He put a hand up to his amulet and gripped it hard. The meatball vendor began to mumble something: he was praying, Eslek realised, running through the ninety-nine names of God while he stared in horror at the trunk and limbs of a human being, popping and blackening over the smouldering coals.
[ 104 ]
Yashim didn’t hear the shouts until he was almost out of the tower. He and the porter stood on the parapet, trying to see round the aged cypress tree. In a moment the space below them was thronged with people trying to get away, cramming into the alley, voices raised. He heard several people shout: “The kadi! Fetch the kadi!” and a woman screamed. One of the juggler’s wooden batons sailed up into the cypress and clattered down again, striking against the branches, as the crowd jostled against him.
Yashim looked out over the square. There was no point trying to get down there, he realised, while crowds were still pouring down the alley. Someone beneath him stumbled, and a basket of vegetables went flying. “Go! Go!” The porter was hopping from foot to foot.
He could see the kadi now, stepping out of his booth into a knot of men all gesticulating and pointing. Further to the left he saw that a ring had formed among the stalls, leaving one of them isolated in the middle. He glanced below. The crowd had stopped running. People were standing in little groups, while those closest to the mouth of the alley had turned around, and were craning their necks nervously to watch the square.
Yashim broke into a trot along the parapet, leaped down the steps and darted up through the passageway. Somebody clutched at his arm, but he shrugged them off, dodging his way back into the square between the knots of bystanders. As he ran towards the ring of men he saw Murad Eslek leading the kadi forwards. The men shuffled aside to let them through, and Yashim dashed through on their heels.
One glance showed him all he needed to see.
The kadi was speechless. The spit was still turning; at every turn one of the wizened arms flopped towards the ground. Yashim stepped forwards and put his hand on the wheel, and the little dog simply sank down inside it, panting.
“We need to rake out the fire,” Yashim said, turning to Eslek. “Get the porters, and a barrow. A donkey cart will do. We’ve got to get this…this thing out of here.”
Eslek closed his eyes a moment and nodded. “I…I never thought—” He didn’t finish his sentence but turned away to organise the porters.
The kadi, meanwhile, had started ranting at the crowd, waving his fists.
“Get away! Go back to work! You think I’m finished, do you? I’ll show you! Some kind of joke, is it?” He clapped his fists to his temples and stared at them all, rocking on his heels. In his market! Disgrace. Disgrace and shame. Who had done this to him?
He stalked forwards, and the men stumbled back to get out of his way. He strode to his booth and went in, slamming the door.
In the stunned silence which followed a few men, like Yashim, seemed to notice the smell for the first time. Pleasant, rich without being heavy, like veal. They, too, turned away.
The meatball vendor was loudly and violently sick.
Yashim saw Eslek returning with the porters, carrying brooms and rakes.
He spoke to him for a few minutes. He interviewed the meatball vendor, who was unable to stop himself shuddering.
No one had seen anything. As far as the meatball vendor was concerned, the spit was already running before he started setting up. He’d thought it strange, yes, but he had work to do and hadn’t given it another thought until after daybreak. He’d been concerned for the dog, really.
It was the dog that had caught his attention, at the first.
[ 105 ]
The valide’s jewels sparkled in the yellow light. In that greasy chamber they were the only objects that could catch the eye.
There was magic in them. The magic that conferred power. No one could look away from these jewels, any more than a rabbit could take its eyes off a snake.
The smooth fingers stole forward and stroked them.
