FIFTY

THE NEXT MORNING THE JANISSARIES CAME FOR FALLON AND LITTLE Eddy and they were led up the hill through the upper city. The houses seemed to tumble upwards in clusters of white, while against the bluing sky the dey’s palace seemed majestic, shining, unassailable.

The pair were shown into the columned Audience Hall, the marble floors stretching to where Doruk stood and, there, seated on a golden cushion, was the dey himself.

“I am Mustapha Pasha,” said the dey to Fallon, his dark eyes penetrating and unblinking. “You call yourself Captain Fallon, I understand, and claim to be in Algiers to ransom one of our slaves, Wilhelm Visser. Am I correct?”

“Yes,” said Fallon warily.

“Further, you claim your ship was attacked by an Algerian corsair inside the Strait and thus you decided to enter our country on foot, in disguise, without the ransom. Is this correct?”

“Yes,” said Fallon, waiting to see where the dey would take the conversation from here.

“You have stated your ship, a privateer named Rascal, is at this very moment in Gibraltar with the ransom.”

“Yes,” said Fallon again, shifting his eyes to Doruk, who smiled.

“How much money did you bring?” asked the dey.

“We brought what we understood the ransom for Wilhelm Visser to be, which is $10,000,” replied Fallon coolly. “In gold.”

The dey rubbed his beard, appearing to be deep in thought. Fallon had watched his eyes carefully when he’d said in gold and saw them flicker.

“Very well,” said the dey at last. “You may send a message to your ship stating that it is safe to enter our harbor. We will then exchange the prisoner for the gold and you will be free to go on your way. I will even allow your ship’s boy to go free, as well. This is a sign of my good faith, Captain Fallon.”

“I have stated to Doruk that my ship will not move without my command,” said Fallon firmly. “I will return to my ship with the boy and my second mate and bring the ransom back myself. You will still have Wilhelm Visser and we can arrange an exchange at a mutually agreeable time and place.”

The dey’s eyes squinted.

“Captain, you are in a poor position to demand anything,” he said harshly. “I can have you killed in an instant, and your second mate. I would kill the boy but he is such a fine young man that I have other uses for him.”

A pause. Fallon’s stomach clenched.

“Doruk, take off the boy’s clothes.”

Little Eddy had been oblivious to the proceedings until now, not understanding lingua franca. But Doruk made a move towards him and he instinctively broke free of the guard and ducked behind Fallon who, in any case, had stepped between the boy and Doruk.

“Your resistance is useless, captain,” said the dey. “If you are dead who will protect the boy, eh? Such a delightful looking boy. He will be loved by someone when you are dead, captain. Oh yes, loved.”

Little Eddy grasped Fallon’s waist tightly, and peeked around him to see Doruk, who was smiling broadly.

“No!” Fallon shouted through clenched teeth. But he knew he was in a poor position to protect Little Eddy, and as Doruk took a step forward he could feel the boy shaking behind him.

“I will send the message,” he said with resignation.

“Excellent, captain,” said the dey condescendingly. “My scribe has pen and paper and he reads and speaks English, I might add. Because he is English! You will write your message and he will know if you are practicing deceit. I wouldn’t do that if I were you, captain. There will be no second chances. For you or the boy.”

The dey clapped his hands once and there appeared from behind one of the columns a short, slight man carrying pen and paper.

Apparently, the dey was quite confident in the outcome of the interview, thought Fallon. He had been totally outflanked.

Doruk peeled Little Eddy away from Fallon and held his arm tightly, still smiling. “Now you will write the best letter of your life, captain,” he said. “But no tricks.”

The scribe led Fallon to an alcove overlooking the upper city that was flooded with light and placed the pen and paper on the ledge.

“I am Howard,” he said, “personal scribe to the dey. I must warn you not to try anything devious with the letter. Make it straight forward and utterly convincing.”

“How did an Englishman come to be the dey’s scribe?” asked Fallon contemptuously.

But Howard brushed the contempt away. “It was that or lose my balls, my friend. What would you have done in my place?”

The two men stared at each other a moment before Fallon took the quill pen and dipped it in the jar of ink.

And then he turned to Howard with a question.

“How will my ship enter the harbor? I understand it is quite shallow in places.”

“That will be no problem, captain,” said Howard. “There is a pilot boat that will meet the ship and guide her in to an anchorage.”

Whereupon Fallon seemed to accept the answer and began writing.

Dear First Mate McFarland,

I have the dey’s promise that Algiers is safe for British ships. Upon receipt of this message you will take aboard any additional crew that you need in Gibraltar and prepare to be off the mole at the harbor in 10 days’ time. That’s where a pilot boat will meet you. Good luck.

Nicholas Fallon, Captain

May 8, 1800

Finished writing, Fallon looked at Howard as he read the message.

“Convincing enough for you, Howard?” Fallon asked bitterly.

“It had better be, captain. If your ship is not here in ten days the dey will… well, let’s just say he keeps his threats.”

Fallon stared at the letter in the alcove, and then reached behind his neck to untie the necklace Beauty had given him for luck and tossed it on the note.

“So McFarland will know the letter is really from me,” said Fallon. “Now let the boy go!”

Howard looked at the note, then the necklace, and then Fallon. Apparently, the dey’s threat to the boy had worked rather well. The necklace certainly seemed to prove Fallon wanted the note to be believed. It was a good touch.

Howard signaled to Doruk that the letter was approved and the boy was released to run to Fallon’s side. As the two were led away down the Audience Hall Fallon turned to look back at the dey, but the gold cushion was empty. He was gone.

As Fallon and Little Eddy were marched back down the hill towards the bagnio, Zabana was emerging from a darkened doorway of a cafe on a side street. Having finished his small coffee, he was leaving to go back to his ship to supervise the repairs caused by his battle with the British schooner. What he saw from the shadows astounded him, confused him, and angered him, for there was the wicked British captain who had attacked him! And the boy he had captured from the captain’s ship! Doruk and two guards were leading them down the hill from the dey’s palace. How did the British captain get here? And, most importantly, why was he meeting with the dey? The questions flooded Zabana’s mind as he watched the little procession proceed towards the quay.

As he stepped out into the street behind them, Zabana was struck by another thought. A better kind of thought that almost made him smile. The British captain was in prison less than one hundred yards from his ship.

Zabana would have him!