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that way. But let him.” Ismal
turned the chess piece in his hand. “See that this is in Esme's
possession when she's taken. If Jason dares to make difficulties,
why, I shall say he's a traitor, and the chess piece will be my
proof. I'll advise Ali to consult the British, who'll have no
difficulty tracing the queen to the Red Lion's brother. No trouble
either, showing that the brother wrote the message. Ali knows the Red
Lion has been to Italy twice this year, to visit his family. Both my
cousin and the British will conclude Jason and his brotiier are
selling stolen arms for their own profit. Both governments will be
most displeased.”
    His
blue eyes glittered as he handed Risto the chess piece. “Now
perhaps you see, Risto, how very powerful the queen can be — to
a player who knows how to use her.” Then he laughed.

    Durrès

    Esme
woke the instant she felt the hand upon her shoulder and sat bolt
upright. The room was still dark. “Papa?” she said to the
black shape beside her. Even as she uttered the name, she realized
the man wasn't Jason.
    “It
is I, Bajo,” the figure said.
    A
chill of anxiety seized her. “Where is Jason?”
    There
was a long pause, then a sigh. Even before Bajo spoke, her heart was
pounding.
    “I'm
sorry, child.”
    “Where is he?”
    “Ah,
little one.” Bajo laid his hand on her shoulder. “It is
bad news, little warrior. Be strong. Jason has been shot.”
    No. No! Her
heart screamed, but her tongue was silent. Her hands tightened on the
blanket and she bit her lip, refusing to shriek and weep like a weak
female.
    “We
were ... ambushed ... in the straits of Vijose,”
Bajo said. “They shot him in the back, and he fell over the
cliff, into the river far below. I thank God it was so. A quick
death — and
the river swept him away so the filthy assassins could not carry his
head to their lord in triumph.”
    Jason.
Her strong, brave, loving father. Shot in the back like a thief ... the icy torrent dragging his
body, dashing him against the cruel rocks ... Esme closed her eyes and gritted
her teeth, and willed the racking grief into rage.
    “What
assassins?” she demanded. “Who owes me blood?”
    “Nay,
little one. The Red Lion's daughter does not seek blood,” he
reproached. “The killers are dead. I saw to that. But we've no
time for talk. Jason's murder was only the beginning, and you are in
great danger. Make haste,” he urged, pulling her from the bed.
    Esme
yanked free of his grip and found she was shaking. With an effort she
made herself stand upright. She always slept fully dressed in her
male costume, her long gun within easy reach. One of Bajo's cousins
invariably kept watch outside, even when Jason was home, but she
didn't want to be caught unprepared if the town were suddenly
attacked.
    “Why
haste? Where are we going?”
    Bajo
picked up her head covering and thrust it into her hands. “North.
To Shkodra.” He lit a candle, then hustled about the room,
gathering up belongings and tossing them into a sack. Hardly aware of
what she did, Esme pulled on the woolen helmet and tucked her hair up
inside it, all the while staring at Bajo.
    While
he packed, he went on talking nervously. “We were hurrying home
because Jason feared Ismal was planning to abduct you. Now there's no
doubt of it. Of course he'll lie — blame the murder on bandits. And
Ali will be too devastated to notice or care that Ismal steals a mere
female in the meantime.” Bajo paused. 'This is why we must make
haste. Don't even think about revenge. If you delay, you invite your
own shame. You can't wish to be concubine of the man who killed your
father.”
    “I'll
tell the Pasha of Shkodra,” Esme said. “He'll help me. Ismal owes me
blood.”
    “The
Pasha will help you out of the country,” Bajo answered. “That's
all. That's what Jason intended, and we'll do as he wished.”
    He
met Esme's horrified gaze, then quickly looked away.
    “No,”
she said, her voice choked. “You're not sending