Page 103 of Dangerous

Yet the ship still remained silent and motionless. They were anchored surprisingly close to the golden sands and high cliff walls that hid the sultan’s palace. The Golden Scythe’s draft was such that she could go into remarkably shallow water with no trouble.

Mia had been staring at the dark outline of the shore, wondering what she should do, when a light flickered. It was a rowboat. She watched it come closer, until the sickness in her stomach almost doubled her over. Only one man sat in the boat.

She took the loaded gun and knife and tucked them under her djellaba. With a turban around her head, she could pass for a young boy in the dark—if a person wasn’t looking too closely. If she was careful, nobody would see her at all.

She slid the key into the lock and prayed while she turned. The click seemed deafening, but nothing happened so she opened the door. The corridor outside the cabin was empty. She padded toward the stairs on the wool slippers she’d brought with her. Even before she reached the top of the stairs she could hear the murmur of voices and see the soft glow of a lantern.

She peeked over the top step. There was only a half moon, but it was bright and low in the sky. Bouchard stood some feet away as he and his second mate talked to the man from the rowboat. The three men were crouched over something—a map, probably. She waited until they’d leaned down to look closer before scurrying across the deck toward the stern, to where the rowboat was tied. She crouched behind a trio of barrels and took a quick look over the side. A hemp ladder led to the small rowboat below.

“Show me again on the map where you think they went, Jacques,” Bouchard asked.

“Ramsay and Delacroix split from Jibril and the other Englishman here, and they distracted Assad’s men while Jibril took the tunnel. Ramsay sent me to the meeting place. He told me to come to you no matter who else showed up and tell you they found the boy. He believed Assad himself was at the harbor. We could hear the sound of cannon even at the palace. He, Delacroix, and about thirty others were going to join them.”

“What others? He only took a few of his crew with him.”

“Some of the slaves he freed. They took weapons from the guards they captured and followed him.”

Bouchard snorted. “Trust Ramsay to start a bloody rebellion.” He paused. “I gather you met nobody at the beach? Did you see the entrance at Quora’s Bluff?”

“Somebody caved it in. It had to have been Assad’s men and they must have got there before Jibril and the Englishman escaped if they never made it back here.”

Mia gasped and the men looked around.

“What was that?” Bouchard demanded. Nobody spoke for a long, agonizing moment. Bouchard continued: “If they didn’t leave through Quora’s Bluff, then where did they go?”

“I don’t know. I never went down the other tunnels. We just followed Ramsay to the slave pens.”

“Ramsay said there were multiple tunnels off the main one that led to the slave quarters. They must still be in one of those.” Beauville pointed to something on the map. “They might have accessed any of them if they found the exit closed.”

“Or they could be trapped in the palace itself.” Bouchard turned back to Ramsay’s man. “I’ve never even been in the palace. Is it possible they are still in there, Jacques?”

“I’m sorry, Captain, but I only saw the tunnel and the slave quarters.”

“Maybe they doubled back from the tunnel and followed behind you?”

“I hope not,” Jacques said. “I saw yet another group of Assad’s men were headed back from the harbor, remember?” He paused. “It did not seem as if the slave area was connected to the rest of the palace—but could it be?”

“I believe it is,” Beauville said. “This corridor looks as though it might join the barracks to the kitchen. The kitchen is connected to the family portion. Surely somebody like Jibril, who grew up there, would know of ways to make it across the palace? I can’t see one on the map, but there must be a way out of the kitchens? An entrance for delivering supplies and removing waste from the palace, if nothing else?”

Mia could have told them the kitchen door was unlocked twice a day to remove waste and replenish supplies. The door had two massive metal bars with locks that were as big as her head, one on the inside and one on the outside. Only by a concerted effort could it be opened. The palace had been specifically constructed by the sultan’s ancestors to keep family in and intruders out.

Besides, if Adam and Jibril had gotten out, they would have come to the beach. They were either still in the palace or they had been captured before they could reach the boat.

“How bad was the cave-in, Jacques?” Bouchard was asking. “Could we move enough debris to get into the tunnel?”

“It looked bad from the outside.”

Bouchard cursed. “We don’t have time for this. Ramsay and Exley wanted the woman gone from here if they were not at the meeting place. We need to leave—soon.”

“Yes, that was the last thing Ramsay said. He said you were to do as planned and go west and wait.”

Mia had heard enough. Jibril knew both the area and the palace like the back of his hand. She’d told him of the passage that led from the harem—the way she had escaped Assad during the purge.

Unfortunately, he would need help from the outside to unlock the door. Mia had bribed one of the eunuchs to open the door when she’d escaped. Even if Jibril could find his way into the passage, there would be nobody to let them out.

She backed to where the ladder was tied and peered over the side. She could not carry the heavy bag containing the ransom and climb down at the same time. Mia glanced at the arguing men. They would hear it if she dropped the bag, but what choice did she have? Besides, by the time they lowered another boat, she would be halfway to shore. She slid her legs over the side, stepped down a rung, and dropped the bag into the boat below. It hit with a loud thump.

“What was that?” Bouchard yelled.