The Panther and The Pearl (21 page)

Chapter 9

Achmed’s silence was eloquent.

“All of her food is tasted in the Bird House, along with the pasha’s!” Memtaz said.

“What else but poison could cause such a sudden attack?” Achmed countered. “She was fine earlier today, wasn’t she?”

“She seemed fine,” Memtaz replied, glancing over at the couch where Sarah lay moaning.

“I want a list of exactly what she had to eat all day yesterday and today,” Achmed said grimly, and walked toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Memtaz asked fearfully. She did not want to be left alone with this problem.

“To tell the pasha what has happened,” Achmed replied. “He would want to know immediately if Sarah is in danger.”

Memtaz looked after him unhappily and then went back into Sarah’s bed chamber. Doctor Shakoz was now peeling back Sarah’s eyelids, then looking inside her mouth at her gums and down into her throat. The doctor’s wiry salt and pepper hair, prominent nose and scientific air seemed out of place in the feminine bower of the harem.

He was the only man other than the pasha and the eunuchs permitted to see the harem women unveiled.

“What can I do?” Memtaz asked him in Greek, which she spoke sparingly.

“Get me a better light,” he grunted.

Memtaz complied, and Sarah winced at the glare of the oil lamp the servant handed to the doctor. By the time he had adjusted it to his satisfaction Kalid had burst into the room.

The servants present bowed as Doctor Shakoz continued his work.
 

“What’s wrong with her?” Kalid demanded, falling to his knees next to Sarah’s couch. “Has she caught a fever?” He put his hand to her brow.
 

Sarah closed her eyes and sighed with relief when the pasha touched her.

“I think not,” the doctor replied, switching to Turkish.

“Then what? Tell me!”

“Perhaps we should discuss this alone,” the doctor said circumspectly, moving to the other side of the room, out of Sarah’s earshot.

“You can speak in front of these servants,” Kalid said impatiently. “What is it?”

“I think this woman has been poisoned.”

Kalid looked as if he had been slapped. He murmured a curse in Turkish under his breath. “With what?” he finally said aloud, raking his hair back distractedly with his hand.

The doctor shrugged. “Some alkaloid toxin. Mercury, lye mixed with ash, one of the arsenicals. It’s difficult to say. But from the color of her mouth and the severe intestinal spasms she is suffering, I would say arsenic.”

“
Arzenig
,” Memtaz whispered, horrified.

“Arsenopyrite,” the doctor went on pedantically. “Usually gray, brittle flakes. It has a bitter taste when ingested.”

“I don’t need a chemistry lesson, man, what is the antidote?” Kalid demanded, seizing the doctor’s shoulders.

“Egg white and milk to coat the digestive tract and hinder absorption,” the doctor replied, staring up at Kalid. “But she has already absorbed some part of it or she wouldn’t be having this reaction.”

“Run to the kitchen and get the egg whites and milk,” Kalid said to Memtaz, who shot out of the room. He turned to Achmed. “What did she eat most recently?”

Achmed repeated what Memtaz had told him.

“The olives would disguise the bitter taste,” Doctor Shakoz offered.

“Is it safe for her to be moved?” Kalid asked Doctor Shakoz urgently.

“It wouldn’t hurt. Fresh air would even help, she needs as much oxygen as possible.”

“Have her carried her on a litter to my apartment”, Kalid said to the khislar, who went into the hall to give the order to the eunuchs on duty. “And send a servant after Memtaz to tell her to come to my quarters in the mabeyn at once with the antidote,” Kalid called after him.
 

“Why are you taking her there?” the doctor asked.

“I have the northeast corner of the palace, there is a cross breeze almost all the time,” Kalid replied.

The doctor nodded, not fooled for a minute. He had heard about the pasha’s ardor for his American ikbal.

“Someone had to plan this very well,” Kalid said grimly, shooting a glance at Sarah, who was quieter now, but half conscious. “They had to get the poison, pass it into the hands of a confederate who could taint the food, and then wait for the right dish to be served that would cover the taste.” His eyes became narrow and hard. “Someone wanted to harm Sarah very badly.”
 

He watched lingeringly as she was carried past him and then he followed the litter out of the room.

“Could she die?” he asked the doctor, who was walking hurriedly at his side, trying to keep up with the taller man. Kalid had delayed asking the question, afraid to hear the answer.

The doctor shrugged. “Impossible to say. It would depend on how much of the poison she ingested.”

“She never eats much,” Kalid said.

“That is good,” Doctor Shakoz said, nodding. “If she ate only a little of the olive dish she probably didn’t get much of the poison, just enough to produce the malaise and the spasms you saw. She is young and healthy, no? There is a strong chance she can throw this off and recover.”

“But if she had consumed the whole dish she would be dead,” Kalid said flatly.

“Most likely.”

Kalid considered that.

Whoever had poisoned Sarah did not know that she was a light eater.

Once they got Sarah settled in Kalid’s antechamber and Dr. Shakoz had administered the first dose of the antidote the pasha turned to Achmed and said, “I want the entire kitchen staff assembled in my audience room immediately.”

Achmed stared at him.

“They are all sleeping, master.”

Kalid gazed back at him as if the khislar were deranged. “I know they are all sleeping, Achmed. Wake them up! And get Turhan Aga in here and the captain of the janissaries as well. I want the kitchen staff’s living quarters searched from top to bottom while the workers are away from their rooms, and anything unusual or suspicious reported to me immediately. Is that understood?”

“It may not have been a kitchen worker, master. Quite a few other slaves handle the food, cooking it and transporting it and serving it.”

“I know that,” Kalid said. “I’m just starting with the kitchen staff. I intend to take this palace apart bit by bit until I find the person responsible for Sarah’s illness. And I want reports on Sarah’s condition brought to me every thirty minutes from the doctor, and several pots of strong coffee brewed and sent here to me as soon as possible.” He looked around him grimly. “I think it will be a long night.”

Nesime was terrified. She was so terrified that she was hardly able to answer the questions the pasha put to her, despite his best efforts to calm her.

“I did nothing wrong,” she sobbed, looking over at Memtaz, hoping that the senior servant would come to her aid. “I took the ikbal’s food to the harem as I always do, there was nothing different about last night.”

“There was no one else in the kitchen when you left?” Kalid asked her.
 

“Just the cooks.”

“Which cooks?”

“Selim the Armenian and Kemal Murad.”

Kalid nodded, satisfied that this girl was guiltless.

“Send in the Armenian,” he said to the khislar. To the kitchen skivvy he said, “You may go.”

Nesime fled in floods of relieved tears, blotting her face with the edge of her sleeve, pushing her way past the crowd lined up in the hall. They were waiting to be interviewed one by one.

The cook came into the pasha’s presence, his white hat in his hand, looking around at Memtaz and Achmed, the only other occupants of the audience room. The sky beyond the leaded windows was just beginning to get light; Kalid had been conducting this interrogation for hours.

“Did you prepare the harem food last night for the evening meal?” Kalid asked him.

“Some of it, master.”

“An olive compote brought to the ikbal’s chamber?”

The Armenian shook his head.

“Who made that dish?”

“Kemal Murad.”

“Send him to me. You may go.”

Selim left, wiping his brow with his forearm, and seconds later Kemal Murad entered the room and bowed.

“I understand you prepared an olive compote that was served to the ikbal last evening,” the pasha said.

Murad stared at him, silent.

“Is this true?” Kalid barked.

Murad nodded.

“And did you put poison in it?” Kalid asked quietly.

“No, master.”

“Did anyone ask you to add a grayish, flaky substance to it, perhaps saying that it was a spice?”

“No, master.”

Kalid stared at him a few seconds more and then waved his hand dismissively.

“Amazing,” he said sarcastically to Achmed, when the cook had left. “The woman is given arsenic in her food and nobody knows how it got there. I suppose an evil jinni slipped into the kitchens and spat into the dish.”

Turhan Aga appeared in the doorway and Kalid waved him into the room.

“What have you found?” Kalid said.

The captain of the halberdiers held up a necklace, sparkling indigo and amber in the light of the oil lamps.

“What is it?” Kalid asked.

“The ikbal’s necklace,” Memtaz interjected. “I told Sarah that it was missing. I thought it had been stolen.”

“Why wasn’t I told of this?” Achmed inquired.

“I thought I should have told you, but Sarah said not to bother you with it, so I obeyed my mistress.”

“Where did you find it?” Kalid asked Turhan.

“One of my men found it inside the straw mattress on Kemal Murad’s bed.”

“The cook who was just here?” Kalid said.

Turhan nodded.

“How would he have gotten it?” Achmed asked.

“Perhaps he received it as a bribe,” Turhan suggested. “It’s very valuable, isn’t it?”

“A bribe from whom?” Kalid said impatiently. “If it was stolen anyone could have given it to him.”

“I know who had it last,” Memtaz piped up quickly.

All eyes turned to her.

“Fatma,” she said.

Kalid looked at her and they all saw the impact of that piece of information in his face.

“And there’s something else,” Memtaz said. “Some time ago Fatma offered my mistress a dish of raspberry sherbet in the tepidarium. I told her not to eat it and Sarah pretended to drop it, smashing the dish.”

Kalid studied her, realizing with horror that the olive compote may not have been Fatma’s first attempt on Sarah’s life. The sugary syrup of the sherbet would have disguised the bitterness of the arsenic just as well as olives.

“You should have informed me!” Achmed said sternly. “All such incidents should be reported at once. We could have tested the sherbet on an animal to see if it was poisoned.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Kalid said wearily. “Memtaz, you did well in telling Sarah not to eat the dessert. Go and rest in the bedchamber with your mistress. If your loyalty to Sarah caused you to shirk your duty to the khislar I will not fault you for it.”

Memtaz left as Achmed folded his arms disgustedly.

“Don’t pout, my friend,” Kalid said to him. “I need you for what’s to come.” He sat back and said softly, “Fatma. I should have guessed it, I suppose, but I thought she was too much in love with herself to risk her life this way. She had to know that it would be death for her if she were caught.”

“Jealousy does strange things,” Turhan said.
 

Kalid sat forward again. “Get Murad back in here,” he said quietly to the khislar. “And bring Fatma from the harem. Now.”

The pasha and Turhan Aga exchanged glances as Achmed strode briskly from the room.

“So she should make a complete recovery,” Kalid said to the doctor, who nodded.

“She’s out of danger now,” Shakoz said. “ I will administer a purgative once she’s strong enough to tolerate it and that will eliminate the rest of the poison from her system.”

“Can I see her now?” Kalid asked.

“Not yet. She should rest. Soon, perhaps this evening.”

Kalid nodded. “Thank you, doctor. You may go back to your patient.”

Once the doctor left Kalid looked at his grandmother and said, “I want a public execution, to take place tomorrow.”

They were sitting in the inner chamber of his apartment; Sarah and Memtaz were in the next room. Kosem raised her pipe to her lips and said, “Has the cook confessed?”

Kalid nodded. “To looking the other way as Fatma doctored the dish of olives.”

“And what does Fatma say?”

“She screams and cries and denies everything. She is a coward and will die like one.”

Kosem sighed. “I wish you had awakened me when this first happened. I had many experiences dealing with poisons when I was a young girl. The harem then was a very dangerous place, not like it is now, all games and sweets and smoking the nargileh, with just the occasional incident like this one to liven things up a bit. In the old days favorites fell like leaves from trees and rivals were eliminated with one tainted cup of coffee.”