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he　Head　Treasurer。　Fixing　his　gaze　into

my　eyes；　he　added；　“You　were　aware　that　he　died　an　untimely　death；　that　is　to

say；　that　he　was　murdered；　weren’t　you？”

“Nay；”　I　said　simply；　like　a　child；　and　fell　quiet。

“Our　Sultan　is　quite　furious；”　the　Head　Treasurer　said。

That　Enishte　Effendi　was　a　dunce。　The　master　miniaturists　always　mocked

him for being more pretentious than knowledgeable； more ambitious than

intelligent。　I　knew　something　was　rotten　at　the　funeral　anyway。　How　was　he

killed；　I　wondered？

The　Head　Treasurer　explained　exactly　how。　Appalling。　Dear　God　protect　us。

Yet　who　could　be　responsible？

“The Sultan has decreed；” said the Head Treasurer； “that the book in

question　should　be　finished　as　soon　as　possible；　as　with　the　Book　of　Festivities

manuscript…”

“He　has　also　made　a　second　decree；”　said　the　mander　of　the　Imperial

Guard。 “If； indeed； this unspeakable murderer is one of the miniaturists； He

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wants the black…hearted devil found。 He intends to sentence him to a

punishment　such　as　will　stand　as　a　deterrent　to　one　and　all。”

An　expression　of　such　excitement　appeared　on　the　face　of　the　mander

as if to suggest he already knew the monstrous punishment Our Sultan had

decreed。

I　knew　that　Our　Sultan　had　only　recently　charged　these　two　men　with　this

task；　thereby　forcing　them　to　cooperate—on　which　account　they　couldn’t　hide

their　distaste　even　now。　Seeing　this　inspired　in　me　a　love　for　the　Sultan　that

went　beyond　mere　awe。　A　servant　boy　served　coffee　and　we　sat　for　a　while。

I　was　told　that　Enishte　Effendi　had　a　nephew　named　Black　Eff