only to the
I did not answer. I could not do so without revealing the nature of our business and the purpose of Barsam’s supper.
“You hesitate to say more.” Irene was fastening a row of tiny clips down the front of her braided tunic. “I think it is time for complete honesty, Paula. There should be no secrets between friends.”
I opened my mouth to say that the secret was Father’s, not mine, but she spoke first.
“I will tell you what I know, and you can confirm it as truth or falsehood. I’ve recently been provided with some information. It concerns a rare artifact that is for sale in Istanbul. I’ve been told the vendor lives near the Mosque of Arabs and that competition for the item is fierce, with a number of merchants having traveled to the city for the purpose of bidding. I heard that the transaction is cloaked in the utmost secrecy.”
“Secrecy?” I echoed, stunned. “It cannot be so secret if you’ve heard all this.”
“I know more. Duarte Aguiar is one of the interested parties, and Teodor of Brasov another. I see you are shocked. You should not be. All I am demonstrating to you is that a woman can be more capable than a man of putting two and two together and making four. I have a wide circle of acquaintances in the city, Paula, and I’m a good listener. In this particular instance, it may set your father’s mind at rest if I tell you I obtained my knowledge from a single source: a former acquaintance of Murat’s at Topkapi Palace. The information will go no further, I promise you. The fact that I have not mentioned this to you earlier I offer as proof that I know when to keep my mouth shut. Your father’s trade secrets are perfectly safe with me. My own collection consists solely of books and manuscripts, none of them particularly rare. I have no interest whatever in religious artifacts. Now tell me, is this supper to be held at the house of an Armenian?”
She had indeed shocked me. There seemed no point in holding back what she evidently knew perfectly well already. “Barsam the Elusive,” I said, nodding.
“This is exciting for you, Paula. I see that. To be involved in the purchase of such an item must quicken the blood of any merchant. I have a warning for your father. You may pass on what I have told you, in confidence, of course, and add that Murat’s source believed it will not be long before the Mufti’s representatives carry out raids on the premises of all the potential buyers for this item. This relates to the matter the women were discussing on your first visit here—the revival of an ancient cult in Istanbul. It is Cybele’s cult the rumors refer to. The Sheikh-ul-Islam, of course, is outraged at the possibility of pagan rites taking a grip in this devoutly Muslim city and will be keen to shut them down. On this issue, his Jewish and Christian counterparts in Istanbul are very likely to agree with him. His men will be looking for any evidence that will allow them to track the artifact and, through it, the leaders of this supposed cult, who, it is assumed, will be just as keen to acquire Cybele’s Gift as everyone else seems to be. Let Master Teodor know it may be expedient to conceal any documentation related to this purchase. Such a visit will not be conducted gently.”
“Thank you,” I said, shocked that she knew so much and horrified at the thought that, without the warning, Father might have been caught unprepared by the Mufti’s men. “I will certainly tell him. Now I must go; I hear Stoyan.”
“Of course, Paula. I hope we will see you again tomorrow.”
Stoyan was looking particularly impenetrable. It was late; long shadows stretched across the streets, and from the rooftops dark birds screeched to one another, offering their last territorial challenges before nightfall. We walked briskly.
“Thank you for coming to fetch me,” I ventured.
A nod in response.
“Is everything all right? Was there a problem with the Neapolitan merchant?”
“It was complicated, kyria. Your father will explain.”
“Complicated?”
“Master Teodor will tell you. The meeting did not proceed quite as he expected. Then, when we returned to the han, he was upset to find you gone.”
“I left a message. You must have got it or you wouldn’t be here.”
Stoyan turned his gaze on me but did not slow his pace. “The house of Irene of Volos is the first place I would have looked for you, Kyria Paula. You think if you were missing, I would stay at the han and do nothing?” He sounded less than his calm self.
“I’m sorry if I upset anyone. It was a long morning, and Murat did come to fetch me. I’m not completely irresponsible.” I did not tell him that I had sent the tea vendor’s boy to buy me a set of robes like those the old women wore, black and all-concealing. I did not mention that I’d been on the verge of putting them on and going out by myself.
There was silence as we walked on. We crossed the square with the shady tree under which the storyteller was accustomed to sit. The man had shut up business and gone home; it was almost time for the evening call to prayer.
“I know that,” Stoyan said quietly. “Your father received your message. But he was worried about you, kyria. Now we should make haste. Best if you are safely indoors before dark.”
I lengthened my stride. We walked past a coffee shop where a lot of men were sitting or standing around a central brazier. Dusk was falling; the little fire glowed amber. Eyes turned toward us. Stoyan moved so that he was between me and the watchers.
“You keep up well for such a small thing,” he observed when we were safely past.
“I was brought up in the mountains,” I said.
“So,” Stoyan said as we made our way along the narrow, shadowy street that led toward the han, “you can walk fast and climb. You can float in deep water, even with your boots on. A woman of many talents.”
The smile in his voice surprised me. “You don’t make jokes very often, Stoyan,” I said.
“I have offended you?”
