ning within the
picture a handspan away from my weary eyes； and we were witnessing it with
respect and awe。
“What’s wrong with the nose？” I was able to whisper much later。
“He’s drawn the nose oddly；” said Master Osman without taking his eyes
off the page。
“Did his hand slip； perhaps？ Is this a mistake？”
We were still examining the peculiar； unique rendering of the nose。
“Is this the Veian…inspired ”style‘ everyone； the great masters of China
included； has begun talking about？“ asked Master Osman mockingly。
I succumbed to resentment； thinking that he was mocking my late Enishte：
“My Enishte； may he rest in peace； used to say that any fault arising not from
lack of ability or talent； but from the depths of the miniaturist’s soul； ought
not be deemed fault but style。”
However it came about； whether by the miniaturist’s own hand or the
horse itself； there was no clue other than this nose as to the identity of the
blackguard who murdered my Enishte。 For； let alone making out the nostrils；
we were having difficulty identifying the noses of the smudged horses on the
page found with poor Elegant Effendi。
We spent much time searching for horse pictures that Master Osman’s
beloved miniaturists had made for various books in recent years； looking for
the same irregularity in the horse’s nostrils。 Because the Book of Festivities； still
being pleted； depicted the societies and guilds marching on foot before
Our Sultan； there were few horses among its 250 illustrations。 Men were
dispatched to the book…arts workshop； where certain figure books；