About The Puppet Master
by Kate Cotoner
47 pages / 12800 words
ISBN: 978-1-61040-149-4
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html, lit, Adobe and Sony optimized pdf, prc, epub
Istanbul, 1622. Considered hotbeds of sedition, the city's coffee houses
are in constant danger of being shut down by imperial command. Haluk, who
runs a cafe in an old caravanserai, is more concerned with brewing the
perfect cup of coffee than inciting rebellion. While storms in coffee cups
rage around him, Haluk tends his clientele and waits for the right moment to
tell his friend and lodger Aydin how he really feels about him.
Aydin has been entertaining the people of the Old City for three years, but
still he doesn't fit in. He hides his courtly manners and graceful charms
behind the boisterous satire of the shadow puppet plays that have made him
popular. A former imperial page, Aydin escaped from the palace after his
jealous rivals planted the forbidden spice sumac in his clothes. Now he
fears his past is catching up with him, bringing danger to Haluk, the man he
loves...
Sample
"Problem?" Haluk asked mildly.
"I lost my Karagoz puppet and two janissaries are after me."
Haluk's smile twisted into a grimace of annoyance. "Not again. Where were
you this time, performing outside the Imperial Gates?"
"I wouldn't be so bold." Aydin positioned himself behind the shutters in one
of the windows and peered out into the courtyard. "I was at Rustempasha."
With a grunt, Haluk returned to the paper. "Good crowd there."
"They seemed to like my new play--until the janissaries offered some
criticism." Aydin sidled away from the window, narrowly tripping over a
couple of customers who'd seen all this before. He greeted them, snatched a
spicy <I>borek</I> from their plate, then weaved his way through the tables
to lean across the counter. "I don't think they followed me."
"Let's hope not." Haluk didn't look up, apparently more concerned with
balancing his accounts. "I'm hurt you haven't seen fit to perform your new
Karagoz here yet. What do the good folk of Rustempasha have that we don't?"
"Taste and discernment?" Aydin grinned and took the reed pen from Haluk's
hand, turned the piece of paper to face him, and finished tallying the
accounts. "Here. You overpaid Souvatzoglou for the coffee last month--one
shipment came in late because of the Storm of the Passing Cranes. He owes
you extra this month."
"I'll ask for a couple of sacks of Ethiopian beans." Now Haluk glanced up,
brushing back a few stray strands of hair. "Thanks."
Aydin returned the accounts, leaning closer so he could inhale Haluk's
smoky-sweet scent. Coffee might be the black work of the djinn, but Aydin
loved the smell of it, especially when it was caught in Haluk's hair and
clothes. He recalled himself to his senses and tapped the paper. "I'm more
than happy to keep the accounts for you."
Haluk gave him a look. "It's my business. I don't interfere with your
business."
"That's because you can't sing and the only poems you recite are vulgar."
Aydin shifted against the counter. "Any citron jam left?"
"Out back. Those clowns Remzi and Yakup were here earlier and you know what
Remzi's like when it comes to citron." Haluk squinted at the accounts again,
then tucked the paper into his pocket before he retrieved the strongbox.
Aydin noticed Haluk was cradling it with more care than usual. "A good day?"
Haluk patted the strongbox affectionately. "A customer appreciated my
coffee. He paid more than I'll make with tonight's crowd--unless you fancy
entertaining us. That always brings in more people."
Aydin pulled a face. "I have to make a new Karagoz puppet." He paused,
watching the way Haluk hugged the strongbox. Amused, he asked, "So how much
did that grateful customer pay you?"
"A yirmilik."
Surprise made Aydin blink. "How much coffee did he drink?"
"Just one cup. It was very good, though. My very best beans." Haluk
chuckled. "Or maybe he enjoyed the sight of two janissaries bickering over a
fresh-faced cadet."
"Perhaps he was trying to buy information," Aydin suggested. "Coffee houses
are full of spies, or so I hear."