search it from top to bottom；” I
said。 “If the last picture is with him； at least we’ll know whom to fear。 If not；
we’ll take him with us as support and go on to raid Stork’s house。”
I told him to trust me and that his dagger was enough weaponry for the
two of us。 I apologized for not even having offered him a glass of linden tea。 As
I lifted the oil lamp from the floor； we both stared meaningfully at the cushion
upon which I’d flattened him。 I approached him with the lamp in my hand
and told him how the ever…so…faint cut on his throat would be a mark of our
friendship。 He bled only slightly。
The motion made by the Erzurumis and those pursuing them could
still be heard on the streets； but no one noticed us。 We were quick to arrive at
Olive’s house。 We knocked on the courtyard door； the door of the house； and
impatiently upon the shutters。 Nobody was home； we made so much noise
that we were certain he wasn’t sleeping。 Black gave voice to what we both were
thinking： “Shall we go inside？”
I twisted the metal loop of the door lock using the blunt edge of Black’s
dagger； then inserting it into the space between door and jamb and levering it
with all our weight； we broke the lock。 We were met by the stench of
dampness； dirt and loneliness； which had accumulated over years。 By the light
of the lamp； we noticed an unmade bed； sashes tossed randomly upon
cushions； vests； two turbans； undershirts； Nimetullah Effendi the
Nakshibendi’s Persian dictionary； a wooden turban stand； broadcloth； needle
and thread； a small copper pan full of ap