The Janissary Tree

“I wonder, though, where I could find out what I want to know?”

Ibou cocked his head and gazed at one of the lamps on the wall.

“Ask one of the foreign embassies. I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Yashim began to smile at the sally. But why not? he wondered. It was exactly the sort of information they would be likely to have.

He looked curiously at Ibou. But Ibou had raised the back of his hand to his chin and was gazing, innocently, at the lamp.

[ 27 ]

Damn!” Preen hadn’t thought of money.

Yorg the Pimp thought of nothing else.

“What, kocek dancer, are we just sitting round together having a drink? Swapping tales? No. You come across and ask me for some information. Something you want, perhaps I have. A trade.”

He gave her a crooked smile and tapped his head. “My shop.”

To Preen, it looked as though Yorg’s information was stored elsewhere: in his hump. Poisonous stuff, and he was full of it.

“What do you want?” she asked.

Yorg’s eyes clicked past her like a lizard’s.

“You’ve got friends, I see.”

“Some boys. You haven’t answered my question.”

His eyes swivelled back to her.

“Oh, I think so,” he said softly. “You’ve got something I can use, right, kocek? A drunken sailor for Yorg.”

She glanced back over her shoulder. Her Greek sailor sat with a frown on his face, tilting his glass back and forth. Mina and the other boy had their heads together, until he said something that made Mina give a whoop of laughter and rock back, one hand fluttering at her chest.

“Really!”

She looked back at Yorg. His eyes were cold as stone. His fingers curled around a glass: they were almost flat,with huge, misshapen knuckles.

“You’d be doing him a favour, kocek,” he spat.

He watched her, sensing a little victory.

“That guy deserves a real woman, don’t you think?” Kocek dancers! Ancient traditions, years of training, blah blah. What gave those sad bastards the right to look down on him? “Yes, a woman. And maybe, why not, a young one.”

Preen stiffened.

“You’re mean, Yorg. I think you’ll regret this one day. You take the sailor.”

She went back to her table. Mina looked up, but the smile on her lips vanished when she saw the crookbacked pimp in tow. The sailor looked from Preen to Yorg in surprise.

“I’ve got to go,” Preen bent forward to whisper in his ear. A little louder, she said: “This is Yorg. He looks like the devil’s toenail but tonight—he wants to buy you a drink. Isn’t that right, Yorg?” Yorg gave her a sick look and then turned and put out his hand.

“Hello Dmitri,” he croaked.