The Sultan's Seal Read Online Free PDF Page A

the empire’s provinces are being clawed away by nationalists supported by Europe and Russia. The streets of Istanbul teem with refugees. Kamil doubts whether even a parliament could stem the bleeding of treasure, land, and people from the great, unwieldy body of the Ottoman state, the boundaries of which these days are as soft and indistinct as those of Fat Orhan at the Turkish bath.
    Change creates anxiety, Kamil muses, in high places and low. An anxious populace is eager to be distracted by dark fairy tales. This midwife will keep her sense, though.
    She sees the approval in his eyes and smiles again, genuinely this time.
    “I would like you to do me one more favor,” he adds. “Ask in the village whether anyone knows this woman, or has heard or seen anything unusual. If so, send a messenger to the magistrate’s headquarters directly, and I will send my assistant to speak with you.” He assumes that, like most of the population, she is unable to read or write.
    “We will thank the messenger,” he adds, politely skirting any open discussion of money. “One more thing. You will not mention”—he pauses and gestures toward the body—“the condition of the deceased.”
    She agrees and bows her head slightly. She pulls on her outer garments and leaves.
    Kamil is alone with the corpse. The body has not yet begun to decompose. It gives off a wet, empty smell.
    A sudden movement just outside the circle of light startles him.
    “Michel! How long have you been there?”
    “I came in right after she began her examination. I sent the police off to find out what they can. I’ll talk to the residents myself later. I thought you might need me here instead.”
    Kamil is simultaneously aware that Michel had disobeyed him, but, as if he could read Kamil’s mind, had instead done what Kamil had silently wished.
    “Yes, of course,” he agrees reluctantly, aware that somehow he has lost, but unsure in what game.
    “I’ve been in the next room, taking notes. The rooms echo. I could hear her perfectly in there. What a perceptive crone, eh?” he says admiringly. “She saved us a lot of examination.”
    “Yes, she was very good. We should check with the merchants in the bazaar to see whether they remember who recently bought dried tube flowers.”
    “You know, the Istanbul Sephardim tell about drops used by their Spanish ancestors to make their eyes seem black and large; they call the substance belladonna, beautiful woman. I wonder if it’s the same as our humble tube flower.”
    Michel walks over to the body, a small bowl in his hand. With a sudden movement, he turns the body onto its side and presses on its chest. A thin stream of liquid spurts from its mouth into the bowl.
    Michel examines the liquid. “I’ll be able to tell from this whether she drowned in salt water or fresh.” He eyes the leather bag of tools still lying at the head of the corpse. “I could check the contents of her stomach.”
    “I think we can’t afford to do anything before contacting the foreign embassies. If this is one of their nationals, they won’t want us to return a carved-up body.”
    “Yes, you’re quite right.” Michel looks disappointed.
    “Give me the cutters.”
    Kamil snaps the necklace chain. He works at the clasp of the bracelet and pulls it off. Opening the pendant, he hands it to Michel.
    “There is a tughra inside.”
    Michel turns the pendant over in his hand and examines it from all sides. “And some other markings. Do you know what they are?”
    “I don’t.”
    “She has some connection to the palace, then?”
    “Perhaps. I wonder. Eight years ago, an Englishwoman was found dead just north of here at Chamyeri. A governess at the palace, Hannah Simmons. They found her floating in a pond. She’d been strangled.” He frowns. “I don’t suppose there’s a connection.”
    He doesn’t mention that the victim’s name stuck in his mind because the superintendent of police for Beyoglu was removed from office by