The next morning saw the schooner sliding over calm waters into the bay in which Suakin Island sat. Connected to the mainland by a causeway, the island itself remained the center of the bustling township. Indeed, as far as Emily could see, buildings covered the entire island, all the way to the waterline.
Their vessel circled to come into the docks. They passed craft of every conceivable type and style, but other than the heavy barges, off to one side, none were larger than the schooners.
Captain Ayabad joined her, Gareth, Dorcas, and Watson in the bow. “We must take on water and supplies, which will occupy most of the day, but I am keen to put out in mid-afternoon, to use the tide to carry us down the channel and back into the Red Sea. So if you are planning to go ashore, you must be back by then.”
Gareth nodded. He looked at Emily. “The market?”
“Yes. We need supplies, too.”
“The souk is roughly in the center of the island.” Ayabad pointed. “That is the Hanafi Mosque-if you go past it a little way, you will find the stalls.”
Gareth thanked him. By the time the schooner was made fast and the gangplank rolled out, their party was ready to depart. After some discussion, Gareth had agreed that Arnia and Dorcas had to see what was available in the souk for themselves. He’d attempted to suggest that Emily might stay on board-the implication was “safe”-but after being cooped up on the schooner for days, she wasn’t about to pass up the chance of stretching her legs.
Or of being present if the cultists attacked again.
In the end, their entire party, bar only Watson-who agreed to remain aboard and keep an eye on their possessions-went ashore. Walking through the narrow streets, which only got narrower beyond the mosque, Emily was very conscious of trying to look everywhere at once.
The others were the same. The last contact with the cultists was days past; none of them imagined they’d given up and gone home.
Once in the souk, the tension only grew. While Emily, Dorcas, and Arnia haggled over flour and dried meat, Gareth and Mooktu loomed beside them, their hard faces and menacing stances making it clear they were guards. Bister, Jimmy, and Mullins lurked nearby. Bister seemed to be educating Jimmy in how to merge with crowds, and how to find the best vantage point from which to keep watch.
Emily was glad when she could turn to Gareth and inform him that they’d completed their purchases.
He humphed, and signaled the others to form up for their journey back to the ship. No one suggested ambling around to take in the sights.
Gareth heaved an inward sigh of relief when the last of their party passed him on their way up the gangplank. He turned and followed. What they’d all hoped would be a few hours of relaxation had instead been filled with burgeoning tension.
It was now almost palpable, that expectation of attack.
Stepping onto the schooner’s deck, he paused to look back at the town. They hadn’t sighted a single cultist. That didn’t mean they hadn’t been there.
What troubled him more was that his instincts were pricking-not just a little, a lot.
The same instincts had kept him alive through a long career of often unpredictable fighting; he wasn’t about to discount them now. But according to Ayabad, their next stop would be Suez. Once they were away from here, they would have several days of yet more tension to prepare them for whatever welcome the Black Cobra had waiting for them there.
With an inward grimace, he turned and went to join the others in the stern.
Emily remained on deck with the others, watching Suakin Island slide away in their wake. The tide carried them swiftly down the channel linking the bay to the Red Sea proper. With the mouth of the channel in sight, and the wider waters of the Red Sea stretching beyond, she quit the railings and went below.
In the tiny cabin she had to herself, she sat on the edge of the bed built out from the curving outer wall, and pulled her leather-covered diary from her bag. Opening the clasp, she caught the small pencil before it could roll away. She spent a moment reading her last entry, then turned the page and smoothed it down. Pencil clutched in her fingers, she stared across the room, marshaling her thoughts, her impressions of the day.
With a sigh, she looked down and set pencil to paper.
“
She looked up at the cry from somewhere on deck.
For one second all was still, then shouts and curses broke out-a rapidly escalating racket punctuated by the pounding of many feet.
Her diary went flying as she dashed to the door. As she hauled it open, the noise she dreaded hearing-the metallic clang and clashing slide of blades-joined the din.
Looking down the corridor, she saw Mullins disappearing up the stair, Watson behind him. Arnia and Dorcas stood at the bottom of the stairway, looking up. As Emily joined them, Arnia muttered something, then thrust a cooking knife into Dorcas’s hand. “Stupid to stay trapped down here when us being up there might tip the balance.”
With another, wicked-looking cook’s knife in her hand, Arnia climbed quickly up.
Dorcas glanced at Emily. “You’d better stay here.” With that, Dorcas went up the ladder.
An instant later, Emily stood looking up the steep stairway at blue sky-intermittently broken by a passing body.
She couldn’t tell anything from the shouts, grunts, and the thudding of feet. Couldn’t tell how many they were battling, or who was winning.
Dorcas was right-she had no weapon, so she couldn’t help. But…
She crept up the stairs. Standing one rung down, she peered out. All she could see was a shifting mass of bodies filling the stern. Taking the last step, clearing the companionway housing, she looked back along the schooner-everywhere she looked was the same.
Then she saw the ship that had slipped in close alongside. There were cultists on board. Every time the swell pushed the vessels close more jumped across onto the schooner’s deck.