Cybele's Secret - Juliet Marillier - Cybeles Secret
“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.
“Thank you, Stoyan,” said Father as this dish was set on the low table between us. “Paula, you know how badly I want this deal to be successful. You’ve worked hard to help me, and you’ve proven yourself an able assistant. But I don’t like exposing you to this world of power plays and scheming. Nor, I find, am I as comfortable as I hoped to be about your situation as a woman in a man’s world. You are vulnerable, like it or not. The Portuguese had a certain look in his eye. So, I am certain, did Alonso di Parma the day you struck your deal with him. I didn’t much care for it.”
“Maybe that’s true,” I said, “but surely there’s an advantage to you in the very fact that I am a woman, and a young one at that. Men do tend to assume a girl is incapable of fully understanding a conversation about trading or related matters. I might hear all sorts of things you wouldn’t. Father, I have some information for you. I think it’s important.” I told them what Irene had said—that raids on trading centers were imminent and that it might be appropriate to do a little rearranging of documents. That the Mufti was interested in Cybele’s Gift and anyone who might be bidding for it. “Irene implied that their methods might be rather rough,” I added. “It sounds as if this is not as secret as you’ve believed, Father. I’ve been careful not to talk about Cybele’s Gift, even when the women at the hamam were discussing this underground cult. I didn’t give away any secrets. But Irene does know a lot about what’s going on, through her steward’s contacts at Topkapi.”
Father whistled under his breath. “It seems we are in your Greek friend’s debt,” he said. “It’s very possible the agents of the Sheikh-ul-Islam will be here in the morning. As soon as we finish this meal, I will prepare for such a visit. I’ve been careful not to put certain information in writing. However, there are papers, including a promissory note from a bank in Venice, that must be concealed. And I have Salem’s letters. Let us eat quickly; this has set me on edge.”
Stoyan sat down beside us, and I passed around the small bowls we kept in our apartment.
“Paula—” Father began, and I sensed he was about to broach the topic of the supper and the risk to me of attending it.
“About the supper,” I said, “I know you’re probably concerned. Father, Duarte Aguiar seems to like me for some reason. Wouldn’t it be useful if I talked to him some more? As for Alonso di Parma, he’s such an outrageous flirt, he’s likely to let slip all kinds of secrets without even thinking.”
“A man doesn’t use his daughter as a tool of that kind, Paula.” Father was sounding tired and grim. “I think I have to give you the full story about Antonio.”
Something in his tone sent a chill down my spine. “What?” I asked. “Father, do you know who sent that letter to Antonio?” With a sinking heart, I recalled Irene’s warnings about Duarte Aguiar.
“No, Paula,” Father said heavily. “There are at least seven parties interested in Cybele’s Gift, and I suppose the message could have come from any of the others. As for these searches by the Mufti, that kind of interference in the business of established merchants is highly unusual. Generally the Muslims are tolerant of ‘People of the Book’—that is, Christians and Jews. We’re not seen as ungodly, since we have our own holy scripture and live in accordance with its codes. Because of that, the Sultan allows us our places of worship in the city, even if the grandest have been converted into mosques. It’s a different case with folk viewed as pagan, devotees of more primitive deities.”
“Such as Cybele,” I said.
“Indeed. This visit in the morning may be a little awkward. I’d prefer you to be absent from the han while the Mufti’s representatives are here. It may be necessary not to lie but to withhold certain information. I’ve no intention of being the one who betrays the whereabouts of Cybele’s Gift to someone who could only plan to destroy it.”
“I’ve been invited back to Irene’s. If you can spare Stoyan, he could take me there. Father, you were going to tell me about Antonio. About the threat.”
“Antonio told me what was in the letter before he consigned it to the fire. The threat was not to himself but to his wife—you met her that day at the markets—and their children. It was precise, inventive, and ugly. Consider the fact that the man who sent that letter is likely to be present at this supper. I think it best that you do not come, Paula. You can spend the evening here with Maria instead.”
I swallowed my first response. “I see. You think Maria can protect me better than Stoyan can?”
“I will leave Stoyan here with you. He was hired as your guard, not mine.”
Stoyan half rose to his feet. “No, Master Teodor,” he protested. “For you to attend this supper without my protection would be foolhardy—”
“You can’t be in two places at once,” Father said reasonably enough.
“I believe it is wiser for all of us to go, Master Teodor,” said Stoyan. His tone was respectful. “Your daughter is a grown woman with a good head on her shoulders, resourceful and brave. If she accompanies you, I can protect you both. I do, in fact, believe that would be safer than leaving Kyria Paula here without us after dark. The han guards can do only so much.”
“Besides,” I put in, warmed by Stoyan’s description of me, which was so unlike the empty compliments other young men had offered me in the past, “we shouldn’t give in to bullying. That would be weak. If people threaten me, I don’t cave in. I fight back. That’s what we have to do.”
Something was stalking me. Its footsteps were soft as falling snow, its growl subterranean, menacing. It was gaining on me. I scrambled to get away, my feet skidding on the uneven floor of the tunnel, but something was clinging to my ankles, holding me back. I looked down and my skin crawled. A pair of long-nailed gray hands was clamped around my legs. I screamed and tried to wrench away. The creature clutched tighter, ripping my skirt and raking my flesh with scythe-sharp claws. Cackling laughter filled the dim passageway. The signs, someone whispered in my sister’s voice. Why didn’t you work out the signs? You’re the scholar, the clever one. How could you miss them? From behind now came a sound of rustling and a susurration of wings, louder by the moment. An army of small scuttling things swarmed over my feet. I slipped and sprawled full length. Their shells crunched beneath me, splitting to spill their entrails over the stone. Then came a horde of insects, swarming around my head, landing to crawl into any crevice they could discover, buzzing into my ears, flying up my nose. I put my hands up to cover my eyes and felt my fingers instantly thick with their fuzzy creeping legs. I opened my mouth to scream and they crowded in. I couldn’t breathe, I was going to die—
“Paula! Paula, wake up!”
I shuddered awake, sitting bolt upright in a tangle of blankets, my hands still clawing at my mouth. I could hear myself babbling in a mixture of terror and relief. My face was drenched in tears. I was in my little bedroom at the han, and Stoyan was crouched by the pallet with his arm around me. I was well beyond being shocked by that. The dream had been so real. I could still feel those things crawling on me. I could hear the sickening sound of their bodies breaking under me. I could feel them in my mouth, in my throat….
“Put my cloak around you, Paula. Here.”
Only half emerged from my nightmare, I still noticed that he had used my first name.
Now Stoyan was draping the cloak over my shoulders. “Breathe slowly…. That’s better.” I was dimly aware of his lifting a corner of his loose muslin undershirt to dry my eyes. I felt the brush of his fingers against my cheek, wiping away my tears, and then I was properly awake.
“Oh, God,” I muttered. “That was horrible. I’m so sorry if I woke you.” He was barefoot, clad only in the undershirt and light trousers, his mane of dark hair flowing unbound over his shoulders.
“You will not wish to be here alone in the dark. Keep the cloak on; we can sit on the gallery. It is not so cold tonight. I will stay with you until you are recovered.”
“Thank you. If you’re going to fetch tea, I’m coming with you.” I didn’t want to be by myself even for as long as it took him to walk down to the courtyard and come back again.
A little later, having obtained a supply of tea and a small shielded lantern, we were on the gallery once more. With Stoyan’s big cloak over my nightrobe, I was both warm and decently covered. He had flung a sheepskin coat on top of his thin shirt and trousers and had thrust his bare feet into his boots.
I knew, as I had done that other night when Stoyan had sat up with me until dawn, that the situation might be judged by some as improper. But Stoyan made me feel safe. And I could not wake Father—he had enough to worry about. I did not think the night guard would gossip. All the han workers were in awe of Stoyan.
