The Promise of Pain Read online

  “Can we get out through the harem?” Thomas asked.

  “It’s the wrong direction,” said Jorge.

  Thomas thought hard, trying to work out the layout of the inner rooms, but he was not as familiar with them as other parts of the palace. He had visited the outer levels of the harem when treating women in his role as palace physician, but these deeper spaces were forbidden even to him. Only those such as Jorge, who were considered incapable of violating the inhabitants, were allowed access.

  “How far is the bathing chamber used by the Sultana?”

  Jorge frowned. “Close, but it’s in the direction of Muhammed’s rooms.”

  “If he’s showing off his animals for the moment, we have time.” Thomas grasped Helena’s wrist and drew her into the corridor. For a moment she resisted, then the resistance faded, and she padded along beside him as Jorge pushed past to lead the way.

  The deep bath was empty, a small pool of water all that remained in one corner.

  “Why are we here?” asked Helena. “I have bathed already, unless you want to wash me as you once did?”

  Thomas released his hold and went into a corner. In this chamber a Sultana had died, her attacker disappearing like smoke in the wind. How such a thing was possible was a mystery, until Thomas and his young companion had solved it. There had been a secret opening deep in the corner, and Thomas went there now. He was certain it must have been closed off, but was surprised to discover the release mechanism still in place. When he thrust his arm in to pull on it he was even more surprised when it moved and a section of wall swung open. When he turned back Helena was staring at him, her mouth open. He was glad he could still surprise her in at least one way.

  Inside, the tunnel led away, light entering through high openings. Jorge entered last and they had to shuffle around each other so Thomas could close the entrance, wondering as he started off how many of the passages remained in place. He considered staying in these hidden places to try and find a way to access Muhammed’s rooms, to listen in on whatever was being discussed, but when he made the suggestion Helena said, “There is no need, I heard every word they spoke. I can tell you exactly what they are planning.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “What I want to know is where she is going to sleep.” Belia sounded close to losing her temper, and Thomas wondered if she had grown too fond of his house and was starting to consider it her own. Not that he was ever likely to find much use for it again, so she was welcome to have it.

  Olaf had brought them down from the hill on the same secret tracks he had taken them up on, and now sat in the main room while three of them stood on the edge of the courtyard trying to settle Helena’s sleeping arrangements. As if we have nothing better to do, Thomas thought.

  “She should sleep with Thomas, of course,” said Jorge.

  “No, she can’t.” Even the prospect sent a chill down Thomas’s spine.

  “Why not? She’s shared your bed often enough before,” said Jorge. Belia had crossed her arms across her chest and stared at them both, waiting for a decision.

  “Perhaps Luis would like her beside him.” Thomas said.

  “She’d kill the boy. There is only your bed available.”

  “Then she’s welcome to it, but without me beside her. There’s a cot in the workshop. It won’t be the first time I’ve slept there. In fact, it will prove quieter than in here.” Thomas stared at them both.

  Belia eventually unfolded her arms and slipped a hand around Jorge’s waist. “Just so long as she doesn’t try to join us.”

  Thomas wondered what kind of tales Jorge had been entertaining Belia with—or possibly not tales, for he had lived in the harem with Helena far longer than she had lived under Thomas’s roof, and no doubt knew more of her wiles.

  “Will they miss her?” asked Belia, as Thomas started to turn away.

  “Not for a while. Dawn is close and those on the hill will be sleeping most of the day away.”

  “Will they know who took her?”

  Thomas looked at Belia until she lowered her gaze, making him feel a moment of guilt. “They don’t even know I’m in Gharnatah.”

  “But Olaf is,” said Jorge. “They’ll go to him first, and when they discover he’s not there…”

  Thomas left Belia and Jorge in the courtyard and went into the house. He wondered if Muhammed would care enough to send men in an attempt to find Helena.

  The woman herself sat at the table next to her father, as if his presence alone could protect her. Opposite, Luis stared at her with his mouth open, and Thomas wondered if perhaps they had been too dismissive of Jorge’s suggestion. It would be an experience for the boy, if nothing else. Not that it was ever going to happen. Helena ignored him as if he wasn’t there, but her eyes found Thomas as soon as he entered the room and she straightened her back. She was still dressed in the clothes of the harem, fine silk that clung to her body to accentuate the shape beneath. A shape Thomas had once known intimately.

  He went to the head of the table and sat. Exhaustion clung to him, but he needed to know what Helena had overheard of Muhammed’s discussion with Guerrero and Mandana before he could even think of sleep.

  “Tell me what they said.” He leaned forward, his eyes on Helena despite what he felt about her. He knew she was grateful, knew she would want to express that gratitude in the only way she could, but he would deal with that situation if it happened.

  “I’m tired,” she said. “They kept me awake all night and I haven’t slept. We should go upstairs, Thomas.”

  “None of us has slept. You can go to bed when you tell me what you heard.”

  “Can it not wait? My head spins and my body hurts.”

  “Did they abuse you?” It was Olaf who spoke, still the concerned father despite knowing the nature of his daughter, of what spite she was capable of—a father’s love able to accommodate all things. Thomas assumed he would be the same himself with Will and Amal, that it was the role of a father to forgive, even though his own had never forgiven him for anything, except at the very end.

  “Muhammed abused me every single day. Sometimes it was physical, sometimes only threats, but those can be worse. Tonight, he hit me. He displayed me to those men and beat me with a cane. I saw the young one enjoyed my plight.”

  “And Mandana?”

  “He is the old one?”

  Thomas nodded. “And his son is Pedro Guerrero.”

  “I was not told their names. The old man is father to the young?” Helena frowned. “Now you say it I can see the sense—they have the same look, the same height. But the young one … Pedro, you said? He is cruel, like Muhammed. Worse than Muhammed. I was offered to him.”

  “What did he do to you?” It was Olaf again, still the protector, though he must know it was too late for protection.

  “Nothing. He said he would enjoy me later, when he was less tired and less drunk. The way he looked at me when he said it made me afraid.”

  “You’re safe now,” Thomas said, and Helena smiled at him. She reached out a hand, but Thomas withdrew his. She left hers on the table as if that had not been what she intended. “Tell me what you heard.”

  “Muhammed grew tired of humiliating me. By this time, they were discussing business and forgot I was even there. Muhammed was drunk and had been using the pipe. They talked of Spain, but of other things too. Muhammed hates his uncle. He is plotting with the men to attack al-Zagal and kill him if he can.”

  “Muhammed has soldiers of his own to do that,” Thomas said.

  “You know Muhammed,” said Olaf. “He worries about everything and nothing. He won’t attack al-Zagal until he is sure of victory. I can see how he might prefer someone else to do it for him.”

  “How many men does al-Zagal have?” Thomas asked.

  “Not as many as he once did. He is a broken man since the fall of Malaka. He was defeated even before the main battle, ousted from his position in Gharnatah. He’s made a place for himself in al-Marilla but has les
s than a thousand around him. He rules the town but not much else. I heard he was considering crossing the inner sea to Africa.”

  “Muhammed wants his uncle dead,” said Helena. “He offered those men a thousand trained soldiers if they attack al-Zagal.” She glanced toward Olaf. “He said you would lead them.” She stared at her father for a long time before continuing, as if she wasn’t sure whether to tell him everything that had been said, then made her decision. “He wants you gone from the city, father. He doesn’t trust you.”

  “I serve the Sultan,” said Olaf. “I have always served the Sultan. Muhammed knows that.”

  “He also knows you are privy to every secret he has. He was never rational even before he became Sultan, now he is worse. He sees threats everywhere. He believes in portents and signs. If a bird flies through a courtyard without resting in a tree it is bad luck. If the wind blows south one day and north the next, it brings danger. He is no longer rational.” Tears glistened unshed in Helena’s eyes, a sight Thomas had never seen before—one he believed he would never see. It told him how badly Muhammed had treated her, how deeply her spirit had been broken.

  “Who will lead this attack if Muhammed sends you and a thousand men?” Thomas asked Olaf. “Guerrero, Mandana, or you?”

  “I will not go,” said Olaf.

  “Refuse and he will arrest you.”

  “Muhammed told them they would be in charge,” said Helena. “They told him they already have two thousand men of their own, and with Muhammed’s soldiers they will take al-Marilla in a matter of days.”

  “They have a thousand at most,” Thomas said. “Is that not right, Luis?” He wanted to include the youth, who had spent the entire time staring at Helena as if he had never seen her like before, which might well be true. “And not all of those are fighting men, are they?”

  Luis nodded, but made no comment. He reached down and stroked Kin’s head, the dog sitting beside his master the whole time.

  “That will still give them two thousand,” said Olaf. “More than enough to defeat al-Zagal. It would extend Muhammed’s territory and take in all of al-Basharāt, with strongholds at either end.”

  “What good will it do him?” Thomas said. “He’d be better served building his strength here in Gharnatah rather than spread it too thin. It is this city the Spanish want, not some scatter of towns to the east, not even al-Marilla. They have taken Malaka, and Gharnatah will be their next prize.”

  “Muhammed doesn’t see that,” said Olaf. “As Helena said, he is no longer rational.”

  “Mandana and Guerrero agreed to this plan?” Thomas asked.

  “More than agreed,” said Helena. “It is they who came to Muhammed with it, not him to them. They are here for another reason than simple conquest, but what it is I did not hear. Other than … but no, that has nothing to do with anything.”

  “Other than what?” Thomas said.

  Helena’s eyes tracked the table, paused on her father, then came to meet Thomas’s. “They mentioned your name. Both of them.”

  “Me?” Thomas almost laughed, until he recalled the hate that had driven Guerrero to kill Lubna.

  “They wanted to know if you had returned to Gharnatah.”

  “Did they say why?”

  Helena shook her head. “Muhammed said you had not, but that you still had a house here on the Albayzin.”

  “Did he … and what did they say to that?”

  “They asked where. And when Muhammed wanted to know why they were so curious about you, the young one–”

  “Guerrero,” Thomas said. “Mandana’s son.”

  Helena waved a hand, names unimportant to her. “The young one, Guerrero,” she emphasised the word deliberately, then paused. “Yes, he might be Mandana’s son, but power has shifted. The father has made way for him, that was clear—or been pushed aside. It was Guerrero who did the talking, Guerrero who said it didn’t matter if you were here or not. If the house is yours it has to be destroyed and everyone in it killed. He said if you fled, or were not here, he can always find you and kill you later.”

  “Muhammed agreed to this?” Thomas thought about what Helena had told him, and other things, before nodding. “Yes, he would. Of course he would. This isn’t Gharnatah, this is the Albayzin, and the two are as good as at war. It would concern him not at all if the pair of them laid waste to it. Except Guerrero only has fifty men with him, and it would take four times that to stand any chance at all.”

  “Muhammed said he would provide troops to help.”

  Thomas stared at Helena. “Why did you keep this news to yourself until now?” He stood, hesitant—unsure of what to do, missing the old Thomas who was always certain. “Once Muhammed discovers you are missing, he will know who has freed you. Did they say when they were coming?”

  “No, but it won’t be today. They will all be asleep after last night.” A frown settled on Helena’s face, an alien expression for her. It seemed to have occurred to her she had escaped one danger only to place herself in an even greater one. “What will you do, Thomas?”

  Thomas glanced at Olaf. “Are you going back to the palace?”

  Olaf gave a shake of the head. “Not today. Maybe never.”

  “You always told me you were the Sultan’s man.”

  “Muhammed is no Sultan.” Olaf’s voice held an unfamiliar note of distaste. “He never was, but I was too obsessed with my own sense of loyalty to take the action I knew I should. Now … he is sending men to kill you, Thomas, and everyone here. He has stepped beyond the realm of any civilised behaviour.”

  “What about Fatima?”

  “I will send a message. She is safer where she is for now, she’s no danger to him.”

  “And if Muhammed takes her captive, as he did Helena?”

  “He won’t. He knows if he does I will kill him. Without my presence on the hill there is a possibility my men will follow his orders. They might not, but at least he has a chance. He dare not jeopardise that chance.” Olaf stood. “They won’t come in daylight, so we have some time, and everyone is exhausted. We should get some sleep, and then, after noon, we must leave Gharnatah.” He looked around at those gathered at the table. “All of us. Agreed?” Olaf waited until everyone nodded.

  Thomas was the last of all. He had only just returned to this house he loved, and would have welcomed more time to let its familiarity ease his soul. But he knew Olaf was right. It was go or die, and dead he could never avenge Lubna.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Thomas could barely believe what Guerrero was planning, but knew he shouldn’t be surprised. It had been Guerrero who was involved in the plan to steal the wealth of the Malaka Guild a year before, a plan that had resulted in Lubna’s death. Thomas thought he had prevented the theft, but when he returned to the place where he had killed one of the plotters, the wooden crates that had lain there were gone. No wonder Guerrero had the funds to finance an army—enough even to bribe a Sultan.

  “You’re right,” Thomas said to Olaf. “We should all try to get some sleep.” He stood and made for the door to the courtyard. He wanted to think about what Helena had told him, wanted to think about the real reason Guerrero and Mandana were here. Not to kill him, despite what Helena had overheard. The pair might hate him, but nobody could hate that much. The son and father were both irrational, but they weren’t stupid. Far from it.

  He saw Helena began to rise, ready to follow him. Saw Olaf put a hand on her arm and shake his head.

  Thomas walked outside, breathing deep of the cool air. The house held a multitude of memories that tumbled together in his head, one merging with another so he could barely tell them apart. He wondered if he would ever accumulate more, or whether this was the last time he would see this house. He would miss the place, but his whole life had been one relocation after another for as far back as he could remember. He stared across at al-Hamra, then on to where the snow-capped peaks of the Sholayr loomed to overlook the foolish ambitions of men.

  When
he entered the workshop he found Usaden lying on the cot. He had forgotten it was where the Gomeres slept, and started to back out.

  “Who are you trying to escape, Thomas?” Usaden had not been there for Helena’s telling, and Thomas realised he had probably slept most of the night through, sure of their success.

  Thomas laughed despite the tension inside him. “A demon nestled within the body of a beautiful woman.”

  “You make her sound appealing.” Usaden rose. “I was about to get up, so you can have the cot. It is surprisingly comfortable.”

  “For someone more used to sleeping on desert sand, it probably is.” Thomas clapped Usaden on the shoulder as he passed, then lay on the cot, his head and shoulders propped against the side of a bench. If anything, this room held more memories than the rest of the house and he was glad he had come here.

  Usaden pulled out a three-legged stool and sat as if it was a padded chair.

  “Tell me true,” Thomas said, “how does Will fare in what you’re trying to teach him?”

  Usaden’s dark eyes studied Thomas before he answered. “Truth? He will be a great fighter—if he can control his temper. I think there is a little of his grandfather in him, but he also fights like you. He is instinctive, and possesses the same cold logic I have seen when you fight. It is a combination that will make him invulnerable … or kill him.”

  Thomas wondered when Usaden had found the time to watch him in battle, for they had always fought side by side, with little spare capacity to look around. “I am still alive, though.”

  Usaden almost smiled. “Indeed you are.”

  “We have to leave this house,” Thomas said. “Guerrero and Mandana are coming to kill everyone here, most likely tonight when they believe us asleep, but we will be long gone before then. It’s your decision what you do, but if you wish it I would like you with us.”

  “Why would I not be with you? I have not finished training your son yet.”