I saw the mob and khe Erzurumis had begun slaying us witty miniaturists.
Black was also in the crowd watg the attack. I saw him holding a dagger apanied by a group of odd-lookihe well-knowher the clothier and other women carrying cloth sacks. I had an urge to flee after seeing the establishment cruelly wrecked and the coffeehouse-goers beaten mercilessly as they tried to leave. Later, another mob, perhaps the Janissaries, arrived. The Erzurumis snuffed out their torches and fled.
There was nobody at the dark entrance of the coffeehouse, and no one was looking. I walked inside. Everything was in shambles. I stepped on the shattered cups, plates, glasses and bowls. An oil lamp hanging from a nail high on the wall hadn』t died out during the turmoil but only illumihe soot marks on the ceiling, leaving in darkhe floor strewn with the boards of wrecked wood benches, broken low tables and other debris.
Stag long cushions atop one another, I reached up and grabbed hold of the oil lamp. Within its circle of light, I noticed bodies lying on the floor. When I saw that one face was covered in blood, I turned away, ao the . The sed body was moaning, and upon seeing my lamp, made a childlike noise.
Someone else entered. At first I was alarmed, though I could se was Black. The both of us leaned over the third body sprawled on the floor. As I lowered the lamp to his head, we saw what we』d suspected: They』d killed the storyteller.
There was no trace of blood on his face, which was made up like a woman』s, but his , brow and rouge-covered mouth were battered, and judging by his neck, covered in bruises, he』d been throttled. His hands were cast backward over his head oher side. It wasn』t difficult to figure out that one of them held the old man』s arms behind his back while the others beat him in the face before strangling him. I wonder, had they said, 「Cut out his tongue so he never again slanders his Excellency the Preacher Hoja Effendi,」 and the about doing so?
「Bring the lamp here,」 said Blaear the stove, the light of the lamp struck broken coffee grinders, sieves, scales and pieces of broken coffee cups lying in the mud of spilled coffee. In the er where the storyteller hung his pictures eaight, Black was searg for the performer』s props, sash, magi』s handkerchief and popping stick. Black said he was after the pictures ahe lamp he』d taken from me to my face: Yes, of course I』d drawn two of them out of a sense of fraternity. We could find nothing but the Persian skullcap that the deceased wore over his perfectly shaved head.
Seeing no one else, we exited into the blaess of night through a narrow passageway that led away from the back door. During the raid much of the crowd and the artists within probably escaped through this door, but the knocked-over planters and bags of coffee strewn everywhere indicated that there was a struggle here as well.
The fact that the coffeehouse was raided and the master storyteller murdered, coupled with the terrifying blaess of night, brought Blad I clether. This was also what caused the sileween us. We passed two more streets. Black hahe lamp bae, then he drew his dagger and pressed it to my throat.
「We』re going to your house,」 he said. 「I want to search it so I put my mind at ease.」
「It』s already been searched.」
Rather than be offended by him, I had the urge to tease him. Didn』t Black』s belief in the disgraceful rumors about me simply prove he was als