Empire of Lies

63

They were in the same cellar, only two things had changed.

They were naked.

And the door wasn’t locked, just as Kamal had expected.

They were in total darkness, with no light from a torch creeping in under the door. But they were untied, and they could get out.

Their first priority was to find some clothes. They listened in silence, then cracked the door slightly, keeping a watchful eye on the corridor outside, gauging the feeble amount of daylight filtering in from the top of the stairwell. Given that they were in almost complete darkness and that their eyes had adjusted to it, even the faintest light was registering on their retinas. It wasn’t long before the last vestiges of day were swept away by nightfall. Which meant that it was time for them to make their move.

Kamal slipped out first, keeping Nisreen close behind. There was no awkwardness about being naked anymore. After everything they’d been through, it was second nature.

They scurried down the corridor, checking each door they passed. The doors gave onto various storerooms that were all empty. Anything even remotely useful had been used up over the weeks of the siege.

They crept up the narrow stairwell to the ground floor and paused when they reached its doorway. Kamal pulled it open carefully. Some faint light slinked in around them. The thunder of cannon, mortar pieces, and small shot echoed in the distance. Closer, Kamal could hear voices—men’s voices. He gestured for Nisreen to stay quiet, then inched forward for a closer look. He could see the silhouettes of two men standing just inside the entrance of the building. They seemed to be backlit by a torch somewhere in the hall and looked as haggard as everyone else they’d encountered in the ravaged city. On closer look, they were musketeers. Their guns were next to them, leaning against a wall. There didn’t seem to be anyone else around.

Kamal turned to Nisreen. “I’m going to need you to do something.”

His words were greeted with a raised eyebrow. She could read him well. “What?”

“Lure them over.”

Her jaw dropped and she mouthed a silent “What?”

“We need their clothes and their boots,” he told her. “Unless you feel like running around the city like this again.”

She gave him a peeved look; then she nodded her grudging consent. She took in a couple of deep breaths to steel herself, and then she casually stepped past him and out into the open hallway outside the stairwell, in full view of the two men.

At first, they didn’t notice her. Which made her give them a giggle. A playful, cheeky one. One of the men turned and saw her, and the sight hit him like an electric charge. He flinched and his eyes shot wide. His friend noticed, looked her way, and was equally floored. Then she held her finger up and curled it inward, slowly, teasingly, beckoning them over, deploying a beguiling smile to seal the deal. She watched as her mind-boggling request pulverized the logic barriers in their frazzled brains and made them walk, then run, toward her.

She ducked through the doorway, past Kamal, who waited for them to reach it before stepping out to face them.

It was an unfair fight. He had expert training, and they were only half alive. An upward palm strike to the chin took care of the first. The man’s neck kinked back heavily and he instantly rag-dolled, unconscious. A punch to the temple with a closed fist and a middle finger’s knuckle sticking out had a similar result on the second.

Moving quickly, Kamal and Nisreen dragged them into an alcove behind the stairwell. They stripped them of their clothes—over-the-shoulder bandoliers, scarves, surcoats, tunics, doublets, hose, and breeches—and pulled them on.

Nisreen winced. “These are disgusting.”

Kamal shrugged. “We’d better get used to it. Deodorants haven’t yet been invented.”

“Now there’s something else we could help them with.”

One of the men had shoes; the other, knee-high jackboots, both pairs tattered beyond repair. They were all too big for Nisreen, but she opted for the shoes, strapping them in with a length of cloth to keep them from falling off. Kamal took their daggers—one was a janissary yataghan, no doubt taken from a fallen enemy—and tucked them in under his belt. They then each slipped on a wide-brimmed felt hat to complete the look, Nisreen bunching her hair up under hers to hide it.

Kamal looked at Nisreen and crinkled his nose. “Not your finest moment.”

“You don’t look particularly dashing either.”

They emerged from the alcove and headed toward the entrance. There was no one around, but when they stepped outside, Kamal spotted a man walking toward the building—and straight at them.

The sight momentarily puzzled Kamal. The man was wearing a cloak, but under it Kamal spied something unexpected: baggy trousers, a long tunic, belt, and Yemeni shoes that were distinctly and unmistakably Ottoman, ancestors of the civilian clothing Kamal was accustomed to seeing back in his world. The man was also carrying his bashlyk hat in his hand, and, as he drew nearer, Kamal realized that it was Kolschitzky.

The Pole’s heavy-footed gait clearly telegraphed his weariness.

“Watch out,” Kamal whispered to Nisreen, nudging her elbow discreetly to alert her. As they crossed paths, Kamal turned to Kolschitzky and gave him a courteous, mute nod of the head, which the Pole didn’t bother to return. They each kept moving without further interaction. Kamal breathed out with relief, but he quickly realized his fear had been unfounded. After all, Kolschitzky didn’t know who he was. They hadn’t yet met, and if all went well, perhaps they never would. Still, he and Nisreen didn’t speak the language and would have been discovered if Kolschitzky had initiated conversation.

They needed to avoid any interaction.

Except that a sudden realization ambushed Kamal—the fact that, if they got to Sobieski, they’d have as much trouble convincing him as they had with Starhemberg and Kolschitzky. Trouble that would be neutralized if Kolschitzky were with them.

It was an instinctive, reckless reaction. But he couldn’t stop himself.

His entire body lit up with nerves as he turned and called out, “Herr Kolschitzky.”

Nisreen hissed, “What are you doing?” She was looking on in shock—but it was too late. Kolschitzky had heard him, stopped walking, and turned.

“Ja?” he replied curiously, straining through the darkness to see who was calling out to him, but Kamal had already closed the space between them and pounced, lightning-quick. He grabbed him and spun him around, holding him from behind while pressing the yataghan’s blade against his neck and pushing him against the wall.

Speaking in Ottoman Turkish, he said, “You’ve just been outside the walls looking for the relief army, which is why you’re dressed like that. But you’ve found no sign of them. Am I correct?”

Kolschitzky stiffened defensively. “Who are you?” he asked in the enemy language.

“We’re friends,” Kamal told him, keeping his grip tight. “We’re here to help you. But we don’t have much time. Sobieski and Lorraine and the others—they’re out there. You just didn’t go far enough. We can take you to them—but we have to move quickly. Kara Mustafa is preparing an ambush for them that will wipe them out and devastate their army.” He let his words sink in for a second, then released his hold enough to turn Kolschitzky around and reposition the blade under his chin. “Listen to me, Georg,” he pressed on. “I know you want to help these people. I know you’ve made this city your home ever since your days as a translator for the Austrian Oriental Company and your time in jail in Constantinople. I know that the misery they brought to your life back there has followed you here tenfold.”

Kolschitzky’s eyes widened. “How do you know all this?”

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that the relief army is here. But you’ve made several sorties looking for it, and you don’t believe me. You want to know who we are and how we know this. You want to call for your men so you can have us locked up and questioned thoroughly. And even if you believe us, you’ll want to discuss it with Count Starhemberg and his council. But there’s no time for any of that. If you want to save this city, you need to decide right here, right now. Decide if you’re ready to believe me and help us. Alone. Just you—and us. Right now.”

It was the biggest gamble of his life, but somehow it didn’t feel like one. He was still charging ahead on pure instinct and adrenaline. Caution didn’t even get a chance to show its face.

Kamal kept his gaze locked on the confused Pole; then he watched Kolschitzky’s face flood with surprise as he pulled back, turned the dagger in his hand, and held it out to Kolschitzky.

“It’s your choice,” Kamal told him, offering him the yataghan. “Take us in as your prisoners—or come with us and help save your people.”

Kolschitzky took the dagger, slowly, then raised it so its tip was nudging Kamal’s neck. “That was a mistake,” he hissed. “We’ll soon get to the bottom of this.”

Kamal didn’t flinch. “Fine. It won’t change what you hear from us. But it’ll seal our deaths. Yours, and ours. We’ll all die here together.”

They glared at each other in stiff silence as explosions and gunfire rocked the night around them.

“Well?” Kamal pressed.

Kolschitzky’s lips were quivering. He was visibly struggling with his decision. “Come with you—where?”

“To warn Sobieski.”

His eyes narrowed, sizing up Kamal. “Where is he?”

Kamal hesitated—then Nisreen stepped in, adding her voice to take one last gamble. “Stetteldorf. They’re all there, at the castle, preparing their battle plan. You can help us get there. And they’ll listen to you more than they’ll listen to us.”

Kolschitzky’s hand was shaking, his eyes darting back and forth nervously between them. Furious battles, as intense as those on the walls, were clearly being waged inside his head.

“We don’t have time for this,” Kamal blurted. “Do you want to save this city or not?”

Kolschitzky demurred. “I’d be crazy to trust you.”

“You’d be condemning everyone around us to a terrible fate if you don’t.”

The bearded Pole stood there, tense as a steel rod, breathing hard. “This is madness.”

“You’ll be dead in a day or two if you don’t come with us. Or you can save yourself and everyone else in this city—and beyond. Because don’t think the sultan’s plans end in Vienna. They go a lot further. And stopping him is going to be a hell of a lot harder once Sobieski and Lorraine are dead.”

Kolschitzky’s eyes were blazing with indecision and frustration—then he lowered the knife and nodded his acceptance. “You’re either a godsend or a demon.”

Kamal clapped him on the shoulder. “Perhaps I’m a bit of both. But you won’t regret this. We should go. Now.”

Nisreen asked, “Which way?”

Kolschitzky glanced around, thinking, visibly still tortured by his decision, then said, “The east walls. That’s our best option. Follow me.”