Chapter 9

"We should go looking for him," Bartholomew declared in an anxious but resolute voice. "We just can't sit here and do nothing."

"It is exactly what we will do," Ibrahim stated firmly in reply. "We don't know where the boy has gone and to just head out with no forethought is foolish. We must wait until Ishmael has more knowledge."

"Then we will wait for a long time," Bartholomew scoffed derisively, chuckling soft when he was done.

"Bartholomew," Ibrahim exclaimed with a shocked look upon his face. "How could you? For shame on you and may Allah forgive you for your words and thoughts."

"I am sorry," Bartholomew said in apology, looking both tired and beaten after the long night that he had gone through. "I'm just frustrated with having to sit here and do nothing"

"As we all are, old friend," Ibrahim informed Bartholomew in a more tender voice, "but we should not mock one another. Ishmael is doing his best to find the boy. It is just taking time."

The two men were sitting upon the patio of the factor's residence and they were eating breakfast. Both men had been up for most of the night. Much of that had been spent pacing the floor of their young master's study waiting for word from the search parties that had been sent out by Ishmael. The rest had been spent talking and arguing with the captain of the guard. It had not been a good night. Now they were waiting for Ishmael again. The soldier was out talking to Rashid the Hunter. At the end of everything the man had been called in to see if he could find something that all the soldiers and men of the factory had missed. No one was holding out much hope that he would and even if he could, would it be too late. All they could do now was to wait.

It was early dawn when Pedro was woken with a kick. His eyes popped open instantly and he groaned in pain; not from the kick but from the sudden flexing of his muscles as his body instinctively tried to move. Still bound and tied up, by his wrists and ankles, the jerk of his body only brought him more pain. It certainly didn't spare him any abuse. The foot that kicked him the first time, kicked him again.

"Enough," the second voice barked from off to one side. "I told you to wake him up. I certainly didn't tell you to beat him to death."

"He is a dog," the first voice snarled back both as a statement of contempt and as a protest against the rebuke being thrown at him by the other man. "He does not deserve to live."

"Oh shut up about that," the second voice growled in reply, the voice much closer now, "and get back in your seat. We will be leaving in a minute."

Pedro watched as the shorter man moved away from him. The man's face was twisted with disdain for Pedro and his eyes burned with hatred. Pedro returned the stare with one of his own and watched as the man settled himself in the stern of the craft. Once there the man adjusted the long, curved blade that he wore thrust into the sash about his waist. He made certain that Pedro got a good look at it.

"Enough of that as well," the second voice ordered from just beside the craft. "You might hurt yourself with that toy if you keep playing with it."

"I will show you what I can do with this toy if you keep protecting this infidel dog," the first man stated coldly, still eyeing Pedro as he spoke to his companion.

The second man did not acknowledge his companion's blatant threat. Instead he slipped the lines of the craft and the climbed into it. As the boat slid away from the shore, it began to wobble and rock; the man settled himself down just ahead of where Pedro lay. Once seated, the man turned to Pedro and looked at him.

"Here," the second man stated, as he reached out and pulled the gagged out of Pedro's mouth, "take a drink of this."

The man shoved the spout of a water-skin between Pedro's dry and cracked lips and he started to pour even before Pedro could react. The first few drops split out before Pedro could drink it in.

"You're wasting that on him," the first man snarled in protest. "Look at the mess he is making."

Again the other man did not reply to his companion. Instead he held the water-skin in place for a second or two while Pedro drank from it. Then as roughly as he had thrust the skin to Pedro's lips he pulled it away.

"That should hold you till tonight boy," the second man stated with indifference, corking the skin as he spoke. "If you are good, there will be another drink tonight. Cooperate and you will live to be sold in Sokoto. Give me trouble and I will let Mudia carve you up in any way that he wishes. Remember that."

With that the second man reached for the sailcloth that still lay bunched up at Pedro's feet where it had been tossed when the two men had hauled Father Gerome's body from the boat. With a grunt he pulled the heavy cloth up and over Pedro to conceal him from sight once again. Once that was done to the man's satisfaction the man shifted about again. His movements rocked the boat again and it didn't settle until the man was settled as well. A second after that happened Pedro heard the muffled dipping of a pole or a paddle into water. In response Pedro simply let out a sigh of relief.

While the boat began to move forward upon the mighty river, Pedro turned his mind and thoughts to escape. Regardless of the assurances of the second man, Pedro knew that his days were numbered if left alone with the first man and regardless of even that, Pedro had no desire to be sold into slavery. It meant that he had to escape and he had to do it soon. Each day as a prisoner would take him further and further from his friends and it would leave him that much weaker. Eventually if he did not escape, he would die. Knowing this Pedro set to work moving the blade that had fallen from Father Gerome's body from where it lay beneath him, upwards and to his fingers. The effort took a lot of time and care. He needed to flex muscles slowly so that his movements would not draw attention to him from the men who were holding him captive. It in fact took most of the day. Still Pedro did not give up until he felt at last the cold metal of the blade touching his fingertips. Only then he could relax and rest and hope that neither man would find the blade before he got a chance to use it.

"The hunter found sign," Ishmael declared when he finally returned to the factor's residence and joined the other men for a meal. His declaration took everyone by surprise.

"What sign did he find?" Bartholomew demanded to know, pushing the plate that he'd been picking at to one side as he spoke.

"Blood sign," Ishmael snorted in reply as he plopped himself down on some nearby cushions. Once settled he grabbed for a cup and a pitcher of wine.

"What do you mean by that?" Ibrahim asked, his voice reflecting his concern, as he watched Ishmael pour himself something to drink.

"I mean just what I said," Ishmael snapped back fiercely, glaring at both men as he brought the cup of wine to his lips and drank from it. Only once he was done did he look away and continue speaking.

"It is very simple, so listen very carefully," Ishmael stated tersely in a voice and manner that was filled with fatigue and exasperation. "I put Rashid the Hunter to work this morning as I had said I would. The man scoured the entire island, going from place to place, seeking out anything that was out of place or different. The truth was that our people had tromped over any tracks that Dom Pedro might have left that the man could try and follow so he had to look for other sign that could not be obscured so readily if he were to help us at in finding Dom Pedro. In a glade to the north of the island, beside the western tributary the hunter fought what he claimed were signs of a fight. The thin grass of the glade had been torn and scuffed by the quick movements of men who wore hard soled boots. He also found blood splattered about the ground and from his view point, the hunter believed it came from two men."

"Were they Pedro and the priest?" Bartholomew muttered softly in a speculative manner.

"Perhaps," Ishmael replied with a heavy sigh as he refilled his cup of wine. "What the hunter did discover was a trail of blood that led through a thicket of trees and off towards the northern tributary. The blood was on the ground and on the trunks of trees."

"Which told him what?" Bartholomew asked impatiently.

"Which meant, according to Rashid," Ishmael replied with a scolding edge to his voice that made Bartholomew redden with embarrassment, "that one of the wounded was carried by the other wounded man, which in turn implies that there was another man present at the fight for there were no scuff marks through the thicket to indicate that anyone was dragged."

"That does not bode well," Ibrahim sighed aloud his shoulders falling with despair as he spoke.

"No it does not, old teacher," Ishmael acknowledge in a sympathetic voice, "and neither is what else the hunter found on the bank of the northern tributary."

"And what did the man find, my friend," Ibrahim asked with dread in his voice.

"More blood and a lot of it," Ishmael spat out in frustration, "According to the hunter, a boat was waiting in the spot where the blood ended. Rashid believes that the first wounded man was loaded onto the boat. Then he thinks that the unwounded man who had helped carry the body, a man with hard-soled boots, killed the second wounded man. That blow must had have been swift and deadly as Rashid found a large pool of blood soaked into the land. He also believed that the other body was loaded onto the boat as well."

"Why?" Bartholomew asked, interrupting again.

"To hide something from us," Ibrahim replied before Ishmael could snap at the old sailor once more.

"Exactly," Ishmael acknowledged with a nod of his head. "According to Rashid, the killer wanted to keep us wondering as to what had happened. By disposing of both bodies we would never know the truth."

"And he believes that one of the bodies was that of Dom Pedro?" Ibrahim asked with trepidation in his voice.

"Rashid could not tell me that for certain," Ishmael admitted slowly, "but he thought it might be, considering that he believed that two European men fought in the clearing as they are the only ones here about who wear hard-soled boots. He did find one thing that makes him believe that the priest was there."

"What was that?" Bartholomew inquired without hesitation.

"This," Ishmael stated, holding up an ivory set of rosary beads in his hands that were stained with blood. "Rashid found this lying on the ground by the water where the boat had been tied up. As far as he is concerned, the priest is dead. As for Dom Pedro, I fear as does the hunter, that he has been kidnapped and carried off."

"No," Ibrahim gasped loudly in protest and denial.

"Yes, old teacher," Ishmael sighed in response, brushing aside Ibrahim's protest.

"Then we should go after them and free Pedro," Bartholomew declared firmly and dramatically. "I will prepare the Hawk for sea."

"And where would you go?" Ishmael growled, rejecting the suggestion. "You don't know where they have taken Dom Pedro. It could be anywhere."

"We need to find out then, if we are to do anything," Ibrahim declared with determination. "Someone must have seen something or know. We must ask everyone."

"Some one does know what happened," Ishmael stated, looking intently at the other two men who were sitting across from him, "and that is who we need to speak to if we are to find Dom Pedro at all."

"Who is that?" Bartholomew asked.

"The man who killed the priest," Ishmael declared, leaving the discussion at that.

It was dusk when the second man pulled the sailcloth off of Pedro. By then he was barely conscious. When the cool night air hit him, he gasped and blinked and drew it into him.

"Here," the second man grunted as he grabbed hold of Pedro's flailing head. "Drink this."

The man shoved the end of the water-skin into Pedro's mouth again and Pedro gulped down what was offered him. He drank and he drank until the man pulled it way from his lips.

"That should hold you until tomorrow," the man said in a dismissive manner. "Now lie still and be quite for we have some distance to travel yet."

Pedro did as he was told, mostly because he could not do much else. The heat of the day had sucked what energy there had been in his body out of him. While the water had restored him in a manner of speaking, he had been without food for at least a day if not two and the lack of it was proving detrimental to his ability to cope. Still the fresh air was refreshing and it helped stir Pedro's mind back into consciousness. It took time but not much.

"This will be a good spot to spend the night," the second man declared sometime later. "Turn us into shore and I will pull us in when we get there."

"Are we near a village?" the man in the stern asked as he turned the steering paddle to point the boat towards the shore.

"I think so," the other man muttered absentmindedly as the dipping paddle that he used fell silent all of a sudden. Then he shouted, "Get ready."

As the boat brushed against the shoreline, the man in the bow of the boat leapt up and out of the craft. Immediately the craft pushed away from the shore again, but it didn't go far. The man who'd jumped to the shore had taken the bowline with him. As the boat drifted away, the man pulled tight on the rope and the craft halted for a second and then it started to move back into the shore. As it did, the man now on the shore hauled it in. Once the boat was again against the shoreline, the man tied it off and secured it. It took but a matter of minutes. Only when the bow and stern were secured did the man in the stern rise up and scuttle onto the shore. Even then he did it with the assistance of the other man.

"So are we camping here," the first voice asked after a moment or two, "or are we going to look for the village and see what we can find to take?"

"We should stay here and watch the boy," the second voice stated, although in a voice that for once did not sound as decisive as it usually was.

"You can stay with the dog," the first voice spat back with what sounded like distaste in his voice, "but if there is a village about, then there are goats to steal and women to have our way with. Who knows what kind of fun we could have. Besides, we are low on food and drink."

"You are right about that," the second voice agreed with the other for the first time. "I wouldn't mind a woman tonight and perhaps something to drink. As for the boy, from the look of it, he won't be going anywhere without help. Still, as a precaution, let me gag him again."

"Be quick about it," the first voice stated bluntly. "I want to get going."

The second man got back into the boat. He paused a moment to pick up a water-skin that was lying in the bottom of the boat. Unstopping it the man grabbed Pedro by the hair and then he gave him another drink of water, emptying the water-skin as he did. Once it was empty the man pulled the skin from Pedro's lips and he threw it onto the shore. Then he pulled the gag back up and put it in place. During the whole process, Pedro kept as docile as he could manage. It wasn't that hard for him to do. He was exhausted and hungry and the muscles in his body were cramping from not being able to move about. Still, Pedro did his best not to attract any more attention than was necessary. Once the second man was happy with the gag being back in place, he let Pedro go and he climbed back out of the boat.

"That should do," the second man muttered more to himself than to his companion. As he spoke he bent and picked up the empty water-skin and then he slung it from his belt.

"Good," the first voice replied with impatience. "Let's get going then, for we've wasted too much time already with that dog. Besides I sense that Allah will answer my prayers tonight and I want to find out if I'm right."

The second man guffawed at that, but he kept his mouth shut. Instead he stood on the shore by the boat, just within Pedro's line of sight, looking about with a questioning expression upon his face. Finally he said something to the other man.

"Shall we go to the left or the right?" the second man asked, with a hint of uncertainty.

"To the right and back downstream," the first voice declared firmly. "I saw a light in the distance only a short while ago. I'm certain it was from a house of some type."

"All right then," the second man responded, sighing as he did. "Let's get going."

The two men trudged off at that. Pedro could hear them moving about for a while. They made no effort to be silent. Even after the crunch of their feet on the undergrowth in the area had faded away, Pedro could hear the occasional oath muttered by the first man. Eventually, even that vanished leaving only the sounds of the night to keep Pedro company. Still Pedro waited for a bit before trying what he had to do. He certainly didn't want to get caught.

When he did start to try and free himself, it took Pedro time and effort and a lot of patience. He needed to manipulate the blade so that it was pressed firmly against his bindings. He also needed to keep a firm grip on the tool. That required him to move about in the boat and to shift the angle of his body so that his hands weren't pinned to the hull of the craft. The whole process was incredibly awkward and it took Herculean effort on his part and the patience of Job to even get ready to start cutting. Not able to see what he was trying to do, Pedro ended up scraping himself and pricking his arms as he struggled to keep the blade pressed against his bindings. Worst of all, Pedro could not see if the blade was doing any good. All he could do was to keep working it back and forth along the coarse material that held his wrists and hope.