Cybele's Secret Read Free Page A

the dock, then borne away on the backs of workers whose every move was watched by a hawkeyed overseer with a coiled whip at his belt. I had known there would be slaves here, but the sight gave me a cold, uncomfortable feeling in my stomach.
    Father was in intense conversation with a man who had come on board. The newcomer was wearing an expertly tailored short robe over wool hose and felt boots, and a velvet cap on his head. He had the well-kempt, well-fed look of a successful trader. They were speaking in Greek. I let the talk drift past me as I scanned the craft moored around us, my gaze moving from tiny, weather-beaten fishing boats to grand three-masted carracks, from merchant vessels swarming with activity to swift, elegant caïques that served as ferryboats. I looked back along the nearby docks and my gaze stilled. The
Esperança
was moored at some distance from us, her sails furled now, the only sign of life a solitary crewman making a slow patrol of the deck. I could not see if he was armed. Perhaps Duarte da Costa Aguiar was already out there in the city somewhere, making a generous offer for Cybele’s Gift.
    I narrowed my eyes. What was that patch of black, a tattered length of cloth next to the
Esperança
’s mast? It was flapping as if stirred by a capricious breeze, yet nothing around it moved. Wasn’t that…No, it couldn’t be. And yet that was what I saw: Halfway up the mainmast was the figure of a woman clad in a black robe whose folds billowed out on that uncanny wind. Her head was turned in my direction, but I could not see her face, for she wore the style of veil that conceals all but the eyes. She seemed to be beckoning. And I heard a command, not aloud but clear in my mind:
It’s time, Paula. It’s time to begin your quest.
Goose bumps broke out all over my body. Without a shred of doubt, it was a voice from the Other Kingdom. A familiar voice. I could have sworn the speaker was my sister Tati.
    “Paula!”
    I dragged my eyes away from the unearthly figure on the pirate vessel; then, seeing my father’s expression, I went quickly to his side. “What is it, Father? Are you unwell?” It had been a long time since that terrible winter when he had been too ill to stay at home in the mountains. Father had been much better of late. Still, I worried. Right now he looked old. “Father, you should sit down,” I said, motioning to a bench. I glanced back toward the
Esperança;
the apparition had vanished.
    “I’m fine, Paula. This is Master Giacomo of Genoa, another colleague of Salem bin Afazi.” Out of courtesy, he continued to use Greek, which he had told me was a shared tongue of traders in these parts. There would be few who spoke our own language here. “Giacomo, let me present my daughter Paula, who is here as my assistant.”
    The Genoese sketched a bow, his shrewd eyes evaluating what he could see of me behind my modest scarf and demure gown.
    “There’s been a change of plan,” Father said. He was twisting his hat between his hands; it would need steaming to regain its shape. He had not sat down. “Master Giacomo has procured lodgings for us in the Galata district. It’s in a
han,
a trading center, where there will be storage for our goods as well. He says it will be quite proper for you to stay there; many of the Genoese merchants live nearby with their families, and Giacomo and his wife will be in residence on the upper floor. The establishment is well guarded. Our cargo will be taken there, not to Salem’s warehouse.”
    I observed the lines on my father’s face, the grayish tinge around eyes and nose. I waited for him to speak again.
    “Salem’s dead, Paula,” Father said flatly. “It happened not long ago. In keeping with Muslim practice, he was buried within a day.”
    “Oh, no!” It was a shock even to me. Father and Salem had had a close trading partnership for years, exchanging sensitive information, helping each other to achieve audacious deals, supporting each other