OUTSIDE the door the seraskier stopped to mop his forehead with a handkerchief.
“Our inquiry? You should have told me that you were working on a case in here,” he muttered reproachfully.
“You didn’t ask. Anyway, as you heard, I gave yours priority.”
The seraskier grunted. “May I ask what the inquiry concerns?”
The seraskier was too brusque. On the parade ground it would do, perhaps: soldiers promised their unwavering obedience. But Yashim wasn’t a soldier.
“It wouldn’t interest you,” Yashim said.
The seraskier’s lips drew tight.
“Perhaps not.” He stared Yashim in the face. “I suggest, then, you do as the sultan said. As I will.”
He watched the seraskier stepping briskly toward the Ortakapi, the central gate leading to the First Court. It wasn’t a position he’d enjoy to be in himself. On the other hand, if the seraskier handled it well, both he and the Guard would emerge with honor. It was an opportunity to restore the reputation of the Guards, somewhat tarnished by their failures on the battlefield.
And a duty, too. Not just to the sultan, but to the people of Istanbul. Without the Guards, the whole city was in danger from the Janissary rebels.
There was no doubt in Yashim’s mind that the fourth murder had completed a stage, established the preliminaries. The old altars had been reconsecrated, in blood. The second stage was under way, Yashim felt sure of that.
Wake them. Approach.
What did it mean?
Within the next seventy-two hours, he sensed, they would all find out.
He saw the seraskier disappear into the shadow of the Ortakapi. Then he turned and headed for the harem apartments.