Dappa said, “But have you noticed that, on every occasion when the rais has parleyed with someone who does not know about the thirteen, he has been at pains to make sure I am present?”
“You, who are the only one of us who understands Turkish,” Yevgeny observed.
Jack: “You think al-Ghurab has kept the matter of the thirteen a secret?”
Yevgeny: “Or wishes us to think that he has.”
Dappa: “I would say-to know that he has.”
Mr. Foot: “What possible reason could he have for doing such a thing?”
Dappa: “When Jeronimo gave his ‘blood brothers’ speech, and all the rest of you were rolling your eyes, I chanced to look at Nasr al-Ghurab, and saw him blink back a tear.”
Mr. Foot: “I say! I say! Most fascinating.”
Jack: “For the Caballero, who is every inch the gentleman, it was no easy thing to admit what the rest of us have all known in our bones for so long: namely that we have found our natural and rightful place in the world here, among the broken and ruined scum of the earth. Perhaps the rais was merely touched by the brutally pathetic quality of the scene.”
Dappa: “The rais is a Corsair of Barbary. His sort enslave Spanish gentlefolk for sport. I believe he intends to make common cause with us.”
Mr. Foot: “Then why hasn’t he come out and said as much?”
Dappa: “Perhaps he has, and we have not been listening.”
Yevgeny: “If that is his plan, it depends entirely on what happens here in Malta. Perhaps he waits to announce himself.”
Jack: “Then it all pivots on that letter the Frenchman brought-and speaking of that, I believe we are delaying the ceremony.”
Nasr al-Ghurab had retreated to the shade of the quarterdeck with the other members of the Cabal, who were looking toward them impatiently. When Jack and the others had arrived, the rais passed the letter around so that all could inspect the splash of red wax that sealed it. Jack found it to be intact. He had half expected to find the arms of the Duc d’Arcachon mashed into it, but this was some sort of naval insignia. “I cannot read,” said Jack.
When the letter had made its way back to the rais he broke the seal and unfolded it. “It is in Roman characters,” he complained, and handed it to Moseh, who said, “This is in French.” It passed into the hands of Vrej Esphahnian, who said, “This is not French, but Latin,” and gave it to Gabriel Goto, who translated it-though Jeronimo hovered over his shoulder cocking his head this way and that, grimacing or nodding according to the quality of Gabriel’s work.
“It begins with a description of very great anguish in the houses of the Viceroy and the Hacklhebers on the day following our adventure,” said the Jesuit in his curiously accented Sabir; though he was nearly drowned out by Jeronimo, who was laughing raucously at whatever Gabriel had glossed over. Gabriel waited for Jeronimo to calm down, then continued: “He says that his friendship with us is strong, and not to worry that every port in Christendom is now alive with spies and assassins seeking to collect the huge price that has been put on our heads by Lothar von Hacklheber.”
Which caused several of them to glance nervously towards the Valletta waterfront, judging whether they might be within musket-, or even cannon-range.
“He is trying to scare us,” Yevgeny snorted.
“It is just a formality,” Jack put in, “a-what’s it called-?”
“Salutation,” said Moseh.
Gabriel continued, “He says he has received a message from the Pasha, carried on a faster boat, to the effect that everything has gone exactly as planned.”
“Exactly!?” said Moseh, a bit unsettled, and he searched al-Ghurab’s face. The rais gave a little shrug and stared back at him coolly.
“Accordingly, he sees no reason to depart from the Plan now. As agreed, he will lend us four dozen oar-slaves, so that we can keep pace with the fleet on its passage to Alexandria. Victuals will be brought out on a small craft in a few hours. Meanwhile the jacht will send out a longboat to collect the rais and the ranking Janissary-these will go to pick out the oar-slaves.”
Now all began talking at once. It was some time before their various conversations could be forged into one. Moseh did it by striking the new drum, which silenced them all; they’d been trained to heed it, and it reminded them once more that they were still enrolled as slaves on the books of the hoca el-pencik in the Treasury in Algiers.
Moseh: “If the Investor does not learn of the thirteen until Cairo, he’ll demand to know why we did not tell him immediately!” (shooting a reproachful look at the rais). “It will be obvious to him that we sought to play out a deception, and later lost our nerve.”
Van Hoek: “Why should we care what the bastard thinks of us? It’s not as if we intend to do business with him in the future.”
Vrej: “This is short-sighted. The power of France in Egypt-especially Alexandria-is very great. He can make it go badly for us there.”
Jack: “Who says he’s ever going to find out about the thirteen?”
Jeronimo laughed with sick delight. “It begins!”
Moseh: “Jack, he expects his payment in silver pigs. We don’t have any!”
Jack: “Why give the son of a bitch anything?”
Van Hoek, grimly amused: “By continuing to conceal what the rais has thus far concealed, we are already talking about screwing the investor out of twelve-thirteenths of what would otherwise come to him. So why make such scruples about the remaining one-thirteenth?”
Moseh: “I agree that we should either screw the Investor thoroughly, or not at all. But I would argue for completely open dealings. If we simply follow the Plan and give the Investor his due, we will all be free, with money in our purses.”
Jeronimo: “Unless he decides to screw us.”
Moseh: “But that is no more likely now than it was before!”
Jack: “I think it was always very likely.”
Yevgeny: “We cannot tell the Investor of the thirteen here, now. For then he will say that we tried to hide it earlier, as part of a plan to screw him, and use it as a pretext to seize the galleot.”
Van Hoek: “Yevgeny is an intelligent man.”
Jack: “Yevgeny has indeed read the Investor’s character shrewdly.”
Moseh clamped his head between the palms of his hands, massaging the bare places where forelocks had once grown. For his part, Vrej Esphahnian looked ill at ease to the point of nausea. Jeronimo had gone back to dire predictions, which none of them even heard any more. Finally Dappa said, “Nowhere in the world are we weaker than we are here and now. It is not the time to reveal great secrets.”
In this, it seemed, he spoke for the entire Cabal.
“Very well,” Moseh said, “we’ll tell him in Egypt, and we’ll hope he’ll be so pleased by unexpected fortune that he’ll overlook past deceptions.” He paused and heaved a sigh. “Now as for the other matter: Why does he want both the rais and the ranking Janissary to come out in the longboat to collect the slaves?”
“It is a routine formality,” said the rais. “For him to do otherwise would be very odd.”*
“Remember, we are speaking of a French Duke. He will hew to protocol no matter what,” Vrej agreed.
“Only one of us can pass for a Janissary. I will go,” Jack said. “Get me a turban and all the rest.”
“EVEN IF THAT DUKE STARED me full in the face, I doubt he would recognize me,” Jack said. “My face was covered most of the time that I was in his house-otherwise, he never would have mistaken me for Leroy. I only let the scarf fall at the very end-”
“But if there was any truth whatsoever in your narration,” said Dappa carefully, “it was a moment of high drama, exceeding anything ever staged in a theatre.”
“What is your point?”
“In those short moments you may have made a vivid impression in the Duke’s memory.”
“I should hope so!”
“No, Jack,” Moseh said gently, “you should hope not.”