An Evil Eye

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.