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“Ismal knew things about me,” the baronet said angrily, “and he had damaging proof. He wanted money, and I hadn’t nearly enough, so he settled on the chess set. He knew Percival or Esme had the black queen. All I did this night was make sure Ismal could obtain the complete chess set safely and easily. I had nothing to do with the girl’s disappearance. I would have, if he’d asked.” He glared defiantly at Varian. “He didn’t ask. Maybe he didn’t need to. Maybe he’d arranged it with her. It would appear they found the queen easily enough without my help.”
“Never mind how they found it,” Varian said. “I only want—”
“And that boy helped them. He’s plotted against me all along,” Sir Gerald snarled. “Spying and interfering. Manipulated you as well, didn’t he? And neither he nor your loyal wife told you they had the chess piece.”
Percival, who had been sitting at the desk watching his father in silent misery, found his voice. “Of course I couldn’t tell him Papa, he might have found out what you’d done.”
“Indeed. Protecting my honor, were you? As if you ever showed a glimmer of loyalty in your life.”
“Sir Gerald,” Varian began.
“Not that I expect any loyalty,” the baronet went on. “My brother didn’t show much, did he, when he got you on your lying whore of a mother.”
“That’s enough!” Varian glanced anxiously at Percival, but the boy did not appear in the least distressed. On the contrary, his countenance brightened several degrees, and his green eyes widened with interest.
“Good heavens, Papa, what a curious thing to say. Even I know conception requires very close contact, and the gestation period for humans is nine months.”
“Percival,” Varian put in hastily, “this is no time for scientific theories.”
The boy’s brow furrowed. “I cannot think how Uncle Jason could have done it. He was escorting Colonel Leake through Albania from late eighteen hundred four until well past the eleventh of January, eighteen hundred six, when I was born.” He shook his head. “What you propose, Papa, is a physical impossibility.”
“Impossibility!” Sir Gerald cried. “Is that what your fool mother told you?”
“Not exactly, Papa. She only let me read the letter Colonel Leake had written Uncle Jason. When we were in Venice last spring Uncle Jason showed Mama his marriage license and the other papers he kept safe there. Colonel William Leake, as you know, is an antiquarian topographer. He plans to publish accounts of his travels and wrote for permission to mention Uncle Jason. He knew Uncle Jason was involved in certain secret activities, and did not want to endanger him inadvertently.”
Sir Gerald turned very red, then very white, and slumped back in his chair.
“I do wish you’d mentioned this sooner, Papa,” the boy said. “I could have suggested you write Colonel Leake.”
Sir Gerald’s mouth worked, but no identifiable words came out.
“My father has always fascinated me,” Percival confided softly to Varian. “An intriguing study in human nature, is he not?”
Varian leaned over the desk. “Let’s study someone else’s nature, Percival. If you were Ismal, for instance, where would you go?”
Esme rubbed her sore wrists and stared out the carriage window into the night. Though only Ismal was inside with her, and apparently unarmed, she knew escape was out of the question. The carriage lanterns showed her Mehmet’s large form riding beside the vehicle. Risto, she knew, rode on the other side. If she so much as raised her voice, they’d kill her. Though the prospect of death would scarcely deter her, she did not plan to die before she took revenge on Ismal.
That was not going to be easy. In addition to the murderous bodyguards, Ismal possessed several forged or stolen documents attesting to his diplomatic status. In his present garb, he looked like an English gentleman. Only the most discerning ear would catch his faint accent, which he might easily explain as the result of years spent abroad. He could as easily concoct a lie explaining Esme’s presence. He could claim she was a spy, a runway servant—anything he liked.
He’d little to fear from her. They had stopped a short while before to change horses, and he’d untied her so she might use the inn’s privy without causing comment. Esme had meditated escape then, but not for long. This was not simply because Ismal had escorted her and stuck close, but because she’d finally got a good look at Risto. His entire being vibrated with hatred. Then she’d understood that all that stood between her and his dagger was Ismal.
Turning her head from the window, Esme found Ismal staring at her hands. She folded them in her lap.
“The rope hurt you,” he said in English, She’d not heard a word of Albanian from him yet. “Risto perhaps tied it too tightly.”
“I’m sure he’d rather have tied it around my neck,” she said, “and tighter still.”
Ismal shook his head in agreement. “Very likely that would have been the wiser course, but I abhor violence. It distressed me greatly to strike you with my pistol, but it could not be helped.” His gaze lifted to her face. “Does your head still pain you very much?”
“Only when I try to think.”
“Since you are bound to think nothing pleasant, I advise you not to try. You will only produce various plans for injuring me, and the consequences would distress you. Very much.”
He spoke sweetly, as usual. He was incapable of registering an honest emotion. He’d probably ordered her father’s murder in the same musical tones.
Esme realized she was digging her nails into her palms. She shifted into her customary cross-legged position and let her hands rest casually upon her knees.
Ismal narrowly watched her movements—on the alert, no doubt, for a sudden assault. When he understood she was only making herself comfort
able, he went on. “I have told you why I came, and so it must be clear I did not plan for you. On the contrary, I promised myself I’d have nothing to do with you.”
“Then you should have left me unconscious in the garden,” she said. “You got the chess set from me. You had already made sure no one would pursue you. And I would not have known who attacked me.”
“It was a difficult decision. Perhaps I chose wrongly. Yet you fell into my hands—it was none of my doing— and so I thought it was Allah’s will.”
“Or Satan’s.”
Ismal considered. “Perhaps. I cannot be sure which of them rules me.”
“I can.”
He treated her to an odd sort of smile. In another man, Esme would have called it shy, but “shy” and “Ismal” simply didn’t go together.
“Do you think I am entirely evil?” he asked. “A tool of the Devil?”
“You tried to destroy our country, you did destroy my father, you have stolen not only my dowry but me as well, shaming all my family.” She heard her voice rising. Lowering it, she added, “At the moment, you do not appear to possess any redeeming qualities.”
He thought this over, too. “What you say is true in its way,” he said, “except for the part about your father, for I had nothing to do with his death. Despite my many faults, I am not a cold-blooded assassin. Also, killing him was stupid and exceedingly dangerous.” He shrugged. “But you don’t wish to believe that, because you are a hothead and must blame somebody. As to my other ‘crimes,’ I cannot contradict you. I can only explain my perspective. Sometime soon, I will do so, but not now. You are too agitated to pay proper attention.”
“I am not agitated! No man could be so calm in the circumstances. Also, I very much dislike being humored as though I were a child—and I am not a hothead!”
He made a graceful, dismissive gesture. “Indeed you are—strong-willed, stubborn, and bloodthirsty. It is very strange that I should want such a female,” he said thoughtfully, “but so it has happened. It did not begin so. All I sought at first was a hostage, to keep Jason quiet. Once he was dead, you were of no use to me. Unfortunately, my cousin had a whim to meet your companions. And so, in Tepelena, I was obliged to feign passion. I do not recall the precise instant it ceased to be feigning. I know only that when you raged at the pig English lord, some poison must have entered my heart, for I grew very jealous. I wished it were me you lashed with your cruel tongue. I wished I might have the quieting of you, though I knew you meant to kill me.”
