“Not at all. I liked your joke.”
A group of men passed close by us, and Stoyan put his hand against my back, lightly, as if to reassure me that I had a protector. It felt nice—better than it should have to a woman like me, who had always believed she could look after herself. As soon as the men were out of sight, he took his hand away.
“May I ask you a question, Stoyan?”
“Of course,” Stoyan replied.
“I heard some disturbing rumors about Senhor Duarte. You’ve been in Istanbul for some time. What do you know about him?”
“That man, Aguiar, he is not a suitable friend for you. I was troubled by his interest in you at the carsi.”
I could not think of an adequate response. “It wasn’t exactly my choice,” I said rather lamely. “He just came up and took over the shopping. I could hardly tell him to go away; that would have been rude.”
“Such men, offered a pinch of salt, will take a bucketful, kyria. But you are a woman of independence; you will make your own path. See, we are almost home. Your father will tell you of his meeting. He is worried; you should hear him out.”
I was worried, too, now and confused by the things he had said. “I will,” I said. “Thank you for bringing me home.”
At the han, Father was pacing up and down on the gallery, his face drawn and tired. This could not be solely from concern that I had gone out without prior permission. He’d already approved my excursions to Irene’s. I deposited my bundle of clothing on my bed and returned to our central chamber while Stoyan went to buy supper.
“What happened?” I asked straight out. “Come, sit down, Father. You look exhausted. Stoyan wouldn’t explain to me. Has something gone wrong?”
“Not exactly.” Father sighed, then settled on the cushions opposite me. “I suppose it could even be interpreted as good news. Antonio of Naples is withdrawing his interest in Cybele’s Gift. He no longer wishes to compete.”
“You bought him off?”
“I never had the chance to try. Antonio received a warning. I was with him when it arrived. Whatever was in that message—it was in writing, and after he’d read it he consigned the paper to a brazier—was enough to turn him the color of goat cheese. He told me immediately that he was pulling out. This reduces our competition. Nonetheless, it troubles me.”
He wasn’t the only one. “You think the letter was a threat?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” A certain note in Father’s voice told me he wasn’t giving me the full story. He reached across and took both my hands in his. “It’s not so very long since Salem bin Afazi was killed, Paula. I’m beginning to think I was foolishly naive when I decided it would be safe to bring you to Istanbul and to involve you in this particular business. When we returned here and you were gone, it alarmed me.”
“I did leave a—”
“Yes, yes, I know. You did the right thing. But the situation has changed. I’m concerned about your welfare.”
I could just see it. The next thing would be a decision not to let me come to the supper at Barsam’s house. If someone outbid Father, I might never get to see Cybele’s Gift. I bit back a childish protest:
Stoyan came back up the steps, bearing a platter of steaming rice topped with chunks of roast lamb on skewers. It gave off a tantalizing odor combining lemon, mint, and spices.
“Thank you, Stoyan,” said Father as this dish was set on the low table between us. “Paula, you know how badly I want this deal to be successful. You’ve worked hard to help me, and you’ve proven yourself an able assistant. But I don’t like exposing you to this world of power plays and scheming. Nor, I find, am I as comfortable as I hoped to be about your situation as a woman in a man’s world. You are vulnerable, like it or not. The Portuguese had a certain look in his eye. So, I am certain, did Alonso di Parma the day you struck your deal with him. I didn’t much care for it.”
“Maybe that’s true,” I said, “but surely there’s an advantage to you in the very fact that I am a woman, and a young one at that. Men do tend to assume a girl is incapable of fully understanding a conversation about trading or related matters. I might hear all sorts of things you wouldn’t. Father, I have some information for you. I think it’s important.” I told them what Irene had said—that raids on trading centers were imminent and that it might be appropriate to do a little rearranging of documents. That the Mufti was interested in Cybele’s Gift and anyone who might be bidding for it. “Irene implied that their methods might be rather rough,” I added. “It sounds as if this is not as secret as you’ve believed, Father. I’ve been careful not to talk about Cybele’s Gift, even when the women at the hamam were discussing this underground cult. I didn’t give away any secrets. But Irene does know a lot about what’s going on, through her steward’s contacts at Topkapi.”
Father whistled under his breath. “It seems we are in your Greek friend’s debt,” he said. “It’s very possible the agents of the Sheikh-ul-Islam will be here in the morning. As soon as we finish this meal, I will prepare for such a visit. I’ve been careful not to put certain information in writing. However, there are papers, including a promissory note from a bank in Venice, that must be concealed. And I have Salem’s letters. Let us eat quickly; this has set me on edge.”
Stoyan sat down beside us, and I passed around the small bowls we kept in our apartment.
“Paula—” Father began, and I sensed he was about to broach the topic of the supper and the risk to me of attending it.
“About the supper,” I said, “I know you’re probably concerned. Father, Duarte Aguiar seems to like me for some reason. Wouldn’t it be useful if I talked to him some more? As for Alonso di Parma, he’s such an outrageous flirt, he’s likely to let slip all kinds of secrets without even thinking.”
“A man doesn’t use his daughter as a tool of that kind, Paula.” Father was sounding tired and grim. “I think I
