Vendetta by Chris Humphreys

Author:Chris Humphreys
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780375849565
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2008-05-13T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE PROMISE

Between his pulling and her feet kicking against the rock face, Tza scrambled up the last few feet. As she slithered over the crest, she heard the whine of something flying past her. She let go of Emilio’s hand, turned, threw herself down so just her head stuck over the edge.

The bearded man on the horse was a few paces before the base of the rock. He was directing three other Arabs who were stretching back to hurl stones. They were all laughing.

The boy on the cliff face was weeping. “Help,” he pleaded. “I can’t move.”

Tza turned. “Hold my legs,” she shouted at Emilio. He bent, grabbed them as she whipped the slingshot from around her neck. “Lower me,” she cried. He did, and she reached. Not with the whole weapon, for the stitching of rope on leather would not hold the weight. So she reached with the looped rope. “Grab it,” she called to Filippi. “Quickly.”

It did not look as if he would be able to prize his grip from the rocks. But then a flung stone caught him in the back. He squealed, slipped, grabbed. “Pull!” she yelled. And somehow, between Emilio and her pulling and the boy’s desperately scrabbling feet, they hauled him up and over. But just as they did, the rope slipped from her blood-slick fingers. Filippi had let it go to grasp earth, and it fell over the edge.

They all lay there, gasping. For a long while there was nothing but the relief of the ground beneath her, the solidity of rock. Then, as her breath started to come a little slower, she heard a familiar sound.

Voo voo voo.

She began to pull herself to the edge. “Don’t,” she heard Filippi cry, but she did, peered over.

A pirate was whirling the slingshot above his head. As she looked, he let fly, but the stone—misshapen, no doubt, and flung with no skill—smashed into the cliff face before him. He laughed, stepped back…and the man on the horse said something to him. He bowed, tipped his head, and called up.

“Hassan Pasha says he saw you down there, with this.” He raised the slingshot. “You killed many of his men. He says you are a fine young warrior.”

It was strange to hear an Arab speaking Corsican. But she knew that many who had been taken as slaves before had converted to Allah, been freed, then led the raids on their former home. And everyone had heard of Hassan Pasha, the Dey of Algiers. He was the worst of the slavers, the cruelest, the greediest.

So that was the bearded man! He was talking again, the man nodding, bowing. Then he looked up. “Hassan Pasha says you should come down, young sir. Join him. He likes fine warriors. After you convert to Islam, you can fight with him, get rich with him. Your friends there can be your first slaves.”

There was more laughter below. She heard Emilio grunt something. And then her rage, never buried deep, came welling into her throat, so strong she could hardly breathe.

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