The Architect's Apprentice Read Online Free

the way, the boy following with a lamp. The floorboards creaked under their feet. The
kahya
smiled to herself. The master erected magnificent buildings near and far but forgot to repair the floors in his own house.
    Upon entering the library, they were surrounded by a balmy smell – the scents of books, ink, leather, beeswax, cedar rosaries and walnut shelves.
    ‘Effendi
, wake up,’ the
kahya
whispered, her voice soft as silk.
    She stood still, listening to the rise and fall of her master’s breathing. She called again, louder this time. Not a stir.
    The boy, meanwhile, having never been this close to the master, was scrutinizing him: the long, arched nose, the wide forehead with deep lines, the thick, hoary beard that he restlessly tugged at when lost in thought, the scar on his left eyebrow – a reminder of the day when, as a youngster working in his father’s carpentry workshop, Sinan had fallen on a wedge. The boy’s gaze slid to the master’s hands. With strong, bony fingers and rough, callused palms, they were the hands of a man accustomed to outdoor work.
    The third time the
kahya
called his name, Sinan opened his eyes and sat up in bed. A shadow fell on his features as he saw the two figures by his side. He knew they would never have dared to awaken him at this hour unless a calamity had occurred or the city had burned to the ground.
    ‘A messenger arrived,’ the
kahya
explained. ‘You are expected in the palace.’
    Slowly, Sinan heaved himself out of bed. ‘May it be good news,
insha’Allah
.’
    Holding out a bowl, pouring water from a pitcher and feeling rather important, the boy helped his master to wash his face and get dressed. A pale shirt, a kaftan, not one of the new ones but an old, brown one, thick and trimmed with fur. Together the three of them clambered downstairs.
    The messenger bowed his head upon seeing them coming. ‘I beg your pardon for disturbing you,
effendi
, but I have commands to take you to the palace.’
    ‘One must do one’s duty,’ Sinan said.
    The
kahya
interjected, ‘Can the boy accompany the master?’
    The messenger raised an eyebrow, staring directly at Sinan. ‘I’ve been instructed to bring you and no one else.’
    Anger, like bile, rose in the
kahya
’s mouth. She might have snappedhad Sinan not placed a calming hand on her shoulder and said, ‘It’ll be fine.’
    The architect and the messenger walked outside into the night. There wasn’t a creature in sight, not even a stray dog, of which there were so many in this city. Once Sinan was settled in the carriage, the messenger closed the door and hopped up on to the seat next to the driver, who had not spoken a single word. The horses lurched, and soon they were speeding through the drab streets, bobbing up and down.
    To hide his unease Sinan moved aside the tightly drawn curtains and stared outside. As they galloped through crooked streets and under boughs that bent with sorrow, he mused on the people sleeping in their homes, the rich in their
konaks
, the poor in their shacks. They passed by the Jewish quarter, the Armenian quarter and the neighbourhoods of Greeks and Levantines. He observed the churches, none of which were permitted to have bells, the synagogues with square courtyards, the mosques roofed with lead, and the mud-brick and wooden houses that leaned against each other as if for solace. Even the gentry had their houses built of poorly baked bricks. He wondered, for the thousandth time, how a city so rich in beauty could be crammed with houses so poorly built.
    Finally, they reached the palace. At the end of the first courtyard the carriage drew to a halt. The palace runners came around for help, their movements deft and practised. Sinan and the messenger made their way across the Middle Gate, which no one save the Sultan could pass through on horseback. They strode past a marble fountain that glowed in the dark, like a being from another world. The pavilions by the seaside, which loomed up in