慈继阁小说网 > 文学电子书 > my name is red-我的名字叫红 >

第71章

my name is red-我的名字叫红-第71章

小说: my name is red-我的名字叫红 字数: 每页4000字

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页,按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页,按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部!
————未阅读完?加入书签已便下次继续阅读!



task; thereby forcing them to cooperate—on which account they couldn’t hide 
their distaste even now。 Seeing this inspired in me a love for the Sultan that 
went beyond mere awe。 A servant boy served coffee and we sat for a while。 
I was told that Enishte Effendi had a nephew named Black Effendi whom 
he’d cultivated; a man trained in illumination and book arts。 Had I met him? I 
remained  silent。  A  short  while  ago;  upon  the  invitation  of  his  Enishte;  Black 
had  returned  from  the  Persian  front;  where  he  was  under  Serhat  Pasha’s 
mand—the mander shot me a look of suspicion。 Here; in Istanbul; he 
worked  himself  into  his  Enishte’s  good  graces  and  learned  the  story  of  the 
book whose creation Enishte was overseeing。 Black claimed that after Elegant 
Effendi  was  killed;  Enishte  suspected  one  of  the  master  miniaturists  who 
visited  him  at  night  to  work  on  this  manuscript。  He’d  seen  the  illustrations 
these  masters  had  made  and  said  that  Enishte’s  murderer—the  selfsame 
painter who stole the Sultan’s illustration with the lion’s share of gold leaf—
was  one  of  them。  For  two  days;  this  young  Black  Effendi  had  concealed  the 
death  of  Enishte  from  the  palace  and  the  Head  Treasurer。  Within  that  very 
two…day period; he’d rushed ahead with a marriage to Enishte’s daughter; an 
ethically and religiously dubious affair; and settled into Enishte’s house; thus; 
both the men before me considered Black a suspect。 
“If their houses and workplaces are searched and the missing page turns up 
with one of my master miniaturists; Black’s innocence will be established at 
once;”  I  said。  “Frankly;  however;  I  can  tell  you  that  my  dearest  children;  my 
divinely inspired miniaturists; whom I’ve known since they were apprentices; 
are incapable of taking the life of another man。” 
“As for Olive; Stork and Butterfly;” said the mander; mockingly using 
the  nicknames  I’d  affectionately  given  to  them;  “we  intend  to  b  their 
homes;  haunts;  places  of  work  and;  if  applicable;  shops;  leaving  no  stone 
unturned。  And  that  includes  Black…”  His  expression  bespoke  resignation: 
“Given such troublesome circumstances; thank God; the judge has granted us 
permission to resort to torture if necessary during the interrogation of Black 
Effendi。  Torture  was  deemed  lawfully  permissible  because  a  second  murder 
259 
 
had  been  mitted  against  someone  with  a  link  to  the  miniaturists  guild; 
making suspects of them all; from apprentice to master。” 
I mulled this over silently: 1。 The phrase “lawfully permissible” made clear 
that Our Sultan wasn’t the one who’d granted the permission for torture。 2。 
Because all the miniaturists were under suspicion of double murder in the eyes 
of  the  judge;  and  because  I;  though  Head  Illuminator;  had  been  unable  to 
identify  the  criminal  in  our  midst;  I;  too;  was  suspect。  3。  I  understood  that 
they wanted my explicit or implicit approval to go ahead with the torture of 
my beloved Butterfly; Olive; Stork and the others; all of whom; in recent years; 
had betrayed me。 
“Since  Our  Sultan  desires  both  the  satisfactory  pletion  of  the  Book  of 
Festivities and this book—which is evidently only half finished;” said the Head 
Treasurer; “we’re worried that torture might damage the masters’ hands and 
eyes; destroying their agility。” He faced me。 “Isn’t this so?” 
“There   was   similar   worry   over   another   incident   recently;”   said   the 
mander brusquely。 “A goldsmith and a jeweler who did repairs fell sway 
to the Devil。 They were childishly enchanted with a ruby…handled coffee cup 
belonging  to  Our  Sultan’s  younger  sister  Nejmiye  Sultan;  and  ended  up 
stealing it。 Since the theft of the cup; which overwhelmed Our Sultan’s sister 
with grief—she was quite fond of the piece—occurred in the üsküdar Palace; 
the Sovereign appointed me to investigate。 It became apparent that both Our 
Sultan and Nejmiye Sultan wanted no harm to e to the eyes and fingers of 
the master gold… and jewelry smiths lest their skills be affected。 So; I had all 
the master jewelry smiths stripped naked and thrown into the freezing pool in 
the yard among pieces of ice and frogs。 Periodically; I’d have them taken out 
and  lashed  forcefully;  taking  care  that  their  faces  and  hands  remained 
unharmed。 Within a short period; the jeweler who’d been duped by the Devil 
confessed and accepted his punishment。 Despite the ice…cold water; the frozen 
air and all the lashings; no lasting injury came to the eyes and fingers of the 
master jewelers because they were pure of heart。 Even the Sultan mentioned 
that  His  sister  was  quite  pleased  with  my  work  and  that  the  jewelers  were 
working with more zeal now that the bad apple was out of the barrel。” 
I was certain that the mander would treat my master illustrators more 
severely  than  he  had  the  jewelers。  Though  he  had  respect  for  Our  Sultan’s 
enthusiasm   for   illuminated   manuscripts;   like   many   others;   he   deemed 
calligraphy  the  only  respectable  art  form;  belittling  embellishment  and 
illustration as flirtations with heresy; fit for women and deserving of nothing 
but rebuke。 In order to provoke me; he said; “While you’ve been absorbed in 
260 
 
your  work;  your  beloved  miniaturists  have  already  begun  scheming  to  see 
who’ll bee Head Miniaturist upon your death。” 
Was this gossip I hadn’t already heard? Had he informed me of something 
new? Restraining myself; I didn’t respond。 The Head Treasurer was more than 
aware of the fury I felt toward him for missioning a manuscript from that 
deceased half…wit behind my back; and toward my ingrate miniaturists; who’d 
secretly prepared these illustrations to curry favor and earn a few extra silver 
coins。 
I caught myself pondering the methods of torture that might be inflicted。 
They  wouldn’t  resort  to  flaying  during  the  interrogation;  because  that 
inevitably leads to death。 They wouldn’t impale anyone; either; as they do with 
rebels; because that’s used as a deterrent。 Cracking and splintering the fingers; 
arms or legs of these miniaturists was also out of the question。 Of course; the 
removal  of  an  eye—which  I  gathered  was  a  measure  of  increasing  frequency 
these days; to judge by the growing numbers of one…eyed people on the streets 
of Istanbul—would be inappropriate for master artists。 So; as I imagined my 
dear miniaturists in a secluded corner of the Royal Private Garden; there in the 
ice…cold pool among the water lilies; shivering violently and glaring hatefully at 
one another; I had the passing urge to laugh。 Nevertheless; it caused me agony 
to imagine how Olive would shriek when his hindquarters were branded with 
a hot iron and how dear Butterfly’s skin would pale when he was shackled。 I 
couldn’t bear to conjure the scene of dear Butterfly—whose skill and love for 
illumination brought tears to my eyes—as he was given the bastinado like a 
mon thieving apprentice。 I just stood there dumbfounded and hollow。 
My elderly mind was mute under the spell of its own internal silence。 There 
was  a  time  when  we’d  paint  together  with  a  passion  that  made  us  forget 
everything。 
“These  men  are  the  most  expert  miniaturists  serving  Our  Sultan;”  I  said。 
“Make certain no harm befalls them。” 
Pleased;  the  Head  Treasurer  rose;  grabbed  a  number  of  pages  from  the 
worktable  at  the  other  end  of  the  room  and  arranged  them  in  front  of  me。 
Next; as if the room were dark; he placed beside me two large candle holders 
whose  portly  tapers  burned  with  bobbing  and  twittering  flames  so  I  could 
study the paintings in question。 
How might I explain what I saw as I moved the magnifying lens over them? 
I felt like laughing—and not because they were humorous。 I was incensed—it 
seemed  that  Enishte  Effendi  had  instructed  my  masters  as  follows:  “Don’t 
261 
 
paint like yourselves; paint as if you were someone else。” He’d forced them to 
recall nonexistent memories; to conjure and paint a future; which they’d never 
want to live。 What was even more incredible was that they were killing each 
other over this nonsense。 
“By looking at these illustrations; can you tell me which miniaturist worked 
on which picture?” asked the Head Treasurer。 
“Yes;” I said angrily。 “Where did you find these paintings?” 
“Black brought them of his own accord and left them with me;” said the 
Head  Treasurer。  “He’s  bent  on  proving  that  he  and  his  late  Enishte  are 
innocent。” 
“During the interrogation; torture him;” I said。 “That way we’ll learn what 
other secrets our late Enishte was harboring。” 
“We’ve  sent  for  him;”  said  the  mander  of  the  Imperial  Guard。 
“Afterward; we’ll thoroughly search the house of that newlywed。” 
Both  their  faces  were  strangely  illuminated;  a  flicker  of  fear  and  awe 
overcame them; and they snapped to 

返回目录 上一页 下一页 回到顶部 0 0

你可能喜欢的