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At eight o’clock the next morning, Augusta was wide awake. She lay in bed—the small but comfortable bed belonging to Eda’s roommate—and watched the sunbeams dappling the gray and white décor of the bedroom. It was decorated in an ultra-modern style, with sleek furnishings and monochromatic artwork on the walls. Quite different from the colorful fabrics splashed around the main living area, where Augusta had spent most of her time yesterday. She guessed Eda and her roommate must have very different tastes in decorating. Eda seemed to have prevailed in most of the apartment, and Augusta enjoyed her choice of boldly-colored artwork, vivid upholstery, and brightly-patterned dishes.
Stretching and brushing her tangled hair out of her face, she wondered how long she could reasonably stay in bed. She was still exhausted after her day of travel, and all the strange tales Erol had told her were still flitting around her head, unsettled.
Byzantine Constantinople to Ottoman Istanbul to the busy, modern-day metropolis.
Müteferrika to Mehmet Ragıp Pasha to Elizabeth Carter to her grandfather. All the way to her, Augusta. She shook her head in disbelief. It didn’t sound real.
And what about the occultist group, the Rumelovs? Or the Greek abbot out on his island monastery. Could they really want this old book so much that they would break into her grandmother’s house, five thousand miles away? Could they even be following her in Istanbul?
She felt her skin prickling again as she envisioned cartoonish henchmen sneaking around corners and tiptoeing into dark rooms. But it was too ludicrous. Wake up, she told herself, rubbing her eyes and putting her feet down on the floor. Focus on the facts.
It was something her grandfather had told her many times, when she was upset about something, or when she couldn’t think clearly. When she had come home from school crying about something unkind a classmate had said. Or when her first sculpture had failed to win any kind of prize at the county art fair. It was not something she had ever consciously said to herself before. She had always hated hearing it, even from her adored grandfather. It didn’t feel good to focus on the facts. Sometimes she just wanted to wallow in the pain, or self-pity, or anger.
Or grief. A lump rose to her throat, and she sniffled it back down. She had to stay strong for her grandfather. She had to focus on the facts. She didn’t know where that would lead her, but it was all she had to go on right now.
As she stood up and shuffled over to her duffel bag—which now contained only two changes of clothes, a few pairs of underwear, and a toothbrush—Augusta forced herself to focus on the facts. What facts did she have?
One. She was in possession of an old book that may or may not be very valuable. Two. Today she had a meeting with the director of the Ottoman History Museum, where she would find out whether the book was genuine and how much they would offer her for it. Three. There may or may not be someone trying to steal her book. No, wait, that didn’t count as a fact. Did it? She sighed. She couldn’t even tell what facts were anymore.
Augusta wriggled into her worn-out jeans and took out the least-wrinkled shirt from her bag. Surely it didn’t matter how she looked. She shook the more-wrinkled shirt out and laid it over a chair, hoping it would look less crumpled by tomorrow, then set to work on making the bed. Her eyes fell on the mysterious old book sitting on the bedside table. She picked it up and wrapped her arms around it, pulling it close to her chest, feeling its soft leather cover against her skin. This book that she hadn’t even known about when her grandfather was alive. Now it reminded her of him.
Tucking the book in her daypack, she turned and surveyed the room, one hand on the doorknob. Had she forgotten anything? No. Her reflection stared at her from a mirror across the room, and she stared back at it, hard. This was the girl who was going to solve her problems today. She forced a smile, trying to look confident, then saw it falter and fade away. Who was she kidding? She grimaced into the mirror instead.
That was more like it. No pretending. Just focus on the facts.
The delicious smell of frying potatoes hit Augusta the moment she opened the bedroom door. She entered the kitchen to the sound of sizzling and saw that Eda had already set out a beautiful spread of fresh tomatoes, peppers, olives, and cheese on the small dining table. The double-decker teapot was fuming on the stove, and several large loaves of bread were set around the table.
“Good morning!” Eda greeted her cheerfully. “How are you feeling today? Did you sleep well?”
“Much better than yesterday,” Augusta admitted with a tired smile. “But I think I’ll be even better after this delicious breakfast. I can’t believe you’re cooking again.”
Eda nodded, looking pleased. Her dark hair, pressed straight this morning, was secured with a wide, patterned headband. “It’s no trouble, I love to cook. Here, try the cheese.” She stepped away from the stove and stabbed a small cube of white cheese, handing it to Augusta. “This is Erol’s favorite.”
Augusta could see why—it was very good. She speared another one for herself and washed it down with the steaming tea Eda had just poured for her. “Will Erol be joining us for breakfast?”
“No, not today. He has to do a few things before he stops by to pick you up. I’ve packed a couple sandwiches for him to take.” She pointed at a small lunchbox on the end of the table.
“You take really good care of him, don’t you?” Augusta noted, tearing off a large chunk of bread and drizzling it with honey. “You’re a wonderful sister.”
Eda shrugged. “It’s what sisters do.” She turned off the stove and spooned the sizzling potatoes out of the frying pan. They crackled in the warm morning air as she brought them over the table, placing them in front of Augusta. “Do you have a brother or sister?”
Augusta shook her head. “I’m an only child. My father died when I was a baby, and my mother never remarried. But I always wanted a sister.” She helped herself to the golden-brown potatoes, watching the steam rise from her plate.
“I’m sorry to hear that!” Eda put her fork down and poured more tea into Augusta’s empty finger-glass. Liquid sympathy. “That must have been hard for you.”
“In some ways, yes.” Augusta chewed thoughtfully, savoring another bite of Erol’s favorite cheese. “But I’m used to it. I’ve lived with it for twenty years. Tomorrow is my birthday. I’ll be twenty-one.”
“Wow, your birthday!” Eda clapped her hands in excitement. “We must celebrate! Let’s have a party. I know a beautiful spot for a picnic, on a hill overlooking the water. We’ll go there tomorrow for dinner. And I know just what to get for dessert.”
“That’s very kind of you, but I really don’t need a party,” Augusta protested. “It’s not a big deal.”
“What? Not a big deal?” Eda’s eyes were sparkling now, and Augusta had a funny feeling that meant there was no stopping her. “Of course it is. Twenty-one. You are becoming a real adult. It’s very special.”
Augusta stirred sugar into her tea and thought for a moment. She wasn’t really a birthday party kind of person. Not that she disliked birthdays, but there just didn’t seem to be that much to celebrate. It had been years since, as a ten-year-old, she announced to her mother that she wasn’t going to have any more birthday parties. “I’d rather just spend the day with Grandmother, Grandfather, and you,” she had said. And so she had. Every year they would spend her birthday out fishing, rambling around the woods behind the old farmhouse, or having lunch at her favorite diner. Just being together, doing not much of anything. It was her favorite kind of day.
But this year was going to be very different. It was the first time she wouldn’t be with her family on her birthday. She hadn’t had time to give it much thought. How should she spend her birthday here in Istanbul? Maybe a small picnic wouldn’t be so bad. Just Eda and Erol and her, snacking on those delicious Turkish pastries, overlooking the harbor.
“Maybe,” Augusta said politely. “Why don’t we see how today goes. Are you coming to the museum with us?”
Swallowing a bite of fresh cucumber, Eda shook her head. “I have to work. No days off for me, I’m afraid.” She patted her mouth with a napkin, stood up, and started clearing the table. Augusta stood up to help.
“Where do you work?”
“For the Istanbul city government. I’m an engineer in the water department. It’s not very glamorous, but it’s an important job. No one ever thinks about the plumbing until it doesn’t work anymore.”
Augusta smiled. “I can’t imagine being an engineer, staring at pipes all day. Doesn’t it get boring?”
“Oh, it’s not so bad. I get to see lots of things most people never see. The ground under Istanbul is pretty interesting.” Eda was carrying the plates to the kitchen sink.
“People have been living here for thousands of years. We have to work around all the civilizations that came before us. The Greeks, the Romans, the Byzantines. And, of course, the Ottomans. They all left their fortifications, their artifacts, their burial grounds. Whenever we lay new pipes, we never know what we’ll find.”
“So you get to see a lot of history in your job too.” Augusta brought the teacups over to Eda at the sink and went back for the teapot.
“Sometimes. But mostly I sit in the office and stare at blueprints. Not like Erol, who spends his whole life chasing after old books.” She laughed as she scrubbed their breakfast dishes with soapy water. “He can get a little obsessive about Ottoman history.”
Augusta laughed too. She was really starting to like this talkative Turkish girl, with her energetic plans and easygoing sense of humor. This was probably just what she needed at a time like this—someone to lift her spirits and keep her from brooding. It all seemed so easy, standing here washing dishes with Eda, chatting light-heartedly about brothers and birthdays. It seemed so right.
For a few moments she forgot about the mysterious old book, forgot about the book thieves, even forgot the sadness of her grandfather’s death that seemed to squeeze her heart whenever she thought of him. They were just two friends talking and planning their day, doing dishes, giggling at something silly Erol had said the day before.
A light morning breeze lifted the curtains in the kitchen, and Augusta could hear the sounds of the city floating in through the open window. Engines revved and died down again. Men shouted as they unloaded crates at the pastry shop across the street. Children shrieked with laughter, rushing past each other on their way to school.
Vaguely, she wondered if it was all too good to be true. Was she stupid to trust Eda and Erol so completely? They seemed so genuine, so guileless, too much like themselves to be hoodwinking her. She couldn’t imagine these gentle people putting on such an elaborate ruse to capture her book. But, she had to remind herself, she had no proof of their authenticity. Erol was the only person she had communicated with from the museum, and she didn’t even know for sure if he was a legitimate employee. She shouldn’t let her guard down yet.
Well, if it was all a scam, Augusta thought to herself, it was a pretty good one. At least she could enjoy it while it lasted. She watched as Eda finished tidying up the kitchen, her long, lithe form moving quickly from sink to cabinet to table and back again. Then Eda picked up a hand-worked leather purse from beside the door, gave Augusta a kiss on each cheek, and reminded her Erol would be waiting out front at nine o’clock.
“Be sure to pull the door tight when you leave—it sticks sometimes,” she called from the hallway, pulling the door shut firmly behind her. And with a click, Augusta was left alone with her thoughts and her book, waiting for Erol to arrive.
She seated herself in an armchair, feeling the sudden stillness roll over her. It was the first time she had really been alone since arriving in Istanbul. She checked her phone. 8:47 local time. Her mother wouldn’t be awake yet back in North Carolina, but she texted her anyway, letting her know she was off to the museum in a few minutes. How is Grandmother? she tapped out, adding lots of hearts. Yesterday her mom had sent a picture of her grandmother back at home, hard at work over biscuits and gravy. Augusta was relieved her grandmother was fine, after the shock of the attack and that nasty concussion. But she felt the blood rise to her cheeks. Who would do such a thing to an elderly woman? How dare they enter her home and assault her! Augusta narrowed her eyes and imagined what kind of revenge she would exact when she found the attacker.
As she replayed the revenge scenario in her head several times, Augusta stood up and walked slowly around the small apartment. She hadn’t really looked carefully before, but Eda had managed to make it both cozy and stylish at the same time. The brown leather sofa was a bit worn, but that didn’t matter—it was completely overshadowed by a vibrantly-patterned rug covering the entire living room floor. A small TV was tucked into one corner beside a glass door leading to the balcony. On the other side of the door stood a bookshelf, overflowing with books and various objets d’art.
Her two favorite things, books and sculpture. Augusta walked over and picked up several of the small objects Eda was using as bookends, feeling their weight in her hands as she examined the workmanship. The blue-and-red ceramic plate was lovely, but Augusta had a feeling it was mass-manufactured, and she put it back down. The metalwork of the old brass lantern, however, was exquisitely done. Augusta turned it over, inspecting the scrollwork, the joints, the tempering. Remarkable, beautiful craftsmanship. She wondered where it came from and how Eda had acquired it.
Setting the lantern gently back on the shelf, her eyes fell on a photo album. On the front, Eda and Erol smiled out at her, standing arm in arm with an older couple Augusta assumed was their parents. The tall, middle-aged man—with a large mustache and a bit of a paunch—had the same olive skin and jet black hair as Erol and Eda. She smiled to herself. Is this what Erol would like in twenty years?
The older woman, with her arms wrapped around her children, wore a purple scarf over her hair as she smiled up at the camera. Even in middle age she was quite beautiful, with that wide, angular face she had clearly passed down to her son and daughter. But Augusta sensed a sadness beneath her smile that no one else in her family shared. Perhaps not sadness, just not happiness. How does a melancholy woman have such cheerful children, Augusta wondered.
She flipped through the other pages in the album. Pictures of Eda and Erol at school, pictures of the family by the sea, pictures at weddings with other relatives. Augusta always enjoyed family photo albums—those private glimpses into other people’s worlds. She felt herself relax as she skimmed through the pages, now seeing for herself some of the memories her friends had joked about at dinner last night.
The apartment intercom buzzed loudly. Augusta jumped, then realized Erol must be downstairs ready for her. She carefully inserted the photo album back into its slot on the shelf. Grabbing her daypack and Erol’s lunchbox, she let herself out the front door, making sure it clicked closed behind her.
In the elevator she double-checked the old book in her backpack. Everything was in order. She zipped her bag closed, slung it over her shoulder, and stepped out into the lobby, smiling politely at the security guard sitting at the front desk. It wasn’t Yusuf anymore, but a young man who looked to be about her own age. He had the same blue uniform and gun holster around his waist, but he didn’t look nearly as chatty as Yusuf. The new guard nodded stiffly to Augusta as she passed through the lobby, opening the heavy metal door onto the sunshine outside.
Erol was leaning against a low wall, tapping on his phone, and he looked up and grinned broadly when Augusta emerged from the doorway. “Good morning. They’re waiting for us at the museum. Let’s go.”
She was just about to ask which way, when a dark blur came at them from out of nowhere. A man in a black hoodie barreled toward them at high speed and ripped the backpack from her shoulder, shoving her down toward the ground as he jerked the bag away from her. As Augusta fell on her hands and knees, she saw him take off down the sidewalk in the other direction, dodging pedestrians and rounding the next corner. Her backpack, and the book, vanished from sight.
Erol stood still for a moment, taking in this unexpected turn of events, then sprinted off after the man in the hoodie. He dashed down the sidewalk, nimbly darting between the pedestrians who were now gawking at him, and turned the corner where the assailant had vanished. A few minutes later she saw him jog back around the corner toward her, empty-handed, shaking his head.
Augusta, meanwhile, had picked herself up and was wiping her bleeding hands on her jeans. “Are you ok?” Erol shouted as he approached. “Did he hurt you? Let me see your hands.”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Augusta told him as he grabbed both of her hands, holding them out to inspect the damage. “But he got the book! It was in my bag. Did you see who it was?”
“No.” Erol dropped her hands. His jaw was clenched, and Augusta was surprised to see genuine anger on his normally cheerful face. It had never occurred to her that Erol could get angry. In all the pictures in the photo album, in all the time she’d spent with him so far, he had never once looked capable of fury. But now, stretched up to his full height, glowering down the street after the thief, he seemed intimidating. She realized for the first time that he could mean business when he wanted to.
“But I think I know who stole it.”
“Who?”
“Come inside.” He jerked his head back toward Eda’s apartment building. “Let’s go back in and get you cleaned up. Then I’ll tell you my plan.” He paused and held the solid metal door open for her, a faraway look in his eye.
“We’re going to visit the island.”