An Evil Eye

147

The man with the knife stood in the shadows, watching the lighted window.

He did not think the doors would be locked. He was not expected.

He shivered, though the sweat sparkled on his forehead. He felt the ice on his face, and the fire in his chest.

So many doors, so many windows! Istanbul was bigger than any town he had ever seen. At first he had been bewildered; even afraid. But he could track his prey through a maze of alleys and squares more easily than hunting in the hills.

And now, standing there fingering the blade, the man with the knife swallowed and smiled a small, sad smile of satisfaction.

A pasha, too, was only a man. He would beg for mercy. He would bleed.

And then he would die.