he said suddenly.
“No, you’re not. What you have to say is interesting.”
“You, too, have an interesting story,” he said, surprising me. “Where did this sister go—Tati, is it? Where is so far away that you speak of her as if she were dead?”
I swallowed. “I don’t think I can tell you,” I said.
There was an awkward silence. Stoyan stared into space. Beyond the complicated outlines of the roofs of Istanbul, the towers and domes and minarets, the moon now set a pale gleam over the city. It showed his strong features as a pattern of light and shade.
“You apologize,” he said softly. “And yet you do not trust me.”
“It’s not that. It’s a story we don’t tell, that’s all.”
“There is no need to excuse yourself, kyria. I spoke too freely. I presumed too much.”
I got up to lean on the railing, looking down at the small light made by the night guard’s brazier. It had been placed in the center of the courtyard, well away from the chambers where precious cargoes were stored. “Some secrets are too dangerous to share,” I said.
“I expect nothing from you, kyria,” said Stoyan. “But I will tell you that before tonight I had not spoken of Taidjut save to my family and to those I thought might have knowledge of the boys taken that year. I have held this hidden, close to my heart. As for the farm and my hopes of the future, since I left there, I have never spoken of those things. Until now.”
So he had trusted me and I had not returned that trust. I was afraid that if I spoke of the magical journeys of my childhood, folk would dismiss it as girlish fancy. Yet here in Istanbul, the Other Kingdom loomed close. The nightmare with its darkness and terror seemed part and parcel of the odd things that had been happening—the black-robed woman with her embroidery, the mysterious words, even the pattern I had seen on that manuscript today and half remembered. What I needed most of all was someone to talk to, someone who would neither laugh nor be upset if I spoke of such things.
I sat quietly, wondering if I could try it, wondering how Stoyan would respond. I remembered the way he had spoken about Cybele. As I held a debate with myself, he brought a second blanket to cover my knees. He went down to brew more tea and carried it up to me. The moon hung above us, pure and delicate in its meadow of stars. Stoyan’s silence and his kindness helped me make up my mind. I would risk Tati’s story. It would be a test.
“You asked about Tati, my eldest sister,” I said. “She went through a portal to another place, a place that is not part of the human world. She fell in love with a man who had been taken there as a child and now cannot come back. She wanted to go, and we helped her, my other sisters and I. That’s only a very small part of a long, long story, and we don’t talk about it, not even with Father, because it still upsets him so much. Some people would hear it and think I was making it up. They’d assume I was a crazy girl with a wild imagination.”
Stoyan nodded gravely. “I had guessed something of the kind,” he said. “A difficult choice for you. They say the land of the Sultan swarms with giants, peris, and djinns. I would think this a place of many such portals, if one knew how to find them.”
So, just like that, he accepted it. No questions, no reservations. It was remarkable. I realized, in a surge of delighted relief, that in this distant part of the world, I had found a friend.
We stayed there until the first hint of dawn lightened the sky and the early call to prayer rang out across the Galata mahalle. Gradually the han came awake, folk opening shutters, others carrying water, the tea vendor setting up shop to serve a stream of early customers. It was time to get ready for another day.
I didn’t go back to Irene’s library that morning or for several days after. We were busy buying and selling. I had plenty of opportunity to assist my
“No, you’re not. What you have to say is interesting.”
“You, too, have an interesting story,” he said, surprising me. “Where did this sister go—Tati, is it? Where is so far away that you speak of her as if she were dead?”
I swallowed. “I don’t think I can tell you,” I said.
There was an awkward silence. Stoyan stared into space. Beyond the complicated outlines of the roofs of Istanbul, the towers and domes and minarets, the moon now set a pale gleam over the city. It showed his strong features as a pattern of light and shade.
“You apologize,” he said softly. “And yet you do not trust me.”
“It’s not that. It’s a story we don’t tell, that’s all.”
“There is no need to excuse yourself, kyria. I spoke too freely. I presumed too much.”
I got up to lean on the railing, looking down at the small light made by the night guard’s brazier. It had been placed in the center of the courtyard, well away from the chambers where precious cargoes were stored. “Some secrets are too dangerous to share,” I said.
“I expect nothing from you, kyria,” said Stoyan. “But I will tell you that before tonight I had not spoken of Taidjut save to my family and to those I thought might have knowledge of the boys taken that year. I have held this hidden, close to my heart. As for the farm and my hopes of the future, since I left there, I have never spoken of those things. Until now.”
So he had trusted me and I had not returned that trust. I was afraid that if I spoke of the magical journeys of my childhood, folk would dismiss it as girlish fancy. Yet here in Istanbul, the Other Kingdom loomed close. The nightmare with its darkness and terror seemed part and parcel of the odd things that had been happening—the black-robed woman with her embroidery, the mysterious words, even the pattern I had seen on that manuscript today and half remembered. What I needed most of all was someone to talk to, someone who would neither laugh nor be upset if I spoke of such things.
I sat quietly, wondering if I could try it, wondering how Stoyan would respond. I remembered the way he had spoken about Cybele. As I held a debate with myself, he brought a second blanket to cover my knees. He went down to brew more tea and carried it up to me. The moon hung above us, pure and delicate in its meadow of stars. Stoyan’s silence and his kindness helped me make up my mind. I would risk Tati’s story. It would be a test.
“You asked about Tati, my eldest sister,” I said. “She went through a portal to another place, a place that is not part of the human world. She fell in love with a man who had been taken there as a child and now cannot come back. She wanted to go, and we helped her, my other sisters and I. That’s only a very small part of a long, long story, and we don’t talk about it, not even with Father, because it still upsets him so much. Some people would hear it and think I was making it up. They’d assume I was a crazy girl with a wild imagination.”
Stoyan nodded gravely. “I had guessed something of the kind,” he said. “A difficult choice for you. They say the land of the Sultan swarms with giants, peris, and djinns. I would think this a place of many such portals, if one knew how to find them.”
So, just like that, he accepted it. No questions, no reservations. It was remarkable. I realized, in a surge of delighted relief, that in this distant part of the world, I had found a friend.
We stayed there until the first hint of dawn lightened the sky and the early call to prayer rang out across the Galata mahalle. Gradually the han came awake, folk opening shutters, others carrying water, the tea vendor setting up shop to serve a stream of early customers. It was time to get ready for another day.
I didn’t go back to Irene’s library that morning or for several days after. We were busy buying and selling. I had plenty of opportunity to assist my
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