The Winter Thief

59

Yorg Pasha and Feride were in her sitting room, drinking coffee. The lamps were lit on this gloomy winter afternoon and the velvet drapes drawn to keep in the warmth. Flames from the fireplace threw twisting shadows on the walls.

“Think about my invitation to stay with us in Bebek. My family will be delighted to see you, and you’ll be safe.”

“Thank you, Yorg Pasha.” Feride wondered how she could refuse without seeming rude. “I miss them, please tell them that. But I have to find Huseyin. Surely you understand.” She remembered his great kindness and the attention he had lavished on her and Kamil when they were young, even though the pasha had four children of his own. But Yorg Pasha’s wife was very pious and rarely went out, and Feride would feel obliged to keep her company.

“You can leave that to me, my dear,” he insisted, putting down his cup with an age-spotted hand.

Yorg Pasha appeared much older than when she had last seen him. He reminded her of her father in the months before he died.

“But someone is trying to kill Huseyin.” She blanched as she realized she had almost added, If he’s not already dead.

“Kamil has told me this, Feride dear. And also about the attack on you. That’s why I’d like you to come to Bebek.”

“I can’t. Please understand. There are”-she faltered-“reasons that I need to find him.”

Feride could see the worry and consternation on Yorg Pasha’s face. Finally he said, “Very well, but you won’t object to my assistance, will you?”

“I’d be grateful for your advice, my pasha, and of course for your protection,” Feride said, relieved.

“Would you permit?” Yorg Pasha took a fist-sized timepiece from the pocket of his robe and wound it with a key. “My secretary said he’d be here at four, and he’s as punctual as any of my clocks.”

Smiling in amusement at the old man’s childlike delight, Feride drew her veil across her mouth in anticipation of a male stranger. The clock pealed a complicated pattern of silvery bells, and even before it ended, Simon stood in the room as if he had been there all along.

“Tell us,” Yorg Pasha said, patting the timepiece and putting it back into his pocket. “You look fit to burst.”

“We’ve found Huseyin Pasha,” Simon told them.

Feride was on her feet. “He’s alive?”

“He’s in Üsküdar, just as you thought. When the people who took him from Eyüp realized he wasn’t their relative, they took him to the home of a midwife who has been caring for him. He’s awake, and we explained the situation to him. His lungs and throat are damaged and he’s unable to speak, but I believe he understood.”

Yorg Pasha turned to Feride. “You don’t want Simon on your trail. Punctual, efficient, and as ruthless as a ferret.” He looked pleased.

“When are you bringing him back?” she asked Simon.

“His condition seems stable, chère hanoum, and no one knows he’s there. We didn’t want to risk drawing any attention to him.” He turned to Yorg Pasha. “What should we do now?”

“You will bring him home,” Feride commanded, drawing surprised looks from both the pasha and his secretary.

“Of course we will, my dear,” the pasha assured her. “But have you thought about his security once he’s officially found?”

“I’m sure Kamil can arrange a guard,” she said. “But why is someone trying to kill Huseyin? And who?”

“We believe it’s a commander in the secret police. He’s been asking after your husband.”

She stared at them, not understanding.” Surely it’s not unusual for a member of the sultan’s staff to ask after Huseyin. He works there.”

“This is a very dangerous man, Feride,” the pasha explained. “Your brother has been interfering with some of his plans and has darkened his name with Sultan Abdulhamid. It may be that the man is targeting your family out of revenge.”

Feride stood in the middle of the room, her hands twisted in the cloth of her gown, thinking through her options. A servant entered and summoned Simon, who left the room for a few moments, then returned. Feride saw his shoulders had stiffened, and there was a fold between his eyebrows that she hadn’t noticed before. He leaned over and spoke to Yorg Pasha in a low voice. The old man frowned.

“What is it?” Feride demanded.

“Kamil has been arrested.”

“What?” Feride felt a sudden vertigo on realizing that Kamil too was under threat. She had always thought of him as the most solid part of the landscape of her life. If he was no longer there? The thought was insupportable. If she lost both Kamil and Huseyin, who would she be then?

Yorg Pasha signaled to the maids stationed by the door. They fluttered around Feride to steady her and helped her into a chair. One brought a cloth sprinkled with rose water and pressed it to Feride’s forehead. Feride pushed it away and sat up. The maids retreated. “Why was he arrested?” she asked in a firm voice.

Yorg Pasha looked exhausted. “He’s been accused of murdering an Armenian girl. Her body was found two days ago, and Kamil’s watch was in her hand.”

“That’s preposterous.”

“We know that, dear child. It was set up, probably by this same man. Do you see what I mean?” Yorg Pasha said earnestly. “This man is very dangerous. Let us handle it.”

“What’s this man’s name?”

“Vahid.”

She turned to Simon and asked, “Can you arrange to bring Huseyin here secretly?” She had a plan.

Feride saw Simon look at the pasha out of the corner of his eye, and the pasha give a barely perceptible nod. “Yes, chère hanoum,” Simon answered.

“Then do it. I’ll ask Doctor Moreno to be present to see to his wounds.”

She walked over to Yorg Pasha and took his hand. Bending her head, she pressed the back of his hand to her cheek through the thin gauze of her veil. “Thank you, my pasha, for your offer of protection. I would welcome it.” She stood before him, her back straight and her mind made up. “It would be better if the guards were invisible. That way no one will suspect Huseyin is back home. Perhaps they could paint the mansion. It needs quite a bit of work. The winter has been unkind.”

Yorg Pasha laughed and asked Simon, “Can you tell we’re related?”