Achmed snorted. “What are they going to do? Declare war on Turkey?”
“Ah, my friend, you are not a diplomat. You don’t understand the game. I will merely say that I am occupied with domestic matters at present, which is true, and that I will not have time to grant an audience for several weeks.”
“Which is not true.”
“This man Danforth isn’t going to call me a liar. He will wait until the appointed time.”
“What do you hope to gain by the delay?”
“Sarah,” Kalid said simply.
Achmed knew when to remain silent, so he did not offer an opinion on his pasha’s obsession with the American woman.
“I’ll write the letter today and you can send Turhan Aga, or one of the janissaries, to the Embassy with it.”
Achmed bowed.
“We will see how well the Americans handle this,” Kalid said musingly. “We Easterners are ancient hands at such intricacies, they are novices. Their country is only one hundred years old.”
“But very powerful,” Achmed reminded him.
“Do you think the President of the United States will travel to Constantinople in search of one little schoolteacher?” Kalid asked, amused.
Achmed said nothing. He didn’t know what the Americans would do.
But then, if Kalid Shah was afraid of anything, Achmed hadn’t yet seen it.
“That will be all, Achmed. I wish to be left alone until the minister of agriculture returns.”
Achmed bowed again and left as Kalid went back to studying the letter in his hand.
Roxalena stepped out from behind a large bush in the Garden of the Kadins at Topkapi and gestured for Osman Bey to come to her side. He looked around furtively and then covered the ground between them in four steps. Roxalena seized his arm.
“Did you talk to Sarah’s cousin?” she hissed.
“Just for a moment. The Sultan was present the whole time and I was only able to say a few words to him as she left.”
“Did you tell him that she had tried to escape from the Orchid Palace?”
Osman nodded.
“Good. That will make him more intent on getting her out of there,” Roxalena said. “I wish I had been able to go to the audience but my father forbade it.”
“He probably knew why you wanted to attend.”
Roxalena sighed. “I saw the Embassy carriage arrive but there was no way for me to get a message to Mr. Woolcott. If I keep on bribing people I will have no jewelry left and the Sultan will find out eventually. Someone will betray me to an agent of my father’s who can pay better.”
“You are doing everything that you can, Roxalena,” Osman said, squeezing her hand.
“But is it enough to help Sarah?” the princess asked.
Osman shrugged.
Who could say?
Sarah didn’t know what Kalid had said to Fatma about their “disagreement”, but the redhead virtually disappeared from her life after that day. If Sarah entered the hamman, Fatma left it; if Sarah was reclining in the tepidarium and Fatma wandered in, she turned around and went somewhere else. It really wasn’t that difficult for them to avoid one another; there were many women in the harem and many places to go, both within the harem itself and in the unrestricted areas of the Orchid Palace. Sarah was relieved that her problem was solved but almost disappointed that she didn’t get another crack at Fatma.
As days went by and she heard nothing from Kalid, she was mean spirited enough to want one.
Memtaz came into her sleeping chamber one morning about ten days after Sarah last saw the pasha and said solemnly, “Mistress, I believe there has been a theft.”
“A theft of what?”
“Your amethyst necklace.”
“It was never MY necklace, Memtaz, it was in the ikbal’s jewel box when I got here.”
“You are the ikbal now, therefore it is yours.”
“All right, fine. What do you think happened to it?”
“Fatma had it last. She borrowed it, do you remember?”
How could I forget? Sarah thought. Well, if Fatma had it she could keep it. It had once been hers anyway.
“I don’t care about the necklace, Memtaz. It isn’t important to me that it be returned.”
“I should report any incidents of stealing to the khislar,” Memtaz said stubbornly.
Sarah sighed. “Maybe Fatma forgot to bring it back. Why don’t you ask her where it is?”
“I have already done so. Fatma says that she brought it back, but that is not true, mistress. I take great care of your things and I would know if the necklace had been returned.”
Sarah rubbed the bridge of her nose wearily. She might not mind responding in kind to Fatma’s aggressive taunts, but this petty squabbling over trinkets was beneath both of them.
“I don’t want you to tell the khislar about it,” Sarah said firmly to Memtaz.
“Is that an order, mistress?” Memtaz said primly.
“Yes, it is.”
“Very well.” Memtaz picked up Sarah’s discarded clothing and said, “Will you be having the evening meal in the tepidarium, mistress?”
“No. In here. Alone.”
Memtaz bowed and left.
Sarah was reading when Memtaz returned with a silver tray. She had a light meal of feta cheese, olive compote, and rahat lokum, or Turkish delight. She went to bed early, before Memtaz retired.
Sarah woke again abruptly, in the middle of the night, doubled up with pain.
She reached for the bell beside her sleeping couch and knocked over a water glass instead. The crash brought Memtaz running into her room.
“What is it, mistress?” Memtaz said, gasping when she saw Sarah’s distressed expression, the beads of perspiration on her forehead.
“I don’t know...my stomach hurts,” Sarah moaned. It was an effort to get the words out; each breath sent a bolt of agony slicing through her midsection.
“I’ll get the khislar,” Memtaz said, and ran headlong out of the room. She was back in seconds with Achmed, who took one look at Sarah and said to Memtaz, “Send for Doctor Shakoz.”
Sarah looked up at Achmed and said haltingly, “What’s wrong... with me?”
“I don’t know,” Achmed said, but he exchanged a glance with Memtaz that said he suspected something.
“Give me water,” Sarah said, and Memtaz moved to obey. Achmed blocked her hand.
“Don’t let her take anything by mouth until the doctor sees her,” he said.
Time seemed to pass very slowly for Sarah, in a haze of pain, until the doctor finally bustled into the room. He adjusted his pince nez and then knelt next to Sarah, probing her abdomen with stiff fingers.
Sarah screamed.
He said something in Greek and Achmed translated, saying to Memtaz, “Is she pregnant?”
“No!” Sarah moaned.
Memtaz shook her head.
“Has she had an abortion?” Achmed went on, translating the doctor’s Greek again.
“For God’s sake, no!” Sarah gasped.
The doctor muttered to Achmed and the khislar said, “Doctor Shakoz says that women sometimes do these things to themselves, with knitting needles and such, and tell no one about it until the damage must be repaired.”
“Will you inform this... idiot that I’ve not had... an abortion?” Sarah panted, grabbing Achmed’s tunic. “Can’t he see I’m not bleeding? What’s... wrong with him?”
Achmed conferred with Shakoz and then took Memtaz aside as the doctor continued his examination.
“Did you bring her dinner?” Achmed asked Memtaz.
The servant nodded.
“Did she eat alone?”
Memtaz nodded again.
“Did you get the tray from the marble shelves beside the harem doors?”
Memtaz said, “Yes, of course.”
“Who made up the tray and carried the food to you?”
“Nesime, the kitchen skivvy. She always brings the ikbal’s food tray sepa
rate from the others.”
“What was on the tray?”
“Cheese, an olive compote. Some Turkish delight for a sweet.”Memtaz leaned in closer to him and said, “Why are you asking these questions? Do you think my mistress has been poisoned?”
Chapter 9
Achmed’s silence was eloquent.
“All of her food is tasted in the Bird House, along with the pasha’s!” Memtaz said.
“What else but poison could cause such a sudden attack?” Achmed countered. “She was fine earlier today, wasn’t she?”
“She seemed fine,” Memtaz replied, glancing over at the couch where Sarah lay moaning.
“I want a list of exactly what she had to eat all day yesterday and today,” Achmed said grimly, and walked toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Memtaz asked fearfully. She did not want to be left alone with this problem.
“To tell the pasha what has happened,” Achmed replied. “He would want to know immediately if Sarah is in danger.”
Memtaz looked after him unhappily and then went back into Sarah’s bed chamber. Doctor Shakoz was now peeling back Sarah’s eyelids, then looking inside her mouth at her gums and down into her throat. The doctor’s wiry salt and pepper hair, prominent nose and scientific air seemed out of place in the feminine bower of the harem.
He was the only man other than the pasha and the eunuchs permitted to see the harem women unveiled.
“What can I do?” Memtaz asked him in Greek, which she spoke sparingly.
“Get me a better light,” he grunted.
Memtaz complied, and Sarah winced at the glare of the oil lamp the servant handed to the doctor. By the time he had adjusted it to his satisfaction Kalid had burst into the room.
The servants present bowed as Doctor Shakoz continued his work.
“What’s wrong with her?” Kalid demanded, falling to his knees next to Sarah’s couch. “Has she caught a fever?” He put his hand to her brow.
Sarah closed her eyes and sighed with relief when the pasha touched her.
“I think not,” the doctor replied, switching to Turkish.
“Then what? Tell me!”
“Perhaps we should discuss this alone,” the doctor said circumspectly, moving to the other side of the room, out of Sarah’s earshot.
“You can speak in front of these servants,” Kalid said impatiently. “What is it?”
“I think this woman has been poisoned.”
Kalid looked as if he had been slapped. He murmured a curse in Turkish under his breath. “With what?” he finally said aloud, raking his hair back distractedly with his hand.
The doctor shrugged. “Some alkaloid toxin. Mercury, lye mixed with ash, one of the arsenicals. It’s difficult to say. But from the color of her mouth and the severe intestinal spasms she is suffering, I would say arsenic.”
“Arzenig,” Memtaz whispered, horrified.
“Arsenopyrite,” the doctor went on pedantically. “Usually gray, brittle flakes. It has a bitter taste when ingested.”
“I don’t need a chemistry lesson, man, what is the antidote?” Kalid demanded, seizing the doctor’s shoulders.
“Egg white and milk to coat the digestive tract and hinder absorption,” the doctor replied, staring up at Kalid. “But she has already absorbed some part of it or she wouldn’t be having this reaction.”
“Run to the kitchen and get the egg whites and milk,” Kalid said to Memtaz, who shot out of the room. He turned to Achmed. “What did she eat most recently?”
Achmed repeated what Memtaz had told him.
“The olives would disguise the bitter taste,” Doctor Shakoz offered.
“Is it safe for her to be moved?” Kalid asked Doctor Shakoz urgently.
“It wouldn’t hurt. Fresh air would even help, she needs as much oxygen as possible.”
“Have her carried her on a litter to my apartment”, Kalid said to the khislar, who went into the hall to give the order to the eunuchs on duty. “And send a servant after Memtaz to tell her to come to my quarters in the mabeyn at once with the antidote,” Kalid called after him.
“Why are you taking her there?” the doctor asked.
“I have the northeast corner of the palace, there is a cross breeze almost all the time,” Kalid replied.
The doctor nodded, not fooled for a minute. He had heard about the pasha’s ardor for his American ikbal.
“Someone had to plan this very well,” Kalid said grimly, shooting a glance at Sarah, who was quieter now, but half conscious. “They had to get the poison, pass it into the hands of a confederate who could taint the food, and then wait for the right dish to be served that would cover the taste.” His eyes became narrow and hard. “Someone wanted to harm Sarah very badly.”
He watched lingeringly as she was carried past him and then he followed the litter out of the room.
“Could she die?” he asked the doctor, who was walking hurriedly at his side, trying to keep up with the taller man. Kalid had delayed asking the question, afraid to hear the answer.
The doctor shrugged. “Impossible to say. It would depend on how much of the poison she ingested.”
“She never eats much,” Kalid said.
“That is good,” Doctor Shakoz said, nodding. “If she ate only a little of the olive dish she probably didn’t get much of the poison, just enough to produce the malaise and the spasms you saw. She is young and healthy, no? There is a strong chance she can throw this off and recover.”
“But if she had consumed the whole dish she would be dead,” Kalid said flatly.
“Most likely.”
Kalid considered that.
Whoever had poisoned Sarah did not know that she was a light eater.
Once they got Sarah settled in Kalid’s antechamber and Dr. Shakoz had administered the first dose of the antidote the pasha turned to Achmed and said, “I want the entire kitchen staff assembled in my audience room immediately.”
Achmed stared at him.
“They are all sleeping, master.”
Kalid gazed back at him as if the khislar were deranged. “I know they are all sleeping, Achmed. Wake them up! And get Turhan Aga in here and the captain of the janissaries as well. I want the kitchen staff’s living quarters searched from top to bottom while the workers are away from their rooms, and anything unusual or suspicious reported to me immediately. Is that understood?”
“It may not have been a kitchen worker, master. Quite a few other slaves handle the food, cooking it and transporting it and serving it.”
“I know that,” Kalid said. “I’m just starting with the kitchen staff. I intend to take this palace apart bit by bit until I find the person responsible for Sarah’s illness. And I want reports on Sarah’s condition brought to me every thirty minutes from the doctor, and several pots of strong coffee brewed and sent here to me as soon as possible.” He looked around him grimly. “I think it will be a long night.”
Nesime was terrified. She was so terrified that she was hardly able to answer the questions the pasha put to her, despite his best efforts to calm her.
“I did nothing wrong,” she sobbed, looking over at Memtaz, hoping that the senior servant would come to her aid. “I took the ikbal’s food to the harem as I always do, there was nothing different about last night.”
“There was no one else in the kitchen when you left?” Kalid asked her.
“Just the cooks.”
“Which cooks?”
“Selim the Armenian and Kemal Murad.”
Kalid nodded, satisfied that this girl was guiltless.
“Send in the Armenian,” he said to the khislar. To the kitchen skivvy he said, “You may go.”
Nesime fled in floods of relieved tears, blotting her face with the edge of her sleeve, pushing her way past the crowd lined up in the hall. They were waiting to be interviewed one by one.
The cook came into the pasha’s presence, his white hat in his hand, looking around at Memtaz and Achmed, the only othe
r occupants of the audience room. The sky beyond the leaded windows was just beginning to get light; Kalid had been conducting this interrogation for hours.
“Did you prepare the harem food last night for the evening meal?” Kalid asked him.
“Some of it, master.”
“An olive compote brought to the ikbal’s chamber?”
The Armenian shook his head.
“Who made that dish?”
“Kemal Murad.”
“Send him to me. You may go.”
Selim left, wiping his brow with his forearm, and seconds later Kemal Murad entered the room and bowed.
“I understand you prepared an olive compote that was served to the ikbal last evening,” the pasha said.
Murad stared at him, silent.
“Is this true?” Kalid barked.
Murad nodded.
“And did you put poison in it?” Kalid asked quietly.
“No, master.”
“Did anyone ask you to add a grayish, flaky substance to it, perhaps saying that it was a spice?”
“No, master.”
Kalid stared at him a few seconds more and then waved his hand dismissively.
“Amazing,” he said sarcastically to Achmed, when the cook had left. “The woman is given arsenic in her food and nobody knows how it got there. I suppose an evil jinni slipped into the kitchens and spat into the dish.”
Turhan Aga appeared in the doorway and Kalid waved him into the room.
“What have you found?” Kalid said.
The captain of the halberdiers held up a necklace, sparkling indigo and amber in the light of the oil lamps.
“What is it?” Kalid asked.
“The ikbal’s necklace,” Memtaz interjected. “I told Sarah that it was missing. I thought it had been stolen.”
“Why wasn’t I told of this?” Achmed inquired.
“I thought I should have told you, but Sarah said not to bother you with it, so I obeyed my mistress.”
“Where did you find it?” Kalid asked Turhan.
“One of my men found it inside the straw mattress on Kemal Murad’s bed.”
“The cook who was just here?” Kalid said.
Turhan nodded.
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