“Maybe you’d better buy one too, Miss Fletcher,” Mr. Hollis suggested with a reassuring twinkle in his eye. “After all, a little extra protection never hurt anybody.”
I wasn’t sure how much the salesman hovering near the door had understood of this exchange, but seeing us heading in his direction, he perked up at once, inviting us inside with elaborate gestures and pressing on us tiny cups of apple tea. I took a sip, and found it sweet and strangely soothing. As I paid for my purchases—one of Mrs. Hollis’s Evil Eyes as well as a couple of large colorful towels of striped Turkish cotton, a guilt-inspired addition to my neglected hope chest—it occurred to me to wonder if the attack had actually been an orchestrated plot to make tourists feel more vulnerable, and therefore more likely to buy Evil Eyes for protection. No, surely not. Given the sheer number of shoppers in the Grand Bazaar, and the popularity of the symbol as one of the more affordable souvenirs to be had, so elaborate a scheme would be unnecessary.
Still, I felt a little better as I walked to the bus stop, although I couldn’t have said whether my relief was due to the solid, dependable couple at my side, or the little circle of blue glass tucked away into the bottom of my bag.
Chapter 13
One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, Hamlet
I wasn’t quite sure how much, if anything, I should tell my aunt about the incident in the Grand Bazaar. I should have known the Hollises would take the matter out of my hands. We had scarcely sat down to dinner when Mrs. Hollis turned to Maggie and said, “I suppose your niece told you she had quite a fright today.”
“No, she didn’t.” My aunt didn’t show any signs of panic or hysterics, and although Maggie wasn’t the hysterical type, I wasn’t sure if she was really that poised, or merely suspected Mrs. Hollis of exaggerating. “What happened, Robin?”
“It was nothing, really,” I protested feebly, aware that every eye at the table, and a few at the surrounding tables, had turned in my direction. “Someone tried to steal my camera, but I got away. Mr. Hollis thinks it was someone hoping to sell it on the black market.”
“Robin!” Maggie exclaimed. “Are you all right? Granted, I don’t see any injuries, but still—”
“I’m fine,” I assured her.
“Did you report it to the police?” Leave it to Paul to get to the heart of the matter.
“There’s nothing to report,” I insisted. “I managed to hang onto my camera, so there was no theft, not really. Besides, they were so heavily veiled, I would never be able to pick them out of a police lineup—assuming they have such things in Turkey. They may not, for all I know.”
“Veiled?” Mr. Hollis echoed. “You didn’t mention that. Do you mean it was a woman who attacked you?”
“They?” Maggie said at the same time. “There was more than one of them?”
“There were three.” I thought of that muscular forearm, and shuddered. Still, my aunt would surely find the thought of three female assailants less threatening than the reality. “And yes, they were women—or men dressed as women, in black from head to toe, and with their faces veiled.”
“Then they had to be women,” Paul put in. “No Muslim man would wear a woman’s clothes. He would be insulted at the very idea.”
“But not every man in Istanbul is a Muslim,” Maggie pointed out. “There are Christians here too, you know—even a sizeable Jewish community.”
Mr. Hollis frowned. “I don’t think any very religious people would go around assaulting young women, regardless of what faith they practice.”
“Very true.” I couldn’t help smiling at his Midwestern common sense.
“Speaking of faith,” Mrs. Hollis put in, glancing at the two empty places before the window where Mr. Grimes and Sylvia had sat, “I can’t help thinking we ought to say a prayer or have a moment of silence or something for Miss Duprée. Henry and I watched from our window as poor Mr. Grimes left the ship with her body this morning. It was one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen.”
Everyone agreed, and I silently blessed her for changing the subject. Alas, not for long. Our moment of silence had hardly ended when Maggie said, “Still, I can’t feel right about Robin wandering about Ephesus on her own tomorrow.”
“Oh, will you not be exploring the ruins?” Mrs. Hollis asked. “I have to say, that’s one of the stops I’ve been looking forward to the most. I want to take pictures to show my friends at church. Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, you know.”
“The book of Revelations mentions the church at Ephesus, too,” her husband put in.
Maggie nodded. “Yes, and I hate having to miss out. But the ship’s doctor warned me that the roads there are very rough—apparently it’s still the original pavement from Roman times—and he advised me not to risk it.” Everyone at the table made suitably sympathetic noises, and Maggie turned abruptly to Mr. Devos, who had been mostly silent so far. “Mr. Devos, may I ask you as a personal favor to go with Robin tomorrow? After what happened to her today in Istanbul, I’ll feel better knowing she has someone with her.”
“Maggie!” I exclaimed, mortified.
Devos bared his teeth at her in a wolfish smile. “I regret that I cannot oblige you, Mrs. Watson, but I fear I will not be touring the ruins myself.”
“Oh,” said my aunt, rather daunted. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I sorry, that I must decline the offer of such charming companionship,” Devos assured her, giving what I supposed was meant to be a courteous nod in my direction.
“We’d be glad to have you come with us,” Mrs. Hollis told me.
“But you’re on your honeymoon,” I protested.
“Never you mind that,” Mr. Hollis said, then smiled rather sheepishly at his wife. “After all, Martha and I will have the rest of our lives together.”
“Just so,” Mrs. Hollis agreed, nodding. “I’ll admit I wouldn’t feel right leaving you on your own, not after what happened at the Grand Bazaar.”
I was glad they made the offer directly to me, instead of talking to my aunt as if I weren’t there, an inconvenient burden to be disposed of. Still, I wished people would stop trying to pair me off with Devos: first my aunt, and then Markos, and then my aunt again—
Markos. Markos had thought I was involved with Devos when he’d seen my photos from Pisa. That was what I’d forgotten when trying to picture Mr. Grimes in the role of jealous lover. I’d been physically and emotionally exhausted after my climb up the side of a moving ship, and I hadn’t been thinking clearly. So many strange things had happened on this voyage that they were beginning to run together, and I couldn’t discern a pattern. But surely it was no coincidence that my photography—this time not the photographs, but the camera itself—was at the center of the confrontation in the Grand Bazaar. I wished I could put this theory to Markos, and see what he thought of it. But Markos had been making himself scarce ever since Mykonos, and I wasn’t quite sure what to think of his absence. Was it possible that he’d been confined to quarters, or whatever they did to crew members who broke the rules? Or was he deliberately trying to avoid me? Was I reading too much into a kiss that Markos had already forgotten, like Lady Caroline Lamb chasing after Lord Byron long after he had lost interest in her? It was a lowering thought. Suddenly I wanted desperately to see Markos again, just for the sake of ignoring him. Failing that, there was only one thing I could do.
“I would be delighted to tour Ephesus with you,” I told Mrs. Hollis with more warmth than I felt.
Having settled the next day’s plans to our satisfaction, we all tucked into the excellent dinner that was set before us, Turkish fare in honor of our day in Istanbul: pieces of succulent lamb grilled on skewers, along with rice pilaf, vegetables, and flatbread. For dessert there was baklava, paper-thin sheets of phyllo layered with nuts and drizzled with honey. It wasn’t until the party broke up and we’d left the dining room that I thought to ask my aunt what she intended to do the next morning, since the ruins of Ephe
sus were off-limits.
“Paul suggested we organize an impromptu shuffle-board competition for the passengers who are remaining on board. Most of them are older than I am, so I can’t be the only one who’s not up to the rough walking.” She stopped in the middle of the atrium, snapping her fingers as a sudden thought occurred to her. “We should have asked Mr. Devos to play, since he won’t be leaving the ship tomorrow! Robin, could you stop by his stateroom and ask him? I would do it myself, but my ankle is telling me I’ve done enough walking for one day.”
I couldn’t think of anything I wanted to do less. “I—I don’t know which cabin is his,” I protested.
“No, but we’ll be walking right by the purser’s desk, and I’m sure they can tell us.” Seeing my lack of enthusiasm, she added with some asperity, “I know you don’t like the man, Robin, but surely there’s no harm in stopping by just long enough to deliver a message.”
And that was how I found myself standing outside Devos’s stateroom on Barcelona Deck, knocking at the door and hoping he was off enjoying an after-dinner drink at one of the ship’s bars, so I could honestly report back to Maggie that he hadn’t been in his cabin.
But no, I felt the faint vibrations of his heavy tread, and a moment later the door swung open a scant twelve inches to reveal Devos framed in the opening. He had already begun to change out of the tuxedo he’d worn at dinner, and was now clad in only the dress trousers and the white cotton T-shirt he’d worn beneath his pleated formal shirt—and he did not look pleased to see me.
“Good evening, Miss Fletcher,” he said with barely concealed impatience. “I am sorry to disappoint you, but it is as I told your charming aunt: I cannot escort you to Ephesus tomorrow.”
I didn’t want his company any more than he wanted mine; still, his attitude was hardly flattering, besides being a far cry from the gallant if heavy-handed Devos who had not only asked me to dance, but even insisted on escorting me back to my stateroom afterward.
“I know you can’t, and I’m sorry she put you on the spot that way,” I replied with equal candor. “Actually, it’s on her account that I’m here. She and Paul are putting together a shuffleboard tournament for passengers who are going to be on the ship tomorrow, and she wanted to invite you to join them.”
“I see. But I fear I must decline once again, for I will not be on the ship tomorrow.”
“Oh,” I said, rather taken aback. “You said you weren’t going to Ephesus, so I—that is, my aunt—assumed you meant to spend the day onboard the ship.”
“I said I will not be touring the ruins. As it happens, I have other plans. I will be meeting a friend in Kusadasi, where the ship will dock.”
He darted a quick, almost surreptitious glance over his shoulder, and I wondered if there was a woman in the room with him. I couldn’t see into his cabin—his bulk, and the door itself, prevented that—but there was a mirror on the adjacent wall that I could just glimpse over his shoulder. It reflected a partial view of the bed, which was not occupied by a scantily clad female, but covered with a collection of small figurines, vases, and pottery. There were about a dozen or so, and even from this poor vantage point I could tell they were a cut above the usual souvenir fare.
“As you see, I have been shopping again,” he said, grinning at me with that feral smile. “My little nieces and nephews, their Uncle Konstantin must keep them happy, yes?”
“Oh, I hope you won’t give those things to very young children! They must be very fragile. The pieces, that is, not the children,” I added quickly. “May I—do you mind letting me have a closer look at the figurine of the lady?”
He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment; I wasn’t sure if he didn’t trust me not to break it, or simply wanted me to go away. I hadn’t wanted to knock on his door in the first place but, perversely, the more he wanted to get rid of me, the more determined I was to stay. Apparently he recognized this, for at last he shrugged his shoulders in resignation. “But of course.”
He closed the door practically in my face, and when he opened it a few seconds later, he held the figurine cradled in one arm. She was a thing of beauty, about as tall as Pooping Pedro was long, with her draped robe hanging from one shoulder in a way that left her right breast bare. One elegantly shaped hand was raised as if to rectify this situation—or call attention to it—and her face was turned slightly away, smiling coyly as if in invitation to a lover. I hadn’t seen anything like this in any of the souvenir shops; if I had, I would have bought her, even if it cost me my last drachma.
“Do you mind if I ask where you bought her?”
He lifted his broad shoulders in a shrug. “Where else but at the Grand Bazaar? It is often said that if it cannot be found at the Grand Bazaar, it is not worth having.”
“Oh,” I said in some surprise. “I thought she looked more Greek than Turkish. Don’t the Muslims object to artwork depicting human figures?” Much less a female figure exposing even half so much skin, but I kept this observation to myself.
“Indeed they do, but convictions tend to fall by the wayside where there is money to be had. In the Grand Bazaar, one may buy objects from all over the world.”
I didn’t remember seeing a shop offering such things, but then, I’d had very little opportunity to look. I felt a wholly illogical resentment at the trio of attackers who had deprived me of the chance to buy such a figurine for myself.
“Will you sell her to me?” I asked on sudden impulse. “I’ll gladly pay you something for your trouble in addition to whatever you paid for her.”
He shook his head. “I am sorry, Miss Fletcher, but I cannot. My little niece Sophia would be, what do you say, devastated.”
“I thought you said her name was Theodora.”
“That is my other niece. Sophia is her older sister.”
He hadn’t missed a beat, but he was lying; I knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt. I wasn’t quite sure why he would feel the need to lie about such a thing, but it was clear he had no intention of letting me buy the figurine from him. “Anyway, the offer stands,” I said, conceding defeat. “If you change your mind between now and the time we disembark in Venice, I hope you’ll let me know.”
“I will bear it in mind, Miss Fletcher, but I would not like to raise false hopes. And now I must bid you goodnight. Please thank your aunt for her kind invitation, and give her my regrets.”
And with that, I was firmly dismissed. He closed the door so swiftly that I was obliged to take a step backwards to prevent its hitting me in the nose. But as it swung shut, I caught a quick glimpse of the inside of his bare forearm, and the tattoo that read “ELAS.”
Chapter 14
Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth!
Immortal, though no more; though fallen, great!
GEORGE NOEL GORDON, LORD BYRON,
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage
Ephesus had been a bustling port city in the apostle Paul’s day, but when the Goths started harassing the Roman Empire in the third century, Rome could no longer spare the manpower to dredge the river Cayster, which emptied into the city’s harbor. In the ensuing years, silt from the river had filled in the harbor, eventually eliminating the source of the city’s wealth. What the siltation of its harbor had begun, an earthquake in the seventh century had finished, and the people who could afford to do so had abandoned the city altogether. The end result was that Ephesus—or what remained of it—was now more than three miles from the sea, and the colonnaded marble road that had once led to the docks now ended abruptly in a swampy tangle of scrubby bushes and marsh grass.
The ruins of the city, however, were well worth a day spent exploring them. The amphitheatre where Paul had preached was a popular sight, as was the much larger coliseum that stood at the landward end of the marble road. For my part, aside from the pleasure of escaping, at least for a while, the creepy Devos and the memory of Sylvia—God rest her soul—I admired the pretty little Temple of Hadrian with its graceful arch. The doctor had been quite
right in advising Maggie not to attempt the trip, however; the large slabs of marble that served to pave the street had shifted over the centuries, leaving an uneven surface for walking on, and yet many of the individual stones were as slick as glass. I had trouble at times maintaining my balance on the downward slope toward where the sea had once been, meaning poor Mr. Hollis had to navigate the slippery road while supporting his wife with one arm and me with the other.
Eventually, we made our way back up the jagged pavement to where the bus waited to take us back to Kusadasi and the ship. Once back on board the Oceanus, I stopped by the little camera shop to drop off my film, and found Markos working the counter.
“Miss Fletcher!” he seemed pleased to see me, although I noticed I was back to being “Miss Fletcher” rather than “Robin.” I wasn’t sure if this was because he had to maintain a professional demeanor while on the ship, or if he was trying to distance himself from me for more personal reasons.
“Mr. Rondo,” I said coolly.
“I hope you have suffered no ill effects from our adventure,” he said, and I was glad he brought it up first.
“No, none. What about you? You weren’t at the counter this morning, so I couldn’t help wondering—” I broke off, unsure how to finish.
He grinned broadly, his teeth white against his bronzed face. “You couldn’t help wondering if I’d been thrown into the brig, or forced to walk the plank?”
“I knew you hadn’t walked the plank!” I said, feeling more than a little foolish for worrying about him. If anyone could take care of himself, surely Markos was the man.
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