The Architect's Apprentice Read Online Free PDF

mind him being under their feet. He reached the end of the bow, where he had never been before. Ignoring the wind on his face, he squinted into the heart of Istanbul, which he couldn’t quite see, not yet. Then, little by little, the mist dissolved, as though someone had pulled back a curtain. The city, now clearly defined, opened up before him, burning bright. Light and shadows, crests and slopes. Up and down through hill after hill, covered here and there with groves of cypress, she seemed like a wen of opposites. Denying herself at every step, changing disposition in each quarter, caring and callous at once, Istanbul gave generously and, with the same breath, recalledher gift. A city so vast she expanded left and right, and up towards the firmament, striving to ascend, desiring more, never satisfied. Yet enchanting she was. Though he was a stranger to her ways, the boy sensed how one could fall under her spell.
    Jahan hurried to the hold. The elephant was in a crate, turgid and listless.
    ‘You’ve made it. Look, you are here!’ This last word he uttered with a slight quaver, since he didn’t know what kind of a place ‘here’ was. It didn’t matter. Whatever awaited the animal in this new kingdom couldn’t be worse than the voyage he had just endured.
    Chota was sitting on his haunches, looking so still that for a moment the boy feared his heart had stopped beating. Detecting the animal’s soft, ragged breathing upon approaching him, Jahan felt a small relief. The glimmer, however, had gone from the beast’s eyes, the lustre from his skin. The day before he had not eaten, not slept. There was a scary lump behind his jaws and his trunk was visibly swollen. The boy splashed water on his head, uneasy about yet again using seawater, which left salty marks all over his skin that must have prickled.
    ‘When we get to the palace, I’ll wash you with sweet waters,’ Jahan promised.
    Gently, carefully, he applied turmeric to the elephant’s swellings. The animal had lost weight. The last stages of the journey had been particularly tough for him.
    ‘You’ll see. The Sultana will dote on you. You’ll be the darling of concubines,’ Jahan said. Then, as another possibility came to mind, he added, ‘If it turns out they’re not kind, you can run away. I’ll come with you too.’
    He would have gone on longer in this vein but he heard footsteps on the stairs. A sailor dashed in, bellowed, ‘Oi, the Captain wants to see you. Now!’
    A moment later the boy was in front of the Captain’s door, listening to the sound of hacking and spitting coming from inside. He was scared of the man, though he tried not to show it. Captain Garethwas known to all and sundry as Gavur * Garret or Delibash Reis – Captain Crazyhead. One moment he could be joking and laughing with some sailor, and the next pulling out his sword to butcher him into a thousand pieces. Jahan had seen it happen.
    Born in a coastal town in England, this seadog, who loved nothing more than a slab of slow-roasted pork belly and a draught of ale, had, for a reason no one quite understood, betrayed his countrymen and joined the Ottoman naval force with precious secrets under his hat. His fearlessness had made him dear to the palace and earned him a fleet of his own. It had amused Sultan Suleiman no end that he attacked and plundered Christian ships with a ferocity no Ottoman seafarer had ever displayed. The Sultan granted him protection but did not trust him. He knew that a man who stabbed his own companions in the back would never be a true friend to anyone else. The creature who arrived at your door, having bitten the hand that fed him all along, would not hesitate to sink his teeth into your flesh once he was inside.
    When the boy entered the room, he found the Captain sitting at his desk, looking less scraggly than usual. His beard – washed, combed and anointed – was not the dark chestnut that it had been for weeks on end, but a lighter brown, almost