The Janissary Tree

[ 32 ]

Several hours later the bag was opened for the second time that morning.

“It is a terrible thing,” the kadi said again, wringing his hands. He was an old man, and the shock had been great. “Nothing like this…ever…” His hands fluttered in the air. “It has nothing to do with us. Peaceful people…good neighbours…”

The seraskier nodded, but he was not listening. He was watching Yashim drag at the cords. Yashim stood up, and tipped the bag over onto the floor.

The kadi gripped a doorway for support. The seraskier skipped to one side. Yashim himself stood breathing heavily, staring at the pile of white bones and wooden spoons. Wedged in the pile, unmistakably dark, was a human head.

Yashim hung his head and said nothing. The violence is terrible, he thought. And what have I done to stop it? Cooked a meal. Gone looking for a toy cauldron.

Cooked a meal.

The seraskier put out a booted foot and stirred the heap with his toe. The head settled in its grisly nest. Its skin looked drawn and yellow, and its eyes glittered faintly beneath half-lowered lids. Neither of them noticed the kadi leave the room.

“No blood,” said the seraskier.

Yashim squatted down beside the bones and spoons.

“But one of yours?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“You think so?”

“No, I’m sure. The moustache.” He gestured faintly to the severed head.

But Yashim was more interested in the bones. He was laying them out, bone by bone, paying particular attention to the shin, the femur, the ribs.

“It’s very odd,” he murmured.

The seraskier looked down. “What’s odd?”

“There’s not a mark on them. Clean and whole.”

He picked up the pelvis and began turning it this way and that between his hands. The seraskier pulled a face. He’d dealt with corpses often enough—but fondling bones. Euch.

“It was a man, anyway,” Yashim remarked.

“Of course it was a fucking man. He was one of my soldiers.”

“It was just a thought,” Yashim replied pacifically, setting the pelvis in position. From overhead it looked almost obscenely large, thrusting out from the skeletal remains spread on the marble floor. “Maybe they’d used another body. I wouldn’t know.”

“Another body? What for?”

Yashim stood up and wiped his hands with the hem of his cloak. He stared at the seraskier, seeing nothing.

“I can’t imagine,” he said.

The seraskier gestured to the door, and heaved a sigh.

“Like it or not,” he said, “we’re going to have to tell the people something.”

Yashim blinked.

“How about the truth?” He suggested.

The seraskier looked at him levelly.

“Something like that,” he said abruptly. “Why not?”