33

The next morning, I woke up with a cold, hollow feeling. For a moment I thought I might be getting sick. But then I remembered the fire escape, and the secret workshop Nazif and I had discovered and broken into last night. And I remembered Nazif’s face in the taxi, the way our conversation had dissolved into an awkward silence. The way he’d so quickly said good night and hurried home with his father. I buried my head under the pillow and groaned. Nazif hadn’t looked at me with awe when I tore the window screen and went inside the building; he’d looked scared and uncomfortable. I’d dipped back into my old life—breaking and entering, ignoring the law—and even though it was for good reason, it didn’t sit right with me anymore.

But the day wasn’t going to magically disappear if I stayed in bed, and neither would my problems. I got up, showered, dressed, put on my makeup, and slunk downstairs, dreading the moment I’d run into Nazif. I vowed to push him out of my mind and focus only on getting to the next step of my plan: going to the American embassy to show someone the photo evidence I’d taken.

To my surprise, escaping the hotel wasn’t so hard this time. Apparently I’d scored points with Mom by showing the Lobsters a good time the day before. As we prepared breakfast for the guests, she asked me to pick up some things for the party at the Arasta Bazaar. “Some nuts, fruit, Turkish delight, whatever you think sounds good to set out in the candy dishes,” she said, handing me cash and a list. “And you can go alone,” she added. “Since it’s right down the street.”

“Really?” I glowed a little. It felt good to be earning back her trust. Although I felt a twinge of guilt, too, knowing what I’d pulled off at the Lycian Society, all because of a lie. And now I was about to lie again. The moment I got outside, I was going to hail a cab and race to the embassy with Nazif’s cell phone and the pictures I’d taken.

“Yes, really.” Mom managed a small smile. “Though you should probably go before I change my mind. Oh. Here.” She reached over to a table and handed me a stack of papers and some duct tape. “I distracted Jackie last night by making flyers for the party. Why don’t you post a few of these along the way, and leave some at neighborhood shops.”

I glanced at the flyers (“Open House at the Mavi! Appetizers! Music! Authentic Turkish Karagöz Puppet Show!”). I put them in my backpack along with the list and the money, grateful to have an errand that would take even more time and help explain what was going to be an unusually long absence.

Truthfully, I was scared to go outside alone and risk being accosted by Lazar or Vasil. But I was sure I couldn’t get Nazif to go with me to the embassy. Even if his dad let him out, he probably didn’t want to be around me anymore, now that he’d seen my true colors.

I finally had to confront him, though, because I needed to take his cell phone with me. That’s where all the pictures were.

Nazif was at the front desk, sorting the mail. I could see his cell phone on the desk beside him. Part of me just wanted to snatch it and run off to avoid seeing the look on his face.

I approached slowly, not sure what to say. Act cheerful, as if nothing had happened? Or tell him what I was really thinking, which was this: the way Nazif had acted around me last night made me think I didn’t want to break into anything, anywhere, ever again. Even if it were for good reason.

Hearing me, or sensing me, Nazif looked up. “You have a message,” he said.

“Merhaba to you, too,” I said, going for the cheerful approach. “I thought you liked to start with hello.”

“Sorry. Merhaba,” he said. “A call was left for you, on voice mail.”

I was so relieved that he wasn’t ignoring me or treating me coldly that it took me a minute to process what he was saying.

“From whom?”

“A girl,” he said.

“I bet it’s another setup from Lazar. No way am I falling for it this time,” I said.

“This seems different,” said Nazif. “She really sounds like an American girl. You must come and listen.”

I joined him behind the front desk. Nazif dialed into voice mail on the phone and handed me the receiver. For a moment, all I heard was Nazif’s breathing, so close to me; I swore I could hear his heart beating. Or was it mine? It took all my powers of concentration to focus on the voice mail.

“Zan, it’s me,” said the voice.

I gripped the phone. It was unmistakably Sage’s voice. Of course, she’d had my aunt’s businesss card. Why had she waited so long to call me? Had she been too deeply in hiding to risk making that connection? If insider police like Inspector Lale were working for Lazar’s side, they might have even wiretapped the phone. So if she was taking the chance to call me now, she must be really desperate.

“We have to talk. I’m at Cajagoogoo. Meet me there at two o’clock today. Bring the package. Come alone.” Her voice sounded rushed, and scared. There was a weird echo in the background, and something that made me think of water spraying.

I replayed the message three more times.

“Is it Sage?” Nazif asked.

“It’s definitely her voice,” I said. “I have to meet her. Before I talk to anyone at the embassy about those pictures, I have to get her story and see if there’s any chance she has the urn. Cajagoogoo. Where is that?”

Nazif frowned. “I do not know this place. It does not even sound Turkish.” He Googled it on the computer and shook his head. “Nothing comes up.”

“Um, by the way,” I said, as he ran a new search. “Last night, when I broke into the workshop, I didn’t want you to think that I—”

“You did what you had to do,” said Nazif, not taking his eyes off the computer.

“But you think it was wrong.”

“Honestly? I think you should have called Inspector Lale as soon as you saw what was inside the room. I think you should not have gone in. But.” He shrugged. “It is done.”

I looked down. “I want you to know something. I’m not really in the habit of doing stuff like that. Anymore. I mean—”

“Zan!” Mom strode into the lobby. “Why are you still hanging around here? We need those ingredients.”

“While you are gone, I will keep researching this,” Nazif whispered, still not looking at me.

“Thank you,” I said. My face burned as I left the hotel. Nazif seemed to like me enough to help me solve my problem, but the spark I’d felt between us was gone. And that was my fault.

I quickly bought the food for Mom at the Arasta Bazaar, then considered going straight to the embassy. But I’d forgotten to take Nazif’s phone; the voice mail from Sage had thrown off my plan. I could go to the embassy without the phone and just tell them what I’d seen. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. So I hurried back to the hotel with bags full of figs and apricots and other ingredients, pausing every few feet to hastily tape a flyer to fences, poles, and building sides. I swear I didn’t breathe until I was back in the hotel lobby.

When I got back, there were more eyes staring at me in the hotel lobby. But these at least were friendly and familiar. Nils and Ingrid, and Fiona and Alice!

They all hugged me and exclaimed over me, as if we were old friends—which I guess, in a weird way, we were. And even though only several days had passed since our cruise, so much had happened since then. The Turkish Riviera felt far, far away.

“What are you all doing here?” I asked, handing my mom the bags of food. “Are you staying at the Mavi Konak now?”

“Yes! Milton and Maeve raved about this place,” said Fiona. “Said it was full of historic charm, good customer service . . . and a fun activities coordinator.” She winked at me.

“And the Swissotel has bedbugs. Awful.” Alice made a face. “They said the problem was contained, but it wasn’t—it’s in all the rooms. Thank goodness your aunt had enough space for us all and Lycian Tours could honor our transfer and refund the hotel rate difference.”

“We hear there will be quite a party tomorrow night,” added Nils.

I was dying to ask Nazif if he had figured out what or where Cajagoogoo was. But he was busy with the Geezers, and Mustafa was watching him closely.

Mustafa was a worse taskmaster than my mom. When he wasn’t giving his son orders, he would brush lint off Nazif’s shirt, or tell him to tuck in his shirttail, or fix his hair, or stand up straighter. Every critical comment from his dad just seemed to chip away at Nazif. By midday, he was slouching so much he was the shape of a question mark. It was strange to see all this, how different they were up close. From across the rooftop, I’d thought they were a totally together family. Now I just wanted to give Nazif a huge hug. But he probably didn’t want to be hugged by someone like me.

When Mustafa finally went out for a break, Nazif rushed over to me.

“,” he said, showing me a piece of paper where he’d written out the word. “This is a neighborhood near the Grand Bazaar. I think it is where you will find your friend.”

“I can’t just wander around a whole neighborhood looking for her, can I?”

He turned the paper over and showed me a list of more names. “These are all businesses in the neighborhood that also use the name Caalolu,” he said. “Do any of these sound like a place where Sage would go?”

I studied the list of restaurants, clothing boutiques, jewelery stores, and cafés. Then, near the bottom, Caalolu Hammam caught my eye.

“A hammam!” I exclaimed. “Now I remember she mentioned there was a hammam near the Grand Bazaar that she loved. And I thought I heard water on the voice mail message.”

“I can understand why she would hide there,” said Nazif. “The men’s and women’s quarters are separate. Lazar and Vasil cannot enter the women’s side.”

“But they could send a female to get her, couldn’t they? I mean, if they can find someone to write a note that sounds like Sage, I’m sure they could find someone to go look for her in a bathhouse.”

“Of course,” said Nazif. “This is why you must go there as soon as possible.”

“I will,” I said. “Oh, and I’m going to do it without breaking and entering this time. I know how I can get in the front door this very afternoon.”

Nazif smiled, the warmth returning to his face and filling me up as well.

I bounded up the stairs to the roof, where Mom was oiling furniture in preparation for tomorrow night’s party. She had plenty of company. Fiona and Alice were pruning the roses and the geraniums. Ingrid was sweeping, and Maeve was polishing a samovar. Milton and Nils were setting up a makeshift wire fence around the perimeter of the roof, unrolling the wire and nailing it to stakes. And Aunt Jackie was sitting on a sofa, working on spreadsheets on her iPad.

“Oh my God, you guys,” I said. “You do realize you’re not on a boat anymore, don’t you? The city awaits. Adventure beckons.” I wished I could remember the Freya Stark quote about the clicking lock.

Everyone stared at me with blank expressions.

“I mean, should we all go somewhere? Do something?” I persisted.

“We have explored, sweetie. And I’m knackered,” said Maeve. “All that shopping yesterday and the sightseeing this morning did me in. I need to recover.”

“And we had quite a tour already today,” said Ingrid. “Erdem Tabak took us personally around the best of Istanbul.”

“Where’d you go?” Mom asked.

“We all met at the Galata Tower, then went on a Bosphorus cruise,” Ingrid replied. “After that, Taksim Square. Oh, and we even saw the Lycian Society headquarters, which happened to be nearby.”

I chilled at the mention of the Lycian Society. I now thought of the place as a crime scene—partly because of the workshop I’d seen there, partly because of my own actions last night.

New worries took root in my mind. What if someone had reported seeing two kids on the fire escape last night, maybe someone from the restaurant next door? What if I’d left behind my footprints in the gold dust, or my fingerprints on the windowsill? The police could be called. Legitimate police might investigate the break-in and find the workshop in the process—so that was good—but if any evidence got traced back to me, I could get in serious trouble. I already had a rap sheet in Turkey. And if corrupt police answered a call about a suspected break-in? They would tip off Lazar and he’d be after me in a heartbeat. Either way, I was screwed.

I eyed Nazif’s rooftop longingly. I wanted to break down that makeshift fence, leap to his roof, hide myself in his family’s lush grape arbor and never come out again.

“Anyway, we got here, and we thought we’d help your mother,” chirped Alice. “Kitsie has so much to do with this party, and your aunt was so generous booking us into these rooms at a discount. Helping out is the least we can do. Though I wish you’d let me help cook. I’m pretty handy in the kitchen.”

Mom smiled mysteriously. “Oh, we’re covered on the food,” she said. “Jackie’s going to make a special dish, and the rest we’re having catered.” She passed me a cardboard box. “Zan, will you please look through this party box of your aunt’s and see if there are any decorations?”

I opened the box and started pulling out strands of little white lanterns, thinking frantically about how I had to get to that hammam to see Sage. I was so nervous imagining how the police or Lazar might come haul me out of here at any moment that I could hardly work my fingers. I tried to untangle a strand of lights and ended up only making it worse.

Mom sank into a chair. “My God. I don’t know when I’ve felt so exhausted.”

I spun around eagerly. Maybe a little too eagerly. “Yeah, you look tired,” I agreed. “Really tired.”

“In what way? Like, older?” She patted her face. “That’s not good. The local press is coming to the party. We’re going to be putting pictures up on the website, too.”

“You just look like you could use a good night’s sleep. Or a spa day.”

“Oh, a spa day.” She smiled wistfully. “Doesn’t that sound nice.”

“I know of a spa,” I said carefully. “A Turkish hammam. It’s near the Grand Bazaar. Just a short taxi ride away. We could all go. As a treat to your volunteers,” I added, gesturing to the ladies.

Mom got that glint in her eyes. “Yes. We could. What a lovely idea. And we’d have just enough time to do it before my meeting with the caterer.”

It was raining when we got into the taxi, and pouring by the time we pulled up in front of the hammam. Water raced down the streets, beat down on us, and rushed into grates along the sidewalks. I followed Mom and the women from the Blue Voyage, who giggled and whispered as they filed into the stone stairwell.

All the women had come except for Aunt Jackie; her doctor had advised against steam baths. She didn’t sound too upset about staying behind. I had a feeling she was going to pick up the phone and call Inspector Lale, and I couldn’t afford an untimely visit from the police wrecking my plans. So I’d crept under the front desk and unplugged the land line, and then—feeling sick to my stomach about it—I’d taken Aunt Jackie’s cell phone out of her purse, powered it down, and hid it in a potted plant. I just needed to buy myself some time, and it was the only way I could be sure I would get it.

In the taxi, I felt relieved to be zooming away from the hotel. Even though I’d taken nothing but pictures, I knew I’d committed a crime by entering the Lycian Society building after hours. I wanted to deal with embassy officials, not the police. But Lazar might come looking for me, if I’d been caught and identified on a hidden camera. The idea tied my stomach in knots. If Lazar suspected that I knew too much, he’d stop at nothing to silence me.

I hurried after the other women, down the narrow stairwell that led from the sidewalk entrance into the bowels of the Caalolu Hammam. The place smelled like soap. Old photos lined the walls by the doorway, showing various Turkish celebrities smiling. I also saw a framed sign from an American publication declaring it “One of 1000 Places to Visit Before You Die.”

To visit before you die? How long before? I suddenly pictured Lazar and Vasil ignoring the rules about the women-only entrance and showing up, brandishing daggers and guns.

I tried to concentrate on the fact that I was now mere steps away from Sage, and possibly the Karun Treasure urn. I was so close to getting all the answers I needed.

We came to a tiny foyer at the bottom of the stairs, where Mom slapped her credit card down on the check-in counter and paid for everyone. I watched the attendant at the front desk carefully as, between drags on a cigarette in a long holder, she gave us each a locker key, a towel, a washcloth, slippers, and a flimsy plaid wrap, which she explained was called a . The petemal was to be used for covering ourselves as we walked from the changing rooms into the bathhouse. I looked at it doubtfully, knowing it would never cover all of my white spots. Even though Nazif had accepted my face the way it was, none of the hotel guests had seen me in my true skin.

Scared of what I was getting myself into, I started to tune out the attendant’s instructions. I watched her speak, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. Her mane of dark hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and the black kohl ringing her eyes was running from all the moisture in the room. I checked my own face in a mirror on the wall, wondering how soon my makeup would melt. The foyer itself was so warm it felt kind of like a sauna.

“So this is a communal bath?” I asked when she was done talking. I’d been expecting private steam rooms. And if this place was so communal, where would I talk with Sage?

“Yes,” she said, opening a door so we could see the women’s spa. Steam escaped from the door as we all peered inside. It was a huge round room with a high, domed ceiling and small windows way up by the top of the dome. There was no actual bathtub, not even showers. The floors and walls were marbled, white streaked with black and gray, and faucets were spaced out every few feet all around the room. A huge stone slab in the shape of an octagon took up the center of the floor. On it, bath attendants were vigorously scrubbing down two women, who were lying on their stomachs, naked. I felt self-conscious, but I took a second glance at the bathers, and both women were plump, with black hair. Sage wasn’t in the room.

“This ought to be an adventure,” said Fiona, doubtfully.

I backed away. I was so not doing this. I would let everyone else go in, then I’d double back and ask the attendant if she knew where I could find Sage.

I hung back as the ladies disappeared into the changing rooms. Then it was just Mom and me standing there. “You don’t want to do this,” she guessed.

“Not really,” I admitted. I had more pressing business. And I wasn’t ready to expose my body to the world. Sure, Sage and Nazif had been cool with it. But showing my skin to all the hotel guests, to strangers, and being stared at . . . whispered about . . . discussed behind my back? No thanks.

“It might be fun,” said Mom. “I’d hate to have you miss out on an awesome life experience. And all the ladies will wonder what happened to you.”

I peered inside the spa again. The bath attendants were exfoliating the naked bathers. What if they rubbed all my skin off? What if I came out blotchier than ever, my countries and islands turning into vast continents and drifting all over my body? What if I came out bone white, without a trace of pigment? Dr. Shaw had assured me that pigment couldn’t actually be rubbed off—the disorder didn’t work that way—but I wasn’t convinced.

“I’ll say I got my period. They’ll leave me alone. Really. I’m fine with skipping this.”

My mom looked at me. Then she did a bizarre thing. She put both hands on my shoulders, and brought her face closer to mine. “It’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to go.”

I smiled, relieved. “Really?”

“Really. I get it. This isn’t your thing.”

“Thank you. I’ll just sit out in the foyer. I saw some magazines.”

Mom disappeared into the steamy corridor, and I ran back out to find the attendant. She was perched on a stool, flipping through a tabloid, still smoking. “I’m looking for my friend Sage Powell,” I said. “Is she staying here?”

The attendant looked up at me. “I have a question for you,” she said, in a husky, thickly accented voice. Tendrils of smoke writhed around her. “Who is the passionate nomad?”

I thought a moment while I coughed. Sage was a passionate nomad. But if this was a security test to screen me, there had to be a better answer. “Freya Stark?”

The attendant closed the magazine and stood up. “Follow me.”