“Very good,” he said. “I’ll give him to you, then. For a toy, if you like.” He clapped his hands. A functionary poked his head into the room.
“Send in the Englishman.”
Michael entered. He walked with the precarious stride of someone who has been decapitated but thinks there might be some chance of keeping his head on his shoulders if only he moves carefully enough. The only traces of sunburn that remained now were great peeling patches on his cheeks and forehead.
He looked toward the new Emir and murmured a barely audible courtly greeting. He seemed to have trouble looking in Selima’s direction.
“Sir?” Michael asked finally.
The Emir smiled warmly. “Has Sir Anthony left yet?”
“This morning, sir. I didn’t speak with him.”
“No. No, I imagine you wouldn’t care to. It’s a mess, isn’t it, Michael? You can’t really go home.”
“I understand that, sir.”
“But obviously you can’t stay here. This is no climate for the likes of you.”
“I suppose not, sir.”
The Emir nodded. He reached about behind him and lifted a book from a stand. “During my years as prince I had plenty of leisure to read. This is one of my favorites. Do you happen to know which book it is?”
“No, sir.”
“The collected plays of one of your great English writers, as a matter of fact. The greatest, so I’m told. Shakespeare’s his name. You know his work, do you?”
Michael blinked. “Of course, sir. Everyone knows—”
“Good. And you know his play Alexius and Khurrem, naturally?”
“Yes, sir.”
The Emir turned to Selima. “And do you?”
“Well—”
“It’s quite relevant to the case, I assure you. It takes place in Istanbul, not long after the Ottoman Conquest. Khurrem is a beautiful young woman from one of the high Turkish families. Alexius is an exiled Byzantine prince who has slipped back into the capital to try to rescue some of his family’s treasures from the grasp of the detested conqueror. He disguises himself as a Turk and meets Khurrem at a banquet, and of course they fall in love. It’s an impossible romance—a Turk and a Greek.” He opened the book. “Let me read a little. It’s amazing that an Englishman could write such eloquent Turkish poetry, isn’t it?”
The Emir glanced up. “‘Star-cross’d lovers.’ That’s what you are, you know.” He laughed. “It all ends terribly for poor Khurrem and Alexius, but that’s because they were such hasty children. With better planning they could have slipped away to the countryside and lived to a ripe old age, but Shakespeare tangles them up in a scheme of sleeping potions and crossed messages and they both die at the end, even though well-intentioned friends were trying to help them. But of course that’s drama for you. It’s a lovely play. I hope to be able to see it performed some day.”
He put the book aside. They both were staring at him.
To Michael he said, “I’ve arranged for you to defect to Turkey. Ismet Akif will give you a writ of political asylum. What happens between you and Selima is of course entirely up to you and Selima, but in the name of Allah I implore you not to make as much of a shambles of it as Khurrem and Alexius did. Istanbul’s not such a bad place to live, you know. No, don’t look at me like that! If she can put up with a ninny like you, you can manage to get over your prejudices against Turks. You asked for all this, you know. You didn’t have to fall in love with her.”
“Sir, I—I—”
Michael’s voice trailed away.
The Emir said, “Take him out of here, will you, Selima?”
“Come,” she told the gawking Englishman. “We need to talk, I think.”
“I—I—”
The Emir gestured impatiently. Selima’s hand was on Michael’s wrist, now. She tugged, and he followed. The Emir looked after them until they had gone down the stairs.
Then he clapped his hands.
“Ali Pasha!”
The vizier appeared so quickly that there could be no doubt he had been lurking just beyond the ornate doorway.
“Majesty?”
“We have to clear this place out a little,” the Emir said. “This crocodile—this absurd giraffe—find an appropriate charity and donate them, fast. And these hippo skulls, too. And this, and this, and this—”
“At once, majesty. A clean sweep.”
“A clean sweep, yes.”
A cool wind was blowing through the palace now, after the rains. He felt young, strong, vigorous. Life was just beginning, finally. Later in the day he would visit the lions at their pit.