A beautiful sunset glowed in the calm waters of the Bosporus. Augusta sat with Erol, Eda, and Mark on a terraced promontory, jutting out into the harbor. As promised, they had come here to celebrate Augusta’s birthday. And as promised, it was ideal—perhaps not as secluded as Augusta had hoped, but she couldn’t imagine a better way to spend her special day. The friends sat together drinking tea, munching on toasted sandwiches, and looking out over the sinking sun casting pink and orange into the water. After all the shock and action of the past few days, she was glad to be celebrating peacefully. No more revelations. No more surprises.
“So what will you do now?” Mark asked, sipping his steaming tea. “Are you going back to America?”
“No. I’m going to work with my dad.” Augusta grinned. The words sounded strange coming out of her mouth. Two days ago she had believed her father was dead. Now she was changing all her life plans to accompany him on his worldwide mission. She could hardly believe it, and yet it was true.
“He’s going to train me to work with him. Top secret location, though. I don’t even know where it is.”
“Your father is so cool,” Eda said, with a touch of jealousy. “I wish I could have met him this morning at the museum. It sounds like you three had all the fun without me.”
“It wasn’t much fun, Eda,” Erol interjected. “At first I thought we would have to break up a fight. Augusta and her father were not on good terms. You should have seen how she looked at him! She almost killed him with her eyes. Then she runs out of the room, and next time we see her everything has changed. She keeps talking about what a great man her father is.” Erol shook his head and looked at Augusta. “What did he do? He must be some kind of magician.”
Laughing, Augusta said, “He just told me the truth. I never in a million years would have guessed what he does, or what his life has been like. When I found out he was alive, all I could think was that he didn’t love me, that he didn’t want to be part of my life. I was so angry.”
She paused, remembering her resentment and confusion. “But after I realized that he really had left to protect us, I changed my mind. He’s tried to be as good a father as he could, from a distance. Apparently my mom sent him pictures of everything I’ve done, and he’s really proud of my sculpting. He says I remind him a lot of Grandfather.”
Grandfather. At the mention of his name, Augusta’s heart pulsed with emotion. But it wasn’t grief. It was…contentment? Joy? Somehow the discovery of her father, and her own Carter family mission, had transformed her sadness over Grandfather’s death into something else. Something she couldn’t name and certainly couldn’t understand. But it was there, burning fiercely in her chest. She didn’t know if it was acceptance, or a newfound sense of purpose or pride. Whatever it was, she knew her grandfather would forever be in her heart as a wise and comforting presence, just as he had been in life.
“What about your mother and grandmother?” Eda asked. “Won’t they miss you?”
“Sure. But they’ve had me for 20 years. My father hasn’t. I’ve already talked to Mom about it. She understands.”
Augusta took a bite of the delicious baklava her friends had brought to the picnic, along with some other sweet pastries and Turkish delight. “We got you one of everything!” Erol had told her, his eyes glowing with delight. “We have to try one of each, to decide which one is the best.” In the end, as they sampled each dessert between sips of tea, no one could make up their mind.
“I’ll just have to come back some day and try them all again,” Augusta teased her friends.
Erol looked suddenly serious. “I hope you will come back. We’ll miss you.”
Augusta stared out over the smooth, glassy sea. “I’ll try. You’ve all been wonderful friends to me here. I could never have gotten my book back without you!”
“But you would never have lost it in the first place if I hadn’t asked you to come,” Erol said, downcast. “It was my fault for accidentally telling Hasan. But I didn’t know how important the lost discourses is to your family. And I definitely didn’t know Hasan was working for the Rumelovs.”
His jaw clenched again. “If I ever see him again, I’m going to treat him the way”
Augusta shook her head. “You don’t need to worry about Hasan. He was packed off with the other Rumelov supporters on Camlica. My dad told me he won’t be bothering anyone for a while.”
“It’s lucky your father was here to save the book—and you,” Mark pointed out. “I wish my father would save me when I’m looking for a new museum piece. He doesn’t even send me any money when I need it!”
They all laughed.
“Luck doesn’t come into it,” Augusta replied. “He was watching out for me, just like my mom said he would be. Did you know I saw him following me on the street yesterday? I thought he was one of the Rumelovs, or even Efendi himself.” She shivered at the memory.
“And that was him we saw at the bazaar last night, coming out of Mehmet’s shop. By then he was already onto the Rumelovs—he knew they were preparing for some kind of ritual. But he didn’t know where they would be until he followed us to Camlica. After that, he just had to call in the forces.”
“Wow,” Eda said, her eyebrows raised with astonishment. “You know what that means? That means you and Erol helped your dad capture the Rumelovs. That’s impressive. He wouldn’t have known where they were without you.”
“And some quick thinking from Professor Meral,” Erol added. “She’s the one who helped me trace the lost discourses to the Carter family in the first place. And she was the one who tricked Efendi into going to Camlica. In the end, Profesor Meral was the one who saved them.”
They all paused for a moment, in silent appreciation of the canny professor. Augusta doubted whether she would ever know the crucial role she had played in changing their lives.
“A toast to Professor Meral!” Mark said, pulling out a glass bottle of what appeared to be vodka. “Augusta, would you like to try some Turkish raki? A few glasses and you’ll forget all your problems.”
He poured raki into the shot glasses that Eda produced from her bag, and they all toasted the brilliant professor of Ottoman history.
“And,” Augusta said, as Mark poured a second round, “A toast to friends! For always being ready to help. Even if it requires a ride through Istanbul on a vintage Vespa.” She raised a glass to Erol. “Or dressing up and playing with Ottoman weapons.” She nodded to Mark and Eda.
“Cheers!”
“Şerefe!”
Augusta’s eyes watered as the clear, colorless alcohol burned down her throat. Through the tears she thought she saw Eda turn to Mark and plant a kiss on his cheek. Augusta almost choked on her raki.
“Eda! I thought you were mad at Mark.”
Cheeks burning from either the raki or the kiss, Eda shrugged. “You know, you’re not the only one who’s had interesting revelations over the past few days. I’ve had a change of heart too.”
She poured another round of raki and held up her small glass. “To Mark, who patiently waited a year to convince me we shouldn’t have broken up. Although I wish he’d tried to convince me a bit earlier. Life would have been much easier if he had.”
Mark was blushing from the tops of his ears to the tip of his designer sneakers.
“To Eda and Mark!” Augusta cheered.
“To Eda and Mark!” echoed Erol.
The four friends watched contentedly as the sun sank below the horizon across from them, illuminating the staggered skyline of Old Istanbul. The sultan’s palace sloped gently up one hill, while in every direction the minarets of many mosques pointed provocatively toward the heavens. Soft white lights twinkled along the shoreline, mirroring the pinpricks of stars that were beginning to appear in the dusky sky overhead.
Augusta sighed with happiness. She didn’t know if it was the raki talking, or the relief at finding herself safe with her book and her friends, or the effects of fatigue from her recent adventures, but she had never felt like this in her life. Tired, still a bit bewildered at all that that had happened, with bittersweet memories of her grandfather and the life she had lived up to now. But also exhilarated, bursting with energy, and ready to take on whatever came next. She was curious about what life with her father would be like. Where would she go? What would she do? How would she get along with him?
Her elbow brushed against Erol’s arm. The feeling of his warm skin against hers brought unexpected tears to her eyes. This time it wasn’t the raki.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Erol said, placing a comforting hand on her back, just as he had done on Big Island. “I thought we were having fun. Why are you crying?”
Augusta tried to laugh through her sniffles. She knew she shouldn’t be crying. She was happy and excited. It was her 21st birthday and life was good. Augusta quickly wiped the tears away, but they kept leaking from her eyes against her will.
“Happy tears,” she said through gritted teeth, knowing full well this wasn’t true.
It was Erol. The thought of leaving him was upsetting her more than she had expected. She thought back to their first meeting at the airport, the taxi they had shared, the dinner at Eda’s house, his cheerful jokes and love of old books. His sudden change of demeanor when her book was stolen, and his determination to get the lost discourses back. His courage in resisting the Rumelovs’ demands to translate the Ottoman text. And the firm, wonderful solidity of his back as they sped along the pavement toward Camlica, her arms wrapped snugly around his chest. His warm, reassuring hand holding hers as they stared down the occultists at the top of the hill.
They had done it all together. Yes, it had been about her stolen book, but it had also been about Erol. Erol’s rashness, Erol’s bravery, Erol’s infectious love of Ottoman history. Erol’s excitement to be wherever he was at the moment. He created a field of warm energy around him wherever he went, and she hadn’t even realized it until now. How could she leave and be without that warm feeling ever again? How could she be without him?
But she knew Erol couldn’t come where she was going. What was it her father had said about personal sacrifices? She was going to pursue justice. She was going to fight the good fight, to lock criminals away, to save the world without anyone even knowing about it. It was her responsibility. Her birthright. Her duty. She couldn’t allow her personal attachment to one charming young man to stand in the way.
Augusta wiped her tears on the back of her hand and held her shot glass out to Mark. “Same again, please. I can’t thank you all enough. This has been the best birthday I could hope for!”
Eda clapped in delight while Mark poured raki into all their cups once more. Erol raised his glass, now shimmering in the starlight.
“To Augusta Carter—inheritor of the lost discourses, and best friend in the world!”
“To Augusta!”
“To Augusta!”
As the fiery raki slid down her throat, the thick late-summer air seemed to envelope Augusta in a delicious embrace. So much had changed since she first set foot in Istanbul. Yet she knew history had a habit of repeating itself. Where would her story lead—to triumph or tragedy, to happiness or heartbreak? Breathing in the savory air around her, Augusta wondered if she would ever be this happy again.
The last pearlescent rays of light had now faded from sight, and the depth of the sky was reflected back at them from the water. Augusta felt no thoughts in her head whatsoever. She felt only the raki tickling her nose as she leaned her head softly against Erol’s shoulder, gazing out over the unruffled sea.
This was so riveting and delightful all the way through! I’m looking forward to Part II!
Great story. I really enjoyed following along. I hope there is more to come!