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faith it would protect me； I palmed it； rubbed it and repeatedly kissed this
token of good fortune that Allah had sent me。 But at whatever time they
removed me from the darkness and brought me into the next room where I
saw the mander of the Imperial Guard and his bald…headed Croatian
torturers； I knew the silver coin was worthless。 The pitiless voice within me
was absolutely correct： The coin in my pocket hadn’t e from God； but was
one of those that I’d showered Shekure with two days ago—that the children
overlooked。 Hence； in the hands of my torturers； I had nothing in which to
take refuge。
270
I didn’t even notice that tears began to fall from my eyes。 I wanted to beg；
but as in a dream； no sound issued from my mouth。 I knew from wars； deaths
and political assassination and torture （which I’d witnessed from afar） that life
could be extinguished instantaneously； but I’d never experienced it this
closely。 They were going to strip me from this world just as they’d stripped off
my garments。
They took off my vest and shirt。 One of the executioners sat on me； driving
his knees into my shoulders。 Another placed a cage over my head with all the
practiced elegance of a woman preparing food and began slowly turning the
screw at its front。 Nay； it wasn’t a cage； but rather a vise that gradually
squeezed my head。
I screamed at the top of my lungs。 I begged； but incoherently。 I cried； mostly
because my nerves had given out。
They stopped momentarily and asked： “Were you the one who killed
Enishte Effendi？”
I took a deep breath： “Nay。”
They began to tighten the vise again。 It was excruciating。
They asked again。
“Nay。”
“Who then？”
“I don’t know！”
I wondered if I should just tell them I’d killed him。 The world spun
pleasantly about my head。 I was overe with reluctance。 I asked myself if I
were growing accustomed to the pain。 My executioners and I stayed still for a
moment。 I felt no pain； I was simply terrified。
Just as I decided from the silver coin in my pocket that they weren’t going
to kill me； they suddenly released me。 They removed the viselike contraption
that had actually done little damage to my head。 The executioner who’d
pinned me down stood up without even a hint of apology。 I donned my shirt
and vest。
There passed a very long silence。
At the other end of the room； I saw Head Illuminator Osman Effendi。 I
went to him and kissed his hand。
“Don’t be concerned； my child；” he said to me。 “They were just testing
you。”
271
I knew at once that I’d found a new father to replace Enishte； may he rest
in peace。
“Our Sultan has ordered that you not be tortured at this time；” said the
mander。 “He deemed it appropriate for you to help Head Illuminator
Master Osman find the rogue who’s been killing His miniaturists and the loyal
servants preparing His manuscripts。 You have three days in which to
interrogate the miniaturists； scrutinize the illuminated pages they’ve made
and find the sly culprit。 The Sovereign is quite appalled by the rumors being
spread by mischief makers about His miniaturists and illuminated
manuscripts。 Both the Head Treasurer Haz？m Agha and I will help you find this
scoundrel； as the Sultan has decreed。 One of you has been very close to Enishte
Effendi； and has thus heard his recitations and knows about the miniaturists
who visited him at night and the story behind the book。 The other is a great
master who takes pride in knowing all the miniaturists of the workshop like
the back of his hand。 Within three days； if you fail to produce that swine along
with the missing page he stole—about which much gossip is flying—it is Our
Just Sultan’s express desire that you； my child Black Effendi； be the first to
undergo torture and interrogation。 Afterward； let there be no doubt； each of
the other master miniaturists will have his turn。”
I could detect no secret gestures or signs between these two old friends；
who’d worked together for years： Head Treasurer Haz？m Agha； who
missioned the work； and Head Illuminator Master Osman Effendi； who
received the funds and materials through him from the treasury。
“Everyone knows； whenever a crime is mitted within Our Sultan’s
wards； regiments and divisions； that the entire group is considered guilty until
one among them is identified and turned in。 A section that fails to name the
murderer in its midst goes down in the judicial records as a ”division of
murderers；“ including its officer or master； and is punished accordingly；” said
the mander。 “Therefore； our Head Illuminator Master Osman will keep a
sharp watch； scrutinize each of the illustrations with his perating gaze；
uncover the devilry； ruse； mischief and instigation that has set the innocent
miniaturists at each other’s throats； and remand the guilty party to the
unwavering justice of the Refuge of the World； Our Sultan； thereby clearing
the good name of his guild。 To this end； we’ve ordered that whatsoever Master
Osman may require be granted to him。 My men are at this moment
confiscating each of the manuscript pages that the master miniaturists have
been illuminating in the privacy of their homes。”
272
IT IS I； MASTER OSMAN
The mader of the Imperial Guard and the Head Treasurer reiterated Our
Sultan’s decrees before leaving the two of us alone。 Of course； Black was
exhausted by fear； crying and the ruse of torture。 He fell quiet like a boy。 I
knew I would e to like him； and I didn’t disturb his peace。
I had three days to examine the pages that the mander’s men collected
from the homes of my calligraphers and master miniaturists； and to
determine who had worked on them。 You all know how disgusted I was when
I first laid eyes on the paintings prepared for Enishte Effendi’s book； and how
Black had given them to the Head Treasurer Haz？m Agha to clear his name。
Granted； there must be something to those pages for them to arouse such
violent disgust and hatred in a miniaturist like myself who’s devoted his life to
artistry； merely bad art wouldn’t provoke such a reaction。 So； with newfound
curiosity； I began to reexamine the nine pages that the deceased fool had
missioned from the miniaturists who came to him under cover of night。
I saw a tree in the middle of a blank page； situated within poor Elegant’s
border design and gilding work； which gracefully framed every page。 I tried to
conjure the scene and story to which the tree belonged。 If I had told my
illustrators to draw a tree； dear Butterfly； wise Stork and wily Olive would have
begun by conceiving of this tree as part of a story so they might draw the
image with confidence。 If I w