Blue Voyage

by Diana Renn

  Mustafa was a worse taskmaster than my mom. When he wasn’t giving his son orders, he would brush lint off Nazif’s shirt, or tell him to tuck in his shirttail, or fix his hair, or stand up straighter. Every critical comment from his dad just seemed to chip away at Nazif. By midday, he was slouching so much he was the shape of a question mark. It was strange to see all this, how different they were up close. From across the rooftop, I’d thought they were a totally together family. Now I just wanted to give Nazif a huge hug. But he probably didn’t want to be hugged by someone like me.

  When Mustafa finally went out for a break, Nazif rushed over to me.

  “,” he said, showing me a piece of paper where he’d written out the word. “This is a neighborhood near the Grand Bazaar. I think it is where you will find your friend.”

  “I can’t just wander around a whole neighborhood looking for her, can I?”

  He turned the paper over and showed me a list of more names. “These are all businesses in the neighborhood that also use the name Caalolu,” he said. “Do any of these sound like a place where Sage would go?”

  I studied the list of restaurants, clothing boutiques, jewelery stores, and cafés. Then, near the bottom, Caalolu Hammam caught my eye.

  “A hammam!” I exclaimed. “Now I remember she mentioned there was a hammam near the Grand Bazaar that she loved. And I thought I heard water on the voice mail message.”

  “I can understand why she would hide there,” said Nazif. “The men’s and women’s quarters are separate. Lazar and Vasil cannot enter the women’s side.”

  “But they could send a female to get her, couldn’t they? I mean, if they can find someone to write a note that sounds like Sage, I’m sure they could find someone to go look for her in a bathhouse.”

  “Of course,” said Nazif. “This is why you must go there as soon as possible.”

  “I will,” I said. “Oh, and I’m going to do it without breaking and entering this time. I know how I can get in the front door this very afternoon.”

  Nazif smiled, the warmth returning to his face and filling me up as well.

  I bounded up the stairs to the roof, where Mom was oiling furniture in preparation for tomorrow night’s party. She had plenty of company. Fiona and Alice were pruning the roses and the geraniums. Ingrid was sweeping, and Maeve was polishing a samovar. Milton and Nils were setting up a makeshift wire fence around the perimeter of the roof, unrolling the wire and nailing it to stakes. And Aunt Jackie was sitting on a sofa, working on spreadsheets on her iPad.

  “Oh my God, you guys,” I said. “You do realize you’re not on a boat anymore, don’t you? The city awaits. Adventure beckons.” I wished I could remember the Freya Stark quote about the clicking lock.

  Everyone stared at me with blank expressions.

  “I mean, should we all go somewhere? Do something?” I persisted.

  “We have explored, sweetie. And I’m knackered,” said Maeve. “All that shopping yesterday and the sightseeing this morning did me in. I need to recover.”

  “And we had quite a tour already today,” said Ingrid. “Erdem Tabak took us personally around the best of Istanbul.”

  “Where’d you go?” Mom asked.

  “We all met at the Galata Tower, then went on a Bosphorus cruise,” Ingrid replied. “After that, Taksim Square. Oh, and we even saw the Lycian Society headquarters, which happened to be nearby.”

  I chilled at the mention of the Lycian Society. I now thought of the place as a crime scene—partly because of the workshop I’d seen there, partly because of my own actions last night.

  New worries took root in my mind. What if someone had reported seeing two kids on the fire escape last night, maybe someone from the restaurant next door? What if I’d left behind my footprints in the gold dust, or my fingerprints on the windowsill? The police could be called. Legitimate police might investigate the break-in and find the workshop in the process—so that was good—but if any evidence got traced back to me, I could get in serious trouble. I already had a rap sheet in Turkey. And if corrupt police answered a call about a suspected break-in? They would tip off Lazar and he’d be after me in a heartbeat. Either way, I was screwed.

  I eyed Nazif’s rooftop longingly. I wanted to break down that makeshift fence, leap to his roof, hide myself in his family’s lush grape arbor and never come out again.

  “Anyway, we got here, and we thought we’d help your mother,” chirped Alice. “Kitsie has so much to do with this party, and your aunt was so generous booking us into these rooms at a discount. Helping out is the least we can do. Though I wish you’d let me help cook. I’m pretty handy in the kitchen.”

  Mom smiled mysteriously. “Oh, we’re covered on the food,” she said. “Jackie’s going to make a special dish, and the rest we’re having catered.” She passed me a cardboard box. “Zan, will you please look through this party box of your aunt’s and see if there are any decorations?”

  I opened the box and started pulling out strands of little white lanterns, thinking frantically about how I had to get to that hammam to see Sage. I was so nervous imagining how the police or Lazar might come haul me out of here at any moment that I could hardly work my fingers. I tried to untangle a strand of lights and ended up only making it worse.

  Mom sank into a chair. “My God. I don’t know when I’ve felt so exhausted.”

  I spun around eagerly. Maybe a little too eagerly. “Yeah, you look tired,” I agreed. “Really tired.”

  “In what way? Like, older?” She patted her face. “That’s not good. The local press is coming to the party. We’re going to be putting pictures up on the website, too.”

  “You just look like you could use a good night’s sleep. Or a spa day.”

  “Oh, a spa day.” She smiled wistfully. “Doesn’t that sound nice.”

  “I know of a spa,” I said carefully. “A Turkish hammam. It’s near the Grand Bazaar. Just a short taxi ride away. We could all go. As a treat to your volunteers,” I added, gesturing to the ladies.

  Mom got that glint in her eyes. “Yes. We could. What a lovely idea. And we’d have just enough time to do it before my meeting with the caterer.”

  It was raining when we got into the taxi, and pouring by the time we pulled up in front of the hammam. Water raced down the streets, beat down on us, and rushed into grates along the sidewalks. I followed Mom and the women from the Blue Voyage, who giggled and whispered as they filed into the stone stairwell.

  All the women had come except for Aunt Jackie; her doctor had advised against steam baths. She didn’t sound too upset about staying behind. I had a feeling she was going to pick up the phone and call Inspector Lale, and I couldn’t afford an untimely visit from the police wrecking my plans. So I’d crept under the front desk and unplugged the land line, and then—feeling sick to my stomach about it—I’d taken Aunt Jackie’s cell phone out of her purse, powered it down, and hid it in a potted plant. I just needed to buy myself some time, and it was the only way I could be sure I would get it.

  In the taxi, I felt relieved to be zooming away from the hotel. Even though I’d taken nothing but pictures, I knew I’d committed a crime by entering the Lycian Society building after hours. I wanted to deal with embassy officials, not the police. But Lazar might come looking for me, if I’d been caught and identified on a hidden camera. The idea tied my stomach in knots. If Lazar suspected that I knew too much, he’d stop at nothing to silence me.

  I hurried after the other women, down the narrow stairwell that led from the sidewalk entrance into the bowels of the Caalolu Hammam. The place smelled like soap. Old photos lined the walls by the doorway, showing various Turkish celebrities smiling. I also saw a framed sign from an American publication declaring it “One of 1000 Places to Visit Before You Die.”

  To visit before you die? How long before? I suddenly pictured Lazar and Vasil ignoring the rules abo
ut the women-only entrance and showing up, brandishing daggers and guns.

  I tried to concentrate on the fact that I was now mere steps away from Sage, and possibly the Karun Treasure urn. I was so close to getting all the answers I needed.

  We came to a tiny foyer at the bottom of the stairs, where Mom slapped her credit card down on the check-in counter and paid for everyone. I watched the attendant at the front desk carefully as, between drags on a cigarette in a long holder, she gave us each a locker key, a towel, a washcloth, slippers, and a flimsy plaid wrap, which she explained was called a . The petemal was to be used for covering ourselves as we walked from the changing rooms into the bathhouse. I looked at it doubtfully, knowing it would never cover all of my white spots. Even though Nazif had accepted my face the way it was, none of the hotel guests had seen me in my true skin.

  Scared of what I was getting myself into, I started to tune out the attendant’s instructions. I watched her speak, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. Her mane of dark hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and the black kohl ringing her eyes was running from all the moisture in the room. I checked my own face in a mirror on the wall, wondering how soon my makeup would melt. The foyer itself was so warm it felt kind of like a sauna.

  “So this is a communal bath?” I asked when she was done talking. I’d been expecting private steam rooms. And if this place was so communal, where would I talk with Sage?

  “Yes,” she said, opening a door so we could see the women’s spa. Steam escaped from the door as we all peered inside. It was a huge round room with a high, domed ceiling and small windows way up by the top of the dome. There was no actual bathtub, not even showers. The floors and walls were marbled, white streaked with black and gray, and faucets were spaced out every few feet all around the room. A huge stone slab in the shape of an octagon took up the center of the floor. On it, bath attendants were vigorously scrubbing down two women, who were lying on their stomachs, naked. I felt self-conscious, but I took a second glance at the bathers, and both women were plump, with black hair. Sage wasn’t in the room.

  “This ought to be an adventure,” said Fiona, doubtfully.

  I backed away. I was so not doing this. I would let everyone else go in, then I’d double back and ask the attendant if she knew where I could find Sage.

  I hung back as the ladies disappeared into the changing rooms. Then it was just Mom and me standing there. “You don’t want to do this,” she guessed.

  “Not really,” I admitted. I had more pressing business. And I wasn’t ready to expose my body to the world. Sure, Sage and Nazif had been cool with it. But showing my skin to all the hotel guests, to strangers, and being stared at . . . whispered about . . . discussed behind my back? No thanks.

  “It might be fun,” said Mom. “I’d hate to have you miss out on an awesome life experience. And all the ladies will wonder what happened to you.”

  I peered inside the spa again. The bath attendants were exfoliating the naked bathers. What if they rubbed all my skin off? What if I came out blotchier than ever, my countries and islands turning into vast continents and drifting all over my body? What if I came out bone white, without a trace of pigment? Dr. Shaw had assured me that pigment couldn’t actually be rubbed off—the disorder didn’t work that way—but I wasn’t convinced.

  “I’ll say I got my period. They’ll leave me alone. Really. I’m fine with skipping this.”

  My mom looked at me. Then she did a bizarre thing. She put both hands on my shoulders, and brought her face closer to mine. “It’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to go.”

  I smiled, relieved. “Really?”

  “Really. I get it. This isn’t your thing.”

  “Thank you. I’ll just sit out in the foyer. I saw some magazines.”

  Mom disappeared into the steamy corridor, and I ran back out to find the attendant. She was perched on a stool, flipping through a tabloid, still smoking. “I’m looking for my friend Sage Powell,” I said. “Is she staying here?”

  The attendant looked up at me. “I have a question for you,” she said, in a husky, thickly accented voice. Tendrils of smoke writhed around her. “Who is the passionate nomad?”

  I thought a moment while I coughed. Sage was a passionate nomad. But if this was a security test to screen me, there had to be a better answer. “Freya Stark?”

  The attendant closed the magazine and stood up. “Follow me.”

  34

  I followed her back into the corridor, where we pushed through a thick wall of steam. We went past the bathhouse and all the way to the end, where the corridor forked. Veering left, we walked through an enclosed garden. We passed through another door, and another, then made our way down a steep staircase. I tried to remember where I was going so that I could find my way back; this place was even more confusing and labyrinthine than the Grand Bazaar.

  Finally, the attendant opened a door to a small room that looked like an office, with a desk and a fan and a bookshelf. There were blankets on a couch in the corner. And lying on them, sleeping, was Sage.

  The door clicked behind me. Sage and I were alone.

  The room was moist, the walls beaded with dampness, and water dripped in the corner. I stared at her for a moment, unsure if I wanted to hug her or slap her. Here she was at last, the girl who’d nearly sent me to prison. Finally I just shook her leg gently. “Hey. Wake up.”

  She sat up with a jolt. “Zan! Oh my God. You have no idea how glad I am to see you. Do you have the package with you?”

  I folded my arms in front of my chest. “As a matter of fact, no. Do you have the urn?”

  “Wait. What? You don’t have the gold figurines?”

  “Kind of a long story,” I said. “But I’m not going to tell you where those figurines ended up until you tell me about the urn.”

  She pressed her lips together. I took a step closer to her. “Here’s the deal. My uncle might have lost his life over that urn. I know you know its true value. So tell me. Do you have it? Did you drop it on purpose and then go back for it on your own?”

  A look of pain crossed her face. “I don’t have the urn,” she whispered.

  I started pulling books off the bookshelf, yanking out desk drawers, looking under the makeshift bed.

  “You have to believe me, Zan. Your aunt’s urn isn’t here.”

  “It’s not my aunt’s urn. It’s Turkey’s urn. It’s part of the Karun Treasure.” I slammed an empty desk drawer closed. “And I know all about your business. I’ve met your friend Lazar.”

  “Lazar! He came after you? Oh, God. That was my fear. That’s why I stayed away from the hotel. Look, I’m broke. I need to sell those figurines. I know someone who will buy them. If you don’t have them, where did they go?”

  I gave her a long look. All this time I’d held on to the hope that Sage wasn’t an evil person, but hearing that she wanted to sell the figurines, and that she’d used me to transport them, pissed me off— even if she was broke. Now was the moment of truth. “First, tell me about the urn,” I said, my voice icy.

  “Sit. Calm down.” Sage sank back onto the couch, patting the seat next to her.

  I sat down, gingerly, as far from her as I could.

  “Okay. I did go back on my own to look for the urn after I dropped it,” she admitted. “But not for the reasons you think. I was supposed to get it for Lazar, after confirming his suspicion that your aunt was taking it on the cruise your uncle was supposed to be on. For weeks Lazar had been sending maids and cooks into the Mavi Konak hotel to spy, and that’s how he knew.”

  Maids and cooks as spies. No wonder there was high staff turnover at my aunt’s hotel!

  “He suspected it was an artifact your uncle had in his possession for a consulting job and had never returned to Lazar,” she went on.

  Nazif and I had been right that Sage was commissioned to retrieve
the urn. “So when you tripped and fell, did you plan that?” I asked.

  Sage nodded. “After I dropped the urn, I memorized where it landed. I knew it was at the base of that boat-shaped precipice. While you were climbing up that cliff wall, I picked it up and hid it in a crevice between some boulders on that big pile. I marked the boulders with my hair clip so I could find it later. When I went back, though, the urn was gone.”

  She looked down at her lap. “At first I just wanted to get out of that job with Lazar. I wanted the urn to literally disappear off the face of the earth. I was going to tell Lazar someone else dropped it and it vanished. I thought losing the urn this way was the perfect solution to my problem. But then I freaked out. I knew Lazar would kill me. That’s why I went into hiding.”

  “Didn’t it occur to you just to hand in the urn to the police and turn in Lazar right away?” I said. “There were tons of police officers crawling all over the coast. Any one of them would have been happy to take the urn off your hands. Or you could have just told us what was going on. I’m sure my aunt would have helped you to do the right thing.”

  “I thought of all that. Believe me. But I was too scared. Some police work as insiders, with Lazar’s group. I wasn’t sure who to trust. And I have an expired visa. I thought I’d be in all kinds of trouble.”

  “So you want out of the smuggling business, but you still want to sell those figurines?”

  “It’s going to be my last deal,” she insisted. “Just enough to pay someone to help me get out of the country without passport control giving me hassle.” She reached out and clutched my arm, a wild look in her eyes. “Where are they? If I can’t sell them to my buyer in the Grand Bazaar, I can’t get anywhere. I’m serious.”

  “I got detained at the Dalaman Airport when they were found in my bag,” I said. “The police confiscated them and interrogated me and my family.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “Confiscated! Interrogated! Crap.”