I see that Halim’s ship is a galley with rows of oars spearing its sides, withdrawn and lifted from the water. Red triangular flags decorated with gold brocade flutter from the mast poles. The stern of the ship is covered in a striped awning with three brass lamps sitting above it. At the prow is a figurehead carved in the shape of an eagle.
As I approach, men on the ship share startled glances, and one breaks off from tying a rope and runs down the plank. He throws a volley of words at me that I don’t understand, pointing back to the city. The message is clear: You’re not welcome here.
I stand my ground, and smile as seductively as I can. “I’d like to see Halim.”
The man folds his arms, and calls up the plank behind him. Another barks an answer, and disappears out of sight.
As I wait on the harborside, more deckhands come to the rails to watch, fixing me with their greedy eyes. From behind them emerges Faruk. He looks down his nose at me.
“You shouldn’t have come!” he shouts down. “Let men deal with men’s business.”
He’s like a guard dog, jealously keeping watch over his master. But like all dogs, he can surely be tamed.
“I only ask for a few minutes of your master’s time.”
“Time is running out for Venice,” says Faruk.
The men on deck suddenly scatter back to their work as Halim reaches Faruk’s side. His head is covered by a sparkling white turban and he wears loose-fitting trousers, a red tunic with gold buttons and, over that, a black waistcoat. He looks immaculate—ready to entertain guests rather than go to battle. But then I spot the sword that hangs from a leather belt by his hip. The hilt is shaped in the form of an eagle’s head, just like the figurehead.
“I was just telling this young lady to go home,” sneers Faruk.
Halim ignores him and stares at me. I hold his powerful gaze.
“Please,” he says, “come aboard.”
Faruk grunts and disappears from sight. I lift my skirts and begin walking up the gangplank. Halim reaches out a hand to me and I accept it.
“Thank you,” I say.
“Come to my pavilion,” says Halim, “if your reputation can stand it.”
I force a laugh. “My reputation isn’t much, these days.” My father would never forgive me if he knew what I was about to do. “People can think what they like,” I say, “I came here to talk.”
Halim leads me onto the ship. I’ve never seen anything like this before. We move down the narrow galley, past clusters of men, making our way back towards the stern. Halim leads me under the awning of his pavilion, where embroidered cushions are arranged along wooden benches.
“Would you like some refreshment?” he asks.
“Yes, please.”
As I sit, Halim moves to a low table, on which there is a brass jug and crystal glasses. He pours me a goblet of wine. “You are brave coming here,” he says. “But I fear your visit will be a waste.”
I take the glass and sip. The wine is nothing like our own. It’s sweeter, with a background of light spice. I notice he doesn’t partake.
“You aren’t having any?”
“My religion forbids me,” he says. “But, please, my beliefs should not ruin your enjoyment.”
But I haven’t come here to enjoy Halim’s hospitality. We sit in silence for a minute or two, interrupted only by the occasional bellowed cry from belowdecks and the creaking and clanking of the rigging. Now that I’m here, I wonder what I can possibly say. How can one girl succeed where the Grand Council have failed?
“Venice grieves for two of her children,” I say at last. “Just as you grieve for your sister.”
He stiffens. “Venice is a city,” he says. “My heart is a human one.”
“Nicolo has a family. Allegreza had one too.”
Halim sighs, sinking back against the cushions. “You think I want war?” he says.
“The power to prevent it is in your hands,” I reply.
“And if I do as you ask? If I turn my fleet around and sail away, will my sister’s ghost find her rest?”
Pain is etched across Halim’s face, and I feel the urge to place my arm around his shoulders. But words will have to suffice. “Your sister would not want more bloodshed.”
His head snaps up, and his eyes flare with sudden anger. “What do you know of her wishes?” he demands.
As soon as he’s said it, the fury passes from his face. “I apologize,” he says. “I am not