An Evil Eye

152

“ A long time ago, when I was a boy, there was a man in the village who had the evil eye. He was not a bad man, Yashim. He was a good man. But bad luck attended him, everywhere. Cattle became sick when he looked them over. Women dropped things as he went by.” Husrev shrugged. “He stopped going to the church, because twice his presence made an icon fall. He carried bad luck with him. But you-you are lucky.”

Yashim rubbed his chin and contemplated the grand vizier.

“Perhaps it’s you who has the luck, Husrev Pasha,” he said. He had expected to find the vizier alone. Instead, he had heard the peal of the bell, and had hurled himself upon the deranged man. Now that the assassin had been taken away, the room was still. Husrev Pasha, he noticed, remained seated on the divan, just as he had been when the killer drew his knife.

“Tulin is dead,” Yashim said.

The heavy lids sank. “Tulin is dead,” Husrev repeated. He worked his jaw. “But I am the grand vizier.”

The silence hissed in Yashim’s ears.

“Tell me, Yashim. In the harem is a little girl-”

“Roxelana.”

“She is-well?”

“She is well. But not in the harem anymore.”

“Not?”

“Roxelana is on her way to Egypt.”

Husrev’s eyes were the color of old parchment.

“You will be making a report?”

“No. No, I will not be making a report. You have enough paper as it is.”

Something approaching a smile moved on the pasha’s lips.

“You are good, Yashim efendi. Thank you.”