Cybele's Secret Read Online Free PDF Page A

was his daughter, but he took a pragmatic approach. When folk came upstairs to speak with him, they would find me seated cross-legged on the floor in a corner, my skirt modestly arranged, my veil in place, a quill, ink, and a bound notebook on the low table before me. Father would explain my role briefly. I would offer a nod and a smile, then apply myself to taking notes.
    “Even in the more liberal Genoese or Venetian circles, it’s unusual for a young woman to take such responsibility,” he told me. “On the other hand, they like novelty, and they do want to do business with me. If any of them decides to take issue with the situation, I expect his opinion will come back to us via the tea shops or the hamam. If that occurs, we may need to revise our strategy.”
    Several days passed. I recorded business conversations and kept a ledger of sales. I did not mention that I was itching to get out of the trading center and see something of the city. The weather was perfect for walking, the spring far warmer than ours at home. The sudden, drenching showers that came from time to time were soon over, leaving the air fresh and damp. Each day I grew more weary of figures and more desperate to be let out. Stoyan knew his way around; I was sure he could take me to look at the riverside parks and the great church of Aya Sofia, which was now a mosque surrounded by tall minarets, and the Sultan’s walled palace down by the Bosphorus…. Perhaps not. To reach those places would require crossing the Golden Horn by boat. But at least he could walk up with me to the Galata Tower. From there, I could get a good view of the city. Or we could go to the docks, or the fish market, or just about anywhere as long as it was not within these walls. Despite my fondness for books and scholarship, I was used to regular exercise. I wondered if I should remind Father about Irene of Volos and her library. He had been too busy since our arrival to do anything but attend to commercial matters. Perhaps if I could get outside the trading center, I might see the woman in black once again. I might hear that voice, the one that sounded like my lost sister’s.
    While the men were at the bathhouse or otherwise occupied, I got into the habit of walking around the han with my ears open for useful information. Gossip around the tea stall one morning told me the Portuguese, Duarte da Costa Aguiar, had been making inquiries about antiquities and had visited a certain Armenian twice since the
Esperança
had docked in the Golden Horn. Thus far, Father’s covert inquiries about the rare item we were seeking had proven fruitless. The death of Salem bin Afazi had set the trading community on edge, and folk were reluctant to talk.
    We sat over a tray of tea, indoors this time, Father and I on the cushions, Stoyan standing by the door with a tiny ruby-red glass in his big hands. I was feeling quite awkward, for I wanted to pass on this information quickly, but with Stoyan present, I hesitated.
    “Father?”
    “Yes, Paula?”
    I glanced at Stoyan, trying not to be too obvious about it. “I heard something just now that could be useful,” I said. “It relates to our business here. Our principal business, I mean.”
    “Stoyan, could you leave us for a little?” Father’s tone was courteous.
    Stoyan hesitated, then added, “I will wait on the gallery, if you wish. I should tell you, however, that I know already what business has brought you here. I worked for Salem for some time. I was fully in his confidence—necessary, in view of the risks he took in his line of work. He spoke of you and of how he had sent you word that this item was coming to the city. I must tell you also that I believe Salem lost his life because of his involvement with the trading of this particular artifact. If I am to keep Kyria Paula safe, it may be better if you allow me to be present when you speak of your plans.”
    We stared at him. I felt a trickle of unease go down my spine. This was