“But he’s energetic at pushing for what he wants,” Phelipeaux amended.
“He’ll come at your city hard, early, even without the guns,” I said. “He believes in a quick strike of overpowering force to break an enemy’s will. His soldiers are good at what they do, and their fire is accurate.”
Djezzar took a date from a cup and examined it as if he’d never seen one before, then popped it in his mouth, chewing it to one side as he talked. “So perhaps I should surrender. Or flee. He outnumbers my garrison two to one.”
“With the British ships you outgun him. He’s hundreds of miles from his Egyptian base and two thousand miles from France.”
“So we can beat him before he gets more cannon.”
“He has almost no troops to garrison anything he captures. His soldiers are homesick and tired.”
“Sick in another way, too,” Djezzar said. “There have been rumors of plague.”
“A few cases appeared even in Egypt,” I confirmed. “I heard there t h e
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were more at Jaffa.” The Butcher was a shrewd one, I saw, not some Ottoman weakling imposed by the Sublime Porte in Constantinople.
He gathered information about his enemies like a scholar. “Napoleon’s weakness is time, Pasha. Every day he stays in front of Acre, the sultan in Constantinople can order more forces to surround him.
He gets no reinforcements, and no resupply, while the British navy can bring both to us. He tries to accomplish in a day what other men require a year to complete, and that’s his weakness. He’s trying to conquer Asia with ten thousand men, and no one knows better than he that it’s all bluff. The moment his enemies stop fearing him, he’s finished. If you can hold . . .”
“He goes away,” Djezzar finished. “This little man no one has beaten.”
“We will beat him here,” Smith vowed.
“Unless he finds something more powerful than artillery,” another said from the shadows.
I started. I knew that voice! And indeed, emerging from the gloom behind Djezzar’s cushioned perch was the hideous countenance of Haim Farhi! Smith and Phelipeaux blinked at this mutilation but did not recoil. They’d seen it before, too.
“Farhi! What are you doing in Acre?”
“Serving his master,” Djezzar said.
“We left Jerusalem an uncomfortable place, Monsieur Gage. And with no book, there was no reason to stay there.”
“You went with us for the pasha?”
“But of course. You know who modified my appearance.”
“It was a favor to him,” the Butcher rumbled. “Good looks allow vanity, and pride is the greatest sin. His scars let him concentrate on his numbers. And get into heaven.”
Farhi bowed. “As always, you are generous, master.”
“So you escaped Jerusalem!”
“Narrowly. I left you because my face draws too much attention, and because I knew further research was required. What do the French know of our secrets?”
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“That Muslim outrage bars them from further exploration of the tunnels. They know nothing, and threatened me with snakes to try to learn what I knew. We’ve all come away empty-handed, I think.”
“Empty-handed of what?” Smith asked.
Farhi turned to the British officer. “Your ally here did not go to Jerusalem merely to serve you, Captain.”
“No, there was a woman he inquired about, if I recall.”
“And a treasure desperate men are seeking.”
“Treasure?”
“Not money,” I said, annoyed at Farhi’s casual sharing of my secret.
“A book.”
“A book of magic,” the banker amended. “It’s been rumored for thousands of years, and sought by the Knights Templar. When we asked for your sailor allies, we weren’t looking for a siege door into Jerusalem. We were looking for this book.”
“As were the French,” I added.
“And me,” said Djezzar. “Farhi was my ear.” It was appropriate he used the singular, since the scoundrel had cut off his minister’s other one.
Smith was looking from one to the other of us.
“But it wasn’t there,” I said. “Most likely, it doesn’t exist.”
“And yet agents are making inquiries up and down the province of Syria,” Farhi said. “Arabs, mostly, in the
