An Evil Eye

87

“ Come in, Yashim.” The grand vizier tossed his papers aside and sat staring at Yashim. “Very bad news.”

“Fevzi Ahmet Pasha has stolen the fleet.”

Husrev raised his eyebrows. “You’ve heard? But I myself have only received the news in these last few minutes.”

“According to the Jesuits, the Kapudan pasha sailed to Egypt and handed the fleet to the khedive,” Yashim said. “They have a network.”

The old vizier closed his eyes. “Do you or the Jesuits know why?”

Yashim hesitated. He was no longer bound by his sense of honor, now that Fevzi Pasha had defected. “In Saint Petersburg, ten years ago, he gave Batoumi away. At the time, I thought he had made an error of judgment. Now I’m not so sure.”

“You think he took a bribe?”

“It’s possible, isn’t it?”

The grand vizier cracked his knuckles together. “Possible. Possible. I should have seen it coming, Yashim, when his dispatch failed to arrive. You should have told me. Who knows what Fevzi Pasha may do for them? Who controls the destiny of the empire, if not the Russians? For a century, they have pushed us farther and farther back. On the Black Sea. In the Balkans. The Greek debacle was a Russian affair.”

“And the Russians benefit from this defection, too.”

“The Russians?”

“The Egyptians gain a fleet-and can contemplate an attack on Istanbul, if they dare to make one. But that wouldn’t be certain. In the meantime, with Istanbul defenseless, Fevzi’s defection gives the Russians an excuse to offer us their protection, as they did before.”

“We can hardly refuse, in view of the Egyptian threat,” Husrev Pasha growled. “We have no fleet. It seems that Fevzi Pasha has played the sides against the center-his defection leaves us with no choice. It seems we must call on the Russians.”

“Just as they intend,” Yashim objected.

“What choice do we have?” the grand vizier interrupted. “We called on them before. They came-and they left. Perhaps they will do so again.”

Yashim shook his head. “Last time we had a fleet, and Mahmut was sultan. Our request for protection took the Russians by surprise. This time, we’re playing into the Russians’ hands. Galytsin has been planning this for some time.”

He thought of Fevzi Pasha’s empty house-the house of a man scaling down; preparing to cut loose. It was so obvious now. He should have understood-it fitted with the Russian papers, the missing report.

The old vizier took a deep breath. “The longer we wait, the weaker we will become. The Egyptian fleet cannot move until the spring. If we talk to the Russians now, we can still negotiate, ask for guarantees. By springtime, we will be talking with a loaded gun at our heads.”

Yashim made no reply. The old pasha was not talking to him-he was merely thinking aloud.

The image that arose in Yashim’s mind was of the tutor at the palace school, stuffing his beard into his mouth.

“Give me two days.”

Husrev Pasha glanced up. “Two days?”

“Before you speak to the Russians.”

Husrev Pasha stared at him. “I must talk to the sultan, and to the viziers. I’m afraid I cannot see what you can do, Yashim efendi. But two days?” Something like a smile appeared on his fleshy lips. “Very well.”