Silentandunseen,undercoverofearlymdarkness,Ileftlikeaguiltyhouseguestandwalkedtirelesslythroughthemuddybackstreets.AtBayazid,Iperformedmyablutioninthecourtyard,ehemosqueandprayed.IherewasheImamEffendiandanoldmanwhocouldsleepasheprayed—atalentonlyrarelyachievedafteralifetimeofpractice.YouknowhowtherearemomentsinoursleepydreamsandsadmemorieswhenwefeelAllahhastakennoticeofusandwepray

    withthehopefulanticipationofonewho’smahrustapetitionintotheSultan’shand:ThusdidIbegAllahtograntmeacheerfulhomefilledwithlovingpeople.

    WhenI’dreachedMasterOsman’shouse,Ikhatwithiimehe’dgraduallyusurpedmylateEnishte’splamythoughts.Hewasmoretraryandmoredistant,buthisbeliefinmanuscriptilluminationwasmoreprofound.Heresembledanintrospectiveelderlydervishmorethanthegreatmasterwho’dkickeduptempestsoffear,aweandloveamongtheminiaturistsforsomanyyears.

    Aswetraveledfromthemaster’shousetothepalace—hemountedonahorseandhunchedslightly,Ionfootandlikewisehunchedforward—wemust’verecalledtheelderlydervishandaspiringdiscipleinthosecheapillustrationsthatapanyoldfables.

    Atthepalace,wefoundtheaheImperialGuardandhismenevenmerahanwe.OurSultanwascertainthatoncewe’dlookedatthethreemasters’horsedrawingsthismwecould,inatrice,determinewhoamongthemwastheaccursedmurderer;andso,He’dorderedthatthecriminalbequicklyputtotorturewithoutevenallowinghimtoaheaccusation.Weweretakennottotheexecutioners’fountainwhereeveryonecouldseeandtakewarning,buttothatsmallslapdashhouseintheshelteredseclusionoftheSultan’sPr