THE XEBEC LEFT THE QUAY IMMEDIATELY WITH THE MESSAGE FOR RAScal, the ship’s name written clearly on the outside of the packet. There was a good breeze from the southeast and the galley slaves could rest easy as the ship sped along westward. Coming back against the wind would be another story, unfortunately. The slaves were naked and chained to their oars in the usual custom aboard galleys and they sat in their own excrement, their skin peeling in blistered layers from sunburn. They appeared to sleep and perhaps some did, but one man was actually dead and had not been discovered yet.
The reis knew he had nothing to fear from any nation or any ship as the dey’s treaties protected him from attack from the larger countries’ navies. And, who knew, perhaps he might even take a prize.
But no ships were sighted all day and by late afternoon the next day he was off Gibraltar. He ordered the big sail taken in and the sweeps to begin, which is when the dead slave was discovered and thrown overboard. Slowly the xebec entered the harbor under the precaution of a white flag and the reis looked at each ship they passed to find one whose name matched what was written on the packet.
Beauty saw the xebec rowing towards the ship and immediately called all hands. Though they were in a British harbor, the recent battle with Algerians was fresh in her mind and she was taking no chances. Rascals stood at their stations with cutlasses, muskets and pistols and Cully had the gun crews ready, as well.
As the xebec approached closer the tension aboard Rascal was palpable as every hand fingered a weapon or stood by a cannon. Here was the enemy bearding the lion in its own den.
The xebec slowed and drifted. As it drew closer one of the janissaries stood on the bow and extended a long pole with the packet tied to the tip across the few feet of water separating the two ships. Beauty caught her breath in fear and concern, knowing without knowing that Fallon was in trouble, perhaps even dead, and that the message would not be good.
She ordered one of the hands to grab the packet and bring it aboard. No words were spoken between the ships. It was doubtful anyone could have understood anyone anyway. His mission accomplished, the reis ordered the slaves to begin rowing away from Rascal and the harbor and he did not look back. Soon the lateen sails were hoisted, the white flag hauled down, and the xebec slanted southeastward for Algiers.
Beauty held the packet in her hands, fearing to open it and fearing not to. She looked at the retreating galley, mystified that the British would allow the ship to enter the harbor without blowing it to bits. What kind of treaty did Britain have anyway? It only applied one way, certainly. Just days ago they had been attacked by Algerians, and now one of their ships sailed blithely into a British harbor and away again without consequences. It infuriated her, but her attention was brought back to the packet, for something must be done with it and she took it below to her cabin after first ordering the crew to stand down. They relaxed but didn’t move and watched her as she left the deck.
In the privacy of her cabin she opened the packet and her necklace immediately fell out. She gasped and stared at it, trying to imagine what it could mean, and then turned her attention to the note.
She read it through once. Then read it through again. Then picked up the necklace and squeezed it tightly. It was obvious Fallon was up to something, but the question was what?
Firstly, Fallon had never called her McFarland in her life, so she knew he was trying to send her a message within the message. Secondly, she had implored him to bring the necklace back and put it in her hands so she would know he was safe. But he’d sent it to her. Her conclusion: he wasn’t safe. In fact, he was likely a prisoner along with Aja. Those things seemed solid to her, but as to the bones of the message she wasn’t so sure.
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.
He had been clear that she was to be off the mole in ten days from the date of the letter. He’d stated that the Algerians would send a pilot boat out to guide Rascal to an anchorage, but Fallon had insisted more than once to her that he would never allow Rascal to anchor under the harbor’s guns. What the devil was he up to?
It was a riddle, and the more she read and reread the note the more obscure it became. Yet everything depended upon her figuring it out.
A knock at the door and Barclay entered.
“The hands are worried sick, Beauty,” he said. “What can I tell them?”
“I don’t know what to tell them, Barclay,” answered Beauty. “I believe Nico and Aja are alive but in what condition I don’t know. The note orders us to be at Algiers in less than 10 days’ time. To do what I’m not entirely sure.”
She handed him the note to read for himself. She could see Barclay read it through several times and shook his head.
“It’s straightforward enough, it seems,” he said. “But Nico would never write this note this way without a reason. What is he trying to tell us do you think?”
“That’s the thing I have to figure out, Barclay,” said Beauty. “And I’ve only got a few days to do it. The thing to do is to think like Nico, if I can.”
“How are you ever going to do that?” asked Barclay.
“I’ve got to think of the normal thing a normal person would do,” said Beauty. “And then fucking do the opposite.”