The Sultan, the Vampyr and the Soothsayer by Lucille Turner

Author:Lucille Turner [Turner, Lucille]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hengist Press
Published: 2016-11-19T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 32

The dervish skirted the walls of the palace, his purse heavy enough, although not as heavy as it might have been. But that was how it was with princes of any kind, sultans not least. If the predictions were not to the listener’s taste, the soothsayer was either not paid at all or paid badly. He should think himself fortunate that the Sultan had not sent him off to see his head gardener, the man of sabre and scythe. Even if he had known every answer to the Sultan’s questions, he never gave the secrets of the charts to those who were not ready to hear them, and within the palace wall a severe case of indigestion was in progress. A father must choose a name for his son. Would it be conqueror or something less desirable? And if a conqueror, what kind of conqueror?

Hearing footsteps at his back, he stopped and turned. There was the Imperial Chamberlain calling him back. It did not surprise him. The powerful altered the path of the wise and were in their turn altered.

Once Athazaz, soothsayer of Bursa, had assured the Imperial Chamberlain that he would return by sundown, he made his way back to the bazaar, collected his bags, drank tea at a merchant’s stall, ate a bowl of rice and considered what lay ahead. After their discussion in the pavilion, the Sultan wanted him back. His presence at the Imperial Court had been requested, demanded even, from the look of urgency on the Imperial Chamberlain’s face. He could hardly refuse; the Sultan demanded, but he also needed, and that need, which the soothsayer sensed and the Sultan liked to hide, was quite a lure. The silver coins, however, were not. The Sultan thought they were, but it was only natural for a man of great wealth to imagine that everyone was drawn to the same object. In any event, Athazaz had long ago renounced earthly pleasures, which were transitory and brief. He lived from hand to mouth, and liked it that way. He likewise preferred the unknown to the known, the state of trance to the state of affairs, and the firmament to the earth.

He had become a murid, and had passed the period of the thousand-and-one-day solitude to emerge as a dervish. He had travelled from caravanserai to caravanserai, where merchants rested legs and horses, and he could snatch a tale or question a wanderer. He had read palms in exchange for food when he was hungry, or when the hand was especially revealing. He had divined the future from the entrails of the fish, as much from curiosity about the fish as anything else, and had developed a fascination for reading coffee because he liked coffee. But he had never doubted where the true key to prophecy lay. The mysteries of life and death were above and below. One copy was written in the skies, while the other was locked in the head. This he discovered in the spring

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