“Greetings, Magistrate,” he called out. “I saw a light and thought I’d investigate. Could have been thieves or the murderers, back for another go. I didn’t expect it to be you.”
Kamil went downstairs and set a lamp down just outside the door so it illuminated the nattily dressed Amida and a wary Omar, his eyes locked on the young man.
“What are you doing in this part of town?” Kamil asked, noticing Amida’s stambouline jacket and trousers. “It’s not somewhere you get dressed up to go promenading.”
Amida shrugged, “I had some business around here.”
“At this time of night?” Omar’s eyes flicked to a nearby Byzantine arch, then returned to Amida.
“I was concerned that someone was breaking in,” Amida said defensively. “Why am I suddenly under suspicion?” He pulled open his jacket. “There’s no crowbar in here. What are you doing here, anyway?”
“Getting a haircut,” Omar said in a tone that warned Amida not to ask further.
“Fine.” Amida shrugged. “I’m glad to see our civil servants are burning the midnight oil. I’m going home.” He turned on his heel and disappeared into the dark lane.
Kamil turned to go back inside, but Omar grabbed his arm and indicated he should wait. Omar sauntered down the lane in the direction Amida had disappeared and when he’d assured himself that he was gone, he walked back to the dark hulk of the Byzantine arch and smiled. “You can come out now, you rascal.”
Avi emerged, dressed in rags, his face and hands filthy. Omar smiled broadly and boomed, “A disguise worthy of Saladin!”
“Well done, Avi,” Kamil said. “Let’s go inside.”
“Have you eaten, son?” Omar asked as they trooped back up the stairs.
“Yes, Chief. Thank you.”
Kamil wasn’t so sure. The boy looked pinched. He decided to take him home and ask Karanfil to feed him. He and Omar could return the following day to sort through the rest of the papers.
But Avi was almost jumping with excitement. “Can I report now?”
“So, my son,” Omar asked obligingly, “where was our friend Amida this evening in his fancy suit?”
“He was in Beyoglu.” Avi turned to Kamil, his eyes alight. “He met with a Frank and they agreed to meet again tomorrow night at eight o’clock by the Galata Tower. I didn’t hear his name, but Amida is supposed to bring him something.”
“Well done, Avi.” Kamil said, patting his shoulder. He wondered if this Frank was the mysterious Kubalou. “Let’s get you home.”
“If you permit, the boy could stay with us,” Omar suggested shyly. “We’re close by and he’s tired.”
Kamil hesitated. He felt strangely disappointed and realized he had been looking forward to Avi’s company. “Well, Avi, it’s up to you. If you decide to stay with Omar, I’ll have some clothes sent to you there.”
Avi looked at the floor and said nothing, but Kamil had seen the flash of pleasure in his eyes at Omar’s invitation.
“He might as well stay with you, then,” Kamil said, smiling. “Set him on Amida’s trail again tomorrow morning.”
“In case the little pimp changes his plans.”
“Right. Let’s meet at the courthouse at seven.”
“Yes, bey,” Avi chimed in.
“Not you, Avi. You’ll have done your job by then. This might be dangerous.”
Avi looked disappointed.
“If we manage to arrest this Frank and if he’s the central player we think he is, then you’ll have done your empire and your sultan a great service. How many other young boys can say that?”
Omar motioned toward the door. “Shall we look some more?”
“None of those papers looked like they might be the Proof of God. I suspect they’re too delicate to be lying around in a heap. They must still be in that lead liner. If the thief had found it, he wouldn’t have turned the house upside down.”
“There’s no lead box in there. We were thorough.”
“I’ll search the Kariye tomorrow and I’ll also check the bazaar.”
“You won’t find anything in the bazaar.”
“Maybe the reliquary.”
“We know it’ll trace back to Amida.”
“It’s part of the puzzle. And you never know what else might fall into our hands.” He wished again that he could share Malik’s letter with Omar. He had seen nothing in it that indicated where the Proof was hidden. Had Saba? More than anything, he understood, Saba wanted the Proof. Perhaps she had already retrieved it from its hiding place.
“Searching for the Proof of God,” Omar chuckled. “You and a thousand theologians. Good luck, then.” He put his hand on the boy’s thin shoulder and steered him out the door. “You’ll make a fine policeman, son,” Kamil heard him say.
23
Kamil slept deeply with, thankfully, no disturbing dreams and awoke refreshed for the first time in days. It took him a moment to realize that it was past daybreak. It was raining and a muddy yellow light clogged the windows.
After breakfast, he took Karanfil aside and asked her discreetly what she knew of an Abyssinian woman named Balkis. Karanfil bore little resemblance to her son Yakup. Where he was tall and angular, his profile sharp as a hawk, Karanfil was round, with delicate features.
“That was a friend of your father’s, bey.” She seemed reluctant to say more.
“Come, Karanfil. My parents, may they rest in paradise, are no longer with us and can’t be hurt by such revelations. I’ve heard the story from others, but I’d like to hear what you know of it.”
“Why would anyone tell you such a thing, bey? It was all over with such a long time ago.”
When Kamil wouldn’t let the matter rest, she said finally, “Your mother found out. Everyone talks, so the news that her husband kept a mistress was bound to come to her ears. But she was such a good person, at first she didn’t want to interfere. Me, I would have kicked my husband out and thrown his water cans after him, may Allah give him rest.” Karanfil’s husband, a water carrier, had died in a fire. “When the affair continued, she thought that if she left your father, he might end it, so she moved the family to Beshiktash. But your mother never denied your father anything, and whenever he came to visit, she treated him like a sultan. It didn’t stop anything. So one day, your mother decided she wanted to see this woman herself. We went to her apartment. I waited outside. When she came out, your mother said the woman had agreed to give your father up. I don’t know what she said to her, but sure enough, we heard that the woman had moved out of the apartment, and after that, your father spent all of his free time at Beshiktash. It’s sad that your dear mother was too ill to move back to the city, but your father took care of her here until the end.”
“Was there a child?”
There was a long pause while Karanfil deliberated. “Your mother sent this woman gifts every year and I saw what she put in the bundle. She never said anything to me, but you don’t send gold liras to your husband’s ex-mistress. There had to have been a child.”
“Why didn’t anyone from the family help the child after my mother and father passed away?”
“Your mother had left instructions for the gifts to continue, but somehow the name and the location were lost. It was in Allah’s hands. There was nothing to be done.”
“Lost? You must have known where they were delivered. That’s not something you can easily forget.” Kamil’s voice rose. He was overcome with an emotion he couldn’t identify, anger at his father’s betrayal, mourning for the lost purity of his childhood, and a sense of loss that came with the realization that he hadn’t known his parents at all.
He couldn’t bear Karanfil’s sympathetic look. “Tell me what happened,” he demanded.
“After your mother passed away, your father found her account book where she had recorded the gifts. He tore it up.”
“Did he tell you to stop sending the money?”
Karanfil fidgeted. “He never spoke of it directly and the very next day he moved to Feride Hanoum’s house. We assumed that’s what he wanted.”
“You assumed that my father, when he found out he had a child, would want to stop supporting her?” he asked incredulously. “What kind of a man did you think he was?”