Thieves of the Black Sea. Joe O'Neill
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Название: Thieves of the Black Sea
Автор: Joe O'Neill
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Учебная литература
Серия: Red Hand Adventures
isbn: 9780990546986
isbn:
“A small group, one of them is coming to us with a raised flag.”
Others spotted the visitors and soon a contingent of soldiers had surrounded Malik and Sanaa. The assembled soldiers had come from tribes around the Rif Mountains and surrounding countryside. Some had ventured from as far as the Sahara desert—and even the Atlas and Jbel Saghro mountain ranges.
Sanaa looked at Malik.
“I’ll be the one to greet them,” she told him.
She went to fetch her camel, which sat tranquilly in a herd of other camels. She urged it to its feet, threw herself on its back, and then sprinted out to meet the lone rider.
Zijuan joined Malik.
“Did you ask her to ride out alone?” Zijuan asked.
“You think I could give her an order?” Malik replied and they both smiled.
As Sanaa rode out, she could see that the man was a fellow Moroccan, dressed in her native country’s garb. He was undoubtedly a warrior of some kind—he wore a white turban and robe and had dark skin and a black beard. His flag was white as well.
As she edged closer, she slowed her camel to a walk and carefully approached the rider, who was walking his own horse.
They finally came face to face.
“My name is Adel Kharja. I am an emissary and advisor to the Sultan,” he explained.
“What do you want?” she asked sternly.
“I have come with some French generals. They want to discuss an accord.”
“An accord?”
“They want to negotiate the peace.”
“And you trust these French dogs?” she asked.
“I think you will want to hear what they have to say,” the man answered. Although dressed as a warrior, he had the tongue of a diplomat.
“I hear the Sultan’s troops ran like cowards from the imperial palace and the Sultan is in hiding like a rat. Why should we trust you? Or follow him?”
The man studied Sanaa. He had heard of her reputation, and that of Malik.
“Because we all want peace for our country, and you have the advantage. We are coming to you to negotiate a peace,” Kharja explained.
She studied him for a few moments.
“If it was up to me, I would cut you to shreds and then ride up and kill these French generals. Thankfully, my husband is the reasonable one and chosen to lead our army. Tell your French masters to ride and we will meet with them. You have my word none of you will be harmed.”
“There’s just one more thing,” Kharja added.
“What is it?”
Kharja whispered something to Sanaa. After a few moments, she nodded and rode back to the encampment.
“What was that about?” Malik asked.
“The French, and a diplomat from the Sultan. They want to negotiate a peace.”
“That is good news. I was worried about attacking a city. We’ve taken heavy losses and I’m not sure we could stand up to the French artillery. We will need to be careful though…it could be a trap.”
“There is one more thing,” she said.
“What is it?”
“They want to name you as the next caid,” she said, and a slight smile came across her face.
CHAPTER
— 7 —
THE TRAIL IS NOT DEAD
Wu Chiang sat in third class on a train headed for Paris, France. While biting into a baguette layered with hard-boiled eggs, salami, and lettuce, a bit of egg dropped on the lapel of his shirt. He wiped the yellow glob from his front, looked forward, and breathed deeply.
The passenger car was full of people, crammed together like cattle. People huddled together on the hard floor, as there were no empty seats in third class. Two windows on either side of the car were open and provided the only ventilation. Outside, the French countryside buzzed by and the rhythmic beating of railroad tracks was omnipresent. Most of the people were silent, just trying to get through an arduous journey.
Wu Chiang had spent the duration of the trip crammed into a corner with an obese man who reeked of body odor and sweated profusely pressed up against him. The man’s torso kept pushing against Wu Chiang, jamming him against the hard steel of the railway car and leaving sweat smudged stains on his entire left side.
He travelled in third class because nobody inquired about third class passengers, whereas a first class passenger might attract conversation and attention.
His thoughts turned to an ambassador’s dinner in three nights at the Hotel du Cecil. He knew from his spies that the Austrian ambassador to France would be in attendance. It was common knowledge that Austria and Germany were the closest of allies and neither country was on friendly terms with France.
He’d alerted one of his agents that there would be a mission and for her to ready herself.
A vendor came into the car selling cups of tea from a steel tray placed around his neck. The obese man purchased a cup, and as he turned to ask the vendor for some sugar, while the man’s back was to him, Wu Chiang casually placed four drops of liquid into his cup from a vial he’d hidden in his suit pocket.
The man continued to eat his sandwich and sip his tea. He licked the crumbs from his chin with his long, pink tongue and continued to look straight ahead.
After a few moments, the man’s face flushed and he began choking and gasping for breath. He grabbed his chest and fell forward. The other passengers, panicked, surrounded the choking man. His face turned a disturbing shade of purple as he gasped for air. Stewards rushed in. Someone loosened his shirt, but he suddenly went into convulsions, his body spasming so violently it shook the entire cabin.
Then the man stopped breathing and moving altogether.
A doctor was found on the train who arrived in time to pronounce the man dead. Everyone around was astonished, staring at the obese body, his left cheek on the floor and his lifeless eyes frozen open.
A few children cried and some of the older women said prayers and crossed themselves.
It took six stewards to remove the man’s body and place it in a baggage car.
Through all the commotion, Wu Chiang casually stood up and watched without emotion as the man died in front of him.
He calmly sat back down, stretched out, and finished his sandwich.
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