NINETEEN
“It’s probably foolish, leaving the hotel with so many Germans about.”
There was no reply as Alek buttoned the jacket of his new suit.
“But the Germans don’t know what I look like,” he continued. “And the Ottomans don’t even know we’re here.”
Alek put on the fez and stared at himself in the mirror, waiting. But again no reply came.
“Anyone would think I was a proper Turk in these clothes.” Alek flicked at the fez’s tassel. Was it meant to hang on the left or the right? “And if I have to speak German, at least I’ve been practicing my common accent, so I don’t sound like such a prince anymore.”
“Such a prince,” the creature finally said.
“Well, that’s your opinion,” Alek said, then sighed. How had he gotten into this habit of talking to the beast? The animal was probably memorizing all his secrets.
It was better than sharing his doubts with the men, he supposed. And there was something about the creature’s wise, contented expression that made Alek feel as if it really were listening, not just repeating words at random.
Alek checked himself in the mirror one last time, then turned toward the door.
“Be a good little beastie, and Master Klopp will come and feed you. No whining. I’ll be back soon.”
The creature gave him a long, hard look, then seemed to nod.
“Be back soon,” it said.
Corporal Bauer was dressed in his new civilian clothes and was waiting in the room he shared with Klopp. The master of mechaniks himself couldn’t leave the hotel. He was too well known among the Clanker technical class, and Constantinople was full of German engineers.
On their way into the city the night before, Alek had counted a dozen construction projects flying a black eagle on a yellow pennant, the kaiser’s flag of friendship. The ancient walls of the city bristled with shiny new smokestacks, steam pipes, and wireless antennae. Alek remembered his father talking about Germany sponsoring this policy of
“I still say this is a bad idea, young master,” Klopp said, turning away from the wireless and a pad full of dots and dashes.
“No one will recognize me,” Alek said. “My father was very careful to not let me sit for portraits or photographs. Hardly anyone outside my family knows what I look like.”
“But remember what happened in Lienz!”
Alek drew a slow breath, remembering the first time he’d been in disguise among commoners. “Yes, Klopp, I acted exactly like a little prince. But I think my common touch has improved since then, don’t you?”
Klopp only shrugged.
“And if we’re going to hide in the Ottoman Empire,” Alek continued, “we need to know what the great powers are up to here. I’m the only one of us who can speak anything besides German.”
The old man held his gaze for a moment, then looked away. “I can’t argue with your logic, young master. I just wish it weren’t
“I wish Volger were here too,” Alek said softly. “But I’ll be taken good care of. Right, Bauer?”
“At your service, sir,” Bauer said.
“Indeed,” Alek said. “But that reminds me, no
“Yes, sir. That is, um … What should I call you, sir?”
Alek smiled. “Well, no one who hears us talking will think we’re Turkish, so let’s pick a good German name. How about Hans?”
“But that’s
“Ah, yes, of course.” Alek cleared his throat, wondering if he’d ever known Corporal Bauer’s first name. Perhaps he should have asked before now. “I’ll be Fritz, then.”
“Yes, sir. I mean—yes, Fritz,” Bauer said, and Alek saw that Klopp was slowly shaking his head.
So much for the common touch.
The hotel was near the Grand Bazaar, the largest market in Constantinople, and the streets were full tonight. Alek and Bauer followed the crowds, looking for a place where German workers might congregate and gossip.
Soon they were inside the bazaar, a gaslit labyrinth of shops under high arched ceilings. The owners cried their wares—lamps, linens, carpets, silks, jewelry, tooled leather, and machine parts—in half a dozen languages. Mechanikal donkeys pushed their way through the crowds, chestnuts and skewers of meat roasting on their steaming engine blocks. Veiled women rode on sedan chairs with silent clockwork legs, wary servants walking on either side.
Alek remembered his first time disguised as a commoner, in the market at Lienz, when the press of bodies and smells had sickened him. But the Grand Bazaar was almost otherworldly, the scents of cumin, paprika, and rose water mixing with the bitter pall of tobacco coiling up from burbling water pipes. Jugglers jostled for space with fortune-tellers and musicians, while tiny clockwork walkers danced on a blanket spread out before a cross-legged man, the crowd clapping with appreciation.
The man at the hotel desk had said this was a holy month, and that the Muslims of the city would be fasting while the sun was up. They seemed to be making up for it now that night had fallen.
“Not many Germans about,” Bauer said. “Do you suppose they have a beer hall in this city?”
“I don’t know if the Ottomans have a love for beer.” Alek gestured to a boy carrying a small tray with empty glass cups. “But coffee is another matter.”
He stopped the boy and pointed at the tray. The boy nodded and waved for them to follow, skipping deftly through the crowds, waiting impatiently for Bauer and Alek to catch up.
The boy soon brought them to a large public room on the edge of the market. The smell of chocolate-tinged coffee and black tea spilled out of its doors, and tobacco smoke hung in a pall across the ceiling.
As Alek tipped the boy for his trouble, Bauer said, “Looks like we’ve found the right place, sir.”
Alek looked up. A row of the kaiser’s friendship flags fluttered along the awning, and a German drinking song was rumbling along inside.
“That boy spotted us as Clankers right off.” Alek sighed. “Watch your step, and no more
“Sorry … Fritz.”
Alek hesitated at the door, the sound of so many German accents sending a shiver through him. Of course, the kaiser’s airships had found him even hidden on a mountain peak in the Alps. Perhaps it was safer to keep one’s enemies in sight.
He squared his shoulders and strode in.
Most of the men inside appeared to be German engineers. Some still wore their mechaniks’ coveralls, shiny with grease from the day’s work. Alek felt out of place in his new Turkish clothes.
He and Bauer found an empty table, then ordered coffee from a young turbaned boy who spoke excellent German.
As the boy darted away, Alek shook his head. “Whether the Ottomans join the war or not, the Germans are already running this country.”
“And you can see why.” Bauer pointed to the wall behind them.
Alek turned to see a large poster tacked to the wall, the sort of crude propaganda his father had always hated. At the bottom was a cartoon city labeled Istanbul, festooned with steam pipes and train tracks. The city sat astride The Straits, with the Russian bear looming over the Black Sea and the British navy threatening from the Mediterranean.
Dominating the poster was a giant chimera striding over the horizon, a Darwinist beast fabricated from half a dozen creatures. It wore a misshapen bowler hat, and carried a dreadnought in one clawed hand and a sack of
