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moment。 I felt no pain； I was simply terrified。
Just as I decided from the silver coin in my pocket that they weren’t going
to kill me； they suddenly released me。 They removed the viselike contraption
that had actually done little damage to my head。 The executioner who’d
pinned me down stood up without even a hint of apology。 I donned my shirt
and vest。
There passed a very long silence。
At the other end of the room； I saw Head Illuminator Osman Effendi。 I
went to him and kissed his hand。
“Don’t be concerned； my child；” he said to me。 “They were just testing
you。”
271
I knew at once that I’d found a new father to replace Enishte； may he rest
in peace。
“Our Sultan has ordered that you not be tortured at this time；” said the
mander。 “He deemed it appropriate for you to help Head Illuminator
Master Osman find the rogue who’s been killing His miniaturists and the loyal
servants preparing His manuscripts。 You have three days in which to
interrogate the miniaturists； scrutinize the illuminated pages they’ve made
and find the sly culprit。 The Sovereign is quite appalled by the rumors being
spread by mischief makers about His miniaturists and illuminated
manuscripts。 Both the Head Treasurer Haz？m Agha and I will help you find this
scoundrel； as the Sultan has decreed。 One of you has been very close to Enishte
Effendi； and has thus heard his recitations and knows about the miniaturists
who visited him at night and the story behind the book。 The other is a great
master who takes pride in knowing all the miniaturists of the workshop like
the back of his hand。 Within three days； if you fail to produce that swine along
with the missing page he stole—about which much gossip is flying—it is Our
Just Sultan’s express desire that you； my child Black Effendi； be the first to
undergo torture and interrogation。 Afterward； let there be no doubt； each of
the other master miniaturists will have his turn。”
I could detect no secret gestures or signs between these two old friends；
who’d worked together for years： Head Treasurer Haz？m Agha； who
missioned the work； and Head Illuminator Master Osman Effendi； who
received the funds and materials through him from the treasury。
“Everyone knows； whenever a crime is mitted within Our Sultan’s
wards； regiments and divisions； that the entire group is considered guilty until
one among them is identified and turned in。 A section that fails to name the
murderer in its midst goes down in the judicial records as a ”division of
murderers；“ including its officer or master； and is punished accordingly；” said
the mander。 “Therefore； our Head Illuminator Master Osman will keep a
sharp watch； scrutinize each of the illustrations with his perating gaze；
uncover the devilry； ruse； mischief and instigation that has set the innocent
miniaturists at each other’s throats； and remand the guilty party to the
unwavering justice of the Refuge of the World； Our Sultan； thereby clearing
the good name of his guild。 To this end； we’ve ordered that whatsoever Master
Osman may require be granted to him。 My men are at this moment
confiscating each of the manuscript pages that the master miniaturists have
been illuminating in the privacy of their homes。”
272
IT IS I； MASTER OSMAN
The mader of the Imperial Guard and the Head Treasurer reiterated Our
Sultan’s decrees before leaving the two of us alone。 Of course； Black was
exhausted by fear； crying and the ruse of torture。 He fell quiet like a boy。 I
knew I would e to like him； and I didn’t disturb his peace。
I had three days to examine the pages that the mander’s men collected
from the homes of my calligraphers and master miniaturists； and to
determine who had worked on them。 You all know how disgusted I was when
I first laid eyes on the paintings prepared for Enishte Effendi’s book； and how
Black had given them to the Head Treasurer Haz？m Agha to clear his name。
Granted； there must be something to those pages for them to arouse such
violent disgust and hatred in a miniaturist like myself who’s devoted his life to
artistry； merely bad art wouldn’t provoke such a reaction。 So； with newfound
curiosity； I began to reexamine the nine pages that the deceased fool had
missioned from the miniaturists who came to him under cover of night。
I saw a tree in the middle of a blank page； situated within poor Elegant’s
border design and gilding work； which gracefully framed every page。 I tried to
conjure the scene and story to which the tree belonged。 If I had told my
illustrators to draw a tree； dear Butterfly； wise Stork and wily Olive would have
begun by conceiving of this tree as part of a story so they might draw the
image with confidence。 If I were then to scrutinize that tree； I’d be able to
determine which tale the illustrator had in mind based on its branches and
leaves。 This； however； was a miserable； solitary tree； behind it； there was a quite
high horizon line that hearkened back to the style of the oldest masters of
Shiraz and accentuated the feeling of isolation。 There was nothing at all；
however； filling the area created by raising the horizon。 The desire to depict a
tree simply as such； as the Veian masters did； was here bined with the
Persian way of seeing the world from above； and the result was a miserable
painting that was neither Veian nor Persian。 This was how a tree at the edge
of the world would look。 Attempting to bine two separate styles； my
miniaturists and the barren mind of that deceased clown had created a work
devoid of any skill whatsoever。 But it wasn’t that the illustration was informed
by two different worldviews so much as the lack of skill that in