ody　had　wondered　for

days；　”Who　are　you？“　”To　you；“　replied　the　mysterious　warrior；　”my　name　is

Death。“　Tell　me　then；　my　friends；　who　was　he？”

“The　legendary　Rüstem；”　said　Butterfly　with　childlike　glee。

I kissed him on the neck。 “We’ve all betrayed Master Osman；” I said。

“Before　he　metes　out　his　punishment；　we　must　find　Olive；　rid　ourselves　of　this

venom　in　our　midst　and　e　to　an　agreement　so　we　can　stand　strong　against

the　eternal　enemies　of　art　and　those　who　long　to　send　us　directly　to　dungeons

of　torture。　Perhaps；　when　we　arrive　at　Olive’s　abandoned　dervish　house；　we’ll

learn　that　the　cruel　murderer　isn’t　even　one　of　our　lot。”

Poor　Butterfly　uttered　not　a　sound。　Regardless　of　how　talented；　confident

or well supported he might be； just like all illuminators who sought one

another’s pany depite their mutual loathing and envy； he was deathly

afraid　of　being　left　alone　in　this　world　and　of　going　to　Hell。

On　the　route　to　the　Phanar　Gate；　there　was　an　eerie　greenish…yellow　light

above us； but it wasn’t the light of the moon。 In this light； the old； faithful

nighttime appearance of Istanbul prised of cypress trees； leaden domes；

stone walls； wooden houses and tracts ravaged by fire was overtaken by an

unfamiliarity　such　as　might　be　caused　by　an　enemy　fortress。　As　we　ascended

the hill； in the distance we saw the fire that burned somewhere beyond the

Bayazid　Mosque。

In　the　heavy　darkness；　we　came　across　an　oxcart　half…loaded　with　sacks　of

flour heading toward the city walls； and parting with two silver coins； we

procured　a　ri