The great oda, overlooking the Bosphorus, emptied out. The orchestra packed up their instruments. The ladies of the harem drifted away. The children were shepherded off by the black eunuchs, still sniffling. It had been a very remarkable day; not an auspicious one. There was lots to discuss later.
Only the lady Talfa remained, with her slave.
“Bring me coffee.”
Yusel heaved herself to her feet and was about to waddle off when she raised her hands in surprise. “What have we here?”
On the carpet at the foot of the divan sat a little girl, fast asleep, with her head on her knees.
Yusel bent down and shook her gently. “Best run along now, little one.”
The girl saw Yusel bending over her and scrambled to her feet, looking blankly from Yusel to the lady Talfa.
Yusel mimed a low temmena, a bow with the hand almost trailing the ground. The girl took the hint. She presented Talfa with a graceful bow.
She looked about five years old.
“Very pretty, very nice,” Talfa murmured. The sad events of the afternoon had put her into a good mood. “And what, little one, is your name?”
“Roxelana, hanum.”
“Charming! And tell me, Roxelana, who looks after you?”
Roxelana glanced down and traced a pattern in the carpet with her little slippered foot. “No one, hanum.”
Talfa frowned. “No one? Where do you sleep?”
“I sleep-with the girls.” She slid her foot against her leg. “Wherever I am, hanum.”
“The Kislar aga knows about this? And Bezmialem?”
The little girl glanced up, biting her lip.
The princess let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s a muddle, that’s clear. Never mind, I’m glad we’ve had a little chat. I will see that something is done for you.”
Roxelana looked down at her slippers and stirred her foot on the dark flags. “You won’t send me away, hanum?”
“What a ridiculous notion!” Talfa giggled. “As long as you behave yourself, my dear, you’ll stay in the harem forever and ever. Now run along. You can visit me this evening, after prayers, and we’ll see what can be done.”
The little girl bowed again, and walked with self-conscious solemnity to the door of the oda.
At the door she turned and flashed a timid smile. “Thank you, my princess.”
Talfa waggled her fingers. A small smile hovered on her lips.
28
After the funeral the young man sold his sheep and the standing corn.
He thought long and hard about his inheritance, knowing the pasha would have to die.
It was not a question of rank. It was a matter of retribution.
A matter of honor. He had already chosen his weapon: it would be a knife. A knife because it was easy to conceal, and very sure. He had slaughtered many animals with this knife.
Istanbul was a long way off, of course. But he knew the roads the camels took, as far as the boundary of his province. There would be people after that, to show him the way.
No one would notice the knife.
29
“ Balzac!” Palewski exclaimed, as Yashim came in. “Acceptable in small doses, with brandy. I thought you’d never come.”
“It’s Thursday,” Yashim objected. “I always come.”
“I know,” Palewski said, tossing the book aside. “You have nobody else to cook for.”
Yashim raised an eyebrow. “The Prophet, may he be praised, instructed the faithful to give charity,” he replied, turning to the kitchen. “Especially to the friendless.”
“Litwo! Ojczyzno moja! ty jeste jak zdrowie,” Palewski declaimed. “I am alone in a foreign land.”
While Yashim set out the dishes, Palewski grumbled about the new bridge. “Ghastly. I had hoped, with the Kapudan pasha away with the fleet, that work would grind to a halt. No such thing-it’s all modern methods now.” He picked up a slice of stuffed mackerel and held it in midair. “You look tired, Yashim.”
Yashim gave him a weary smile. “Husrev Pasha thought the Russians should know about their missing friend. The Fox was not very informative.”
“And the Totenkopf?”
“He barely reacted. Picked up the skin and dropped it into the wastepaper basket.”
“The Galytsins, Yashim, have lied for the tsar since the time of Ivan the Terrible. I once met a fellow who had been tutored in the Galytsin house. He said even their tutor told lies. Alexander Petrovich was a very good pupil, apparently.” He ate the mackerel dolma. “Why did Husrev decide to let them know?”
Yashim shrugged. “In the interest of neighborly relations. Better it came from us than from the little man on the ferry.”
“Hmm.” Palewski reached for another dolma. “A Russian murdered on the islands. Russian ambassador demanding explanations. A useful little crisis for the grand vizier.”
“Useful?”
“Dust in the sultan’s eyes, Yashim. Something to frighten him a bit. Husrev wants to show his mettle. You’d almost think that if this crisis hadn’t arisen, he’d have been tempted to invent it himself.”
Yashim shook his head. “The man had been in the water for weeks. Husrev Pasha couldn’t have known the sultan was about to die.”
“We all knew, Yashim.”
“Not to the day. Not to the week.”
Palewski sighed. “I suppose you’re right. Husrev’s no shrinking violet, but getting a Russian agent killed on the off chance? It’s too much.” He reached for another dolma. “And in the middle of nowhere, too.”
“Chalki?”
“It’s an island, for goodness’ sake. A place you go to escape the heat, or for Greek lovers to meet by prearranged chance.”
Yashim nodded. “That’s been bothering me. Chalki is only for monks and fishermen.” He picked up a cabbage leaf stuffed with pine nuts and rice. “I’d understand if a Russian military agent ended up dead in a Tophane backstreet. But Chalki’s a trap for the killer.”
“True.” Palewski pursed his lips. “Why not meet in the Belgrade woods-or in a quiet cafe up the Bosphorus?”
Yashim blinked. “Because Chalki was where they had to meet.”
Palewski looked perplexed. “Had to meet, Yash?”
“Obviously, yes, if the Russian came to meet someone who was on Chalki already.”
“One of the monks?”
Yashim wasn’t thinking of the monks.
His mind roved back to that afternoon on the rocks, among the Greek fishermen.
“Tomatoes!” Yashim slumped back into the chair. “The pasha’s mansion-that konak, among the trees.”
“The garden of forbidden fruit? The fisherman said it was empty.”
“That’s not quite what he said. He said the pasha had gone away.”
