The Janissary Tree (26 page)

Eugenia
blinked lazily and smiled.

"Surely,"
she said carelessly, "there's one old family in the empire whose claims have to
be respected?"

The
valide put out a hand and rested it on Eugenia's arm. "Perfectly right, my
dear. But my son was brought up to defend those claims, rather than rely on
them. It doesn't matter if you're the fifth or the twenty-fifth or--in Mahmut's
case--the thirty-third sultan of the Ottoman Empire, and in direct descent from
Osman Bey himself, if you can't prove that the empire needs you. Mahmut has
exceeded my expectations.

"I'd
like you to meet him. He would be delighted by you, of course." The valide saw
the surprise in Eugenia's expression and laughed softly. "Oh, don't be alarmed.
My son is no Suleiman."

Eugenia
found herself laughing. Suleiman the Magnificent, the great Renaissance sultan,
had fallen head over heels for a Russian courtesan, Roxelana. He wound up
marrying her--the last time any sultan had married at all.

The
valide gave her arm a squeeze. "And
entre nous,
he prefers them rather
more upholstered. You'll see."

She
raised her hand. As if by magic, two girls entered and bowed. One of them held
a tray containing coffee in tiny cups. The other, a narghile.

"Do
you smoke?"

Eugenia
gave the valide a startled look. The valide shrugged.

"One
forgets. It is a harem vice, I'm afraid. One of several. Parisian fashions are
another."

She
gestured to the girls, who set down the tray and the pipe. One of them knelt
prettily at Eugenia's feet and presented her with a coffee cup.

"The
inspection has begun," said the valide drily. Eugenia took the cup and murmured
a thank-you. The girl made no effort to move but touched her hand to her
forehead and addressed a few words to the valide.

"As
I expected," the valide said. "The girls have been wondering whether you would
like to join them in the bath."

70

***********

As
Yashim climbed the spiral staircase, he was still elated by the news.

The
boy had found him on the pavement outside the cafe. He stood very stiffly to
attention and blurted out the message he had memorized on the run back from
Preen's landlady.

"The
lady says your friend is not going to die and I should not ask about such
things. She says she has hurt her arm and needs a lot of rest. She says--she
says--" He screwed up his face. "I cannot remember the other thing, but it was
like the first bit. I think."

Yashim
had made him repeat the message. He stood stock-still for several moments, then
he laughed. "You've done very well--and brought me the best news. Thank you."

The
boy took the coin with grave ceremony and ran back into the cafe to show it to
his mother. Yashim turned up the street and limped away in the direction of the
Golden Horn, humming.

His
mood didn't change when he put his head through the hatch and saw old Palmuk,
the fire watcher, leaning on the parapet with his back turned toward him. On
the contrary. With a smile, he moved quietly onto the roof. He stood behind
Palmuk and made a sudden grab for his waistband. Before the fire watcher could
react, he had hoisted him over the parapet.

"Aaargh!
Aaaargh! Don't do that! Orhan! Aaaargh! Let go! You bastard. Oh. Oh. Me heart.
Orhan?"

"It
isn't Orhan," said Yashim levelly. "It's the man you lied to yesterday. The
tower? Remember? I think you said, too, that you don't like heights. But what
am I to believe?"

"I
don't like "em, efendi, I don't. And I swear I never lied."

Old
Palmuk's legs were thrashing about, but his arms were too far over the parapet
to reach back. Yashim gave him a little shove.

"No,
please!" He was almost screaming now, the words coming in rigid little bursts. "What
I said--I wanted the money. I'll give it back."

"A
tekke," Yashim shouted. "There's a fourth tekke, isn't there?"

But
the man had gone limp. Yashim's eyes narrowed. He wondered if it was a ruse. He'd
pull him back and then--wham! Old Palmuk would be at his throat.

"Over
you go, then," he said loudly.

Either
old Palmuk was in a faint or he was a very steely customer.

Yashim
thought of the assassin, plunging himself into the boiling dye. He pulled old
Palmuk back onto the roof.

The
man's face was the color of putty. His eyes moved wildly to left and right, and
he seemed to be having trouble breathing. He emitted a series of dry clicks.

Yashim
laid him on his back and tore at the neck of his shirt. He massaged his chest,
pumping with his forearms. A little color returned to old Palmuk's cheeks, and
the rapid movement of his eyes slowed. At last he drew a long, shuddering
wheeze and closed his eyes.

Yashim
said nothing. Waited.

The
old man's eyes half opened and slid toward him.

"You
didn't ought to have done that," he mumbled. "You took advantage, efendi."

Yashim,
squatting, rocked back on his heels and breathed hard through his nose.

"You
lied to me," he said coldly.

A
sly grin spread over old Palmuk's face, and he hiccuped mirthlessly.

"It's
what you wanted, innit?" He spoke very quietly. "Old Palmuk, serve the
customer. Hey, Palmuk, tell us a story." He closed his eyes again. "You didn't
ought to have done that."

Yashim
bit his lip. Last night he'd as good as murdered a man. And today--

"I'm
sorry," he said.

Palmuk
put a hand to his chest and clawed at his shirt, crumpling the torn edges
together.

"It
was a new shirt, efendi."

Yashim
sighed.

"I'll
get you another. I'll get you two. But first, tell me this. Did the Karagozi
have a tekke at the Beyazit Fire Tower? Like the one here?"

Old
Palmuk stared. "Tekke? The Beyazit Tower?" He began to wheeze. It took Yashim a
moment to realize that he was laughing.

"What's
the joke?"

"A
tekke at Beyazit, you said?" Old Palmuk rubbed his nose with the palm of his
hand, sniggering. "There was a tekke there, all right. The whole tower was
built on it."

Yashim
froze. "The Eski Serai?"

"It's
what I heard. Way back when, them Janissaries used to guard the old palace. It
fell apart. But the Karagozi didn't abandon the tekke. They found a way to keep
it--protected, like. They got the whole fire tower built atop of it, see?"

Yashim
saw. "Another tekke, then. That's what I need. The fourth."

The
fire watcher cracked a smile. "There were dozens, efendi. Hundreds."

"Yes.
But for the fire watchers? Was there--a special one?"

Old
Palmuk wrestled himself upright. He swayed over his lap, shaking his head.

"I
wish I knew, efendi. I wish I knew what you were on about. I don't know who you
think I am, but you've got the wrong man. I--I don't know what you mean."

He
turned to look at Yashim, and his gray eyes were round.

"I
used to be an errand boy. On the docks." He was nodding now, staring at Yashim
as if for the first time. "Get this, efendi. I weren't there."

Yashim
thought: it's true.

I
give the fellow money. I buy him shirts. And he really doesn't know a thing.

71

***********

YASHIM
found the Polish ambassador in a silken dressing gown embroidered with lions
and horses in tarnished gold thread, which Yashim supposed was Chinese. He was
drinking tea and staring quietly at a boiled egg, but when Yashim came in he
put up a hand to shield his eyes, turning his head this way and that like an
anxious tortoise. The sunshine picked out motes of dust climbing slowly toward
the long windows.

"Do
you know what time it is?" Palewski said thickly. "Have tea."

"Are
you ill?"

"Ill?
No. But suffering. Why couldn't it be raining?"

Unable
to think of an answer, Yashim curled up in an armchair and let Palewski pour
him a cup with a shaking hand.

"Mezes,"
Yashim said. He glanced up. "Mezes. Little snacks before the main dish."

"Must
we talk about food?"

"Mezes
are a way of calling people's attention to the excellence of the feast to come.
A lot of effort goes into their preparation. Or, I should say, their selection.
Sometimes the best mezes are the simplest things. Fresh cucumbers from Karaman,
sardines from Ortakoy, battered at most, and grilled... Everything at its peak,
in its season: timing, you could say, is everything.

"Now,
take these murders. You were right--they're more than isolated acts of violence.
There is a pattern, and more. Taken together, you see, they aren't an end in
themselves. The meal doesn't end with the mezes, does it? The mezes announce
the feast.

"And
these killings, like mezes, depend on timing," he continued. "I've been
wondering over the last three days, why now? The murders, I mean, the cadets.
Almost by chance, I discover that the sultan is set to issue an edict in a few
days. A great slew of reforms."

"Ali
yes, the edict." Palewski nodded and put his fingertips together.

"You
know about it?" Yashim's argument collapsed in astonishment.

"In
a roundabout way. An explanation was given to, Ali, selected members of the
diplomatic community in Istanbul a few weeks ago." He saw that Yashim was about
to speak, and raised a hand. "When I say selected, I mean that I for one was
not included. It isn't hard to see why, if I'm right about the edict and what
it means. One of its purposes--its primary purpose, for all I know--is to make
the Porte eligible for foreign loans. Poland, obviously, is in no position to
influence the bond market. So they left me out. It was essentially a Big Power
arrangement. I heard about it from the Swedes, who got it from the Americans, I
believe."

"You
mean the Americans were invited?"

"Odd
as it seems. But then, you know what Americans are? They're the world experts
at borrowing money in Europe. The Porte wants them on its side. Perhaps they
can coordinate their efforts. And, to be frank, I don't think the Porte has
ever quite managed to work out whose side the Americans are on. Your pashas are
still digesting the Declaration of Independence sixty years after the event."

Palewski
reached for the teapot. "The idea of a republic has always fascinated them, in
a schoolboy sort of way. The House of Osman must be the longest-lived royal
line in Europe. Some more tea?"

Yashim
put out his cup and saucer. "I've been wondering who knew about the edict. Foreign
powers didn't occur to me."

"But
foreign powers," said Palewski, with patient cynicism, "are the whole point:
foreign powers, foreign loans."

"Yes.
Yes, of course."

They
drank their tea in silence for a moment, marked only by the ticking of the
German clock.

"Your
Janissaries," Palewski said after a while. "Do you still believe that they
exist?"

Yashim
nodded. "Like it or not, I'm sure. You saw them blotted out, you told me. Very
well. Poland, as the world supposes, vanished fifty years ago.

You
can't even find it on a map. But that's not what you tell me. You say it
endures. Poland exists in language, in memory, in faith. It lives on, as an
idea. I'm talking about the same thing.

"About
the fire towers, I was only partly right. I made a link between the three fire
towers I knew about--the two still standing, as well as the one that was burned
and demolished in 1826--and the cadets, whose bodies all turned up nearby. I
needed to find a fourth fire tower, didn't I? But I can't. There never was a
fourth tower. But I knew the pattern was right. The fire towers had the hand of
the Janissaries on them, just like these murders. It had to be right."

"Perhaps.
But without a fourth tower it makes no sense."

"That's
what I felt, too. Unless there was something else about the fire towers that I
couldn't see--something that could link all three of them to another place that
isn't a fire tower at all."

Palewski
thrust out his lower Up and sighed. "I hate to say it, Yash, but you're skating
on very thin ice. Let's forget my reservations for a moment. You suspect the
Janissaries of murdering these cadets, because of the wooden spoons and all the
rest of it." He wrinkled his nose. "The pattern of the fire towers comes to you
because the Janissaries once manned them, as the city's firemen. Abandon the
fire towers, and what happens to your Janissary theory? Tell me that. You can't
have it both ways."

Yashim
smiled. "But I think I can. I found what I needed to know a couple of days ago,
but it wasn't until today that I saw how it all fits together. The Galata Tower
housed a Karagozi tekke, a place sacred to the Janissaries. The lost watch
tower at the Janissary barracks had one, too."