Silver Angel (29 page)

A
chair arrived along with today’s summons. Chantelle found that amusing, but also a little embarrassing. She wasn’t an invalid. She felt fine now. But Jamil obviously didn’t want her overtaxing herself on the long walk to his apartment, and she knew why. So would everyone else who saw her carried through the harem. But of course, every woman summoned was expected to share Jamil’s bed. She would have to get over these feelings of discomfiture each time it was her turn, especially if Jamil kept his promise and she was the only one.

When she arrived just after evening prayer, it was to find Jamil not alone. The old man she had seen the other night was there, arguing with Jamil about something. When she had described him to Adamma, the girl had thought he sounded like the Dey’s Grand Vizier, the second most important man in Barikah. She hoped not, remembering the way he had glowered at her that night. He did it again now, plainly annoyed that Jamil had motioned her to stay when their business wasn’t finished.

“I don’t see that it makes any difference, Omar,” Jamil was saying. “He was my brother. I have to go.”

“No one will expect it, not after this most recent attempt on your life. And you, you didn’t even know—”

Jamil made a sudden slashing motion with his arm
and Omar glared once again at Chantelle. “Send her away until we are finished.”

“No. We are finished now. It is my duty to attend the funeral, the
Dey’s
duty,” Jamil emphasized.

“Duty be damned. The Divan has voted unanimously against it. You must heed the advice of your councillors!”

“Must?”

Omar threw up his hands. “Allah save us from a man who loves danger. Do you think these fanatic assassins will respect the sanctity of the funeral procession? No, they will be in the crowds, just waiting for you to appear. They cannot afford to let such an opportunity pass. Nothing else has been able to draw you out of the palace.”

Chantelle frowned. She had heard that before, those exact words, or almost those exact words.

“Jamil?”

He didn’t even glance at her. “Be patient, Shahar. This will only take a moment more.”

“But, Jamil, I’ve heard that before.”

Now he turned around. “What?”

“What he just said to you, that nothing else has been able to draw you out of the palace. Only she said ‘him,’ instead of ‘you.’”

“You are not making much sense, Shahar. Come here and tell us what you are talking about.”

She approached, but reluctantly. Omar wasn’t frowning at her now. Jamil was. She should never have interrupted them. From what she had just overheard, apparently one of Jamil’s brothers had died. He had to be upset already. But there was nothing for it now.

“Well?” he demanded.

“I am sorry about your brother,” she began, but he waved that aside, so she told him what she remembered. “It was a few days ago in the baths. I was alone in the steam room when I heard someone outside. It was a woman and a man, I think. I never heard his voice clearly, but she called him Ali. I assumed he was a eunuch. I could hear the woman plainly, though, because her voice was raised in anger. She told him she didn’t want any more excuses, that it should never have taken this long. And then she gave the man something and told him to sell it. She said, ‘If that doesn’t buy some courage, I’ll have to—’ But the man interrupted her then, and…oh, my God!” Her eyes flared in sudden understanding.

“What?”

“None of it made sense to me, so I forgot about it, but I didn’t know someone was trying to kill you then.”

“So? What you have said does not signify, Shahar. The woman could have been talking about anything.”

“I know that, but…was your brother young? Was he just a boy?”

“Yes, but what has that to—”

“How did he die?”

Chantelle could see he was fast losing patience with her by the tightening of his mouth, but he answered her just the same. “He appears to have suffocated. But whether he choked on a piece of food—he was apparently eating at the time—or whether someone smothered him to make it appear so has not been determined.”

“Do
you
think it was murder?”

“He was not a strong boy. It would not have been
at all difficult for a man to hold something over his face until he expired. There was an emergency that drew his servants away. When they returned, they found the table in a shambles and Murad lying beside it, dead.”

“And if it was murder,” Omar told Jamil at this point, “it was arranged specifically to lure you outside the palace. There is no other reason to kill the boy.”

“Omar—”

“But, Jamil, he’s right,” Chantelle insisted.

“No one can know that for certain—”

“Will you just listen?” she said in exasperation. “After the woman was interrupted, she asked Ali, ‘What about the boy?’ and when he answered her, she said, ‘Go ahead and arrange it. Nothing else has been able to draw him out of the palace, so maybe that will. But if it does, there had better be results. No more bungles or I will take it out of your hide.’ Ali must have told her to lower her voice then, for she got even angrier at him, but they moved on and I couldn’t hear any more.”

Jamil exchanged a long glance with Omar. The old man was smiling now. Jamil wore a half-amused, half-chagrined expression that bemused Chantelle.

“It seems ‘our friend’ has made a useless trip to Istanbul,” Omar remarked.

“It does look that way, does it not?” Jamil agreed, before his emerald eyes fell on Chantelle again. “Who was the woman, Shahar?”

She grimaced, having to admit, “I don’t know.”

“But you saw her?”

“No, the door was closed.”

“Damn—”

“But I think I would recognize her voice if I heard it again.”

“That is something anyway, and how many eunuchs can bear the name Ali?”

“Dozens, unfortunately,” Omar supplied.

“Then I leave it in your capable hands to narrow the number down to our culprit. And I think that is enough on the subject for now.”

Omar nodded in agreement but had to add, “You will not go to the funeral?”

“No. Arrange it so I can pay my respects here.”

That this was Omar’s original suggestion made his expression quite smug as he left. Jamil wasted no time in drawing Chantelle into his arms.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “Without your help, we would have continued to flounder, suspecting the wrong man. Will you help again and listen for the voice?”

“Of course, but, Jamil, why would one of your women wish you harm?”

“Who can guess what is in a woman’s mind?” he said with a shrug.

Chantelle snorted. “I could say the same thing of a man’s mind.”

“But women are so much more contrary and unpredictable. And speaking of women…” He pulled her closer, meshing their hips together. “I have missed you.”

She gave in gracefully to the change of subject. “It was only one night—”

“And two days. We will have to make up for it.”

“Is that so?”

“Unless you are too weak.”

“Do I look weak?”

He grinned at her. “Just to be sure, I should get you off your feet.”

And he did, carrying her straight to his bed.

W
eeks passed, but Chantelle had no luck in hearing that angry voice again. Jamil kept her informed of the progress he made, but he had reached a dead end, too. The number of men called Ali who were still suspect had been reduced to five, and these five were watched constantly, but nothing came of it. Short of having them all tortured, which Jamil forbade Omar to do, it became a waiting game, for one of them to make a mistake.

The women these men belonged to were also watched. The money to finance the assassination was taken into account, and which woman was favored enough to have accumulated a sizable fortune. But that wasn’t a deciding factor, not with the recent rash of thefts in the harem, the amount of jewelry stolen also amounting to a fortune.

It was really up to Chantelle, and she became anxious, realizing that. Jamil questioned her each night she saw him, and that only made her frustrated for having nothing to tell him.

Of the five women under suspicion, Chantelle knew only two of them. One was a current favorite named Sadira, a woman due to give birth in less than a month. Chantelle couldn’t picture her plotting anything other than the happy future of her child. How could a woman order death while her body nurtured life? Sadira couldn’t. She was not in the best of moods as her time approached, and her voice was often raised angrily against her servants. It wasn’t the right voice.

But the other woman Chantelle knew out of the five was a different story. Noura was that other woman. Chantelle was not surprised. She had already thought of Noura before that overheard conversation had meaning for her. But Noura’s voice, that was the undeciding factor. Chantelle had heard Noura speak in many tones, from peevish to gloating smugness, though not once in actual heated anger. And unless she could say positively that Noura’s voice was the one she had heard, she wasn’t going to say anything.

She became Noura’s shadow, watching, always listening. She even tried to prick Noura’s temper, but the desert beauty wouldn’t take the bait. Once or twice it was close, yet Noura was quick to collect herself, almost as if she knew what Chantelle was doing and was determined to show herself as being above falling for the same snare she was renowned for setting herself.

Chantelle was almost at her wit’s end. She was afraid Noura knew she was under suspicion and so would be careful to make no mistakes. She finally asked Rahine’s advice on how to get the second
kadine
to lose her temper. Rahine, who was, of course, aware of the latest turn of events, was no help at all.

“It would only be a waste of time, Shahar.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know Noura,” Rahine said with quiet conviction. “It isn’t her.”

“I disagree. One of Jamil’s brothers is dead now. What if the other one is, too, and that’s why he hasn’t been seen since the attacks started? That would leave only Jamil and his oldest son to stand in the way of Noura’s boy, wouldn’t it?”

Rahine frowned. “We don’t know that Selim is
dead. True, it no longer appears that he is behind this plot, but—”

“Rahine, don’t argue with me,” Chantelle cut in impatiently. “Just tell me how I can get Noura to lose her temper. If she isn’t the one, I’ll know it when I hear her voice raised in anger. What can it hurt to try?”

“Very well.” Rahine sighed. “The last time she threw a temper tantrum was when she had prepared for weeks to give a recital for Jamil’s pleasure, she and a half-dozen others. She had memorized an exceedingly long but beautiful poem, and she insisted on her turn being last, so as to make the best impression. But after an hour’s time, when the other women had all recited their pieces, Jamil was called away. Noura plain and simply had a fit, I think mainly because it was due to her own instigation that she was last on the program.”

“Did she ever recite that poem?”

“Yes, a few nights later, and Jamil was naturally pleased, so she was completely pacified.”

“Then that won’t do. Think of something else, Rahine.”

“She loves Chinese shadow plays. Come to think of it, I have the sketches for a new play in my apartment.”

“But will she agree to perform it?”

“She would be delighted.”

“Then that’s it. And when it’s time for the play to begin, Jamil can walk out, or fall asleep, or something equally annoying.”

“Yes, I suppose it wouldn’t be too difficult for Jamil to be annoying.” Rahine grinned.

Chantelle grinned, too. “Will you suggest she do it, then?”

“Me? It was your idea.”

“I’ve thrown so many barbs her way lately that she’s liable to bleed if I get near her. She certainly wouldn’t be open to any suggestions coming from me.”

“Yes, I’ve heard the complaints of your recent bitchiness.” Rahine chuckled. “Noura recommended I send you back to the kitchens.”

“Oh, she’d love that, so she can order another feast and make sure I have to prepare it again.”

“I’m sorry,” Rahine said soberly. “I didn’t know about that.”

Chantelle shrugged. “My aunt always said a little hard work never hurt anyone. And it was no punishment, Rahine. At the time, I was delighted to be in the kitchens.”

“But you wouldn’t be now.”

Chantelle gave a very unladylike snort. She had known that “I told you so” would come around eventually.

T
he day of the shadow play rolled around only three days later. Due to Jamil’s letting it be known that he needed a distraction, Noura spent day and night learning the required moves and put on a preview performance for the ladies that morning, which was a success. Even Chantelle had enjoyed it. Now if everything went according to plan tonight, Noura would be exposed before the day was out.

But that was many hours away. Chantelle took advantage of finding the pool empty to while away one of those hours. She enjoyed the pool. Actually, she had come to enjoy the entire
hammam
. It was a lazy place, where soothing hands were always ready to massage tired muscles back to life or rub sweet-smelling oils into already soft skin. But Chantelle didn’t laze about in this room, where the sunken body of water was so reminiscent of the ocean to her. She used it for exercise, swimming laps back and forth and beneath the water, pushing her muscles to the limit just for her own satisfaction. The water wasn’t deep. Few of the harem ladies knew how to swim, so the water at the deepest point only reached the breasts. But it was cool and invigorating, and Chantelle could almost imagine that when she surfaced from the water, the Dover cliffs would be there to greet her.

Today when she came up for air, her imagination took second place to water-clogged ears. She left the pool to dry off, shaking her head to clear it, but still there was only a loud droning in her ears.

Oh, this is just wonderful. Noura has her one and only angry fit tonight, and my ears are too clogged up to hear any of it
.

Impatiently, Chantelle quickly donned her robe and bundled her hair up in a towel, then bent forward and turned her head to the side, wiggling her earlobe. There was a pop, and then the amplification of the water lapping at the sides of the pool.

And then the voice, clear and irate. “I should have known the pool wouldn’t be empty. It never is. But shouldn’t you be primping before a mirror by now? Or did Jamil finally summon someone else?”

Chantelle didn’t answer. She was too dumbfounded. She sat there on a bench staring at the woman in the doorway, not knowing what to think. How could it be her? Her eunuch’s name was Orji, not Ali. And she would have nothing to gain by killing Jamil. It made no sense.

Yet the voice was the same, even more recognizable when she snapped, “What are you staring at, Englishwoman?”

“A murderess,” Chantelle replied boldly as she came to her feet. “I was so certain it was Noura, but it was you, wasn’t it?”

“You’re crazy! I haven’t killed anyone.”

“Perhaps not with your own hands, but there isn’t much difference when your coin paid to have it done.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” was the haughty reply.

“Yes, you do. I heard you and Ali outside the steam room the day you ordered poor Murad’s death. Did you see me leave? Is that why you had me poisoned, Mara?”

That was a guess, but it paid off. The woman gave up all pretense of innocence, sneering, “Too bad it
didn’t work. I could have used the few extra gems the Dey’s rage and grief would have brought me.”

“Yes, it must be getting harder and harder for you to steal them now that everyone knows what a clever thief we have among us.”

“I was up to the challenge. I found it quite thrilling, actually.”

Chantelle shook her head in amazement. The woman was bragging now. She didn’t seem at all fearful of having been found out.

“All to kill Jamil? Why, Mara? It can’t be the whippings, because I was told you enjoy them.”

Mara became enraged suddenly. “What do you know about it, you stupid bitch? I hate him! I hate all men, but especially Jamil, for discovering my shame and using it against me. Do you think I am proud that I can receive pleasure only through pain? If I could find the man who made me like this, I would chop him into little pieces, slowly, so that he would survive to the end. But first I would roast his balls and his—”

“I’m sorry for that first experience that affected you so…bizarrely, but Jamil hasn’t done anything to you that you haven’t let him do. You could have put an end to it at any time by simply making your feelings known.”

“No one refuses the Dey what he wants.”

“I did.”

“For how long?” Mara sneered.

Even though Chantelle’s cheeks tinged with pink, she still insisted, “That was different. I was seduced, not threatened. And it could never have happened if I were not attracted to the man.”

“How splendid for you, but he sickens me,” Mara bit out. “And Orji told me I had no choice.”

There were those two words again that Chantelle despised.
No choice
. She had been told the same thing. She could understand Mara’s dilemma. And yet—when it came right down to it, Chantelle had not been forced. They were only hollow threats used to make women give in gracefully. Why should it be any different in Mara’s case? Jamil was not the cruel tyrant she had first thought him to be.

“You should have tried stopping it instead of letting your resentment build to this level. Jamil is basically a very gentle man. How often did he make use of you before you plotted to kill him?”

“One time was too many!”

“But you only increased your own suffering by sending assassins after him. Or didn’t you consider that that would happen?”

“It was worth it to have him dead.”

“That is so stupid!” Chantelle said angrily. “If Jamil dies, we will all of us become the property of the new Dey, to be disposed of or not. That will be Selim, and from what I have heard, they don’t come more brutal or merciless than he. You think he won’t learn of your weakness and take pleasure in using you the same way? Some men enjoy inflicting pain, and he appears to be one of them.”

Mara laughed. “I am not
that
stupid, Englishwoman. Selim can no longer practice his viciousness on anyone. He has been dead all these months, murdered and disposed of by one of his own slaves while he was in Istanbul.”

Chantelle gasped at this startling disclosure. “How do you know that?”

“The guilty slave was foolish enough to return here, and stupid enough to get drunk and brag about what he had done to an old friend. The old friend
happened to be Ali, who had sense enough to get rid of the man so the information would not go any further.”

“Yet he told you, didn’t he?”

“Of course. He knew how much I hated Jamil. He saw this as the perfect opportunity to get rid of him, knowing that Selim would be the natural one to suspect. And dead men cannot defend themselves.”

“But why would this Ali involve himself in your problems? He’s a eunuch, isn’t he, and not even yours to command?”

“So? Just because he was given to Noura does not mean he has to love her. He loves me,” Mara said smugly. “He would do anything I asked of him.”

“Love? He cannot—”

“Cannot?” Mara cut in. “That shows how naive you are. Castration does not cut out the heart, nor does impotence always put an end to longing. Ali can love just as fiercely as a whole man. He just can’t do anything about it.”

“You say that as if you don’t care.”

“I don’t. I might not feel threatened by his love, but he is still a man, worthy only of my contempt. My loathing for all men allows no exceptions.”

“Too bad he didn’t realize that before he let you embroil him in treason,” Chantelle replied. “But his being duped by you won’t save him.”

“He isn’t in danger of discovery any more than I am. You don’t really think I will let you leave here after telling you all this, do you?”

That Mara was blocking the doorway wasn’t too alarming. That she made the threat so confidently was.

“You cannot stop me, Mara. I have bodyguards just outside.”

Mara smiled as she pulled a short dagger out of her caftan. “There was no one outside this room, or I would have been alerted to your presence here. Your guards must not be very diligent today.”

“You’re lying!” Chantelle cried as Mara kicked the door shut behind her.

There was an unconcerned shrug. “Go ahead and scream if you doubt me. Your guards won’t come, nor will anyone else.” Mara gave a short, ironic laugh. “I could not have picked a better place for this little discussion if I had planned it. Did you never wonder why this room is so far away from all the others? It’s because the women make so much noise when they gather to play in the water. A scream or two coming from here is not a matter for concern—it is normal.”

“And I suppose you think I am just going to stand here and let you stab me with that thing?”

Chantelle said this as Mara started to approach her. She backed away. There was a good fifteen feet between them, and if she could just get around to the other side of the pool, she could use it as a barrier. If Mara tried following her around it, then Chantelle would have a clear path to the door. But she couldn’t take her eyes off that dagger long enough to turn around and run.

She had never been in a situation like this before. It wasn’t quite like the night she had looked over Jamil’s shoulder to see a dagger about to descend on them both. She hadn’t been alone then. She was completely alone now and had no skills to draw on to use against this threat. That the threat came from another woman wasn’t exactly reassuring. Mara might not be as tall as she was, but the woman was much heftier, stronger, and her life was in the balance. If she couldn’t kill
Chantelle, she knew she would have to face Jamil’s justice, so Mara had to be extremely desperate, which would give her added strength. That she was so calm about it was what was so frightening.

Chantelle wiped her sweaty palms on her hips. Mara had already closed the distance to only ten feet. “You—” She paused to clear the squeakiness from her throat and swallow. “You don’t have to do this, you know. You could escape. Ali could help you, couldn’t he?”

“After you give the alarm? Hah!”

“I am only looking at all the options you have!” Chantelle snapped.

She couldn’t believe she had actually said that. Mara couldn’t either, for she shook her head, snorting, “You talk too much, Englishwoman.”

Chantelle tried a different tack. “Have you ever done this before, killed someone with your own hands? It’s not like having someone else do it—”

“Shut up!” Mara shouted, making Chantelle’s heart slam even harder against her chest.

Why hadn’t she screamed already? She was a coward after all, wasn’t she? But she was afraid if she did, it would bring Mara leaping at her all the sooner. She would be dead before anyone came, if anyone heard her. If she could just talk Mara out of it instead….

The distance was down to eight feet. “I’ve never done anything to harm you, Mara. You know that. Can you live with my death on your—”

Chantelle finally shrieked as she backed into a bench and lost her balance. She had forgotten about the damn thing, which was set so near the edge of the pool. She fell back on it, and before she could rise, Mara was standing over her and it was too late to
scream or do anything else. She was paralyzed with heart-stopping terror, unable to move or breathe as she watched the dagger rise up for its descent. It was a repeat of that other night, only without Jamil’s body lying between her and death. Jamil would have known what to do. He would have…

At the last instant, Chantelle remembered what Jamil had done and rolled to the side, right into Mara’s knees. And just as it happened before, knife and attacker went tumbling forward. As Chantelle hit the hard floor, she heard a thud and then a splash on the other side of the bench. But she didn’t bother to see how quickly Mara could climb out of the pool. She leaped to her feet and ran out of the room.

“Kadar!” she shouted as she ran down the hall, only to have him appear right in her path, so that she crashed into him. She pushed away the hands that came up to steady her, demanding shrilly, “Where the devil
were
you?”

“Here,
lalla
,” he replied in an offended tone. “Where else would I be?”

“Then she lied? God, I should have—no, it doesn’t matter now.” Chantelle gripped his arm tightly, her fear not quite diminished yet. “It was Mara all along, not Noura, and she just tried to kill me, too, or again. She admitted she had me poisoned because of what I had heard.” When he just stood there staring at her, she snapped, “Do something! She’s still in the pool room, and she has a knife!”

He set her aside then and moved toward the door she had left wide open. When he slipped inside, she should have taken off in the opposite direction, the only wise and safe thing to do. She followed Kadar instead, the silence drawing her partly, but also a need
to see Mara apprehended so the last of her fear would go away.

But she went no farther than the doorway. Kadar was bent over Mara, who lay by the side of the pool. She wasn’t moving, and pink-tinged water ran down her forehead onto her face and the tile beneath her head.

Kadar glanced up and said in a quiet voice. “She is dead,
lalla
.”

Chantelle looked back at the pink water and finally saw it for what it was. Bile rose in her throat and she bent over, unable to stop its exit. After a moment, hands lifted her and she turned her head against Kadar’s shoulder.

“Oh, God,” she cried. “If I hadn’t been so cowardly, I would have looked to see that she didn’t surface from the water. I could have pulled her out before—”

“It would not have made any difference,
lalla
. She cracked her head on the side of the pool. She was already dead when she slipped into the water.”

“But that doesn’t matter. I made her fall.”

“Why?”

“Why?” She looked up, startled. “It was either that or let her stab me.”

“Then why are you searching to place blame on yourself when there is none?”

“It’s just not fair. She was a victim, Kadar, from the very start. She was abused, defiled, and then abused again by…She should have had help, care, understanding. Instead—” Chantelle fell silent a long moment before she said in a tiny voice, “I tried to justify to her the way Jamil treated her, but it can’t be justified, can it? He is sensitive, perceptive—at
least I thought he was. Why couldn’t he see that she hated her weakness, and hated him for exploiting it?”