The Janissary Tree

[ 70 ]

As Yashim climbed the spiral staircase he was still elated by the news.

The boy had found him on the pavement outside the cafe. He stood very stiffly to attention and blurted out the message he had memorised on the run back from Preen’s landlady.

“The lady says your friend is not going to die and I should not ask about such things. She says she has hurt her arm and needs a lot of rest. She says…she says…”—he screwed up his face. “I cannot remember the other thing, but it was like the first bit. I think.”

Yashim had made him repeat the message. He stood stock still for several moments, then he laughed. “You’ve done very well -and brought me the best news. Thank you.”

The boy took the coin with grave ceremony and ran back into the cafe to show it to his mother. Yashim turned up the street and limped away in the direction of the Golden Horn, humming.

His mood didn’t change when he put his head through the hatch and saw old Palmuk, the fire-watcher, leaning on the parapet with his back turned towards him. On the contrary. With a smile he moved quietly onto the roof. He stood behind Palmuk and made a sudden grab for his waistband. Before the fire-watcher could react he had hoisted him over the parapet.

“Aaargh! Aaaargh! Don’t do that! Orhan! Aaaargh! Let go! You bastard. Oh. Oh. Me heart. Orhan?”

“It isn’t Orhan,” said Yashim levelly. “It’s the man you lied to yesterday. The tower? Remember? I think you said, too, that you don’t like heights. But what am I to believe?”

“I don’t like ‘em, effendi, I don’t. And I swear I never lied.”

Old Palmuk’s legs were thrashing about but his arms were too far over the parapet to reach back. Yashim gave him a little shove.

“No, please!” He was almost screaming now, the words coming in rigid little bursts. “What I said—I wanted the money. I’ll give it back.”

“A tekke,” Yashim shouted. “There’s a fourth tekke, isn’t there?”

But the man had gone limp. Yashim’s eyes narrowed. He wondered if it was a ruse. He’d pull him back and then—wham! Old Palmuk would be at his throat.

“Over you go, then,” he said loudly.

Either old Palmuk was in a faint or he was a very steely customer.

Yashim thought of the assassin, plunging himself into the boiling dye. He pulled old Palmuk back onto the roof.

The man’s face was the colour of putty. His eyes moved wildly to left and right, and he seemed to be having trouble breathing. He emitted a series of dry clicks.

Yashim laid him on his back and tore at the neck of his shirt. He massaged his chest, pumping with his forearms. A little colour returned to old Palmuk’s cheeks, and the rapid movement of his eyes slowed. At last he drew a long, shuddering wheeze and closed his eyes.

Yashim said nothing. Waited.

The old man’s eyes half-opened, and slid towards him.

“You didn’t ought to have done that,” he mumbled. “You took advantage, didn’t ya? Eh? Effendi?”

Yashim, squatting, rocked back on his heels and breathed hard through his nose.

“You lied to me,” he said coldly.

A sly grin spread over old Palmuk’s face, and he hiccupped mirthlessly.

“It’s what you wanted, innit?” He spoke very quietly. “Old Palmuk, serve the customer. Hey, Palmuk, tell us a story.” He closed his eyes again. “You didn’t ought to have done that.”

Yashim bit his lip. Last night he’d as good as murdered a man. And today—

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Palmuk put a hand to his chest and clawed at his shirt, crumpling the torn edges together.

“It was a new shirt, effendi.”

Yashim sighed.

“I’ll get you another. I’ll get you two. But first, tell me this. Did the Karagozi have a tekke at the Beyazit Fire Tower? Like the one here?”

Old Palmuk stared. “Tekke? The Beyazit Tower?” He began to wheeze. It took Yashim a moment to realise that he was laughing.

“What’s the joke?”

“A tekke at Beyazit, you said?” Old Pamuk rubbed his nose with the palm of his hand, sniggering. “There was a tekke there, all right. The whole tower was built on it.”

Yashim froze. “The Eski Serai?”

“It’s what I heard. Way back when, them Janissaries used to guard the old palace. It fell apart, didn’t it? But the Karagozi didn’t abandon the tekke. They found a way to keep it—protected, like. They got the whole fire-tower built atop of it, see?”

Yashim saw. “Another tekke, then. That’s what I need. The fourth.”

The fire-watcher cracked a smile. “There were dozens, effendi. Hundreds.”

“Yes. But for the fire-watchers? Was there…a special one?”

Old Palmuk wrestled himself upright. He swayed over his lap, shaking his head.

“I wish I knew, effendi. I wish I knew what you were on about. I don’t know who you think I am, but you’ve got the wrong man. I…I don’t know what you mean.”

He turned to look at Yashim, and his grey eyes were round.

“I used to be a gofer. On the docks.” He was nodding now, staring at Yashim as if for the first time. “Get this, effendi. I weren’t there.”

Yashim thought: it’s true.

I give the fellow money. I buy him shirts. And he really doesn’t know a thing.