Cybele's Secret - Juliet Marillier - Cybele's Secret

She had indeed shocked me. There seemed no point in holding back what she evidently knew perfectly well already. “Barsam the Elusive,” I said, nodding.

“This is exciting for you, Paula. I see that. To be involved in the purchase of such an item must quicken the blood of any merchant. I have a warning for your father. You may pass on what I have told you, in confidence, of course, and add that Murat’s source believed it will not be long before the Mufti’s representatives carry out raids on the premises of all the potential buyers for this item. This relates to the matter the women were discussing on your first visit here—the revival of an ancient cult in Istanbul. It is Cybele’s cult the rumors refer to. The Sheikh-ul-Islam, of course, is outraged at the possibility of pagan rites taking a grip in this devoutly Muslim city and will be keen to shut them down. On this issue, his Jewish and Christian counterparts in Istanbul are very likely to agree with him. His men will be looking for any evidence that will allow them to track the artifact and, through it, the leaders of this supposed cult, who, it is assumed, will be just as keen to acquire Cybele’s Gift as everyone else seems to be. Let Master Teodor know it may be expedient to conceal any documentation related to this purchase. Such a visit will not be conducted gently.”

“Thank you,” I said, shocked that she knew so much and horrified at the thought that, without the warning, Father might have been caught unprepared by the Mufti’s men. “I will certainly tell him. Now I must go; I hear Stoyan.”

“Of course, Paula. I hope we will see you again tomorrow.”

Stoyan was looking particularly impenetrable. It was late; long shadows stretched across the streets, and from the rooftops dark birds screeched to one another, offering their last territorial challenges before nightfall. We walked briskly.

“Thank you for coming to fetch me,” I ventured.

A nod in response.

“Is everything all right? Was there a problem with the Neapolitan merchant?”

“It was complicated, kyria. Your father will explain.”

“Complicated?”

“Master Teodor will tell you. The meeting did not proceed quite as he expected. Then, when we returned to the han, he was upset to find you gone.”

“I left a message. You must have got it or you wouldn’t be here.”

Stoyan turned his gaze on me but did not slow his pace. “The house of Irene of Volos is the first place I would have looked for you, Kyria Paula. You think if you were missing, I would stay at the han and do nothing?” He sounded less than his calm self.

“I’m sorry if I upset anyone. It was a long morning, and Murat did come to fetch me. I’m not completely irresponsible.” I did not tell him that I had sent the tea vendor’s boy to buy me a set of robes like those the old women wore, black and all-concealing. I did not mention that I’d been on the verge of putting them on and going out by myself.

There was silence as we walked on. We crossed the square with the shady tree under which the storyteller was accustomed to sit. The man had shut up business and gone home; it was almost time for the evening call to prayer.

“I know that,” Stoyan said quietly. “Your father received your message. But he was worried about you, kyria. Now we should make haste. Best if you are safely indoors before dark.”

I lengthened my stride. We walked past a coffee shop where a lot of men were sitting or standing around a central brazier. Dusk was falling; the little fire glowed amber. Eyes turned toward us. Stoyan moved so that he was between me and the watchers.

“You keep up well for such a small thing,” he observed when we were safely past.

“I was brought up in the mountains,” I said.

“So,” Stoyan said as we made our way along the narrow, shadowy street that led toward the han, “you can walk fast and climb. You can float in deep water, even with your boots on. A woman of many talents.”

The smile in his voice surprised me. “You don’t make jokes very often, Stoyan,” I said.

“I have offended you?”

“Not at all. I liked your joke.”

A group of men passed close by us, and Stoyan put his hand against my back, lightly, as if to reassure me that I had a protector. It felt nice—better than it should have to a woman like me, who had always believed she could look after herself. As soon as the men were out of sight, he took his hand away.

“May I ask you a question, Stoyan?”

“Of course,” Stoyan replied.

“I heard some disturbing rumors about Senhor Duarte. You’ve been in Istanbul for some time. What do you know about him?”

“That man, Aguiar, he is not a suitable friend for you. I was troubled by his interest in you at the çarşi.”

I could not think of an adequate response. “It wasn’t exactly my choice,” I said rather lamely. “He just came up and took over the shopping. I could hardly tell him to go away; that would have been rude.”

“Such men, offered a pinch of salt, will take a bucketful, kyria. But you are a woman of independence; you will make your own path. See, we are almost home. Your father will tell you of his meeting. He is worried; you should hear him out.”

I was worried, too, now and confused by the things he had said. “I will,” I said. “Thank you for bringing me home.”

At the han, Father was pacing up and down on the gallery, his face drawn and tired. This could not be solely from concern that I had gone out without prior permission. He’d already approved my excursions to Irene’s. I deposited my bundle of clothing on my bed and returned to our central chamber while Stoyan went to buy supper.

“What happened?” I asked straight out. “Come, sit down, Father. You look exhausted. Stoyan wouldn’t explain to me. Has something gone wrong?”

“Not exactly.” Father sighed, then settled on the cushions opposite me. “I suppose it could even be interpreted as good news. Antonio of Naples is withdrawing his interest in Cybele’s Gift. He no longer wishes to compete.”

“You bought him off?”

“I never had the chance to try. Antonio received a warning. I was with him when it arrived. Whatever was in that message—it was in writing, and after he’d read it he consigned the paper to a brazier—was enough to turn him the color of goat cheese. He told me immediately that he was pulling out. This reduces our competition. Nonetheless, it troubles me.”

He wasn’t the only one. “You think the letter was a threat?” I asked.

“I don’t know.” A certain note in Father’s voice told me he wasn’t giving me the full story. He reached across and took both my hands in his. “It’s not so very long since Salem bin Afazi was killed, Paula. I’m beginning to think I was foolishly naive when I decided it would be safe to bring you to Istanbul and to involve you in this particular business. When we returned here and you were gone, it alarmed me.”

“I did leave a—”

“Yes, yes, I know. You did the right thing. But the situation has changed. I’m concerned about your welfare.”

I could just see it. The next thing would be a decision not to let me come to the supper at Barsam’s house. If someone outbid Father, I might never get to see Cybele’s Gift. I bit back a childish protest: It’s not fair! I must consider what was best—for Father, for Tati, for me. Just possibly, for the Other Kingdom as well. Before I could even think about Cybele’s Gift, I needed to deal with the mystery of the manuscript and Tati’s appearances. I had to solve that puzzle. As for Father, I must pass on the information I had been given without delay.

Stoyan came back up the steps, bearing a platter of steaming rice topped with chunks of roast lamb on skewers. It gave off a tantalizing odor combining lemon, mint, and spices.