“It seems that interest in the map comes in waves,” said Sir Edward, “though it has been ages. Not long after I opened the shop, some fellows asked for it. Two odd fellows, indeed.”
“Were they dressed in black with bloomers and bonnets?” asked Noah.
Pamina laughed loud and deeply. Sir Edward smiled. “No, young man, they were not. One was very thin and fidgety, touching everything and opening books and running his finger along the shelves as if checking for dust. The other was a very big, muscular man. Both had great moustaches, so enormous I wondered if they were enhanced by artifice. Odd to have false moustaches. I shan’t forget them.”
“But you didn’t tell them anything, did you?” Noah said, suddenly worried.
“Goodness, no.” Sir Edward shook his head. “Even then, when I had only the short poem, I felt that it was important, perhaps historically valuable, and these fellows gave me a shiver up my spine.”
As well they should, thought Noah.
“Pamina had a poke at the map hunting, but was not very successful, I’m afraid.” Sir Edward beamed at his niece.
“You see, I never really knew what the map was for,” she admitted. “‘The Map shall not know the secret held/The hidden ways/ The winding truth …blah blah blah, you know, the poem…I was hoping for a treasure or some kind of adventure. I thought, you know, treasure map. There had been something about a tomb and a map. I had heard of the greatest cartographer, as well as the most highly recognized historian of maps, this Corlyss Swayne. Alas, I never did get a meeting with Corlyss Swayne. Truth be told, I don’t know anyone who has.”
Images of an imposing figure, complete with a great beard and large stick, filled Noah’s head. Would this Corlyss Swayne fellow send me packing? Or worse?
“So no one has met him?” Noah gulped. He gulped, but with that gulp he felt his determination grow.
“Not that I’m aware,” said Pamina, picking through the treats again and finding the last chocolate. “Some folks are afraid. Some just never seemed to make it work for them. Corlyss Swayne is a tricky, mysterious figure.”
“Where can he be found?” Noah asked, taking the treat Pamina handed him and popping it into his mouth.
“There is a shop in the Khan,” said Sir Edward. “I’ve heard that Corlyss Swayne can receive visitors there.”
“I’ve heard there’s a secret peephole,” said Pamina, “where Corlyss Swayne looks through and decides whether to receive visitors or not. Apparently you’re supposed to send a calling card ahead of time and then, and only then, will you be granted a meeting. Or not.”
“I’ve not got any,” said Noah. “Calling cards, that is.”
Sir Edward brought out a calling-card sized piece of parchment and handed it and a fountain pen, with metal nib, to Noah. “Here, you can make your own.”
In the children’s castle lab, Lucy continued reading about the Ottoman court of the mid-16th century from a book titled, The Reign of Suleiman. Faye searched through the books she had pulled from shelves, determined to find more on Suleiman’s reign.
Jasper plastered himself to the microscope. For him, science was an escape from reading endless pages of history, and chemistry the place where he might find some answers. He wanted to find something concrete, something he could understand. At least some of the answer had to be in his bracelet and Wallace’s coin.
Wallace was starting to build a tiny motor capable of running a very small engine. He had built a butterfly out of paper and wanted to see if he could get it to fly with the motor.
Jasper suddenly jumped back. “I found it! It’s iridium,” he said with a note of “Eureka!” in his voice. “So that means…it contains holmium and iridium, as well as indium and erbium. And Germanium?”
Jasper’s “Eureka!” was met by complete mystification from the others. Jasper scratched his head. He and Wallace had begun the exploration of the alloys in Wallace’s coin. Wallace still had not been able to identify several of the metals, but what they did find only got stranger and stranger. Now, Jasper had identified five elements. Iridium was the second densest element of all the metals on the periodic table.
Osmium, of which there seemed to be thankfully little, was denser but far more toxic. No signs of osmium were found in the bracelets, Jasper was relieved to conclude. The thought of Lucy nibbling on osmium made him queasy. Erbium could be used to increase the light output, and holmium could be used to increase the magnetic function.
Germanium, which Jasper had found before the iridium, was invisible to infrared light. Why on Earth were these metals used to make this coin? It was beyond comprehension. Of course, considering what they had seen the coin do in Solemano, they should not have been surprised.
“Good work, Jasper,” Wallace said, pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket. He’d been making a list of the elements they discovered, making a mental note of the questions still remaining. He jotted down Jasper’s discovery of the presence of iridium, and the date, and then examined the list. Only a few unrecognizable elements eluded them. For now.
With a sigh, he folded the paper and returned it to his pocket. They were getting closer to solving the mystery of what elements were present in the coin, but they still didn’t know why the coin was made in the first place. Wallace turned back to his project and sighed. He was still having trouble with the paper butterfly.
“Use copper wire,” Lucy suggested, without even looking up from her book. She stood up and cut a length of copper wire from a spool that was among their supplies. “You can create a magnetic pull for a battery and have the engine work that way, too. Then the butterfly and engine are all the same thing instead of two.”
“I think…yes, I know what you mean, Lucy,” Wallace said. “The wings themselves aid the motor, which, in turn, moves the wings. It’s a closed system.”
Lucy had deftly bent the wire into the shape of a lovely butterfly. She cut the wings and, using the pliers, made little hinges, then rolled the copper wire around the case that held Wallace’s magnetic battery. She handed Wallace the butterfly and returned to her book.
“Can the two of you play with that later?” Faye growled from her pile of books. “We need some information. I can’t get through these all on my own.”
They all went back to the books and the room became a quiet shuffle of pages for nearly an hour. Wallace discovered in the book, The Magnificence of Suleiman, that something went wrong during the rule of Suleiman, the Kanunî Sultan. But Wallace could not seem to find out exactly what it was. The great Suleiman must have suffered a terrible injury or heartbreak. But Wallace had to find out more before he shared his findings.
“Did you find more on Suleiman?” said Faye from over Wallace’s shoulder. It made him jump. Faye had been watching Wallace shake his head behind the large book he was reading. He had to have found something.
Wallace scratched his scalp. “Here it says that Suleiman was, indeed, a great ruler. We knew that. He, of course, lived in Constantinople and was the leader of the Ottoman Empire for 46 years starting in 1520. He was quite young for king or Kanunî sultan, that is. People loved him. Here’s a picture of him.” He showed her the painting of Suleiman.
“Did everyone wear those bubbly head baskets back then?” asked Lucy, who had found other drawings like that.
“What else?” Faye said, ignoring Lucy. She already knew most of what Wallace read aloud and it wasn’t getting them any closer.
“He had ten children and three ‘consorts,’ but only one of the women was his own true love. Yes?” Wallace looked at Faye, who then had her nose in The Ruling of an Empire.
“Yes, this agrees that he had ten children and three consorts, women with whom he was intimately connected. And, yes, he officially married only one.” Faye’s eyebrows went up.
“How romantic, don’t you think?” Lucy imagined Suleiman on one knee in front of the lovely Hürrem Sultan.
“I don’t know if it was as romantic for the other two women in his
life. Did they happen all at once, these great loves?” Faye ignored Lucy’s mortified look.
“I’m not sure,” said Wallace. “It indicates there was only one true love, and that the first two consorts were not exactly wives. Then there was Hürrem Sultan,” said Wallace. “She had been in his harem and he fell in love with her.”
“Hürrem Sultan was so lovely,” said Lucy, gazing at the painting. “Wasn’t she, Faye?”
“I suppose, as if that matters.” Faye ignored the quick look shared between Jasper and Wallace. Jasper turned back to the microscope but could feel his cheeks blushing hot red. Faye was always a little uncomfortable when it came to the subject of female physical beauty. She had always been told how beautiful she was and resented it. To be praised for something she was born with and had no control over seemed ridiculous. Faye was an inventor and did all sorts of amazing things. Those were the things for which she desired praise.
“She was from what they called Ukraina,” said Wallace, “and was a slave. He, um, fell in love with her because of her ‘profound beauty, humor, cleverness, and caring.’ She became very powerful because of her wit.”
“You see,” Faye nodded. “He loved her for her wit.”
“And beauty?” asked Lucy.
“Beauty isn’t such an important thing, Lucy,” Faye scolded. “Did you make yourself beautiful? Did you give yourself big beautiful brown eyes?”
“I have big beautiful brown eyes?” Lucy beamed and blinked.
“The point is that beauty is more than what is on your face,” said Faye, who had a very cross look on her own face. “What’s on your face wasn’t something you did but something you were given. It really has nothing to do with you, yet it will be how others judge you your whole life.”
“Were you born looking cross?” asked Lucy in earnest. “Or did you put that look on your face?”
Everyone else was silent. Faye’s beautiful cheeks suddenly blushed. Jasper blushed into his microscope, and Wallace hid behind the pages of his tall book. Lucy continued to blink and beam with her beautiful brown eyes.
Wallace, ignoring Faye’s groan, cleared his throat. “Um, yes, Lucy. Apparently, Hürrem was beautiful.” He continued reading aloud: “And the sultan loved her beyond all words. He loved her so much that he married her. In those days, in the Ottoman Empire, the mothers of the heirs, the children of the king, were not wives, but consorts who, once the children were of age, would be sent away with their children, who were to rule some far-away province within the realm of the sultan. But Suleiman kept Hürrem Sultan close, for the rest of her life, it seems.” A piece of parchment slipped from the book “‘From the Shelves of The Archivist,’ it says.”
“Did they have children?” asked Lucy. “Oh, I found it! Yes! I found it, I found it! They had six. Five sons and one daughter. Mehmed, the eldest son, then the daughter, Mihirimah. Then Abdullah, Selim, Bayezid, Cihangir. And it must be true because there’s a bookmark that says ‘From the Shelves of the Archivst’ right inside.”
“Aha, I like this Suleiman fellow,” said Faye, turning the page of her book. “It says here that his daughter fought beside him, or at least went into battle with him. And she was the one who suggested the invasion of Malta. And this, too, has a note about The Archivist.’”
“There is something here—a drawing that shows seven children,” said Wallace, counting again. “Yes, seven, not six.”
“Who is the other one?” asked Lucy.
“It could be that his eldest son was included in the painting,” suggested Wallace, looking back through other drawings of Suleiman’s family members. “According to this, he adored Mustafa, the eldest son. Apparently, the boy was the heir to the throne and was very popular. Everyone loved him—the people, the other siblings—especially Suleiman.” Wallace’s nose was deep in his book. “Goodness, you won’t believe this.”
“What is it?” Faye looked up from her own book.
Reading on, Wallace’s face fell. “There must be a mistake. It says that the eldest son, Mustafa, was killed …”
“How?” asked Faye.
“Was there an accident?” Jasper asked.
Wallace shook his head. “He was killed…by order of the king.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” said Faye looking back to what she had found in her book. “Here it says he was executed. Wait, here it says that the king tried to stop the execution but was too late. It was on the order of the grand vizier. The grand vizier was also the husband of his daughter. Now that is truly disgusting.”
“Wait, I found something.” Jasper stood up, eyes wide, holding the book. “According to this, the vizier, who was from Croatia, had been brought to Constantinople as a child, but little else was said in any book they could find. They did find notes that indicated that there were two young men, from the same camp, brought to Constantinople and, eventually, to Suleiman. The two found their way into the inner circle of the palace. Yes, here, it says, ‘Rüstem Pasha Opuković, married Mihirimah, Suleiman’s daughter. This was at the urging of Hürrem Sultan, her mother.’” Jasper replaced the bookmark that referred to The Archivist when it fell from the pages of the book.
“Apparently,” he continued, “the young woman despised her husband, and that tore at her relationship with her mother, whom she loved dearly. Mihirimah spent much time away from her ‘unhappy union.’ It seems that this is when she spent months at a time away with her father on military campaigns. Nobody seemed to like either of these men. Nobody trusted Rustem, including his wife, the young princess and…oh, no …”
“What?” asked Faye.
Jasper’s eye widened again. “It says, ‘There were even rumors that Rustem wore a false beard to make himself look more important. His companion, it seemed, became the advisor to Hürrem Sultan. Not much was said about this advisor, in the beginning, only that… that…that there was something wrong with his mustache.’”
“Don’t smudge it,” warned Pamina. She had offered to hand write the calling card for Noah after witnessing his failed attempt to make his own. After accidentally tearing the paper and dripping ink instead of writing with it, Noah was presently attempting to wipe the ink from his hands and, for some reason, his elbow. He had created more of an ink splotch than anything resembling writing so he turned over the job to more capable hands. Pamina’s writing was elegant and she dripped no ink.
“Thank you,” Noah said, gingerly taking the card. “Do you think that, maybe, since the poet wrote about the map, Corlyss Swayne will know what the connection is, or know what it means…or if there is a connection?”
“Who can say?” said Pamina, doubtful from her own map-hunt experience. “I hope the card helps you get to Swayne, though don’t bet your hat on it.”
Sir Edward wrote down other resources for the poet, Muhabbi. “It is also written Muhhubi, Muhibbi, Mahibi, Muhaabi, and other iterations of the name. You can find a great deal about him in his poems. And there are many sources of information about him.”
Noah wasn’t as concerned about biographical information. The poems seemed to hint at a lot of things that might lead somewhere. Were they clues? Would Corlyss Swayne be willing to help? Noah couldn’t help but feel the ticking of the clock. Could time be running out?
“Thank you, Sir Edward.” Noah shook the librarian’s hand. “I’m sure I’ll be in touch.”
“I do hope so, son,” said Sir Edward, “There are a few more things I’d like to share with you before you leave. I feel I’m forgetting something important, but I cannot seem to remember what it was.”
“You can send word, if you remember. I’m at …” Noah realized he could not say where he was. “Rather, I will come by your shop tomorrow after I meet with Corlyss Swayne.”
“Meet with Corlyss Swayne?” Pamina guffawed. “Aren’t you the optimist, Jimmy. You think you can just skip along to the Khan and tip your hat to Corlyss Swayne?”
“Well, no…yes…not…I…no…”
“I don’t think
you’ve heard us, Jimmy. No one simply goes and has tea and biscuits with Corlyss Swayne,” scolded Pamina. “Corlyss Swayne is very selective. He has a long history of rejecting visitors. No one, at least no one I know, has ever, ever, even seen the elusive Corlyss Swayne. It could be they won’t admit to seeing Swayne or aren’t allowed to admit it, I don’t know. There are always rumors. There are rumors of doors being opened in the late hours of the night and visitors gaining entry. Never has anyone had luck during the day. Again, so I have heard.”
“So the fellow is a night owl,” said Noah. “I’ll go at night.”
“Very well,” said Sir Edward. “I will hopefully have something for you then.”
“Where are you off to now?” asked Pamina, who could see Noah gathering his things into his leather satchel.
“I’m going to the Mena House,” he said. “My mother was heading there after her performance. I need to find out if anyone there knows anything that might help us find her.”
Pamina dusted the crumbs from her lap and followed Noah to the door and outside. “Come on, I’ll give you a lift.” She untethered her horse. “Need a leg up?”
“I…um…I…” Noah didn’t know what to say, but saying “no thanks” to Pamina seemed wholly wrong. Before he could answer properly, she had effortlessly climbed onto the back of her rather formidable white stallion. Noah climbed up with significantly more effort and a great deal less grace.
To the rather anxious brother in black, he said, “Pamina’s just giving me a ride over.” Noah pointed across and up the road a short way to the entrance of the Mena House. The brother quickly turned the carriage around to follow Noah.
Pamina had no intention of taking a slow and easy ride. She reared the horse up, gave a loud “whoop,” and off they went as if riding a white demon.
“There’s no rush, really,” said Noah, who gulped in dirt and sand that the horse kicked up in its furious race. Pamina, he was sure, had not heard a single word.
The Strange Round Bird: Or the Poet, the King, and the Mysterious Men in Black Page 16