Tasha Alexander - Tears of Pearl

“Many men have done worse.” We were walking again, inside now, along a stone corridor that led through doorways above which hung passages painted in Arabic—I presumed from the Koran—gold paint on a green background. After passing through another outdoor courtyard, this one surrounded by buildings painted pink, we entered a small room whose every square inch was covered with tiles painted in blues and greens. “What is your name?” I asked as he paused to pull open a heavy wooden door, rich wood carved in a bold pattern of squares and rectangles.

“Jemal Kaan.”

“I’m pleased to meet you.”

He turned down the corners of his mouth and did not look at me. “Bezime is waiting.”

The room into which we stepped had an enormously tall ceiling, domed at the top, with murals painted on the walls, landscapes that were leagues more Western than the rest of the tiled rooms I’d seen. Standing in the center of the square chamber was a table, inlaid, as were the cabinets built into the walls, with mother-of-pearl. Behind the table sat a woman, silver hair flowing down her back, the lines that etched her face somehow lending elegance to her appearance. She leaned forward on her elbows, then dropped back, puffing all the while on a long pipe.

“You’ve not seen a woman smoke a çubuk?” she asked, expertly blowing rings as she exhaled, fingering the pipe with hands whose long nails were dyed a rose color.

“I’ve never seen a çubuk,” I said, sitting across from her, almost envious of the gorgeous gown she wore, a concoction of sky blue silk and tulle cinched at her tiny waist, puffed sleeves bursting from the fitted bodice. Only her hair kept her from looking like a perfect Western fashion plate.

“So you are Emily Hargreaves. Lady Emily Hargreaves?”

“Yes.” I smiled. “And you are Bezime?”

She ignored my question. “I am not one to waste time on things lacking significance. You know of the murder that occurred last night?”

“Yes. I was there when—”

“Ceyden and I were close. I knew her when she first came to the harem. She was difficult then. Wouldn’t speak to anyone.”

“I can well imagine that. She must have been terrified. To have been stolen—”

“Sultans, Emily”—my name sounded exotic on her tongue, “Aimahlee”—“do not steal women. Yes, she was taken from her family and sold into slavery. But the noble Ottoman who bought her did her no harm. She wasn’t well. He had her cared for, and when she was healthy, he gave her to the sultan as a gift. It is a great compliment for a girl.”

“To be forced to live as a slave?” I asked.

“Do I look to you like a slave?” She narrowed her eyes and held up her arms, the heavy gold bangles on her wrists clanging together. “I have more freedom than my English counterparts.”

I smiled. “You’ll find I’m no proponent of the restrictions placed on my fellow Englishwomen. I’m well aware of the limitations of my society.”

“I did not come to the harem as a child. I worked in a hamam—a bath—in the city. Mahmut—he was the sultan then, Mahmut the Second—saw me carrying linen from a laundry across the street. My beauty enchanted him.” She drew deeply on her çubuk. “And I was brought to the harem, where I became his favorite, and I gave him a son. And when that son was made sultan, I was valide sultan, the most powerful woman in the empire.” She leaned forward again. “Tell me, Emily Hargreaves, can an English girl, working for a living, aspire to someday marry the Prince of Wales and give birth to a future king?”

I pressed my lips together hard. “No. She could not.”

“The lack of enlightenment in your country is unfortunate. I cannot see how women bother to live when they have no hope of advancing their positions.”

“There’s a certain amount of advancement possible, it’s simply that—”

Before I could finish, she dismissed my statement with a wave of her hand. “What they can hope for is insignificant. And the loss of hope...” She turned away, then looked back at me, meeting my eyes. “There is nothing worse than the loss of hope.”

“You’re right.” My skin prickled discomfort. “Why did you send for me? Because of Ceyden?”

“Yes. I am told that your husband will investigate the murder. But he will find no solutions outside of the harem.”

“And he cannot come into the harem. We’re well aware of that. It’s why he sought—and received—permission for me to—”

She laughed. “Do you think, Emily, that I do not already know everything you do? You are to be set upon us, asking questions. That is not why I have summoned you here.”

“Then why?”

“I have decided to offer you my allegiance. My support. Without which you will flail and accomplish nothing. Did you even know I was here? That this graveyard for the previous sultans’ women existed?”

“No. I confess I did not.”

“And do you know that Murat, the sultan’s cast-aside brother, has a harem of his own at Çırağan Sarayı , the palace that is his prison on the shores of the Bosphorus? And that the dealings of the women in both these locations must be considered if we are to find and punish the person who ended Ceyden’s life?”

“You speak as if you have an idea as to the identity of the guilty party,” I said.

“Ideas, perhaps, but ideas are nothing but ephemeral.”

“I did not expect my purpose to be a welcome one. I accept your assistance most gratefully. I promise I will not fail you.”

“Of course you won’t,” she said. “I read your chart.”

“My chart?”

“Know you nothing of astrology?”

“. . . so she told me that I’m an Aries. Impulsive, bold, ruled by the planet Mars.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Colin said, raising his eyebrows, skepticism radiating from every inch of his face.

“Competitive—but you know that already.” I took a fig from a bowl on the table and popped it in my mouth.

“All too well.”

“I was thinking,” I began, looking over the Bosphorus shining below us. “Perhaps we should have another bet. Bezime says it’s impossible for you to solve this case. That all the keys lie in the harem.”

“That may be. But we’ll be sharing our information. I may put the story together before you. I’ve more experience.”

“What did you learn today?” I asked.

“I spent the bulk of the afternoon at Çırağan Palace—where the sultan’s brother is imprisoned. Nice digs, that,” he said. “Far from a hotbed of political discontent, but there are several individuals who’ve aroused my suspicions.”

“Who? What are they doing?”

“I’ve little to go on yet—primarily instinct. They’re all men who lost power when Murat was deposed.”

“I trust your instincts,” I said. “Bezime suspects trouble is brewing there.”

“I shan’t dismiss her thoughts without further investigation. And you’re quite right to trust my instincts. They will help me reach a solution before you.”

“I don’t think you will,” I said.

“And?” His eyes narrowed.

“And if I’m right, I want you to swim the Bosphorus for me.”

“Swim the Bosphorus? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It’s romantic.” I picked up another fig. “Think of Hero and Leander. He crossed the sea every night to be with her.”

“And drowned. After which Hero, if I remember correctly, flung herself off a tower to her own painful death.”

“So you don’t think you’re a good enough swimmer?” I asked, a wicked smile creeping onto my face.

“I’m an excellent swimmer.”

“Which is why you should swim the Bosphorus for me. I’ll cheer you on from our balcony and receive you with open arms. Leander himself will never have had such a welcome.”

Now he smiled, his dark eyes full of heat. “If you determine the identity of Ceyden’s murderer before I do.”

“Yes.”

“And if you lose?” he asked.

“I don’t ever lose our bets,” I said.

“I shan’t dignify that with a reply. What do I get if you lose?”

“You don’t have to swim the Bosphorus.”

“Not enough,” he said. “If I win, you shall come to me dressed in Turkish robes and treat me like a sultan. Feed me peeled grapes. That sort of thing.”

I laughed. “The harem is not at all what you think.”

“Then I shall look forward to the disappointment to be found in victory,” he said.

“What sort of robes, exactly?” I asked.

“I’ll have to give the subject proper consideration. Diaphanous would be nice. Perhaps your new friend Bezime can guide you. I’d rather like to see you with a veil, if only so I can remove it.”

“Pity you’re making this a bet,” I said. “I didn’t have any plans for this evening.”

“You are going to have to behave yourself. Do you understand?” Colin asked the next morning as he drained a glass of strong Turkish coffee before we started for the yalı’s dock. “No impulsive decisions, no walking into dangerous situations. The prime minister himself has approved your involvement in this case. You must remember at all times that you are working for the government.”

“You’ve told me a thousand times,” I said. “Am I so weak-minded that you think I’ll require two thousand?”

“Of course not. I do wish...” He sighed, holding open the French doors that led to the terrace. “Eventually we may have to consider a way for you to protect yourself.”

“Perhaps I need a pistol. A sword would be too heavy to drag about and particularly inconvenient when one is wearing evening dress.”

“I’m not joking, Emily. You’re very clever, and up to now have done an astonishing job relying on your wits alone. But there may come a time you need something more.”