Thief's Tale

by Turney, S. J. A.

  Skiouros shrugged. Guessing the man's destination was a gamble, but lessened the danger of the pursuit. Lykaion thought for a moment and then nodded his agreement. With no further pause the pair pulled their unfamiliar Ottoman short jackets tighter against the wind and descended the staircase, scurrying out into the chilly afternoon and ducking to the side, making for the street that ran parallel to the one walked by the Mamluk.

  Without need for secrecy, the two pounded along the street, praying to their respective Gods that they had judged the man's destination correctly. If they went to the church only to find he had turned away en-route and gone somewhere unknown, they would have effectively had two leads dangled before them this afternoon and missed both.

  At the far end of the street, the pair paused, pressed against the wooden house wall, and peered across the open space before the former church. There was no sign of the Mamluk and his escort, which either meant they were far enough ahead to have beaten them to the church, or that the church had not been their destination after all.

  "Do we wait?" Skiouros whispered.

  "No. We have to try. I just hope that door's still free."

  Skiouros nodded. The thought of making that climb with his terrified brother once more was unappealing. Taking a deep breath, the pair ran out into the open space, fervently hoping that the Mamluk wouldn't appear at that moment, emerging from the parallel street. There was no sign of him as they ran past the frontage of the church and to the side wall, where they came to a stop, leaning on their knees and heaving deep breaths. It was as Lykaion looked up that he saw their quarry appear before the church from the other street, and he pulled himself up tight against the wall, pushing Skiouros back with an arm.

  Indicating the three men's arrival with his fingers, he waited until Skiouros nodded and then the pair ran off along the side of the church to the rear. Here, they sought out the ruined door to the colonnaded peristyle garden and clambered past it into the abandoned, overgrown interior.

  A quick jog along the portico and they reached the back door of the church, which they had used to escape the last time they had been here. Tentatively, Skiouros reached out to it, drawing something from his jacket. When they'd left previously, he had pushed the door closed until the latch clicked, visible as a sliver of horizontal metal in the crack. Now, he pushed a filament-thin blade into the gap and pushed upwards. The latch moved with a faint rattle and the door immediately creaked open by an inch.

  Grinning, Skiouros put his blade away once more and then fully opened the door and stepped inside. Clearly none of the guards who had been here in the past two days had been thorough enough in their work to notice that the blocking beam had been removed, and had left it unlocked.

  Lykaion followed his brother inside and quietly shut and latched the door behind him, sending up thanks to Allah and the prophets that he had not had to contemplate that blood-chilling ascent of the north wall once again.

  Moving at a slow pace and lifting their feet carefully with each step to keep the sound down to a bare minimum, the brothers moved around the church's periphery until they found the place from which they had observed the last life-changing meeting that had taken place here.

  The smell of the black powder was acrid and filled the air, and both brothers had had to stifle sneezes by the time they had reached their viewing position. Clearly some of the kegs had been moved recently and the resulting cloud had continued to swirl in the stagnant air of the building ever since.

  Falling into a crouch and watching, the pair spotted the Mamluk, alone, pacing back and forth in an angry manner. Seeing the man angry made both brothers feel a little more comfortable, as though they had somehow leeched some of the man's happiness into themselves.

  "I thought these meetings were supposed to be dangerous" barked an unseen voice, quickly followed by the slamming shut of a door and the steady approach of booted footsteps.

  Hamza Bin Murad!

  "They are!" snapped the Mamluk in response, as the newly-arrived commander joined him.

  "And in broad daylight" the Janissary officer shook his head. "I knew you were trouble and dangerous, but I had not figured you for an idiot."

  "Watch your tongue, Bin Murad. I am already insensed!"

  "Am I supposed to care? Just play your part and stay out of sight. Stop calling meetings like this; I have a job to do, you know?"

  "One of my Fida'i has disappeared. I receive regular reports from them and the one I sent after your rogue soldier has gone!"

  "Risks of the profession, Qaashiq, I'm afraid. I won't even ask for a description to match him up to the body that was left dumped in an alley of the Greek enclave late last night. I doubt there are too many armed Mamluks around the city."

  "Your information suggested that the target was a common soldier and not even a veteran. He should have been no match for one of my Fida'i. You have misled me."

  "I cannot help the bumbling of your foolish men." Bin Murad rolled his shoulders. "I'm just grateful they seem to have been more effective against their primary targets. I very much suspect, though, that your man never even met the runaway. A Mamluk in the Greek quarter is somewhat noticeable and your people are very, very unpopular - more so with the Greeks even than with the Turks. Risky business even crossing a street there unless you're one of their own."

  "I do not believe one of my highly-trained professionals fell foul of street thugs!" Qaashiq snapped. "Something here is not what it appears."

  Bin Murad pointed at the Mamluk. "I personally do not care about your men's state of health or their ability, so long as they do their jobs. Two targets are down and you have two men left. Concentrate on Bayezid now and stop pestering me."

  "No. The assigned Fida'i will stay on the Sultan, but the other will take over the hunt for your renegade. We can not afford to leave loose threads dangling where someone might pull on them. Just tell me anything else I need to know about the target. What is unusual about this Janissary?"

  "Nothing, Qaashiq. I've told you all about him. He only finished training two years ago. He's been in a few engagements across the water, but he's just an ordinary soldier. I don't care how you deal with him, so long as the primary target remains your main concern. Tomorrow is the deadline and I want Bayezid's head."

  The Mamluk nodded and folded his arms. "Tomorrow is the day of Ashura and the city will turn out to mourn, but the Sultan will not reach the Aya Sofya alive."

  "Make sure that he does not. Then this feeble nation can be remoulded into a strong Empire of Islam and the stinking infidels can be dealt with."

  The Mamluk watched Bin Murad with dispassionate revulsion. Religious fanatics were dangerous men to work with. They tended towards irrational acts and unpredictable moves. Qaashiq could hardly wait for Bayezid to lie bleeding out his life and the Janissaries to be marshalled under a new command so that he could finally get rid of this lunatic. There would be no room in the new Mamluk-influenced empire for such men. He already had his eye on the replacement agha, and it most certainly wasn't the bloodthirsty Hamza Bin Murad.

  "I am leaving now," the officer said flatly, "and I do not expect to be called away to meet you again for such paltry, pointless matters."

  Bin Murad turned and strode away, stomping towards the front door of the church and leaving the Mamluk alone. Skiouros and Lykaion shared a look and nodded, creeping away from the viewing point and towards the rear door, where Skiouros opened it quickly for them to step through before shutting it tight with a quiet click.

  "Tomorrow!"

  "Their window of opportunity is going to be ridiculously small" Lykaion mused as they strode through the garden, their breath pluming faintly in the cold air. "The sultan will be safe from harm until he leaves the Topkapi palace's main gate, and he'll be too difficult to touch once he's inside the Aya Sofya. So there's perhaps five minutes in which he's vulnerable. It can't be more than six or seven hundred yards between the two doors. He'll be travelling quite slowly so the crowd can adore h
im, but even then it won't take long."

  "We can talk about it later. For now, I think we should get away from here and back to Saint Saviours so we can discuss it in private."

  "Agreed."

  The two crossed the garden and slipped out through the broken door into the open street, first making sure that no one was observing them. Slowly and without speaking, they passed around the outer wall of the church towards the main façade, each silently contemplating the very real possibility that the empire would have a new ruler and a new direction by the time the sun set tomorrow.

  Lykaion let out a sharp breath as they reached the church front, and pulled his brother back against the wall, out of the open. Skiouros leaned out slightly trying to see what had spooked Lykaion, and then ducked back sharply.

  The Mamluk - Qaashiq - was standing in front of the church with his two Janissaries. Pausing, the brothers took a breath and reached a silent accord before creeping to the corner and peering around it. One of the Janissaries was striding across the street.

  Skiouros focused on the building he was approaching and saw with interest two young beggar boys hunched together in the doorway, trying to shelter from the cold. The guard exchanged quick words with the boys and then all three returned to the Mamluk.

  Skiouros and Lykaion watched intently as the ambassador leaned close to the urchins and issued instructions, accompanied by silver coins. Satisfied that they could repeat back his instructions, the Egyptian waved the boys off and then strode back in the direction of the Bucoleon with his guards.

  "The Mamluk or the beggars?" Lykaion asked quietly.

  "The beggars" Skiouros replied. "Their boss is going nowhere this evening. But one boy, or both?"

  "Both" Lykaion said with a deep breath. "Just in case; this may be the only chance we get. We follow at a distance and don't get too involved. Just find out where they're going and see if we can work out why. Then we meet back at the church, yes?"

  Skiouros nodded. "Then pick your target and I'll see you soon."

  Lykaion watched the beggars. The first had strolled off north, up the hill towards the Ottoman centre, while the other was heading back towards the Pharos along the parallel road they had themselves taken.

  "I'll go uphill. I know the headland area and the First Hill well. Good luck."

  Skiouros nodded and, with a final clasp of his brother's shoulder, turned and strode off after the beggar, towards the tower and the bulk of the city beyond.

  Chapter 8 – The hunt begins

  * Cumartesi (Saturday) evening *

  The sun touched the level waters of the Propontis, sending rippling sheets of gold out towards the city. Few ships moved in the harbour but the streets were as cluttered and busy as always as Skiouros ducked into the doorway of one of the new hamami - the Ottoman baths which so closely resembled the ancient Roman ones - that were springing up all over the city like mushrooms in a damp meadow.

  The young urchin seemed to be entirely unaware of the fact that his every step was being shadowed but Skiouros took no chances, employing every device and trick he knew to make himself barely visible.

  Whatever the boy's errand, it appeared not to be a matter of urgency, and the lad strolled through the city streets at a tardy pace which irritated the thief who followed. The sunlight was slipping from the world and a shroud of dark falling upon the streets of the ancient city as the boy turned into a street in the valley that ran between the Fourth and Seventh hills, from the walls down to the Theodosian harbour.

  Skiouros crossed to a house at the far side of the street and two doors down, which stood dark and closed, and there he made a quiet and subtle show of searching for a key. It was not unknown for houses in this area to have quality locks, as merchants and businessmen lived there. Pretending to find a key, despite the fact that the urchin had not even glanced at him, he drew his picklocks and clicked open the door easily. A good ruse was one where you kept up every detail no matter how closely you were being observed.

  Entering the house, he turned and closed the door, quickly pausing for any giveaway sound - though he was positive the building was empty - and ducked down to the window shutter, peering through the crack.

  The door of the house diagonally opposite opened suddenly and Skiouros had only a moment to discern dark, Arabic features which flashed this way and that around the street before the boy was unceremoniously yanked inside and the door closed.

  For almost two minutes, Skiouros crouched irritably at the window, wishing he could both see and hear the exchange across the street, and was just contemplating either giving up and leaving or trying to find a better vantage point when the door opened again and the urchin reappeared, a gleaming coin in his hand. The door slammed shut behind him and the boy turned and left the way he had come.

  Skiouros bit his lip. It would be a simple matter to follow the boy back, but was it worth the time and effort - not to mention the danger? There seemed little doubt that the boy would return either to his home in the damp wreckage of the former palace, or would head to the Bucoleon and deliver another message to the Mamluk, which Skiouros would not be able to observe from close enough to make any difference.

  But he did now have one lead.

  He had the room of one of the other two assassins.

  At this point it would probably be best to meet Lykaion and pool their findings before deciding what to do about the killer living in the Lycus valley.

  His mind made up, Skiouros hurried back through the house and slipped out of the back door, leaving it unbolted, dropping into the dung-filled alleyway and trotting along it to the next opening, where he re-emerged into the main streets and turned towards Phanar and home.

  The church of Saint Saviour 'in the country' cast a somehow threatening shadow this evening as Skiouros passed between the last houses and entered the grassy area of the former graveyard. The moon cast a silvery light on the far side of the building, throwing the structure into a stark silhouette from this angle, unrelieved by lights or apertures.

  For some reason a chill ran through the thief - a chill that was entirely unrelated to the weather. The strange atmosphere was enhanced by the threatening sky. Where for many weeks now the sky had presented a blue and clear chilly infinity, the wind appeared to have changed with the falling of the darkness, and tatters and shreds of cloud were scudding past the white orb at an astounding speed. Approaching the abandoned church, Skiouros tried very hard not to think about Romani witches and their predictions or traders who spoke of devastating storms to the south.

  The south - from which this fresh wind came, dragging a torn shroud across the sky.

  Opening the door, the young man slipped inside, into the gloomy interior of the exonarthex and then the inner narthex. The moonlight, shining in through high, narrow windows in the small cupola above did little but pick out some of the upper decoration in ghostly white, and barely touched the lower reaches of the corridor. The faint shapes of painted saints were somehow threatening as they were picked out by the dim glow.

  Trying to shake off this gloomy, uncomfortable feeling, Skiouros crossed through the inner narthex and into the main hall of the church, where he settled down on his pallet to wait for his brother, his shabby cloak pulled about him for warmth.

  Some strange otherworldly sense alerted the young thief that something was wrong. For almost an hour he had sat in the naos of the church, picking through every detail he could remember of the assassin he had seen, and now he suddenly stood, the hair rising on the back of his neck in response to some primeval warning.

  He had already crossed the church hall and moved into the darker narthex when the knock came at the door. The wind had only increased over the last hour and could be heard howling around the church and battering shutters in the nearby houses, the sound of it hissing through the trees audible even inside. And yet that knock had cut through the noise like the leaden doors of a tomb.

  In response to some deep-rooted caution, he suddenly changed d
irection and, instead of crossing into the exonarthex and the outer door, he took a circuitous route that brought him around the church's edge, through the parekklesion and towards the door at an oblique angle.

  Pausing, he deliberated over his next move. Whoever it was outside, it was not going to be his brother; Lykaion would not have knocked. A faint flicker of orange that just showed beneath the door suggested that whoever it was had torches burning outside. The Janissaries? Surely they would not have knocked.

  Why would anybody knock?

  The answer, quite obviously, was 'to get him to open the door'. Which meant that the very last thing he should contemplate right now was opening that door.

  Briefly, he considered running to the corner and climbing the staircase of the belfry where he would be able to observe much of the exterior grounds, but he decided that such a move could also potentially trap him like a rat. Instead, he approached the enclosed arch in the outer wall next to the main church door, now home to a plain and unadorned tomb. With a brief, silent apology to whatever priest or bishop it contained he clambered onto it, gritting his teeth at the scraping noises he couldn't avoid making.

  Where the arch of the former external arcade had been sealed with a solid block, it had only been closed up to the curve, the very top forming a window that was now covered with an iron grille and glazed against the weather.

  Breathing lightly, his nerves pinging, Skiouros raised himself up on the tomb and managed to pull himself high enough to peer through the window at the scene outside.

  The young thief bit into his lip, blood welling into his mouth. As his breath stopped entirely and he almost toppled from the tomb, his fingers gripped the edge of the window, whitening.

  It was Lykaion.

  At least, partially.

  Even with the darkened skin and hair, courtesy of the morning's efforts, Skiouros would recognise his brother's face anywhere.