The Winter Thief: A Kamil Pasha Novel (Kamil Pasha Novels)

by Jenny White

  The comrades sat around the fire, huddled in their quilts and furs, eyes shining. There was the yeast of fellowship in the room tonight. If he could keep it alive, it would grow and nourish the commune. A young woman had baked a hazelnut cake with flour from the new supplies. She brought it out, a misshapen thing on a platter, but laced with honey and as sweet as the spirit in the room.

  He allowed himself to think about Vera. She had longed to take part in his work, but he had kept her away—for her safety, he had told himself. He wondered at his motives now. Had he wanted to keep her innocent? Or had he simply not respected her because she came from a wealthy family?

  As the fire died down and the hall was released to shadows, Gabriel saw Victor and Alicia disappear hand in hand into the darkness. A soft rustling like the brush of angels’ wings rose in the room as its occupants settled into their straw nests. Gabriel continued to sit by the fire until late into the night, looking for Vera’s eyes in the flames.

  A loud pounding roused him, and he hastened out into a courtyard illuminated by starlight. Two comrades had also heard the noise and gathered by the gate. “Identify yourself,” Gabriel called out.

  “I come from Trabzon,” the voice replied, “with a message from Apollo Grigorian.”

  73

  FEBRUARY 18

  “WISH US GOOD fortune, amja.” Kamil kissed Yorg Pasha on both cheeks.

  “Allah protect you, my son, and your companions.”

  Feride waited beside them, enveloped in a fashionable silk feradje cloak, a cloud of gauze covering her lower face. “I couldn’t convince Elif to come. I’m sorry.”

  “No matter. Give her my love.” Kamil kissed Feride’s forehead. He was not as sanguine as his words. Elif had wanted to accompany him, but he had refused. He would be traveling through difficult territory with a group of soldiers and facing unknown dangers. “I need to go,” she had said. That puzzling sentence had stayed with him. Did she feel such an intense need to be beside him? he wondered. Somehow he knew that wasn’t what she had meant.

  Behind them the steamer chuffed amid the voices of the crew and the snorts and whinnies of frightened horses being led belowdeck to be fastened by head-collars to the bulwarks. Kamil heard Omar’s rumbling laugh. He had immediately made friends among the crew. Kamil suspected Omar was really coming along for the adventure and to protect him, as if the thirty Ottoman cavalry soldiers under Kamil’s command were not enough. They had already boarded and were settled in their cramped quarters for the four-day voyage east along the shore of the Black Sea to Trabzon. Yakup was arranging Kamil’s belongings in his private cabin. A cloudless sky promised fair weather. The blood-red Ottoman banner snapped in the breeze.

  “May your way be open before you,” Yorg Pasha murmured.

  As Kamil turned and strode toward the ship, Feride spilled the traditional cup of water on the path behind the traveler. “As clear as water.”

  LATER THAT night a weary Kamil unlatched the door to the commander’s cabin that had been assigned him for the voyage. Omar had bedded down with the soldiers in the hold, and Yakup had been given a small cabin next to Kamil’s. Kamil hung his lamp on a hook dangling from the ceiling and surveyed the room. The cabin was fairly large, decorated with gilded moldings, a Persian carpet on the floor. A broad ledge padded with quilts served as a bed. Yakup had put Kamil’s things away in the cabinets built in beneath the bed and along one wall. There was a leather-covered table and four chairs. The iron cover to the porthole was screwed securely shut.

  Suddenly a figure detached itself from the shadows. Kamil started and reached for his knife, then froze with shock. Elif stood before him, dressed in trousers and a man’s jacket and greatcoat, holding a wide-brimmed hat in her hand.

  He seized her and pulled her to one of the chairs.

  “You’re hurting me,” she complained, rubbing her wrist.

  “What the hell are you playing at?” Kamil struggled to keep himself under control. “This isn’t a game. Why are you here?”

  “Why not?” she responded coolly, looking directly at Kamil as if she were a man.

  Her answer infuriated him. “I can give you a thousand reasons, but you know them all. We already discussed this.” He paced up and down the cabin. “Allah protect us, what am I going to do now?” He stopped in front of her. “We will land at Shile and you will get off there and take a coach back to the city.”

  “No.”

  “I’m in command of this ship,” he shouted. There was a knock at the door. Kamil stalked over and pulled it open.

  Yakup stood in the doorway, a pistol in his hand, his eyes roaming past Kamil. When he saw Elif, his mouth slackened in surprise, but he said nothing. Eyes on Kamil’s jacket, Yakup waited for instructions.

  “Come in,” Kamil said, his anger evident in his tone. “You know who this is.” He indicated Elif. “She stowed aboard. I want her sent back to Istanbul.”

  “I’m not leaving,” Elif repeated.

  Yakup stood by the cabin door, looking uncomfortable.

  Kamil nodded at him to go, then locked the cabin door and turned back to Elif. She sat with her chin out, one leg slung over the other like a man. Her small scarred hand on the table was held in a tight fist. She frowned at him and lowered her voice. “No one will know who I am. You can introduce me as your servant, Elias. Only Yakup will know.”

  “Omar is aboard too.”

  “So Yakup and Omar will know. The trip is four days. I’ll stay in the cabin.”

  “And then? We’re traveling into the mountains. Have you ever been in real mountains? Have you slept on the ground in the winter? You have no idea what’s in store. You cannot come along.”

  “Why?” Elif rose and faced him, one hand on her hip, the other gesticulating. “Because I’m a woman? You think I have no balls? You think I can’t put up with discomfort? You think I can’t fire a gun or protect myself?” She reached under her greatcoat and pulled out a pistol, which she slammed onto the table. She added a small sword and a knife.

  “Allah protect us,” Kamil exclaimed, looking at Elif as if he had never seen her before.

  Elif calmly pocketed the weapons and sat down again, crossing her legs. She took her hat from the table, dusted the brim, then returned it.

  Kamil was alarmed at the change in the woman he saw before him. At the same time, he felt a stirring in his loins and realized to his consternation that he found this Elif just as attractive as the gentle woman he had sworn to protect. It made him angry.

  They remained like this for a good minute, Kamil staring at Elif and Elif gazing nonchalantly into space.

  “Fine. But you receive no special privileges. If you want to be a man, then be one.” He turned on his heel and left, the iron cabin door clanging shut behind him.

  FEBRUARY 24

  SULTAN ABDULHAMID, dressed in a sable coat with broad lapels, waved at the crowd with both hands and then climbed into his carriage. With a deep bow an aide handed him his sword. Marshals, generals, officers, aides-de-camp, civilian officials, and foreigners, mounted and on foot, jostled and then settled into place at the side of the road.

  Others lined up behind the carriage in the elaborate protocol that determined who had the honor of being a horse’s length closer than the others to the Commander of the Faithful on his weekly ride to the mosque. Outside the gates, ordinary citizens of the empire gathered to witness their ruler and gape at the display of wealth and power that accompanied him, from the bejeweled and caparisoned horses to the brocade and gold-stitched robes of the courtiers. Vahid, whose duty it was to protect the sultan, rode just behind his carriage. His men were deployed in the crowd and at the mosque. Nothing could go wrong. Still, he was sweating profusely despite the cold.

  When they reached the mosque, the sultan emerged from his carriage and began to climb the steps leading to the great gate. Vahid too dismounted and followed him as closely as decorum would allow. Suddenly a shot rang out. Vahid leaped and flung himself before the
sultan, shielding him with his body. He looked anxiously for blood, but, as he expected, there was none. There was pandemonium as members of the court threw themselves down or began to run. Military officers formed a human shield around Vahid and their sultan. Soldiers in the sultan’s entourage drew their weapons and plunged into the crowd, and hundreds more fanned out across Istanbul to hunt for the assailant and anyone who had assisted him.

  LATER THAT afternoon, Vizier Köraslan bowed low before Sultan Abdulhamid and expressed his gratitude that Allah had spared the Great Lord’s life. Dozens of officials arrayed by rank throughout the receiving hall in the sultan’s private residence murmured their assent.

  “He seems to have been a remarkably bad shot for an assassin, as they’ve found no bullet,” the sultan noted, looking at his vizier with an unreadable expression. “I presume he’s been arrested. Who is he?”

  “An Armenian student at the imperial school. He confessed to belonging to the socialist Henchak organization. May I remind Your Highness that these are the same people our spies tell us are setting up a community in the Choruh Valley. We believe that this community is the kernel of an independent Armenian state and is being organized with the help of the Russians just across the border. If this movement isn’t stopped, it will eat away the rest of our eastern provinces.” Even as he recited these suppositions, Vizier Köraslan remembered Kamil’s prediction that Vahid would stage an assassination attempt. He was certain the sultan remembered it as well. If the assassination wasn’t real, the vizier wondered, how much of the rest of Akrep’s information was reliable? He despised Vahid, but the man knew things that could destroy his family. Against his better judgment, he had allowed him command of Akrep. So far he appeared to have been successful, and now it seemed he had saved the sultan’s life. Vizier Köraslan decided to rely on Vahid one more time.

  “So the assassin wasn’t working alone?”

  “No, Your Highness. Akrep has launched an investigation into his network in the city. They will all be arrested. This organization will be eradicated.”

  “I’m unclear about what socialism has to do with this. It seems far-fetched to me that the Russians would support a socialist project when the socialists are trying to undermine the czar. Socialism is an international movement, not a Russian one. Or an Armenian one. I would like to speak with the prisoner myself.”

  The vizier faltered a moment before answering, “That won’t be possible, Your Highness. He was killed trying to escape.”

  Sultan Abdulhamid was silent. His absolute stillness cast a pall over Vizier Köraslan.

  Finally the sultan spoke. “Who arrested the prisoner and interrogated him?”

  “Officers from Akrep, Your Highness.”

  “Vahid, you mean?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Sultan Abdulhamid’s sharp black eyes rested thoughtfully on Vizier Köraslan, and he was silent for so long that sweat broke out on the vizier’s forehead.

  Finally the sultan spoke again. “You assure me that this is all true?”

  The vizier’s hesitation was not lost on the sultan. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “In that case, send the soldiers.”

  74

  APOLLO SHOUTED AT THE convoy to stop. The traces had snapped on one of the pack animals, and the saddlebags and supplies hung from its belly. The horse bucked and kicked at the weight dangling beneath it and then slipped on the icy trail, sliding down the ravine on its side, trailing the baggage. “Damn it,” Apollo shouted, pointing at the lead mule that, spooked by the horse, had begun to balk. “Keep the other animals calm.”

  Vera worked her horse up to the mule. Holding the tether, she stroked the animal until it quieted.

  Apollo dismounted so he could squeeze by the carts on the narrow road, in places no more than five paces wide. “Where did you learn to handle animals like that?” he asked Vera.

  “My father has a dacha where he goes to hunt and to tame steppe horses. He used to take me along.” As she spoke about her father, she missed him with a searing intensity. He wouldn’t recognize her, she thought, in her broad wool shalvar trousers and fox fur cape and hat.

  Behind them stretched a row of ten carts, each with five barrels strapped on and pulled by a team of mules or oxen. Before them, jagged cliffs rose to the summit, wreathed in clouds. On one side of the road gaped the deep ravine down which the horse had slid. Although the animal was lost from view, Vera could hear its screams.

  Their group was made up of the ten men who had accompanied them from Istanbul on the ship and eight local men, Yedo’s cousins, all from the same clan. So far they had made good, if slow, progress. Snow blocked some sections of the road, and the men were forced to dig their way through. The animals had strained upward to the Zargana Pass, but now the road had narrowed so much that the carts could pass only with great difficulty. Sheets of ice extended where meltwater had collected and frozen. The animals skidded and, together with their carts, threatened to follow the horse into the ravine.

  Apollo told them to wait while he scouted ahead. Yedo handed him the long wand they used to probe beneath the snow for fissures. Vera insisted on accompanying Apollo. “My father always said there should be two people on an expedition. If something happens, one can go for help.”

  “Well, see you don’t get into any trouble then, Vreni,” Apollo answered, and kicked his horse’s flanks.

  They worked their horses through the pass, testing the ground before them, and finally emerged onto a bluff that overlooked a protected valley of meadows amid fields of snow. “The road looks open from here on,” Vera noted. “But how do we get the carts this far?”

  “There must be a way,” Apollo insisted. “This is the main road through the mountains. People bring carts through here all the time.”

  “Not in winter. Remember, they told us in Trabzon that we were crazy to head out now. This is what they meant.”

  “Let’s go back and look again. We can’t stay up here at night. We’ll freeze to death.”

  “Is there any salt among the supplies?”

  “Three sacks. I know what you’re thinking, but it isn’t enough to clear the whole way.”

  “We don’t need to clear the entire road, just tracks for the animals and the cart wheels.”

  Apollo thought about this for a moment, then yelled, “You get a medal, Vreni!” and spurred his horse back through the pass. Vera followed, smiling.

  It was a long and grueling business, judiciously spooning the salt into narrow channels, waiting for it to burn into the ice, then moving the animals quickly before it froze up again. Two mules slid down the ravine, together with the cart they had been pulling and five barrels containing a hundred rifles. The driver had jumped off but had broken a leg, and his moans as the cart on which he lay jolted over the rough tracks followed the party like an ill omen. It was almost dark before they reached the other side of the pass. Vera could see lines of smoke rising from houses in the valley below. Then it began to rain, making the road even more treacherous.

  They lost two more carts before they reached the village, although they managed to retrieve the weapons. These lay bound together under a tarpaulin, threatening to slide out of the vehicle at every incline. It was a miserable parade of mismatched men, the Istanbulis contemptuous of the locals and vice versa. The two groups had almost come to blows several times, but Yedo had mediated between them. The villagers greeted the local men warmly, and soon the warmth of a fire, meat, hot bread, and wine eased the tensions.

  EACH DAY that brought them closer to New Concord increased Vera’s excitement and apprehension. She began to avoid Apollo, disappearing for hours into a silent cocoon, collecting herself, trying to imagine herself as Gabriel’s wife. She would see her husband soon, she told herself, relishing the word “husband,” then immediately seizing up with fear that Gabriel would no longer find her attractive or would be angry at the trouble she had caused him. There were no visible scars from what had been done to her
at Akrep headquarters. Perhaps, she thought, she shouldn’t tell Gabriel. Then everything would be as before. But she didn’t believe that for a moment. By the time they came within sight of the monastery, Vera felt confused and eager in equal measure.

  Ten days after they had set out from Trabzon, they arrived at New Concord. The heavy iron gate swung open, and Gabriel and several others ran out to meet them. Apollo dismounted, and he and Gabriel embraced and pounded each other’s backs. Vera remained on her horse, the collar of her fox fur cape and hat hiding much of her face. She could see Gabriel scanning the ragged group. Apollo’s messenger would have told him that she was coming.

  Gabriel walked over and peered up at her. “Vera?” He had grown a beard, brown with reddish patches at the cheeks.

  She listened to her heart, which thundered beneath the cape. Was it passion or fear? Why couldn’t she tell the difference? she wondered. “It’s me, Gabriel,” she answered, and slid from her horse into his embrace.

  She heard Apollo shouting at the men to get the carts inside and unloaded. The sky was bruised violet. She could feel the darkness descending from the mountains like a cold breath on her neck. Gabriel took her arm and led her through the gate into the courtyard. They left the clanking of harnesses and rustle of tarpaulin being pulled from the carts and entered the main hall of New Concord commune. A fire burned in the grate, and a blond woman with freckles hurried over to greet her. She introduced herself as Alicia. When Vera turned back, Gabriel had gone without a word.