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A Court Of Fowls: Episode 40

Rescue is at hand for the beautiful Amina who has been kidnapped and is heading for a fate worse than death.

Michael Conrad Wood continues his gripping story set in East Africa.

To read earlier episodes of Michael's novel visit
http://www.openwriting.com/archives/a_court_of_fowls/

To purchase a copy of his earlier novel Warm Heart please click on http://www.lulu.com/browse/search.php?fSearchFamily=-1&fSearchData[author]=Mike+Wood&fSearchData[accountId]=140619&showingSubPanels=advancedSearchPanel_title_creator&showStorefrontLink=

Chapter 14
Test of Strength (continued)

Little did I know how clever Nimrod had been. He had initiated
that conversation with al-Rashid to allay any uncertainty he may have
felt that I was the same woman he helped in Gelib. He had taken a
good look at me and was in no doubt in spite of my bedraggled
state. The Arab’s bragging, which my Maasai acquaintance had
shrewdly manipulated, had inadvertently revealed an important piece
of information – that I was being held against my will and was potentially
‘on the market’ – after the pig had had his intended way
with me.

Nimrod was not alone on that quayside, though that had not
been apparent to me. He knew his own attire was conspicuous. If he
was to learn more about my predicament he would have to adopt a
tactic other than following us himself. It was simple enough. He
spoke quickly to one of his men, pointed me out, and instructed that
al-Rashid should be tailed at a safe distance.

In the event the pursuer’s task was not difficult. Since leaving Bur
Gavo, our captors seemed to have thrown caution to the wind. We
were taken to the Hobyo Bar and Tavern, situated on the very street
which overlooked the harbour. As might be expected the place was
frequented by numerous thirsty seafarers. When we entered the bar
area a few swarthy individuals looked our way but I didn’t detect an
unusual level of interest in us. From only brief observation there
seemed to be an abundance of working girls to keep them contented.

We were hustled quickly into a back room, its heavy metalplated
door bolted firmly behind us. The compliant tavern owner
was doubtless paid a few Somali shillings to keep his mouth shut.

But Nimrod would soon have the information he needed. There was
to be no cocoa butter for me that evening.

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