The men fan out and move slowly across the tiles toward the wall at the end of the patio. When they get closer, Kamil whispers, “Look. This isn’t a wall; it’s a carved screen. There must be something behind it.”
He holds up his lamp and peers around the screen.
“Allah protect us. There’s a hole in the floor. It’s a good thing we have lamps.”
“She’s in there,” Bernie says, and throws himself to the ground. “How deep is this? Jesus, if she fell down this…”
Kamil and Sami also lie on their stomachs peering into the dark square below them. Their lamps pick up the glint of water around what appears to be a central island. The island is empty.
“Look.” The others move their lamps in the direction Kamil is pointing. Far below, a figure in a white turban is struggling through waist-deep water toward something lost in shadow. Sami hangs over the lip of the opening and dangles his lamp lower. The shadows flee, revealing Sybil, standing in a small boat bobbing against the wall, an oar in her hand. The figure is moving inexorably toward her, though gingerly, as if afraid of the water.
Sybil screams. They can see her face, the O of her open mouth.
“Put the light out,” she shouts. “He can see me by your light. Get me out of here.”
She had been hiding in the absolute darkness, afraid that any sound would reveal her position to the eunuch.
“Don’t worry. We’ll get you out.” Bernie calls down. “But we need the light.”
Bernie aims his gun at the eunuch, but hesitates. Sybil is too close.
Kamil pulls Bernie back. “The bullet might ricochet.”
Bernie peers appraisingly at the water far below. “We can’t jump in. It’s too shallow.” He turns to Sami. “Do you have a rope?”
“No, efendi. I’ll go look for one.”
“Sybil, how do we get down there?”
“The lever. There’s a lever in the screen.” The figure is close to her now and she stands, back against the wall, oar raised.
“Keep an eye on her,” Bernie tells Sami. He and Kamil begin systematically to check the screen.
“Wait,” they hear Sybil shout. “If you pull the lever the floor will go up and trap me down here. I think he doesn’t understand English, so try this. Tell me when you’ve found the lever, but don’t do anything until I say, ‘Pull.’”
“Yes,” Kamil shouts back. “We’ll do that.”
“I think I found it,” Bernie grips the end of a stone protrusion, disguised as a tree in the stone carving. He pulls it slightly. They hear a grinding sound.
“Not yet,” Sybil screams.
“We found it,” Bernie calls to her. “Tell us when you’re ready.”
“Put your lights away,” she calls.
“Are you sure?” Kamil asks anxiously.
“Do it!” Sybil shouts. Below them, they see her aim the oar at the white turban. Then all is dark. Sami has swung the lamps, still lit, out of range.
They listen intently, but hear only water splashing.
“Now.” The word echoes. Bernie pulls the lever and the grinding noise begins again. They hear scuffling and a splash.
When the island comes into view, Sybil is lying face down on the tiles in wet bloomers and chemise, her hand still grasping the oar. As soon as the floor is flush with the platform, Bernie rushes to her and turns her over. Her eyes are open.
“Well, cousin,” she gasps, smiling. “Wait until Maitlin hears about this.”
Kamil keeps his face turned until Bernie has wrapped a cloak around Sybil, then takes her shoulders in his hands.
“Sybil Hanoum.” It is all he can manage. His eyes linger on her plump neck bisected by two folds like a baby’s wrist. He does not meet her eye. She is still smiling but has begun to shake violently. Under the pretext of adjusting the cloak, he wraps her in his arms for a moment, then hands her to Bernie. The English, he knows, consider their cousins too close for marriage, unlike the Ottomans. Still, he feels bereft when Bernie settles her in the phaeton inside the circumference of his arms.
Kamil climbs up front and takes up the reins. He is jealous, he realizes. He feels momentarily disloyal to his father, that a trivial emotion like jealousy could grow in the field of his grief.
On the road, they encounter the headman, his sons, and a group of armed gendarmes on their way to Asma Sultan’s villa. Kamil stops to give them instructions for finding Sami, left to guard the hidden chamber, then snaps the reins.
“That was Arif Agha, Asma Sultan’s eunuch,” Sybil explains between chattering teeth. “The one who reported Hannah’s trips to the police.”
Kamil and Bernie exchange looks.
“He probably snitched to the secret police back then too.”
“The police superintendent hinted that Arif Agha took bribes. I assumed it was just from the municipal police. It didn’t occur to me that he also sold information to the Sultan’s spies. A eunuch who knows too much and talks too much,” Kamil muses.
“A rat by any other name.”
To Kamil’s puzzled look, he replies, “Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet.”
“A fool.”
“Why did he attack you like that?” Bernie asks Sybil, rubbing her shoulders.
She shrugs. “It doesn’t make any sense. After all, we were both in the same predicament down there. I told him if he helped get me out, I’d protect him against Asma Sultan by telling everyone he had saved my life. He’d be a hero. That’s when he jumped at me. The poor man,” she whispers. “He’s had his tongue cut out. He’s probably terrified.”
Sybil’s eyes wander toward the shimmering sheet of water appearing and disappearing below them as they move through the wooded hills.
After a while, she continues, “Asma Sultan called something down to him just before she left. She told him his fate was tied to hers, and that he knew what he had to do. Maybe she was telling him to attack me.”
“Could be.” Bernie rubs Sybil’s hands to warm them. “Did you see all that Chinese stuff?”
“Yes, I did. It belonged to Asma Sultan’s mother. I meant to tell you about it.”
Surprised, Kamil turns and asks, “You knew about it?”
“I heard about it at Leyla’s the other day. I had planned to tell you over dinner tonight. Yesterday, you were too worried about me to listen.” She smiles happily.
“As you can see, I had good cause to worry.” But Kamil is smiling too. Bernie looks from one to the other, amused.
“The Chinese collection was the missing piece,” he says.
“Of what?”
“Asma Sultan had that pendant made. She is our correspondent inside the palace.”
“Your correspondent?” Sybil is confused.
“It’s a long story, cousin. I’ll tell you when we’re warm and cozy in front of a fire.”
Kamil turns to Bernie. “I wonder if her daughter is involved.”
“Is this a plot?” Sybil asks excitedly. “There really was a plot?” She claps her hands with pleasure. “Oh, wait until Maitlin hears about this.”
“Sybil Hanoum,” Bernie says with mock seriousness, “may I remind you that you were almost killed?”
“Yes, isn’t it marvelous?” They all burst out laughing. Kamil turns away to hide the tears of relief, mixed with sorrow, blurring his sight.
“Perihan and her mother are very close,” Sybil explains. “I can’t imagine one would do something without the other knowing.” She thinks a moment. “Asma Sultan said an odd thing this afternoon. We were talking about Perihan and Leyla being friends, and she said Perihan was keeping an eye on her. Do you think she was spying on Leyla?”
“They watch Leyla,” Kamil muses aloud. “They try to incriminate her sister Shukriye in Sybil Hanoum’s disappearance.” He realizes with a shock that he almost said death. “Why?”
“Leyla reports to the secret police?” Bernie ventures.
“That would make her very dangerous to Asma Sultan.”
They ride for a while in silence. Bernie keeps his arm around Sybil’s shoulder. A filigree of moonlight illuminates the road’s dark tunnel through the trees. The horses’ backs shudder with light. Kamil counts his accomplishments like a child warding off the darkness. Sybil is safe. He allows himself a glance over his shoulder. Her hair has tumbled out of its pins. Her eyes meet his and he looks quickly away, but not before she has seen his smile. Hamza, a traitor, responsible for seducing and possibly killing young women, has been stopped. If instead the secret police killed Hannah and Mary, these, like Asma Sultan, are beyond his reach and he must defer to Allah for their judgment.