The Janissary Tree

[ 38 ]

Once outside the prince’s office Yashim stood for a moment in the vestibule, frowning. A liveried footman stood to attention by the open mahogany doors. Lost in thought, Yashim walked slowly round the room until he found himself standing in front of a framed map which he pretended to examine, seeing nothing.

Nobody, he reflected, had asked him any questions. Was that odd? The work of an embassy was to pick up information; but they had shown no interest in his enquiry. They might have heard that the men were dead, true. But he said that Potemkin was the last man to see the men alive, and nobody asked him how he knew. It was as if the subject failed to interest them, and that was interesting.

Even more interesting, though, was the lie about the cab.

The lie—and the fact that the prince had known about it.

The fact that the prince himself had attempted to cover up.

“Excusez-moi, monsieur.”

Yashim turned. For once, he was almost nonplussed.

He hadn’t noticed her come in.

Yet standing beside him now was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.