Page 19 of Silver Angel

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” Derek got out before he was enthusiastically embraced. For a little old man twice his age, Omar had sufficient strength left to make him grunt, he was squeezed so hard.

“We didn’t know,” Omar said, standing back to fill his eyes with the many changes nineteen years had wrought. “We couldn’t know. So many messengers were sent out, so many found dead.”

“So Ali ben-Khalil told me.”

“Then he was the one to finally reach you? The sherbet seller?”

Derek nodded, grinning. “He insisted I lock him up, after he had seen me.”

“A smart man. And you were wise enough to come in disguise. I was afraid you would not, but there was no way to warn you in the message without making the simple code obvious.”

Derek shrugged. “It seemed the thing to do to avoid confusion.”

“Jamil was sure you would realize.”

“How is he?”

“Still unharmed, though there was still another attempt on his life last month.”

“Do you know who’s behind it?”

Omar threw up his hands in disgust. “We have learned nothing. Nothing! Whoever is hiring these assassins does not reveal himself to them.”

“Is it Selim?”

“We can think of no other, but then no one is above suspicion.”

“Where is he?”

Omar sighed. “He was last seen in Istanbul at the Sultan’s court. We have a veritable army out looking for him now, but he hides himself well.”

“Have you considered the possibility that he has already been eliminated?” Derek ventured. “How old is Mustafa’s last-born son now?”

“Murad is only eleven, and yes, we have considered that, and all of Jamil’s enemies, too.”

“And his wives?”

Omar chuckled. “You still think like a Muslim, Kasim.”

“I can remember my mother telling me of the fierce rivalry among Mustafa’s wives and how twice Mahmud nearly died from poison.”

“And did Jamil later write you that it was Mustafa’s fourth wife who was responsible, and that she also was foolish enough to make an attempt against him, which earned her a grave at the bottom of the sea?”

Derek grunted. No, he hadn’t been told, but he wasn’t surprised. To be trussed up alive in a weighted sack and dropped into the sea was the Sultan’s favorite mode of doing away with the women of his harem who had displeased him, women kept veiled from other men in life—and so in death as well. Why should Mustafa be any different? Rarely was a woman executed any other way.

Omar continued. “But Jamil’s wives? Of course it has been thought of, and security in the harem has been increased also, but Jamil will hear nothing said against them, and I am inclined to look there only as a last resort, too. First, they each of them adore Jamil. But more to the point, none of their sons would benefit unless Selim and Murad both died as well as Jamil, and although Selim is missing, Murad is here in Barikah, and no attempts have been made onhislife.”

“But if every one of Mustafa’s sons died?”

“It would be up to the Divan to decide whether to accept Jamil’s firstborn.”

“It is not unheard of for akadineto rule through her son,” Derek reminded him.

“But he is only six years old, Kasim. If he were older…It is more likely the Divan will choose a new Dey, and Mustafa’s line will rule no more.”

“But your vote could sway them either way?”

Omar laughed. “By Allah, you are bringing new thoughts to this problem that even I have not considered. Yes, it is true I could sway the Divan. After thirty-five years of serving as Grand Vizier of Barikah, I assure you my opinion is second only to the Dey’s. But it is also true that no one can know how I could vote, least of all Jamil’s wives, when I haven’t even thought of this possibility myself. But come, Kasim, sit down, sit down. We will have ample time to discuss who is causing all this trouble. Tell me, how did you get here? No new ships have arrived these past few days, and all those before I have had checked.”