The Blue Hour

Chapter 48: Hamid

Rain descended in thick, opaque sheets. Together with Hifsi, Hamid took a carriage to the mosque in the hills. Drenched to the bone, they descended into the conduits. It was the third time he made the perilous journey which, for every time, seemed lighter.

He recognised the marks in the darkness, a puddle of water about a third of the way from the mosque (larger this time because of the heavy rainfall), the broken glass from Jurad's lamp about halfway through, a heap of decaying leaves and he was almost back in the palace cellars. He trusted that Reshid had reached Peresto in time and that she had secured a safe passage to his apartment through secret corridors hidden in the harem walls, and that eunuch guards had been generously rewarded for turning a blind eye.

"We'll be alright," he reassured Hifsi, and for a fleeting moment he had felt that maybe they would be. But then fear had seized him again, and he had made the rest of the dangerous journey in a trance, spurred on by Flora's confident words: I'll wait for you.

Now, he sat dazed on the green velvet divan in his private salon. Around him, the world was impossibly unchanged as if he had never left; the same pink carpet on the floor, on a small, silver table, the same portion of bread and unsalted white cheese which was brought to him every morning - had been for as long as he could remember, apparently even during his absence - and enveloping it all, the same thick, suffocating silence.

On the desk, a note from Peresto waited for him; Thank God, was all it said. He closed his eyes for a moment and realised he trembled inside. Steady, you're here now, and you're alive.

Hifsi lit the tiled stove and a few lamps and helped him out of his wet, dirty clothes. He washed his face and hands, kneeled on the small carpet in the corner of the room and tried to pray, but could not let go of his worry.

Outside, a flash of lightning cut through the low hanging sky, followed by thunder. Through the dim, golden shine cast by the garden gas lamps, he could see the wind lash the Bosphorus into clouds of spray. Before sunrise, Huseyin Avni's soldiers would be there, but what if the storm prevented the soldiers from approaching by sea? Would they call off the coup? He licked his dry lips and lingered, counting the drops of water on the window. Focus on what needs doing.

With Hifsi in tow, he counted the sixty-three steps across the salon to Murad's apartment. Seeing him arrive, Murad's Master of the Chambers stared bewildered. "My Lord, I have not been made aware of your return to the palace," he said.

"There are many things you don't know. Now, stand aside, my brother has asked for me," Hamid said with an authority he did not feel.

Wide-eyed, the eunuch hesitated.

"Are you refusing the Crown Prince's request," Hamid barked.

"No, no, of course not, it's just that the Crown Prince has not..."

Hamid pushed his way past him and opened the door. Behind him, the eunuch held Hifsi back. "Only you, my Lord!"

"Alright, both of you wait here," Hamid said without looking back. "Neither of you leave until Murad or I say so." If the Master of the Chambers left his post to raise the alarm, Hifsi would warn him.

The room was dark, except for an oil lamp by the divan where he sat, reclining on a mountain of cushions with his thin legs folded under him. He looked pale, sick even, like the spirit of himself. The skin had the pallor of a living-dead, covered in a thin film of sweat. The hair was straggly. Hamid leaned in close. "How are you, brother?" he asked, catching nothing but Murad's empty stare.

Murad looked at him, looked right through him. Then recognition came, and a smile of relief. "You," he said, his voice barely audible.

He snivelled and rolled off the divan. A flash of anger crossed his face. "You left me here, you betrayed me."