uneven. We exchanged information. I think the crewmen are friendly enough. They did get me out of trouble. But I do not like your being on the ship. One woman and a lengthy voyage…You must stay down here and let me guard you, Paula. No more risky ventures on your own.”

His words had turned me cold. “How do you know it’s going to be a lengthy voyage?” I asked him. “How long is ‘lengthy’ anyway?” More than the one night I had been dreading, I was certain.

“It depends on the wind. Unless the conditions are unusually good, the fellow said it will be six days or more.” And, as my jaw dropped, he added, “For the return trip, twice that.”

Father with no news for nearly two weeks. Father desperately searching. Father ill and distressed, perhaps thinking me dead. I wrapped my arms around myself and turned away, temporarily speechless.

“Paula.” The anger was gone from Stoyan’s voice. “We will come through this safely. Don’t cry, please.”

“I’m not!” I said fiercely. “Curse Duarte Aguiar! This is all his fault!”

But it wasn’t. Maybe Duarte had done something bad, two things at least, and set the whole chain of events in motion. But I was forced to acknowledge that a large part of the responsibility was mine.

I wanted explanations, but the ones I got did not satisfy me. With the sky fading to dusk and the
Esperança
still plowing a choppy way northward, Duarte came down to his cabin, where Stoyan was sitting on the floor just inside the doorway and I was cross-legged on the bunk with my spectacles on, reading aloud. In the captain’s quarters I had found a small collection of books, some in Portuguese, others in Greek. Whether Stoyan really wanted to listen to classical poetry under the present circumstances was debatable. I had thought it would help to divert us from our predicament.

“Very fetching,” Duarte commented as he ducked under the lintel and came in. He was eyeing the outfit I was now wearing. The trousers, shirt, and boots had belonged to a young crewman of diminutive size, Pero had told me in careful Greek, a lad who very sadly had suffered a mishap on an earlier voyage and was no longer with the
Esperança.
This boy might have been small, but the garments hung loose on me, and the shirt fabric was on the flimsy side, almost transparent. After trying everything on while Stoyan waited outside, I had searched through Duarte’s storage chest and made the adjustment my outfit required to be acceptably modest, if still unconventional. I had no intention of spending a two-week voyage shut up in this box of a chamber for want of appropriate clothing.

“Isn’t that one of mine?” Duarte queried, his gaze traveling up and down the belted tunic I wore over the things Pero had provided. This garment was made of very fine wool in a blue-gray shade and covered me from neck to knees. The sash I was using as a belt went around my waist twice.

“As you said, it’s cold up on deck. I needed it,” I said. “If you don’t want to share, you shouldn’t shut strangers in your cabin.”

“It looks much better on you than it ever did on me.” Duarte glanced toward the locked box at the foot of the bunk. “You’ve been through my meager wardrobe and raided my library, but you haven’t bothered with Cybele’s Gift,” he said. “The key’s right on the table there.”

“There wouldn’t be any point.” I made my tone coolly polite. “What do you imagine I would do, smash her and drop her over the side just to spite you? I’m not vindictive, senhor. I wanted to see justice done, that was all. But I imagine you don’t have much concept of that.”

“Your imagination is sadly limited, then,” he retorted. “I had been planning to offer you some clarification, since you were so keen for me to account for myself. But I’m beginning to realize it would be pointless. You’ve already judged me, and your opinion cannot be swayed by any words of logic.”

Stoyan had risen to his feet, awkward with the sling, and fixed the pirate with a stare that would have made another man shrink. “Neither of us wishes to be here, senhor, and it is clear that you, too, wish we had remained behind in Istanbul. I am grateful to your crew for getting me out of a predicament. But I cannot tolerate your manner toward Paula. She acted in good faith in an attempt to help her father. Do you not value family loyalty?”

Duarte sighed. “Perhaps we should start again. I have made some arrangements that I hope will relieve some of your anxiety. Paula, the crew have agreed to give you access to our ablution area three times daily. They will not disturb you while you make use of it. Stoyan here can stand guard if you’re worried; it’s not exactly private. You won’t be used to life aboard a ship. We don’t wash much and we don’t cook. There’s dried meat, olives, hard bread. You’ll be pleased to hear we took on fresh water in Istanbul.” He glanced at Stoyan. “Once that arm’s back to normal, you can make yourself useful. A man of your strength will be an asset to the crew.”

“I guard Paula.”

“Paula doesn’t need a guard all day and all night. I run a tight ship. She’ll be quite safe.”

“So I don’t have to stay in here?” I ventured, not meeting Stoyan’s eye. I was struck by the fact that both of them were calling me Paula, even when speaking to each other. I suspected it was the first of many changes to come.

“I’ll tell you when you can come on deck and where you can sit to keep out of folk’s way,” Duarte said. “You’ll need a cloak; Pero will find you one. Remember that we’re in a hurry. Don’t expect fascinating conversation and nonstop entertainment.”

I gave him a scathing look. “We’ll amuse ourselves,” I said. “Provided we can have access to your books. And some writing materials, if you have them.”

“You plan to pen missives home complaining that you are captive on a pirate ship? Place them in a corked jar, perhaps, and throw them overboard with a hopeful prayer?”

I did not dignify this suggestion with an answer.

“Do we sail through the night?” Stoyan asked.

Duarte shook his head. “We’ll drop anchor in a bay somewhere tonight and be off again at first light. Night sailing is too risky, and I imagine the pursuers will adopt the same caution. In the Black Sea, I plan to lose them. At the end of the voyage, I must take Cybele’s Gift overland. If I can, I want to make that landfall unobserved. A chase across a mountain pass is not a prospect I relish.”

Stoyan and I both looked at him. Duarte seemed to be waiting for us to speak.

“All right,” I said, laying the poetry book down on the bed. “Tell us exactly what it is you’re doing. Where are you taking Cybele and why? And while you’re about it, tell me who those men were who attacked Stoyan on the docks. Not yours, I presume, since your crew rescued him.”

Duarte sat down on the bunk beside me. I edged away, knowing there was no chance of following normal rules of propriety in such a place but wary all the same. Stoyan remained standing, his eyes narrow.

“I find that I am not quite prepared to trust you,” Duarte said, glancing at me and away. For the first time, his tone sounded less than fully confident, and that surprised me. “Much rides on this. A personal stake that cannot be measured in gold or silver. I became aware some time ago that, alongside the merchants who were bidding for Cybele’s Gift, another party wished to track down the artifact for his own reasons. The interest of the religious authorities in Istanbul was at first a tightly guarded secret but became common knowledge as the raids began.”

“Go on,” I said.

“You will know that I speak of the Sheikh-ul-Islam,” Duarte said gravely. “He is a ruthless man, and he has a long reach. In hindsight, I suspect his hand in the murder of your father’s Turkish colleague. Salem bin Afazi was a devout Muslim. He made the error of putting personal friendship before the strict observance of his faith when he gave Master Teodor advance notice of this artifact’s arrival in the city. That alone, I believe, would have been enough to attract the Mufti’s attention. The religious authorities being what they are, it may have been interpreted as a personal interest in pagan idolatry. I cannot say how the Sheikh-ul-Islam came by the information, but the punishment was quick and deadly.”

This was shocking and, I was forced to admit, entirely believable. It was the same idea Stoyan had hinted at when we first discussed Cybele’s Gift. And if Duarte was telling the truth about this, perhaps he had also been honest when he’d said the attack on my father was not his doing. If that was the case, I had behaved appallingly toward him.

“Is there other evidence to back up your theory?” asked Stoyan.

“Indeed. Men have been tailing the bidders around Istanbul.” Duarte gave Stoyan an appraising glance. “Until you came rushing on board to accuse me of attacking Master Teodor, Paula, I believed your father was the one bidder, apart from myself, who had managed to move about the city untracked. Pero and I discussed this and put it down to his cool head, his experience, and the presence of Stoyan. I was taken aback to hear that Master Teodor had been assaulted this morning. The timing was odd, since it was clear the Mufti’s attention was on me today—he has finally learned of my interest in Cybele’s Gift. Pero recognized several of those who set upon Stoyan. Our friend here happened to be in the wrong place at a crucial time. The Mufti’s men were trying to board the
Esperança
and carry out a search before we sailed. Stoyan got in their way. In the ensuing confusion, he was lucky to escape with his life. Pero holds the theory that once a brawl commences in such a public spot, passersby have a tendency to join in for no better reason than entertainment. Hence we had folk pushing in all directions, when a little cooperation might have enabled the Mufti’s party to board quite easily. You did us a favor, Stoyan.”

“Which your crew returned,” Stoyan said. “I did not know who had dispatched that mob to the dock. I did know that if there was any chance Paula had reached your ship, I did not want them on board.”

“A search?” I was puzzled by Duarte’s theory. “But wouldn’t the Mufti send uniformed Janissaries? Or officials? That just looked like a band of thugs.”

Duarte smiled thinly. “Officials carry out inspections, interviews, visits. In this case, I suspect what was intended was brazen theft, backed up by violence as required. In broad daylight, on a crowded dock, with a crew such as mine to confront, it could not be done covertly. Hence the thugs: unidentifiable by passersby, with nothing to connect them with the Sheikh-ul-Islam. But we know who sent them. Pero is extremely well informed about who hires whom at a certain level of activity.”

“How can you call it theft,” I challenged, “when the artifact is stolen already?”

Duarte sighed in exasperation. “Paula, my silver is as good as your father’s. I paid a fair price; Barsam was happy. Cybele’s Gift is legitimately mine. For a short time.”

“For a short time,” I said flatly. “Until when, exactly? Where is it we’re going?” I remembered the trip from Constan
a and the few moments when the prospect of being boarded and attacked had seemed all too real.

Duarte hesitated.

“Senhor,” Stoyan said, frowning, “you have made it clear you do not intend to set us ashore along the way. That means Paula and I must accompany you to this destination. There seems to me no reason to withhold its name from us.”

“Paula is a merchant’s daughter,” Duarte said. “She came on board my ship clad in a disguise. Maybe she’s on the
Esperança
for the reason she gave me, incoherent as it was. Maybe it’s pique at being outbid combined with concern for her father’s predicament. Maybe it’s more. Until I know that, I don’t plan to confide any secrets. Not in the lady, and not in you, since it is blindingly clear to me that you would jump through fire for her.”

A muscle twitched at Stoyan’s temple. I heard him draw a deliberate breath, as if to stop himself from answering in anger.

“So you don’t trust me, Senhor Duarte,” I said quickly. “The feeling is mutual. I’ll make this easier for you. I noticed a certain lack of surprise on your face when you saw the artifact for the first time. You remained cool and calm when I announced that half of it was missing. Answer me one question: Did you already know it was broken? Do you know where the other half is?”

“That’s two questions.” Duarte was smiling. He had the ability to look entirely charming even when he was in his most adversarial mood. “If I answer yes and yes, will you believe me?”

So Irene had guessed right about him. “How did you find out? Documentation about Cybele’s Gift is as scarce as hen’s teeth.” There were, of course, the papers I had found, but I suspected an uncanny hand had set those before me.

“You are not the only scholar in the world, Paula,” Duarte said smoothly. I could tell he was holding something back.

“You said something about returning the artifact to its original owners. Who are they? Have they paid you to acquire it for them?”

Duarte laughed, though I could not see anything funny about it. “They are hardly in a position to do so. Let us simply say that I owe a debt and that I am repaying that debt. I’m on a mission. I don’t plan to give you the details; at least, not yet. You’ll have to earn my trust first.”

A mission. Mine, Stoyan’s, Tati’s. The forest queen had said nothing about Duarte. All the same, it rang true for me. I remembered that Tati had helped me reach the ship. In fact, Tati had been on the ship the first time I had seen her black-robed form.