The Snake Stone

34

Yashim made his way into the Grand Bazaar. It was two days since Goulandris the bookseller had been killed, and still confidence had not returned: locked doors punctuated the frothy rows of booths, the vendors seemed subdued, the crowd less busy than usual.

Malakian was at his doorway, sitting quietly on a mat with his hands in his lap.

“Do you have news?”

Yashim inclined his head. “Lefevre, the Frenchman we talked about? He was killed in Pera.”

Malakian sighed. “It is like I said. Lefevre lived a dangerous life.”

“That’s not quite what you said, Malakian efendi. You said he did not always dig with a spade.”

“It is the same, my friend. In Istanbul, I think, it is better that the ground is not disturbed.”

“Lefevre disturbed something.” Yashim squatted down beside the old man. “Or someone.”

“You will have a coffee with me,” Malakian said.

Yashim could tell he didn’t mean it. He declined. “The Hetira, efendi.”

The old Armenian paused before replying. “I think a man like Lefevre would work where money is to be found. But sometimes in these places there are too many secrets, also, and so there is no trust. A negotiation is not easy. I am sorry for his children.”

“His children?” Yashim found it hard to imagine a Lefevre with children. But then, what would he know? “Do you have children, Malakian efendi?”

The old man nodded solemnly. “Five,” he said.

“God’s blessing upon them,” Yashim said politely. “Malakian efendi, do you still have that coin for Dr. Millingen? The English collector?”

It was Malakian who looked surprised. “Of course. He does not come here every day.”

“I will be in Pera this afternoon,” Yashim said. “I could take him the coin, if you liked.”

Malakian turned his head to look at Yashim. “You want to meet Dr. Millingen?”

“Yes,” Yashim said.