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the Royal Treasury to this end; and how Master Osman was using this
opportunity to sabotage his Enishte’s book and punish those who betrayed
him by imitating the Europeans。 Black added that based on style; Master
Osman suspected Olive was responsible for the horse with the clipped nostrils;
but as Head Illuminator; he was convinced of Stork’s guilt and would turn him
over to the executioners。 I could sense he was telling the truth under the
pressure of my sword; and I felt like kissing him because he gave himself over
to what he was saying like a child。 What I heard didn’t worry me; having Stork
394
out of the way meant I’d bee Head Illuminator after Master Osman’s
death—may God grant him long life。
I wasn’t disturbed that what he said might happen; but by the possibility
that it might not。 Reading between the lines of Black’s account; I was able to
glean that Master Osman was willing not only to sacrifice Stork; but me as
well。 Considering this incredible possibility made my heart quicken and drew
me toward the horror of plete abandonment felt by a child who’s
suddenly lost his father。 Each time this came to mind; I had to restrain myself
from cutting Black’s throat。 I didn’t attempt to argue the point with Black or
myself: Why should the fact that we made a few foolish illustrations inspired
by European masters lower us to the level of traitors? Once again; I thought
that behind Elegant’s death stood Stork and Olive and their schemes against
me。 I removed the sword from Black’s throat。
“Let’s go to Olive’s house together; and search it from top to bottom;” I
said。 “If the last picture is with him; at least we’ll know whom to fear。 If not;
we’ll take him with us as support and go on to raid Stork’s house。”
I told him to trust me and that his dagger was enough weaponry for the
two of us。 I apologized for not even having offered him a glass of linden tea。 As
I lifted the oil lamp from the floor; we both stared meaningfully at the cushion
upon which I’d flattened him。 I approached him with the lamp in my hand
and told him how the ever…so…faint cut on his throat would be a mark of our
friendship。 He bled only slightly。
The motion made by the Erzurumis and those pursuing them could
still be heard on the streets; but no one noticed us。 We were quick to arrive at
Olive’s house。 We knocked on the courtyard door; the door of the house; and
impatiently upon the shutters。 Nobody was home; we made so much noise
that we were certain he wasn’t sleeping。 Black gave voice to what we both were
thinking: “Shall we go inside?”
I twisted the metal loop of the door lock using the blunt edge of Black’s
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