code that related to words in another manuscript or well-known book. If that was the case, it would probably be in Persian and I would have to trust someone to help me. I imagined the squares turned in various ways and tried to make them match the letters in the manuscript’s text.
“Ready for some coffee, Paula? Or the hamam?” Irene was coming across the library, smiling. “You’re looking quite pale. I can’t have you fainting from overwork.”
I slipped the manuscript pages back into their box and closed the lid. As I did so, I saw that the line of tiny writing had vanished.
Today even the hamam did not succeed in relaxing me. Ideas were racing around in my head, wild guesses as to what it was I was supposed to do and why Tati would be involved. Was I to ensure Father succeeded in buying Cybele’s Gift? Stop Duarte Aguiar from “liberating” it? Or was the quest something entirely different, related to hearts and crowns? I was a scholar; I excelled at puzzles. I hated myself for being too stupid to work this one out.
“You seem tense today, Paula,” Irene remarked as we sat together in the camekan after our bath. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“I’m not looking for anything in particular,” I lied. “I am rather frustrated at my inability to read Persian.”
“I hear you’ve had another confrontation with the dashing Senhor Aguiar,” Irene said.
The change of subject caught me off guard. I felt myself blush and lowered my eyes. Inwardly, I kicked myself. If I’d wanted to give Irene a perfect impression of a gauche country girl, I could hardly have done better. “I saw him briefly at the markets,” I said, trying to look as if I was not the least interested in the dashing Senhor Aguiar.
Irene chuckled. “Paula, this may be a very big city, but in certain circles news travels fast, and gossip even faster. I heard he was showing a marked interest in you. I was told the good senhor and your large watchdog exchanged glances like sword strokes while you busied yourself intimidating the hapless merchants of the carsi. I wish I’d been there to see it.”
I was mortified. “A gross exaggeration,” I said hastily. “It was just ordinary shopping. I’ve no idea why Duarte Aguiar decided to put himself out to help me. I hardly know him. He had stolen my scarf. That was how it started.”
“Really?”
The story of the near collision at sea, the scarf, the appearance of Duarte at the markets, and his extravagant gift had her enthralled. After rewarding my narrative performance with laughter, Irene turned suddenly serious.
“It’s an excellent story that can only improve with retelling,” she said. “However, you should steer clear of Aguiar, as I advised you earlier. His past is shadowed by a hundred tales of dark deeds. This is a man who will stop at nothing to get what he wants.”
“I know that,” I said. “And I know his manner is sometimes inappropriate; I told him so. But he is interesting to talk to. We had a discussion about books. My father was present throughout,” I added hastily.
“A man such as that does not offer a young woman gifts for no reason,” Irene said with a crooked smile. “Duarte cuts a fine figure; women admire him. A man with a reputation has more glamour than an upright fellow with a spotless record. And, of course, girls love the notion that a bad man can be turned to good, as long as he has the right woman to help him.”
“You sound very cynical.”
“Your father allows you considerable freedom, Paula. I respect him for that. But you should heed my warning where Duarte is concerned. If he thinks he can use you to achieve a goal, he will do so without scruples. If he continues to pay you attention, you should question his motives at every turn.”
I said nothing. Her speech had left me more than a little deflated. It was not possible, apparently, that a man like Duarte Aguiar could admire me for myself, as an intellectual foil. And as a woman.
“Do you think you will see him again?” Irene asked casually, rising to slip off her wrap, stretching like a cat, then stepping into her delicately embroidered undergarments.
“Maybe,” I said. “My father has been invited to a supper; it’s likely Duarte will also be there. I will be careful. The thing is, I did like talking to him. It made me feel…alive.” It had made me feel as full of life as I had long ago in the Other Kingdom, debating all night with the scholars, wizards, and sages of that mysterious realm. There, nobody had worried about who liked whom or whether anyone had hidden motives. All had loved ideas; all had been excited by theories and argument. I thought of Tati, who had made that strange world her home. How could she have shown herself to me, then vanished before I could say any of the things I wanted to?
“You look sad.” Irene’s tone was soft. “What’s troubling you, Paula?”
“It’s nothing.” I dropped my own wrap and dressed myself in the fresh set of clothing I had brought: my gray gown and a plain white scarf. I was saving the plum outfit for supper at Barsam’s house.
“Come back in the morning,” Irene said. “You need company, books, stimulation.”
“Thank you. I will come if Stoyan is available to bring me. He may be busy again; Father has a lot to fit in.”
“How long until this supper?”
“Two days.”
“If you need Murat to fetch you again, just send a message,” Irene said. “I do not want you to be alone at the han and unhappy, Paula. Besides, here you are safe from predators such as Duarte Aguiar.”
I heard Murat’s voice from outside and, answering, Stoyan’s. I felt unaccountably relieved to hear him.
“Is it the supper that is worrying you?” Irene asked delicately. “A Muslim household, perhaps?”
“I don’t think so, or I wouldn’t have been invited,” I told her. “All I was told was to bring a chaperone. Maria will probably come with us. I wish I understood a little better about the rules governing women’s behavior here in Istanbul.”
“If it is a Muslim household, Paula, you might perhaps accompany your father there, but you could be admitted
