The Winter Thief

88

Kamil followed the trail of the Kurdish tribesmen to the nearby village of Karakaya, the scene of one of the massacres. He tied up his horse and walked through the forest to the edge of the village, his boots of special soft leather making no sound. He heard their voices and saw a fire in the village square. He edged his way through the forest until he had a better view. The men had opened a barrel of wine and were feasting on the carcass of an animal, part of which still hung in tatters from a spit over the fire. From the size of the pile of bones and trash, Kamil guessed they had camped in this village for days. Why hadn’t they attacked the monastery sooner?

He waited for a while, changing position every so often to get a better view, and was about to give up and return to the monastery when he was rooted to the spot by a woman’s high-pitched wail. It ended abruptly. The men around the fire laughed uneasily. The sound had come from one of the houses-the headman’s house, to judge by its size. The door opened onto the square where the men were sitting. Kamil ran silently to the back of the house and crept up to a window. He lifted a corner of the hide that covered the opening and peered inside.

The room was brightly lit by a lamp. A naked girl of around fifteen was splayed out on the floor, her arms and the inside of her thighs sheathed in blood. A thatch of hair had fallen over her face. A man in a black uniform knelt hunched over her, knife in hand. Kamil couldn’t see his face, but he knew. Vahid raised a fistful of the girl’s hair and cut it off. She moaned and turned her head.

Vahid wrapped the hair in a piece of cloth and slipped it into his jacket pocket. Then he turned his attention back to the girl, as if wondering what to do next.

Kamil thought furiously. How could he save the girl with an army of Kurds at the doorstep? He drew his pistol and hoisted himself through the window. He landed on his feet, gun aimed at Vahid. The Akrep commander was still on his knees. His gun was pointed at the girl’s temple.

“You are so predictable, Kamil Pasha.” Vahid smiled. “Look.” Vahid ran his free hand over the girl’s breasts and then, to Kamil’s outrage, plunged it between her legs. She bucked but seemed unable to move. Kamil wondered if she was drugged. As long as Vahid had his revolver pointed at the girl’s head, he could do nothing.

“Would you like a turn?” Vahid grinned at him. “No?” He moved the gun from the girl’s head but kept it trained on her body. “That’s too bad.” Vahid shoved the mouth of the revolver between the girl’s legs. “Because no one will know whether you did or not.”

Vahid twisted and aimed his revolver at Kamil just as Kamil fired.

Expecting the Kurds to rush through the door, Kamil leaped out the window and ran into the forest, keeping to the tufts of grass that he knew wouldn’t take the impression of his boots. But he didn’t go far. The pistol still smoked in his hand. He planned to return for the girl. And if the tribesmen were going to take retribution on the surrounding countryside for his rash act, he had to know and do what he could to stop them, or at least to warn people. Much to his surprise, the Kurds hadn’t charged into the house after the shot had been fired. When Kamil looked back from the forest, they were still sitting around the fire. They thought Vahid had shot the girl, Kamil realized.

He wedged himself into a cleft of rock, close enough to see the men with his field glasses. One stood and shouted something at the others. An argument ensued, with some of the men gesticulating toward the mountains. Finally one of them knocked on the door of the headman’s house. Hearing no response, he went in, then hurried back out and strode angrily to the edge of the square, staring out at the forest. The others crowded in and emerged, shaking their heads in disgust. Within minutes they had saddled up, strapped their wounded to their mounts and set off at a rapid pace along the lane in a direction that led away from the monastery. Still, Kamil couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t return once it was daylight. Perhaps they were simply going to a less blood-soaked village to spend the night.