The Abyssinian Proof

42

“How are you, brother?” Saba asked, pushing Amida’s hair back from his forehead.

He turned his eyes to her. “As well as can be expected,” he answered bleakly.

“Do you want to sit up?”

Amida nodded and Saba gestured to the servant waiting by the door to come and help her. Together, they tugged and lifted him into a sitting position. His legs were still limp, but he was getting stronger.

The night of the fire, Constantine, with enormous skill and concentration, had extracted the bullet from Amida’s back and closed the wound. He came by every day to check on his patient. Most evenings he and Saba sat together and talked. She found herself looking forward to his visits and relying on his advice.

“So, how does it feel to be in charge?” Amida asked her. She could hear a faint echo of bitterness that she knew Amida tried to hide.

“I’m not in charge of anything yet. The ceremony isn’t for another two weeks. There’s a lot to do.” After the ceremony that would make her priestess, they were planning an enormous feast for the Melisite community and several other important guests.

“Sorry I can’t help.” Amida grimaced, gesturing at his legs.

The ceremony should also be the initiation of the caretaker. She regarded her brother carefully. Should she include him or wait until he was better? Did they even need a caretaker anymore, now that the Proof of God had been found?

“You know,” he said, “you don’t need to walk to be caretaker. It wouldn’t make any difference, would it? Malik could walk, but he never went anywhere.” Amida laughed, a desperate sound.

“You’re right. It wouldn’t matter.”

Amida looked relieved.

“There’s no rush, though,” Saba added, “now that the Proof is safe, there’s no need for a caretaker at the Kariye. It’s not there anymore.”

Amida was clearly unhappy. “How about caretaker of the Imperial Museum?”

Saba laughed to keep him company. “I think that job’s taken.”

“I can go through the ceremony,” Amida insisted. “I can sit in the chair.” He pointed to a wheelchair beside the bed. It was made of wicker and polished wood with a small chamberpot built into the seat.

Saba pictured Amida being wheeled in beside her on her day of triumph. She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“Later, Amida. There’s plenty of time. Get well first.”

Amida closed his eyes and turned his head away. Tears gathered beneath his lashes. “Leave me alone now,” he muttered.

Saba turned and walked to the door. As she passed the servant, she told him, “Have him brought to the hamam this afternoon and make sure you find that special masseur Monsieur Courtidis recommended.”

“Yes, madam,” he answered with lowered head.

Since the day Saba had summoned the shocked servants to clean her room after Gudit’s attack, they had treated her with great deference. Perhaps, she thought with a tight smile, they were afraid of her.

Gudit hadn’t reappeared, nor did Saba inquire after her, but she learned with surprise and some satisfaction that the midwife had sought out Constantine Courtidis to tend to her wounds. Gudit would have to carry out the ceremony of accession. There was no one else. Then she would no longer be needed.

Saba opened the box and took out her scepter, which Kamil had returned to her. It would have been easier to establish her leadership, she thought angrily, if Kamil had done the right thing and given her the Proof of God. It belonged to the Melisites.