The Drowning Guard: A Novel of the Ottoman Empire by Linda Lafferty Page B

drownings.
    “My name is Emerald,” announced the eunuch. His teeth shone like yellowed bones between his pale lavender lips. His skin was as pale as scar tissue.
    “I will be your personal servant while you serve our Sultaness. Please, come. I will show you to your quarters.”
    Ivan Postivich was shown to a long row of rooms at the edge of the palace that housed the Solaks of the Sultana’s guard. He removed his shoes and was given bloodred slippers to pad across the stone floor.
    His cot was neatly made, the room immaculate, the windows admitting the sweet air of the adjacent gardens.
    “You should sleep during the day. I will come to fetch you each evening, at which time I will supervise your washing in the hamam. You shall be presented to the Princess at her biding after that hour.”
    “Your name?”
    “My name is Emerald,” he repeated. “Like the precious stone. If you need me for anything, you should send a page to fetch me. They are always within hearing range of these quarters. They will bring you food and drink and anything else you wish, except for women or boys. There is no fornicating within the palace grounds without express permission of the Princess. Those who disobey her are to be beheaded.”
    The janissary considered this.
    “And with her permission?”
    Emerald’s mouth stretched into a leer. “There are great festivals of indulgence. All of Constantinople is agitated with shock and envy at her entertainments—as I am certain you well know. There is not a European ambassador in the city who would not pull out a good tooth to be invited.”
    Postivich noted French accents in the eunuch’s speech. “Where were you apprenticed?”
    “In the Topkapi itself. I was a boy in Selim’s court and was taught Ottoman, French, Persian, Arabic, and English. I accompanied Princess Esma Sultan to her palaces and served her through her marriage. Her husband died seventeen years ago, when she was only twenty-five.”
    “Pity.”
    The eunuch lifted his eyebrow and touched his tongue to his lip.
    “May he dwell in Paradise with Allah and be recompensed with virgins of exquisite quality for what he has suffered here on this earth.”
    “What did he suffer?”
    “An untouchable Princess who ordered him from her bed, slapping and biting him on their wedding night. She bloodied his nose with a kick when he kissed the coverlet to approach her.”
    “Banished from his own marriage bed? Did he not demand his rights as a man to claim her?”
    “An Ottoman princess is above all men, except her brother. The poor Pasha built his own residence at the edge of Constantinople, so that he might not suffer the disgrace of the bruises from his wife who scorned him. The harem whispers he died without carnal knowledge.
    “But enough gossip of the palace. You must rest so that you are ready to serve the Princess at midnight.”

    Bezm-i Alem spied through the perforation in the ornate marble grille. She did not trust this white eunuch, Emerald.
    Who has assigned this contemptible little beast to Ahmed Kadir? Esma Sultan scorns Emerald and only permits him to enter the palace under orders of Topkapi. When he leaves she demands that lemon oil be rubbed on every surface he has trodden or touched.
    Does the Sultan have a hand in this?
    She wanted to warn the corbaci, but could not think how to approach him. One of the women in the harem had told Esma Sultan that Bezm-i Alem had spoken to the giant through the screen.
    “You may never speak to him again!” she screamed and slapped the young woman across her face. Bezm-i Alem stared at her in wonder, for she had not struck her since the harem girl was a small child.
    Bezm-i Alem raised her hand to her cheek. She said nothing but simply studied Esma Sultan’s face, trying to understand.
    When the harem girl saw the anguish in her mistress’s eyes, Bezm-i Alem knew how much she was loved and what price Esma Sultan would pay to keep her safe in the harem. But Bezm-i Alem also