pair of galoshes on the floor, surrounded by a little muddied pool of meltwater, and the sight suddenly brought tears to his eyes. It was, he thought, just the sort of little thing Hyacinth would have fussed over, in his punctilious way.
Yashim considered it the proper time to offer up his prayers.
102
The man with the knife walked down into the valley, looking for water.
When the path crossed a stream he took off his jacket and his shirt in spite of the cold and washed his arms, his hands, scrubbing at congealed gore with his fingernails.
When his hands were clean he washed his face, drenching his neck and shoulders with the icy water.
He rubbed his wet hands over his chest, and flinched. The dog had gotten closer than he’d thought-not a cut, quite, but a red welt over one breast. He splashed it with water, and massaged it beneath his hands. He reached for his shirt and looked it over. The thick linen was not damaged: only when he held it to the light could he see a tiny hole.
He rubbed the welt again. Then he washed his knife.
103
The little mosque of the harem was half empty, but Yashim was sure that everyone in the diminished harem population was there: the retired women weeping for Hyacinth, and the bewildered old eunuchs he had met earlier. The corporal of the halberdiers was there, too, very correct in his manner, keeping his eyes fixed to the ground. Yashim watched the women carefully, out of the corner of his eye, but he did not see Melda; nor, of course, did Tulin or the valide make an appearance.
The imam, himself very old and frail, made a short and scarcely audible reference to Hyacinth’s death, and more confidently led a prayer for his soul.
Afterward Yashim found Tulin waiting for him in the vestibule.
“I guessed you had gone for prayers, Yashim efendi. I told the valide you would come.” Her eyes crinkled as she smiled. “I haven’t said anything, you understand. I thought-”
“Quite right, yes.” Yashim nodded.
He stepped through the doorway and found the valide sitting up on the divan. She was wearing a bright silk jacket, so finely quilted that it hung loosely on her thin shoulders; under it a scarf and a fine lawn chemise. She looked exquisite.
“Mysteries, Yashim.” She lowered the pince-nez with two fingers and inspected him over the rim. “Tell me all.”
He inclined his head, gravely. It was just his luck to find the valide in this mood, sportive and light: she was dressed, he thought, to charm-not to receive bad news.
He approached the divan, and she held out a hand indicating that he should sit.
He took her hand. “There is no mystery, valide. It’s Hyacinth. It seems that-”
“Hyacinth!” She pulled back her hand and fanned herself with it. “ La! I desired intrigue. I’m disappointed. Go on, Yashim.”
“He’s dead.” Yashim paused. “He fell from the balustrade, in the Court of Favorites.”
The valide said nothing.
“He cracked his head on the floor of the pool,” Yashim continued. “He must have died instantly, hanum efendi.”
The valide lifted her chin and glanced at the window. “It’s been snowing,” she said.
Yashim followed her glance. “It snowed yesterday. The ground was very slippery, with ice.”
“I told him to have it swept. He never liked the snow. Did you know that, Yashim? It used to frighten him, as a little boy. That’s why he was called Hyacinth.”
“I’m very sorry, valide,” Yashim murmured.
“Yes, yes. Et moi aussi.” She paused. “He fell from the balustrade, you say?”
“Yesterday. They found him this morning.”
“The question is, Yashim, who pushed him? An old man…”
Yashim shook his head. “The balustrade is low, and the ground was slippery. Hyacinth was not so steady anymore.”
“Rubbish,” the valide snapped. “I have never heard such a thing. When Hyacinth arrived he could barely see over the top of that rail. C’etait un nain, pratiquement.”
Almost a dwarf? She was going a little far, Yashim thought; but yes, Hyacinth was never quite full size.
“He could have simply slipped through the gaps,” the valide added. She looked thoughtful.
Yashim said nothing. Of all the ways the valide could have reacted, this was not the way he would have expected. Nor wished for, either. She was turning the shock into a kind of puzzle.
The valide had always enjoyed Yashim’s investigations. He had learned not to spare her the grisly details, either, for she had the stomach for them. She liked stories about the city, about other lives, the crimes and peccadilloes of the people, and Yashim had come to realize that the valide was unshockable. But this was Hyacinth; this was a man who had shared her own life, to a degree.
It was Yashim’s turn to be shocked. The dead man, he felt, deserved better.
“I thought you ought to know, at least,” he concluded, a little lamely.
“Quite right, Yashim. And now I want you on the case. Who pushed him? Keep me informed.”
She closed her eyes.
104
Melda startled at his approach.
“Don’t worry. It’s me again. Yashim. I just came to see how you were.”
There was no need to ask, he thought: she looked startlingly thin, the skin drawn tight over the bones of her face, her shoulders narrow and sunken. She was only twenty, but in a week she had aged like the valide herself.
Her eyes flickered toward him once, and then settled back, to stare dully at a spot on the opposite wall.
Hyacinth had placed her in the harem hospital, in a small, plain room without tiling or decoration. The high window was protected by a wooden shutter. Apart from the narrow cot on which she sat, there were two small octagonal tables and a stool with a plain woven seat.
He drew the stool closer to the girl and sat down quietly.
“Have you been eating, Melda?”
She shivered, and drew her wrists across her stomach.
“Are you cold? It’s a bit cold in here, isn’t it? Let’s get you to a fire,” he suggested gently. There must be better rooms than this, he thought.
Melda gave a jerk and looked away. Yashim bit his lip.
“You’re thinking about Elif,” he began slowly. “When you’re alone like this, you can think things and feel things that make you more worried and afraid.”
Her eyelids quivered: she was like a wild animal caught in a trap.
“I thought you would be better here,” he said. “You are safe.” He was about to add that she was being looked after, when he reflected that Hyacinth was dead. Had they forgotten her, in the pandemonium?
“Let’s get you to a better room,” he said. She needed food and warmth.
