The Janissary Tree by Jason Goodwin Read Free Book Online

the street.
    13
    ****************
    MUSTAFA
the Albanian sniffed suspiciously at the bowl of tripe. There were, he knew,
certain parties in the city who had embraced heretical doctrines. Daily, he was
certain, they were extending their dangerous influence over the weaker, more
impressionable members of society: young men, people from out of town, even
students at the madrassas, who surely should know better, found it all too easy
to succumb to the subtle blandishments of these rogues. Some of them, he was
well aware, simply abused the authorities' trust. Others--and who could say they
were not encouraged by that baleful example?--recognized no authority at all. Well,
he thought grimly, he was there to root them out.
    He
sniffed again. The color of the soup was good: no obvious sign of innovation
there. Mustafa was of the school that followed the saying of the Prophet, peace
be on him: in change there is innovation, innovation leads to blasphemy,
blasphemy leads to hellfire. The notion that a good tripe soup needed the
addition of a pinch of pounded coriander was the kind of innovation which, if
left unchecked, would gradually undermine the whole guild and destroy its
ability to serve the city as it should. It made no difference whether or not
the heretics charged extra for the spice: the confusion would have entered
men's minds. Where there was a weakness to be exploited, there would greed find
its encouragement.
    Mustafa
sniffed again. Lifting the horn spoon that hung around his neck as a symbol of
his office, he dipped it into the bowl and turned the contents over. Tripe.
Onions, regularly shaped, faintly caramelized. He dug down to the bottom of the
bowl and examined the spoon carefully in the light for any specks or
impurities. Satisfied, he lifted the spoon to his lips and sucked noisily. Tripe
soup. He smacked his lips, his immediate fears allayed. Whatever secrets this
young apprentice held in the recesses of his heart, he could definitely make
the proper article on demand.
    Two
anxious pairs of eyes followed the spoon to the guild master's lips. They saw
the soup go in. They heard the soup flow about Mustafa's palate. They watched
anxiously as he held his hand close to his ear. And then they watched,
delighted, as he nodded curtly. An apprenticeship redeemed. A new master
soupier born.
    "It
is good. Keep an eye on the onions: never use them too large. The size of your
fist is good, or smaller." He brought up his own massive paw and curled the
fingers. "Too big!" He shook the fist and laughed. The apprentice tittered.
    They
discussed arrangements for the apprentice's formal induction into the guild,
his prospects, the extent of his savings, and the likelihood of his finding an
opening within the next few years. Mustafa knew that this was the most
dangerous moment. Newly fledged soupiers always wanted to start right away,
whatever the circumstances. It took patience and humility to carry on working
for an old master while you waited for a shop to come free. Patience, yes.
Impatience led to coriander and hellfire. Mustafa tugged at his mustache and
squinted at the young man. Did he have patience? As for himself, he thought,
patience was his second skin. How could he have lived his life and not acquired
patience in positively redemptive quantities?
    14
    *****************
    It
was a singular request, for what use could a man have for a play cauldron at
this time of the year? Mustafa the Albanian seemed to hear a dangerous word
whispered in his ear. Was it not an innovation, to let a stranger examine the
storerooms of the Guild of Soup Makers? It certainly seemed an insidious
precedent.
    Yashim
blinked, smiled, and opened his eyes wide. He thought he could guess exactly
what was going through the old soup master's mind.
    "I'm
known at the palace: the gatekeepers there could vouch for me, if that's a
help."
    The
guild master's frown remained firmly in place. His massive hands lay quietly
folded over his paunch. Perhaps, Yashim