Kamil handed his horse to a stableboy and strode up the courthouse stairs. He hadn’t been to his office in two days and dreaded the pile of files and paperwork that would have accumulated on his desk. He had asked Nizam Pasha several times for more staff, but the minister had refused, arguing that Kamil had access to the police and the gendarmes for his investigations. They didn’t do paperwork, Kamil thought, his head throbbing.
The doorkeeper greeted him. “You have visitors, pasha.”
Kamil nodded absently. Most likely plaintiffs who should have been sent to the scribes to draw up an official petition, then to his assistant Abdullah for processing. Why did he have assistants if they didn’t assist him? It was as if the sourness of the Eyüp cemetery had stayed with him, settling in his head and bones.
He entered the gilded door to his outer office and stopped dead. Feride, Elif, and Doctor Moreno sat on the divan meant for clients of the court. Their heads turned to him in unison. Abdullah had brought them tea, which they held in their hands like tiny bouquets. Feride, putting her glass down so suddenly that it jumped on its saucer, rushed toward him.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the fire?” she cried.
Kamil ushered them into his private office, then closed the door. He bowed to Doctor Moreno and asked them to sit. Feride refused. “What are you not telling me?” she demanded, loosening the veil that covered her lower face.
“I told you I didn’t know anything, Ferosh.” Kamil tried to keep the frustration and worry from his voice, but Feride knew him too well. She looked him in the eyes, arms crossed, waiting.
“I’ve been to that taverna with Huseyin,” Doctor Moreno explained to Kamil, “so when I heard about the fire, it occurred to me that he might have been caught up in it, especially since he didn’t come home that night.”
“He should have told me he was going there, even if it was to meet his mistress,” Feride insisted.
“You don’t know that,” Elif scolded. “I’m sorry I said anything.” She had been wandering about the office, examining the books on Kamil’s shelves, all leather-bound law books, and the paintings on the wall, naturalistic oils and watercolors of flowers. She was dressed in a man’s suit, with a broad hat that she removed, letting her chin-length hair swing free. Kamil had never completely adjusted to Elif’s impersonation of a man in public, at once high-strung and aggressive. He wished that Elif as a man would be kinder to his sister.
Kamil reached into his pocket and handed the medal to Feride. She ran her fingers over the diamonds and enamel decoration. “It looks like his,” she announced dispassionately, although Kamil could see her hands shaking. “Where did you find it?”
Kamil explained where the medal had been found and the fact that many of the wounded were unrecognizable. “There are two patients at Eyüp Mosque hospital who could be Huseyin. I went to check after we spoke this morning, and I was on my way to tell you.”
She slipped the medal into her purse and took him aside. “I know you mean well, my brother,” she insisted in a low voice, “but I don’t need to be protected from news about my husband. I’ll be fine.” She attempted a shaky smile. “Huseyin always calls me his thorn.”
“And his rose,” Kamil reminded her, passing his finger across her cheek to wipe away a tear. “We still don’t know anything for certain,” he said, as much to remind himself as to comfort Feride.
“I’ll go to Eyüp,” Feride announced. “I know you’re busy, but maybe Doctor Moreno would accompany us?”
“I’d be honored.” Moreno met Kamil’s eye, and he nodded lightly.
“Thank you, Doctor, but I’d better take you there so I can tell you which patients I mean. They’re very short-staffed and I doubt anyone would be able to show you.”
Kamil crammed the stack of files on his desk into a leather satchel, put on his kalpak, and led the way out of the courthouse.
“Where are your servants?” he asked Feride, seeing only a single coach and their driver, Vali. Usually his sister traveled with an entourage of ladies-in-waiting and guards. Seeing her so unprotected made him suddenly anxious.
“I didn’t tell the staff. I wanted to get here as fast as possible to find you, to find out whether he’s alive. Oh, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I will always tell you everything,” Kamil assured her. He helped her into the coach. “Take some guards with you from now on, Ferosh. Promise me.”
“Yes, my dear brother.” Feride reached out and touched his cheek.
Kamil mounted his horse and led the way over the crest of the Pera hill, followed closely by Feride’s carriage. The streets had been cleared of the worst of the snow, but it took almost an hour to reach Eyüp through the afternoon traffic, snarled by an overturned coal wagon.
“The hospital is over there.” Kamil pointed.
In the entry hall, they stepped aside to let an orderly carrying a bundle of bedding pass. Kamil led them down the corridor to the director’s office.
The director jumped to his feet when the four visitors crowded into the room. Seeing Kamil, he snapped, “Back again? This isn’t a social event.” When he remarked the quality of his visitors’ clothing, his tone suddenly became ingratiating. “If you’re here to contribute to the hospital, of course, that’s different.”
“We’re here to see…“Kamil started to say, when Feride interrupted him.
“Are you the head doctor?”
“Yes, madame.” The director stood and made a formal bow. “Amadio Levy, surgeon and director of Eyüp hospital.”
“I am Feride Hanoum, and this is Doctor Moreno and my cousin Elias.” With the latter she indicated Elif, wrapped in her greatcoat, hat still on her head. She stood with arms crossed just outside the office door. “You’ve met my brother, Kamil Pasha.”
“Yes, madame.” A note of impatience crept into the director’s voice.
“What is it that you need?” Feride asked.
“Madame?”
“For the hospital.”
The director became animated. “Salaries, mainly salaries so we can hire more orderlies and nurses. We have no nurses. You have no idea, madame, how hard it is to handle so many patients with no staff. I myself am on bedpan patrol first thing in the morning. If we don’t get to them in time, they soil the linens and the bandages, which are also in short supply, especially after all the recent burn victims. Their bandages have to be changed constantly.”
“Please make me a list. I’ll take it with me on my way out,” Feride told him. “Now I’d like to see my husband, Huseyin Pasha.”
“Your husband, madame?” the director stuttered, looking at Kamil.
“The two men in Ward Three,” Kamil reminded him. “We saw them this morning.”
“Yes, of course.” The director brushed by Kamil and strode rapidly down the hall. They had to run to keep up with him.
Sunlight streamed through the deep, arched windows of Ward Three. Kamil’s handkerchiefs were still in place, but one of the two beds was empty.
Feride examined closely what was visible of the remaining patient’s hair and face and shook her head no. Kamil went from bed to bed looking at the other patients, but the one he had thought might be Huseyin was gone.
He turned on the director, fairly shouting, “Where is he?”
Feride looked stricken. “Is he dead?” she asked in a whisper.
Elif stood beside another bed, looking down at a woman whose face was so puffed and bruised that her eyes were no longer visible. Her nose had been broken and was in a splint, so she breathed loudly through her mouth. Kamil could see Elif’s shoulders trembling and went to stand by her side. The patient had been badly beaten, most likely by someone in her family. Kamil wondered what memories this raised in Elif. He wanted to put his arms around her, but it would have been scandalous, whether she was a man or a woman. He drew Elif away.