Master of Myth (The Antigone's Wrath Series Book 1) (17 page)

“Mr. Jensen?” she nearly shouted from behind them. “Did you hear what I’ve just told you?”

At the sound of Rachel’s voice, Silas jumped. “Er, no. Sorry. What was that?”

She sighed. The man was impossible. “I said, I’m going ashore with Iris and Danton. Yourself and Mr. Maclaren are to stay behind and keep out of trouble. With luck, we won’t be here more than a few hours. Think you can manage that?”

“I’d really rather find an inn and—” he began.

“Absolutely not,” Rachel cut him off before he could finish his thought. “There are far too many unfriendly eyes in Baraawe, more than I thought there would be this time of year. In case we need to make a hasty exit, it will be much swifter if I don’t have to bring you in from the other side of town.”

Silas set his jaw and nodded tersely.
 

“You’ll continue working on the schematics while I’m gone. If it helps, please utilize my crew. They’ll have little to do here, as we’re only stopping for information. The sooner we’re away, the better off we’ll be. Do we understand each other?” She rested her hands on her hips, waiting for his response.

Silas sighed. “We do.”

She turned away from him, feeling a bit badly that she had to keep him aboard, but it was for his own safety. These days were dangerous ones in Somalia. The natives were growing more displeased every day with the presence of Europeans, and there were rumors that the British army would attempt to colonize Northeastern Africa… again. It wasn’t uncommon for non-native merchants and visitors to “disappear” from the city streets.

With this in mind, the trio was careful to cover themselves before disembarking. Fortunately, the robes of Islam were well suited for this type of low profile visit. Their black hijab swished as they walked down the gangway to the platform. Rachel pulled the fabric tightly around her neck as the wind caught the edges of her burqa. She placed a hand on the railing and looked over the edge to the pale rock buildings below. The sandblasted walls glowed a faint orange in the torchlight pooling and flickering on their surfaces. The airship platform jutted out from a white stone tower, and the wooden boards creaked as they made their way to the stairway inside, the interior lanterns casting long shadows as the three descended. Night rendered the streets of Baraawe silent and deserted, with the exception of the hookah bars they passed.
 

Rachel pulled up short a little before their destination.

“What is it?” Danton whispered into the darkness.

There were lights on in the shop she was headed for. It was unexpected.
 

“Wait here.” She motioned them into a narrow alleyway next to the building.

She stepped into the light cast out of the shop windows and paused a moment before entering the low, square building. A bell tinkled softly somewhere in another room. The richly colored silks that covered the interior swayed with the breeze caused by her entry. A plush chaise lounge sat empty in one corner, atop the fur of some exotic animal, but there was no one behind the small, wood counter. Rachel frowned. She was nervous already and was not put at ease by the empty room. At the back, two doorways were shrouded in heavy bead curtains, and the jangle of the one to the right jarred her. A head covered in black fabric emerged and looked around. The woman searched the room until she saw Rachel standing there, shifting her weight. “
Hal beemkani mosa’adatuk?
”

Rachel cleared her throat. “Fathia?”

The woman gave a start and ducked back through the doorway without a word. A moment later, she returned and hurried over to her guest. “Rachel?” It was not quite so much a question as it was an accusatory statement.
 

The captain nodded.
 

“Were you seen?” she asked in a whisper.

“Not as far as I know. I need your help.”

The other woman hissed a foreign curse. “I should have known you were behind all my trouble.” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I cannot speak to you now. Wait for me in the alley, in the shadows. I’ll fetch you by the side door as soon as I can, but it will be at least one hour.”

“Very well.” Rachel nodded. She turned to leave.

“Wait.” She touched her shoulder lightly. “Help me take this out.” She pointed to several large sacks of rubbish. “It will give you reason to be in the alley in case you’re seen.”

The two gathered up the bags, exited, and walked them down the side street to the small depository near the end. They placed the trash in the wooden container. “Stay here, in the shadows.” Her dark eyes darted to a corner. “And tell your friends to stay out of sight, too.”

Rachel watched her go, releasing a held breath.

“Was she of any help?” Iris stepped into the dim light.

“We must wait here.” She shook her head. “I think there were others inside. Fathia’s business is not restricted to daylight hours.”

“Isn’t it unusual for a Muslim woman to work, let alone have her own business?” Danton crossed his arms and leaned against a wall. “Does her husband allow it?”

Rachel chuckled quietly. “Normally, they don’t, but Fathia is a very gifted henna artist, and not married. She seemed very stressed, so I imagine whoever her current client is, is either very rich or very powerful, and most likely both.”

“An honest, hardworking businesswoman?” Danton smirked. “So how is it that you know her?”

Rachel opened her mouth as to retort, but sounds from the opening of the alley hushed their conversation and sent them back into the shadows. Per Fathia’s instructions, she remained there even after the noise subsided, deciding it was best to play it safe.

The time passed slowly, but soon Rachel heard the shuffling of fabric and soft footfalls approaching. She remained still, not wanting to give away her position in case it was not whom she expected.

“You may come out now,” Fathia whispered. When the trio appeared, she beckoned them to follow, but to be silent as they went.

Towards the beginning of the alleyway, Fathia unlocked an inconspicuous door on the side of the building and stepped inside. Rachel, Iris, and Danton followed her into a room draped from floor to ceiling in black silk. A small table butted up against the far wall, a black marble mortar and pestle the only items upon it. In the center of the room was a long ebony table, polished to a high shine. This was the room used to decorate the deceased before burial. Rachel shivered.

“The mess my day has been now makes complete sense.” Fathia huffed as she pulled back her headscarf, revealing a wavy sheet of light brown hair. “First, I get last minute notice that the Sultan’s new bride wants me to do her mehndi for her wedding in two days. Then, I have to scramble and search the entire city for the high quality henna I need because it is in short supply due to a blockade out of Singapore. And now you show up at the worst possible time, there were customs officials here asking where I obtained my henna, and I knew you had something to do with it. So tell me,
friend
, what is it that I can do for
you
?”

Rachel bowed. “I am deeply sorry for any trouble you have suffered on my account, but I need information.”

“What sort of information? You know I no longer keep with black market traders,” she said indignantly.

“And I would not ask you to go back to that life, Fathia. I only need a name.”

Fathia narrowed her eyes. “Names can be powerful. Whose do you need?”

“Yong Wu has a man in every port from New Zealand to Iceland. I need to know whom he has here. I must speak with him immediately.”

A smirk crept on to the artist’s face and she burst out laughing. “That’s the name you need? You are indeed in trouble then, my friend, for you will not like the name I give you.”

Rachel set her jaw and spoke through gritted teeth. “I have no choice. Please just give me his name.”

“The man you seek will not speak with you. He has sworn to kill you on sight. Perhaps you remember him? He was Yong Wu’s right hand, until you deprived him of that particular appendage.”

“Li Han?” the captain asked with a groan.

Fathia nodded. “I think maybe he will see your companions. Depending on what they have to say, he may let them live. You, however, will get no such treatment. He frequents a hookah bar in the east end of the market district until all hours of the night, so you will probably find him there.”

Rachel sighed and resigned herself. “Very well. Thank you, Fathia. You’ve been most helpful. Is there anything you need?”

She crossed her arms and looked at her. “Yes. I need you out of Baraawe and as far away from my shop as you can get. I’m grateful for your help in the past, but your presence here jeopardizes everything I have worked for.”

“Then we shall see Li Han and be off.” Rachel bowed deeply.

Fathia opened the side door, and they left without saying another word.

“I don’t like the look of this place,” Danton said as they peered at the hookah bar across the street.

“And what were you expecting?” Rachel crossed her arms. “The likes of Li Han don’t spend their evenings in quiet tea houses or churches.”

“Is there anything else we should know before going in there?” Iris kept her eyes trained on the door to the hookah bar.

Rachel shrugged. “Don’t give him any more information than necessary. Generally, there’s a banner or flag we’ll need to fly to mark us as protected, so don’t leave without that. This man is out for my blood so avoid using my name or mentioning the
Antigone’s Wrath
at all costs. Lie if you have to. Do you have the tea sample?”

Danton patted a small, black pouch that hung from his belt. “We’ll be fine.”

She watched them cross the street, suppressing the urge to follow behind. In this line of work, one accepted a certain amount of risk, but Rachel didn’t have a good feeling about this one. This was her risk, not theirs, although, this cargo was their doing. Still, they had been in port long enough that word of the
Antigone’s Wrath
being docked might have reached Li Han’s ears. If he had heard, he would undoubtedly link Danton and Iris to it. The coincidence would be too great.

The captain flicked her eyes to the shadows next to the hookah bar and in other places along the road. The “if he had” was why they brought the extra men. Without looking, she knew there was a man directly above her, on the roof of the building she leaned against. There was another behind her, and four others hidden from view. She didn’t believe in taking unnecessary chances. The thought prompted her to check her weapon again, verifying the single shell was still cradled in the chamber. With one specialized bullet, she could fire off five bursts of compressed air, each one strong enough to knock a hole through a man’s chest at ten paces. These preceded a sixth shot of shrapnel she endearingly called “the kicker.” While it wasn’t the most ladylike of instruments, it did the job well enough when she needed it.

Several minutes passed, the only sound a muffled whisper of exotic music coming from the hookah bar. Things seemed to be progressing as they should, until the shattering of glass broke the silence, and Danton flew through the front window. He somersaulted into the street and shakily, but quickly, got to his feet. A short, well-muscled Chinese man jumped through the busted out storefront, at least three more on his heels. Light glinted off the curved knife in his hand. With a snarl he leapt towards Danton, but a single shot felled the man before he was within five paces. The bullet came from the rooftop above Rachel.

In moments, the calm of night was filled with the cries of a street brawl. Rachel stayed to the shadows, letting her crewmen take care of the rabble, firing off the occasional shot when necessary. She was worried. Iris was still inside.

Seeing a break in the fighting, she dashed across the road and into the destroyed interior of the hookah bar. Floor cushions were strewn about, and tables with their intricately decorated smoking pipes lie broken and tipped over. A man with a bloodied face tore through a door at the back, screaming curses at her in Arabic, but his sharpened scimitar spoke her language well enough. Tucking into a roll, she dodged the wide swing of his sword, crouched, and plunged the dagger from her belt into his back, puncturing his lung. He crumpled to the floor, and she pulled the blade free.

Proceeding with more caution, she crept towards the room her attacker came from. With a flick of her wrist, the small pistol up her sleeve slid onto her palm. The shrapnel blaster was too inaccurate for this situation. There was a good chance Li Han was holding Iris captive, and she wouldn’t risk harming her friend.

She pressed her back to the wall and slid to the edge of the doorway, listening.

Nothing. Not even the sounds of struggle. If Li Han hurt Iris in any way, she would take him back to Yong Wu in a box, and make sure the one-handed man suffered the whole way.

Exposing as little of herself as she could, she risked a peek around the corner. Before she got much more than a glimpse of Iris with a henchman’s knife to her throat, Li Han fired a gun at her head. Luckily for her, he had not yet become a marksman with his remaining hand, and the bullet embedded itself firmly in the wall.

“I knew you would come!” His half mad cry preceded another wasted shot. “Now why don’t you show yourself so we can have a little chat, hm?”

“And trust a Han? You must be joking,” Rachel called back. “Your kind are notorious for shooting first and sorting it out later.”

Li Han chuckled. “Perhaps, Captain Sterling, but as I see it, you have no choice.” His statement was punctuated by a sharp gasp from Iris as the knife pushed into her flesh.

Rachel took a deep breath to ease her temper. “If you kill me, your boss will be most displeased with you.”

A maniacal laugh came as her answer. “Displeased with me? Ever since you took my hand he’s been displeased with me. Why else would he have exiled me to this speck of a town, barely subsisting off of what little merchant trade comes through here? Oh no. You should have killed me when you had the chance.”

As he ranted, Rachel used a pocket mirror to peer around the corner. The guard holding Iris looked very unhappy with the situation. She studied her first mate. She appeared to be fiddling with the ring on her left index finger. Very slowly, she turned it so the large agate was on the under side of her hand. The guard stared at the door but didn’t see the mirror. Iris, however, did, and mouthed the word ‘poison’ as deftly as she could. Rachel smiled. She had an idea.