Ancient Spirits (Daisy Gumm Majesty Books) (24 page)

“However, I’m not all that keen on taking off to London all by ourselves. Not only do I want to see the sights with you with some kind of protection along, I’m also not that keen on us traveling alone anywhere. Perhaps I should hire someone to act as our guard on the Orient Express to France.”

“That might not be a bad idea, but where would you find someone to guard us?” Then I bethought myself of the devastatingly handsome Ali, but I didn’t mention him as my appreciation of the young Turk seemed disloyal somehow to Billy. Silly, I suppose, but it was true.

The day after the break-in of my room, the Turkish police authorities were summoned to the hotel, where they questioned Harold and me, Mr. Ozdemir, Ali (whose last name I eventually learned was Bektas) and what seemed like the entire hotel staff. The main policeman, or whoever he was, told us that such an occurrence in such a high-class hotel was practically unheard of, and implied that we were somehow at fault for our own misfortunes. I set him straight in no uncertain terms, and he left quivering, probably with wrath. At any rate, I doubted we’d get much help from that quarter should we ask for it.

“Damned if I know what’s going on,” said Harold. “If you hadn’t been so rough on that police fellow . . . but that’s all water under the bridge.” He added the latter part of the sentence hastily, I presume after catching a gander at my face, which was moderately wrathful itself. I was still sick, darn it, and didn’t feel the least bit diplomatic.

“We still need to hire a guard when I’m well enough to visit the sights in Istanbul.” I decided not to discuss my rudeness to the poor policeman.

“I wonder where one finds a guard in Istanbul.”

“Maybe Mister Ozdemir could advise us,” I
proposed. So far, I didn’t think I’d aggravated Mr. Ozdemir beyond bearing. “Perhaps he could lend us Ali.”

Harold brightened. “I like that idea. A lot.”

Evidently I wasn’t the only one who appreciated Ali’s looks. I frowned at Harold. “You’re married, remember.”

“Am not.”

“Might as well be.”

“There’s no harm in looking.”

Hmm. Maybe Harold was right about that. His words made me feel minimally better about my own tendency to stare at Ali whenever he was around.

“Do you think you’ll be up to taking in the sights of the city any time soon? I don’t want to rush you,” Harold hurried to explain, probably because he didn’t want me to treat him as brutally as I had the policeman, “but let me know when you’re ready.”

“I’m sorry, Harold. I’m not being fair to you, making you wait around at the hotel while I’m sick. Why don’t you go out and about a little yourself? Aren’t there any interesting people in the hotel with whom you can visit mosques and palaces and stuff like that?”

Harold huffed. “Thanks to you, I’m afraid even to talk to strangers. Until we discover who’s harassing you, I don’t dare trust anyone.”

“I haven’t been harassed in a couple of days,” I said in a small voice.

“That’s because nobody can get at you.” He smiled. “But do let me know when you feel up to it, and I’ll ask Mister Ozdemir if we can borrow Ali.”

“Ali’s last name is Bektas, by the way, if you want to be polite and call him Mister Bektas.”

Harold eyed me suspiciously. “How’d you find that out?”

I shrugged. “I asked him.”

“Oh? And when did you do that?”

“Yesterday, when I was feeling slightly better, I brushed my hair, washed my face, put on a long robe, opened the door and asked him. He speaks pretty good English.” I laughed. “In fact all of these people speak English. We should be ashamed of ourselves for not learning other languages if we expect to travel in other people’s countries.”

Harold blinked at me, and I sighed.

“Never mind. I’m not propounding a revolution or anything. I know you’re rich, and when you’re rich, you don’t need to learn other people’s languages because they’ll cater to you no matter what language you speak.”

“Are you a Socialist, Daisy Majesty?”

“No. Just from a lower class of American society than you.”

“I thought we were a classless society.”

I only looked at him until he gave up.

“Oh, all right. We’re no more classless than any other society, I suppose.”

“I suppose. Anyway, I can appreciate the feelings of other people who aren’t rich, is all.”

“Hmm. Well, whatever
your politics, you sound as though you’re getting better.”

“I am. Maybe the day after tomorrow we can take in a mosque or something. I doubt if I’ll be ready by tomorrow. I still feel as though I might fall down when I walk across the floor.” I thought of something. “Gee, do they allow women in mosques? I don’t want to break any rules or anything.”

“I’ll ask Mister Ozdemir. I’m sure he has packets of information about the sights to see in Istanbul, and he can probably hire us a guide, too.”

I sighed, regretting the loss of Ali Bektas already. “You’re certainly right. These fancy hotels cater to tourists.”

And indeed our hotel and Mr. Ozdemir did cater to our urge to see the ancient city of Constantinople/Istanbul. What’s more, he offered to allow us to hire Ali Bektas for only a slightly extortionate rate. Harold, having come from money and never having been in need of anything in his life, didn’t even blink when he accepted Mr. Ozdemir’s offer.

“He’s going to charge you what?” I demanded when Harold came to my room that evening and told me of our good fortune.

“It’s fine, Daisy. Mister Ozdemir said that Ali is not merely an excellent tour guide, but he’s strong as an ox and can protect us if anyone tries anything untoward.”

“Well . . . do you want me to give you some money to help pay for him?” Lord, it felt odd to talk about a human being as though he were merchandise. Not only would I make a lousy queen, but I don’t think I’d have done very well as a belle at an old southern plantation, either.

“For heaven’s sake, Daisy. This trip is my treat to you. I’m practically dripping money, and you know it. So shut up about the money, will you?”

I saluted. “Yes, sir.”

That day I’d actually felt well enough to get into real clothes—a plain skirt and shirtwaist—which made me feel less like a dying diva and more like a real, live human being. I’m not sure why, but being in my nightie and robe all day long is to me a sure sign I’m really, really sick. Perhaps this is only one more indication of my working-class roots.

“I didn’t realize how much there was of historical interest in Turkey,” said Harold, browsing a brochure.

“Sure it’s of historical interest,” I said. “Istanbul used to be Constantinople, for Pete’s sake—well it still is to lots of people—and it was the center of the ancient world.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.” He’d handed me another of the same, and I opened it and began looking too. “We need to see the Blue Mosque and the Topkapi Palace, for sure.”

“Yes. And I’d like to see the old city walls. I guess lots of important cities used to have walls around them to keep invaders out.”

“Indeed they did.”

I heaved a sigh. “Billy used to read to me about the various walls in England. I’m sure you’ve heard of Hadrian’s Wall. Maybe we can see that when we return to England.”

“Maybe. I don’t know if we’ll be there long enough.”

“I’d rather return to Pasadena than see Hadrian’s Wall, if that makes a difference in our plans.”

Glancing up from his brochure, Harold said seriously, “I hope this trip wasn’t an awful mistake, Daisy. I was trying to help you out, and so far, you’ve been harassed by persons unknown and been deathly ill.”

“Pooh, Harold. Neither of those things is your fault.” I recalled Sam’s last letter. According to him, everything that happens to me is always my own fault. I hadn’t received another letter from him. That terse telegraph was his last communication, and I didn’t know where in the world, literally, he was when he sent it. Although it sounds silly, I almost hoped he’d find us in Istanbul. I’d be happy to see anyone from home at that point in time, even Sam Rotondo.

“Well, I still feel responsible for your welfare.”

“Thank you, Harold.” I peered down at the brochure, feeling homesick and not wanting Harold to know it. “Oh, look! There’s a Grand Bazaar here, too. I’ll bet they have beautiful things there. Turkish rugs and fabrics. I love the few examples of Turkish art I’ve seen so far. It’s so . . . colorful and exotic. And I definitely want to get a fez for Pa and Pudge Wilson.”

“Yes. Me, too. I think I’ll get Del a rug.”

I glanced at the rug decorating my room. One couldn’t even see where the ginger ale of the other night had puddled anymore. “They certainly seem to be sturdy. Personally, I’d like to see if I could find a couple of those camel blankets, preferably cleaned. Do you suppose they have camel blankets in Turkey?”

“I have no idea. I’m sure you can find almost anything at the Grand Bazaar.”

“I hope so. Oh, and look at this! There’s a place called the Galata Tower. It used to be called the ‘Jesus Tower’ by the Genoese, but the Byzantines called it the ‘Great Bastion.’ What an odd combination of names.”

“You’re right about that.”

“It seems funny to me that all the Turkish folks we’ve met have been so nice and helpful. Didn’t the Turks pretty much take over this part of the world in times past? All that pillage and plunder and death seems far removed from the country we’re in now.”

“From what I’ve read, they’re ferocious fighters even to this day.”

“Hmm. Well, I’m glad they’re nice to tourists.”

A hard knock came at the door, and Harold and I glanced at each other uneasily. As far as I knew, Ali still stood guard out there, and that didn’t sound like one of his polite knocks. At all.

“I’ll see who it is,” said Harold, quite gallantly, I think. I mean, for all we knew, the knocker with the knuckles had murdered Ali and was now going to do us in for the purpose of getting whatever I seemed to be in possession of—and boy, I wished I knew what it was, because I’d hand it over in an instant—or kidnap me and pawn me off to a white slaver.

Picking up unopened ginger-ale bottle, I said, “I’ll be your back-up.”

Frowning at me, Harold said, “I don’t need back-up, for God’s sake.”

“You never know,” said I, and I followed him to the door whether he wanted me to or not.

Harold, being no dummy, didn’t instantly open the door. Rather, he said, “Who is it?”

“Damnation, let me in!” came a voice I’d recognize anywhere.

Bolting past Harold, I flung the door open. “Sam! How in the world did you get here so fast?”

Glaring at me in his old Sam-like way, Sam Rotondo shot a glower at Ali, who rolled his eyes in a great imitation of Sam himself, then stomped past me into my sitting room. He stopped a couple of paces from the doorway and glowered around. “The two of you aren’t taking it easy with the money, are you?”

Before tackling Sam, I smiled at Ali and said, “Thank you very much, Mister Bektas.”

He bowed, but appeared doubtful about our guest. I must say I couldn’t blame him.

After gently closing the door on Ali, I turned on our latest arrival. “Sam Rotondo, if you aren’t the rudest, most boorish man I’ve ever met in my—”

“It’s all right, Daisy,” said Harold in a placatory voice. “We’re glad to see you, Detective Rotondo. I didn’t want to travel alone with Daisy because someone seems to be dogging her footsteps, and it will be good to have you with us.”

I stared at Harold, open-mouthed.

Before I could argue with him or scold Sam for being impolite some more, Harold rushed on. “Daisy’s been quite ill for the past few days, and—”

“You’ve been sick? What the devil’s the matter with you?” Sam rounded on me and looked as though he thought my getting sick was merely one more example of my incompetence.

“Darn you, Sam Rotondo, getting sick wasn’t my fault! The hotel doctor called it Pharaoh’s Revenge. What it boils down to is I got a case of dysentery, but I’m feeling much better now. In fact, Harold and I were just planning a tour of the city of Istanbul for the day after tomorrow.”

“Where’s Istanbul?” asked Sam belligerently.

I almost rolled my own eyes. “You’re in Istanbul right this minute, Sam Rotondo. If you’d bothered to do any research, you’d know that people are calling Constantinople Istanbul these days.”

“Huh.”

“And we’re going to see the sights,” I said
, my voice tight with annoyance.

“In which activity, of course, you’ll join us,” Harold said hurriedly, as if he trying to prevent a bout of fisticuffs breaking out in my hotel suite.

Sam eyed me balefully. “You’ve lost even more weight, haven’t you? You look like a damned skeleton.”

“Blast you, Sam! Of course, I’ve lost weight. I was sick. I couldn’t keep anything down for days! I’m still being careful, as a matter of fact.” I placed a hand on my sensitive tummy, hoping Sam’s bursting into its presence wasn’t going to upset it again.

“I was trying my best to feed her before she got sick,” Harold said in a conciliating tone, as if trying to prevent Sam from attacking him next.

“You don’t have to explain anything to him,” I told Harold, still frowning at Sam. “Well, don’t just stand there, Sam Rotondo. Sit down and tell us why you’re here.”