“AVEC permission, Seraskier.” Palewski stuck out his hand as he bowed. “Palewski, ambassadeur de Pologne.”
The seraskier glanced upward with a look of surprise. Then he smiled politely.
“Enchanté, Excellence.”
“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” Palewski continued, “but I have just seen something rather strange and I wanted your opinion.”
“Mais bien sûr.” The seraskier did not sound impressed. What he and the Polish ambassador found strange could be entirely different things. “What have you seen, Your Excellency?”
It occurred to Palewski that any explanation he could give would sound thin, even laughable. He turned to the seraskier’s companions.
“Would you excuse me? I’d like to borrow the seraskier for just one minute. Please indulge me, efendi.”
The men made noncommittal gestures but said nothing. The seraskier looked from them to Palewski with an impatient half smile.
“Very well, Excellency.” He was on his feet. “My apologies, gentlemen.”
Palewski took him by the arm and steered him into the street.
“Something funny just happened at the baths,” he began. “First they closed them, quite suddenly, on a Thursday night.” He had seized on this detail, which had so baffled him at first, as being the oddest from a Turkish point of view. “They are supposed to be cleaning them out, but a minute ago I watched someone waving a flag out through a hole in the roof. I say a flag, because there is simply no other explanation I can think of. It looked like, well, a signal. And now it has stopped. D’you see, efendi? It may sound odd to you, but it really did look like that—as if someone had been signaling, and then was stopped for some reason. I wanted to go down there myself, but seeing you—well, I thought you could make an inquiry with greater weight.”
The seraskier frowned. It sounded like rubbish, of course, and whatever went on in a hammam was really no concern of his . . . and yet, the Pole was clearly agitated.
“For your sake, Excellency, we will go and ask,” he said, with as much gallantry as he could muster.