Steampunk Omnibus: A Galvanic Century Collection (32 page)

"It's
rakı
," Cemal poured a measure of cold water into his drink, turning it from transparent to a milky white. "I can assure you, Mr. Brugmann, the reformist government is a secularist one... but even before the revolution, the different religious communities had their own laws. Allah's restrictions are for those who choose to follow the Prophet."

"And you yourself drink?" Aldora asked.

Cemal smiled at her. "I've always been a secularist, particularly where it comes to fine drink."

The table's samite cloth was laden with a variety of small dishes served in delicate porcelain bowls. Aldora had sampled a grainy-looking salty white cheese which she found similar to feta, a slice of ripe melon she did not care for, and what had turned out to be a pepper and walnut paste straddling the cusp of heat and pain.

"I've heard told the Young Turk movement sprung from dissatisfied academics," she said.

"
Oui
," Minister Viviani said. "The founding members were students of the
Académie de Machination
in Paris."

"The Committee is eternally grateful to the government of France for their compliance," Cemal said.

"France has always supported progressive causes." Mme. Viviani picked up a slender skewer from the appetisers arrayed out before the guests, nibbling at the olive on the end.

"As you did so elegantly in Morocco." Brugmann sipped a thick golden yogurt from a small shallow dish.

The Labour Minister's wife visibly bristled, pointing the end of her skewer at the German industrialist.

"You know as well as any the only scandal in Morocco was Germany's," Aldora said, wiping the corners of her mouth with a napkin. "Though Britain thanks you for the opportunity to come to France's defence. I doubt the
Entente Cordiale
would be as strong as it is without you providing us the opportunity to test our alliance."

Brugmann's brow furrowed. "Pfah! What does a woman understand of the nuances of geopolitics?"

"We know enough to see Germany's bluster is just despair that they've entered the great empire building game too late." Viviani's piercing laughter echoed through the banquet chamber. "What will your Kaiser do? Where will you find your colonies? There is not world enough left for a German Empire. There are no more Africas. No more Americas. You trail behind England and France, begging for scraps of China, but we all know that the Reich will not be satisfied with what diplomacy acquires!"

Brugmann's face reddened, his hands clenching into fists. Safiyya half-rose out of her seat, only to be stopped by a small gesture from Cemal. The room held its collective breath.

"Germany will not start a war," Aldora spoke quietly, her voice enormous in the silence. "In politics we speak in rhetoric, but you must acknowledge that the Kaiser and his Chancellor are no less reasonable men than your President and his senate, Mme. Viviani. And reasonable men must recognise that the age of war is one that Europe has left behind. We, the people of the United Kingdom, the Republic of France, the Empire of Germany, the Kingdom of Italy, and the twin kingdoms of Austria-Hungary... we are no longer warriors. We are consumers. We are people of business, and the economic realities of trade limit the viability of combat. War, gentlemen, is no longer a profitable enterprise."

Brugmann stared at the gentlewoman in silence for several heartbeats before breaking out into genuine laughter. He sat back into his chair and the others at Cemal's table relaxed slightly, some lapsing into nervous chuckles themselves.

"Eloquent as always, Miss Fiske." The German returned his gaze to the food laid out before them. "I have heard these same sentiments from many, even in my own Empire... but you are a civilian, an aristocrat, and an academic -- what know you of the ways of war? Forgive me if I find you a trifle naive."

He paused, gaze flickering to Cemal. "No offence to the academics in the room, esteemed Bey. And forgive me my outburst."

"I take no offence," Cemal said. "I do not discourage spirited -- if civil -- debate. But I am no academic. I came to the Committee by military means."

"You were a military man?" Mr. Herbert asked, pausing, rice-stuffed vine leaf half-way to his lips.

"Naval," Cemal said. "The Sultan never trusted the Navy or its Admirals, so our airship fleet consisted of one vessel. As the man agitating most vocally for the modernisation of our military, I was honoured with its command. You can imagine my dismay when I discovered we were never to leave port. When the Committee came to solicit aid in their coup, offering a vision of military reform... well, how could I refuse?"

"Please do not take this the wrong way," the Italian Comte Montagni said, "but what of your military oaths? I do not mean to insult, but I have difficulty reconciling the notion of an honourable revolutionary who betrays his word."

Cemal took a small sip of rakı. "I take my oaths seriously, but I made my vow to the Empire, not to the Sultan. I joined the Young Turk movement because I believe that its reforms -- secularisation, modernisation, and the restoration of the constitution -- are what is best for the peoples of the Empire."

"Well put," Aldora said. "Bravo."

"And you, Miss Fiske?" Cemal said. "Tell me of yourself."

"She is a Fiske," Brugmann didn't look up as he dipped a wedge of bread into chickpea mash. "What else is there to know?"

Aldora coloured.

"I am afraid I don't get your meaning," Cemal said.

"She comes from a very old and aristocratic family," Mme. Viviani said. "One of the few old houses that have managed to retain its wealth as well as its social standing."

"I must admit that the invitations were sent out to influential Europeans by Committee members better versed in Europe's great families than I," Cemal said, "but I am glad that you were able to join us."

Aldora bowed her head slightly. "My father, regretfully, was unable to make the trip, and sent me in his stead." That was a lie.

The invitation had never come to the attention of her father. It had been mistakenly delivered to her town-house rather than the family country estate, and she had seized upon the opportunity to take a trip to Asia before her wedding of necessity.

"This is an excellent cheese," Comte Montagni said. "Feta?"

"
Beyaz peynir
," Safiyya said. "Very similar, but this is a native Turkish curd."

"I quite enjoy the music," Mme. Viviani said, turning to regard the musicians, one seated with a narrow trapezoidal zither, the other plucking a long-necked lute, playing a constant soft accompaniment. "It's very non-intrusive."

"It's an improvisational
fusil
," Cemal said.

"Improvisational?" Herbert said. "I suppose after paying for the feast laid out before us, you couldn't afford anything better."

"I don't get your meaning."

Brugmann snorted. "American improvisational music is entertainment for the working class. How quickly Herr Herbert forgets that Beethoven and Mozart were fond of extemporaneous compositions. You have heard of Beethoven, Mr. Herbert?"

The American stammered until Mme. Viviani interrupted him. "You speak as if you find an inferiority in the people."

"Inferiority? No. Let's call it a commonality."

"Don't underestimate the significance of the workers," Aldora said.

"You needn't lecture me," Brugmann said. "Even in Germany our
Sozialdemokratische Partei
radicals are quickly becoming a majority party. Be glad, Miss Fiske, that your own land's unions are more moderate."

"I'm afraid labour politics are not my forte," Aldora said.

"A dangerous ignorance, if you were a man," Brugmann said. "But I suppose that is a luxury afforded gentlewomen."

"Your chauvinism is out of place here," Safiyya said. "The Ottoman Empire has quickly become a shining beacon of equality for women in the modern world."

"A proud boast for a land where the women must go veiled in public."

Safiyya pointed towards her face. "Do you see a veil, Mr. Brugmann?"

"What about... about harems?" Herbert said. "I'd heard that slavery for women was still common here."

She raised her fists to her shoulders. "Do you see shackles on my wrists? I was a slave in Macedonia for over half my life, even though the Sultan had declared it
yasadışı
. It was only when Cemal Bey and the Young Turks forced their reforms that I could walk free. Only after the coup could I attend university."

"Is it common for women here to seek higher education?" Aldora asked.

"The day the Young Turks mandated the colleges accept women the lines of those yearning to educate themselves stretched all along the
İstiklâl Caddesi
as far as the eye could see. Women in the empire are becoming physicians, engineers, statesmen."

"A female engineer?" Brugmann said.

"The place of women in the Empire is stronger than anywhere in the world," Safiyya said. "I am proud to be a free woman of the Ottoman Empire."

"Amazing," Mme. Viviani said.

"Quite." Aldora eyed the woman speculatively, a thousand questions on her lips.

"I do appreciate that even with our differences you have all made an effort to remain civil," Cemal said. "As a sign of my gratitude I would like to invite you all out for some entertainment on the morrow. We will set out for the
hamam
-- a public bath -- in the morning, take in some local theatre, and then finish up the evening with dinner at a Roma coffee house."

"I do enjoy a good steam," Herbert said.

"My husband and I trust you will understand if we do not attend?" Mme. Viviani said. "We have business at the embassy."

"Unfortunate but understandable," Cemal said, bowing slightly. "Please tell me you at least will attend, Miss Fiske?"

The Englishwoman glanced reluctantly across the banquet room towards the table where her ward was dining with some of the less-important guests. Penny was idly picking at her food, chin propped up by an elbow on the table. "I would love to, but I promised my ward an outing into Stamboul..."

"The bathhouse is in Stamboul," Cemal said. "You and your ward can perhaps accompany us, and see to your outing afterwards?"

Aldora brightened. "In that case we would love to attend, Cemal Bey."

"Excellent!" Cemal spread his arms wide, as if to embrace the room. "Let me show you all the Constantinople that the Committee for Union and Progress has built. Take your experiences as a gift back to your people, and tell them that Europe's "Sick Old Man" has been revitalised with young blood!"

***

Penny had been petulantly disappointed with the delay in going to see her friend Kalil at first, initially refusing to disrobe for the bath, then refusing to stop pouting and leave the steam room, then stomping around the perimeters of the warm bath room in the wooden sandals the girls were given. When it became clear that nobody was paying much attention to her, she apparently forgot not to enjoy herself, and began drifting between the hot and cold pools, spending time immersed in both.

"I find it almost impossible to imagine living in a world where women are afforded the freedoms you say they have."

Aldora's eyes were half-lidded as she relaxed in the heat of the Turkish bath. She lay, nude, across a broad flat stone in the middle of a hot pool of water, one of the girl masseuses giving her a light massage, small fingers wrapped in rough gloves that exfoliated her skin even as they penetrated into the long lean muscles of her back. The steam-filled chamber was half-lit by stained-glass windows set into its dome.

Safiyya laughed. "If you had told me just a few years ago that this is the way things were to be, I would not have believed it either."

Penny clopped back in from the cool chamber, drinking a spiced yogurt dessert.

"How did you get those scars?" she asked, pausing to stare openly at the female valet.

"Penelope!" Aldora gasped, half-rising from the stone's warmth, shocked into action by the girl's tactlessness.

"I do not mind her asking," Safiyya said. "The pain of my past is not something that shames me. Each mark is a reminder... of how far I have come, and of the good that Cemal Bey and the Committee have done for woman in the Empire."

She turned her back to the Englishwoman and her ward, allowing the woven cotton towel to slip from her shoulders to drape above her hips. Her back's chocolate-dark skin was marred with a series of old scars, raised and slightly lighter than her flesh, thin lines criss-crossing her back up to her shoulders. She pivoted, and Aldora saw that the scars crossed over her ribs along to her front, almost to her breast-bone. Similar scars crossed the tops of her thighs.

Her quiet words echoed loudly in the bath chamber. "I was taken from the Sudan as a child, when the Egyptian Army came to root out the remnants of the Mahdist rebels. They tore through our village, taking what they pleased, killing the men who didn't give them the answers they chose. They shot my father and took my mother, my sisters, and myself, and many of the other girls from the village."