The Architect's Apprentice by Shafak Elif

Author:Shafak, Elif [Shafak, Elif]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780241970959
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2014-11-05T16:00:00+00:00

A hundred and thirty hands were hired for the repair of the aqueducts. They worked in two teams – the first on the west wing, the second on the middle part, where the decay had been most severe. In the meantime the four apprentices, with the help of an astrolabe, measured the depths of valleys and the heights of peaks. As was his wont, Sinan ordered them to research the methods undertaken by the craftsmen of the past. They needed to understand how the Byzantines had succeeded and how they had failed if they wished to do better themselves.

Davud and Yusuf, adept at the science of geometry, took the measurements of the waterways. Nikola and Jahan, trudging up and down the hills, logged all the broken canals and the clogged runnels. In some places the water rushed through a gorge because the conduits had fallen into disrepair. Water was dispersed amid green meadows, returned to the earth without having been of use to human beings. In other parts they had to find the source of the stream and excavate the conduits. They dammed the water to make it flow in a single direction, towards the city. Then, with the aid of a new ditch, they made it run the length of the dale. At every stage they measured the quantity – using brass spouts attached to tanks with sluices – calculating how much water had accumulated along the way.

A week later Jahan began to notice something strange. The labourers were giving them a wide berth, reluctant to carry out the orders. The more he observed them, the more he was convinced that they were looking for excuses not to hammer a nail, carry a plank, or do the slightest thing, which, when added together, was enough to hold everything back.

He pulled aside one of the draughtsmen – a Kurd named Salahaddin. His wife had recently given birth to twin boys. Knowing him to be an honest man, Jahan expected him to tell the truth.

‘What’s going on? Why’s everyone slow?’

Salahaddin averted his gaze. ‘We’re workin’, effendi.’

‘You are falling behind – why?’

A little blush crept into his cheeks. ‘You didn’t tell us there was a saint here.’

‘Who says that?’

The man shrugged, refusing to give names.

Jahan tried another question. ‘How do they know there’s a saint?’

‘They have seen … an apparition,’ Salahaddin replied, glancing at Jahan, as if for confirmation.

It was the ghost of a martyr – a mettlesome Muslim soldier who had met his end while fighting the infidels. An arrow had pierced his chest and entered his heart, yet he had kept on fighting relentlessly for two more days. On the third morning he had fallen and was buried in this area. Now his soul, disturbed by the hustle and bustle of the construction, was appearing to the labourers, who fretted that the ghost would put a curse on them.

‘Nonsense. Whoever is spreading this story wants to harm Master Sinan.’

‘It’s true, effendi,’ said Salahaddin. ‘People have seen it.’

‘Where?’ Jahan said, throwing up his hands in exasperation.

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