The Janissary Tree

[ 37 ]

The Russians noted Yashim’s appearance.

An insignificant fellow, the ambassador thought. No rank.

Junior Attache Potemkin felt a surge of relief, struck by the thought that if the Turks themselves gave this interview such low priority, his chief could hardly rank his error as a sacking offence.

They watched Yashim bow. The ambassador did not offer him a seat.

“I’m grateful for your help today,” Yashim said. The prince sneered and looked away. Yashim caught the expression and smiled.

“We understand that Count Potemkin spent some time with four officers of the Imperial New Guard last week. You are Count Potemkin.”

Potemkin bowed.

“If I may ask, were you friends? You have not been long in Istanbul.”

“No. I still hardly know my way around.” Potemkin bit his lip: that was supposed to come later. “We weren’t friends. Just friendly.”

“Of course. Then you had met before?”

“Not at all. We met at the gardens, by pure chance. I suppose we were all slightly curious. We spoke, in French. I’m afraid my French is not good,” Potemkin added.

Yashim saw no reason to flatter him.

“And you discussed—what?”

“To tell the truth, I hardly remember. I think I told them about this.” Potemkin raised his palsied hand to his face. “War wounds.”

“Yes, I see. You are a man of experience in battle.”

“Yes.”

“What were you doing in the gardens?”

“Looking round. Taking a walk.”

“A walk? What for?”

“I thought maybe I could get some exercise. Somewhere quiet, where I would not attract so much attention.”

Yashim thought the mangled Russian could probably cause quite a stir in a city street.

The ambassador yawned, and prepared to stand.

“Is that all? I am sure we all have our duties to perform.”

Yashim bowed. “I merely wanted to ask the attache, how did he leave the gardens?”

The ambassador sighed, stood up, and waved a hand.

Potemkin said: “We left together. I dropped them off, somewhere near the barracks, I think. I don’t know the city well.”

“No, I understand. You took a cab?”

Potemkin hesitated and glanced at his chief.

“Yes.”

“How did you share the fare?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You dropped them off. I assume you came on here, to the embassy.”

“That’s right.”

“So how was the cabman paid? Did you share the fare?”

“Oh, I see what you mean.” Potemkin ran his fingers through his hair. “No, no, it was my treat. I paid. I was coming back anyway, as you say.”

“Can you remember how much? It might be very important.”

“I don’t think so,” the ambassador intervened, in a voice of deep scorn. “As I just said, we are all busy. So, if you will allow us—”

Yashim had turned to face the ambassador. He cocked his head slightly to one side and put up a hand.

“I am sorry,” he said, very deliberately. “But I must insist. Count Potemkin, you see, was the last man to see the guards alive.”

The ambassador’s eyebrows flickered for an instant. Potemkin’s eyes widened.

“Good Lord!” he said. He did not look at Yashim.

“Yes, it is very sad. So you see, anything we can do to trace the men’s last movements could be helpful. Such as finding the cab driver.”

It was a punt, Yashim thought. Not quite impossible.

“I am quite sure that Count Potemkin will not remember how much the cab cost,” the prince said smoothly. “We do not encourage our officials to carry much money. Cabs are paid off by porters, at the entrance.”

“But of course,” Yashim said. “I am afraid I have been stupid. The porters, naturally, would keep a record of their disbursements.”

The prince stiffened, realising his mistake. “I will have Count Potemkin look into it. If we learn anything, of course we will inform you.”

Yashim bowed. “I do hope the Count has no travel plans. It may be necessary to speak with him again.”

“I am sure there will be no need,” said the prince, gritting his teeth.

Yashim went out, closing the door.

The prince sat down heavily at his desk.

“Well!” he said.

Potemkin said nothing. The interview, he felt, had gone rather well.

He would not, after all, be going home.