The Fall of Eva Pryor Ch. 05

"The sixty-arm crystal chandelier that hangs in this hall was a gift from Queen Victoria herself. Did you know?"

"When construction of this Palace began under Sultan Abdul Mecid, they said in the streets that the Empire would be bankrupt. But, praise be to Allah, our domain has only flourished in trade and grown in wealth under our wise Sultan's stewardship."

"Indeed, Allah be praised for sparing our Caliph from the traitorous attempts on his life! Have you heard? They now say it was the Young Turks who directed his Pashas' hands against him."

I had the feeling that a great deal of political complexity lay behind these casually-delivered comments, but I frankly understood not a whit of it. My knowledge of events within the Ottoman Empire was apparently stuck in the days of Lady Montagu's visits, nearly 200 years past. It was humbling to find out how much catching up I had to do. I murmured translations to Eva, who responded with appropriate reactions of appreciation and solemnity. I daresay if she spoke Turkish, she would have been in the thick of the discussion in no time.

Once sherbets and sweetmeats had been served, we were treated to a concert of music composed by the Sultan himself. It appeared he was a connoisseur of European music and had written many concertos using Western instrumentation combined with Eastern pentatonic tonalities. Dancers accompanied the music and put on quite a show -though I wished it had included rather less of the gavotte and more of the belly-dancers that were showcased in the last World's Fair. For the final dance, the entire court was invited to participate, and I was proud to take Eva on my arm while the Sultan danced with one of his wives. Though the protagonists in novels always find time for banter during dances, Eva and I were not able to exchange so much as a word during our turn on the floor, so loud was the echoing hall. As a result, we had no way to prepare ourselves for the challenge that came next: a private audience with the Sultan.

We scarcely had our breaths back, and indeed had not regained our seats, when a guard beckoned Eva and I to follow him. We did so and found ourselves escorted to a room decorated most singularly in scarlet.

"The Red Room," the guard announced in thickly-accented English. He opened the door.

Inside, Sultan Abdul Aziz reclined on a sort of long, low, curved couch or divan of crimson velvet, surrounded by patterned cushions in red and gold. Burnished oil lamps illuminated the rich textiles of the seating area while casting the rest of the room into uncertain shadow. There were no other seats visible; clearly the divan was meant to be shared. Eva had entered just before me and so she reached the divan first. There was no way I could impose myself between her and the Sultan without appearing rude. Still, out of some uncanny impulse, I hesitated, catching hold of Eva's arm before she could sit.

"Please, don't be troubled!" the Sultan said, keenly observing my hesitation. "You are not familiar with such furniture in England, but there is no -how to say it?- impropriety in sitting and sharing a hookah in my Red Room. It is a custom I instated recently to set foreign dignitaries at ease and smooth the flow of conversation."

"But of course, your Highness," Eva replied, disengaging from my grip and sitting down with aplomb. I followed suit as graciously as possible.

There was small talk, of course, as we sipped drinks and smoked sweet-scented water pipes. The Sultan engaged us with all the usual pleasantries. How did you enjoy the meal? Are the rooms to your taste? How well you dance! Eva responded like a true diplomat in every case with charming accounts of her experience. However, it soon became apparent that the Sultan was aiming at something more when he began to express his interest in Eva's steam-suit once again.

"Truly, the craftsmanship displayed! It is a miraculous piece, Miss Pryor. I must know how it works." He exclaimed, taking her hand in his to examine the fine articulations of her finger-braces.

Eva said nothing. Her face went curiously blank and her body stilled. I had the sense that she was reliving childhood memories of many such unwanted examinations. In sympathy, I tried to turn the conversation elsewhere.

"We are most gratified to be so warmly welcomed here, your Highness. I had thought at first that our presence in your great capital might be misunderstood as an intrusion."

The Sultan gave me an assessing glance.

"You refer to the Commander's distance strike at our borders? That was unfortunate. However, the Commander has orders to protect the Empire and your ship flew no colours, neither Ottoman nor Unified. Most such ships are smugglers and brigands. Why did you not come under the Pryor Engines flag? It is a Pryor Engines vessel, yes?"

"Yes, it is, but...well, the truth is, though our vessel was a birthday gift to Eva from her father, her voyage here was contrary to his wishes. She has been in contact with an Ottoman scientist who convinced her that your great Empire respects its researchers better, and so she hired me to help her defect after receiving her present. I believe I said as much to the Commander."

"Ah yes, he did mention the defection, but not Ms. Pryor's contact here. Who is this Ottoman scientist, so that I may reward him for bringing such a valuable collaborator into my fold?"

"Errr..." I looked to Eva, and she took over to leaven my half-truth with a little more misinformation.

"I have only a code-name, Your Highness, and do not know his true identity. I hope that finding my contact is something you can help me with. I believe he works in quite a remote area of the Empire."

"Certainly, we will seek him. But I must ask: was it only your passion for research that brought you here? Or was it perhaps more?"

"More? I am not sure what-"

"This man you corresponded with. Can it be that he draws you here with promises of more than steam-suits and zeppelins?"

"Oh!" Eva actually blushed and took a gulp of her sherbet, no doubt recalling the erotic language of her correspondence with Ulupi. Still, she managed to insist, "No, nothing so romantic as all that, I'm afraid!"

"Good," said the Sultan in silky tones. "Then perhaps I can convince you to stay here for the time being. I can of course promise you workspace in the University's top labs, as well as living quarters in the women's side of the palace that you will find most...what is the word?...ah, yes: luxurious. There are many pleasures to be had here."

Eva's eyes flashed steel and I was certain that she would stand up, dash her sherbet in his face, and march out at the mere implication that she might join his Harem. Perhaps she would have done so, a few days ago. But our dire situation (and perhaps my earlier warnings) stilled her natural rebelliousness. Though she was not coy or practiced in feminine wiles, she had self-control enough to look down and murmur with her cheeks still flushed,

"That is truly a generous offer, your Highness. May I think on it overnight? I fear I'm growing weary after the evening's exertions, on top of the long weeks of travel..."

"By all means, Miss Pryor! Sleep well, and in the morning you will wake so refreshed that you will never wish to leave the palace again."

Eva managed a cordial thank you, and I like to think my farewells were not at all murderous. The Sultan saw much, though, and as we left I fancied that he smiled at me with just a touch too much triumph, as if our contest of wits were already done and the prize decided in his favour.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

This portrait of the Ottoman Empire is half-fact, half-fancy, and another half again (150%!) based on suppositions about "the Orient" that Benjamin makes as a 19th century British gentleman.

Some of the things in the story that are as factual as possible include: the racially and religiously diverse character of the late Ottoman Empire, the layout and general decoration of Dolmabahce Palace (which really does have a Crystal Stair, a Red Room, and a chandelier from Queen Victoria), the story about live turtles used as lights in Topkapi Palace, and some things about Sultan Abdulaziz, such as that he traveled to Europe, modernized Turkey, and composed his own music.

I did change one key event in the life of Abdulaziz: his death date. The real sultan died in 1876 in a very suspicious "suicide" that was probably an assassination. In my version, "Abul Aziz" (as Benjamin spells it) survived that attempt and put all of his energy into modernizing the nation, thus preventing the collapse of the Ottoman Empire. And so we meet him in the early 1890s, still alive and well. Having steam-suits helped him a great deal.

My primary source of historical information in this chapter and the next was Mehrdad Kia's 2011 book "Daily Life in the Ottoman Empire." For some aspects of Benjamin's perspective (such as thinking that Turkey would be all camels and bazaars), I drew on Edward Said's 1978 scholarly book "Orientalism." Benjamin's own knowledge of the Ottomans was informed by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu's "Turkish Embassy Letters" (1762) and by newspaper articles about the Ottomans published in The Illustrated London News during the Crimean War (1853-6). That said, none of the beta readers for my story had any more knowledge about the Ottoman Empire than I do, so all errors are my own, and all corrections are welcomed.

Sorry there are no sexy bits in this chapter. Next time I'll start with something "steamy." ;)