Adam rested his hand on her shoulder, in silent comfort. He did not tell her everything would be fine, or that it would all work itself out.

  Ann squeezed his fingers, her heart hurrying.

  Adam had warned her that the chaos and foreignness of the station at Munich was but a shade compared to Constantinople, and even from the window of the compartment, Ann could see for herself that he had not misspoken.

  There were people everywhere, swirling around the train, and it seemed to her that most of them were shouting in a dozen different languages, none of which she understood.

  She was the foreigner, here.

  The range and style of clothing worn here was odd. Exotic. The men wore layers—not formal layers like an Englishman, but long, colorful tunics over baggy pants, with bright, even more colorful cummerbunds, and yet more layers over the top. The top layers were open at the front like a man’s jacket and coat would be, but neither layer was fastened. The cloth was lighter, unlined, and often brightly colored.

  Many of the men wore the flat red fez on their heads. Just as many wore turbans, and some even wore both—the turban wrapped around the fez.

  There were also many bareheaded men. A hat was not needed for warmth here. The heat of the city seeped through the window, warming the air in the train and imparting the aromas of Constantinople: dust, spices, exotic oils.

  Unlike Munich, there were very few women in view. The few Ann spotted wore gauze veils that covered their faces or wrapped around their faces and left only their eyes uncovered. Their clothing was just as layered as the men, but without the voluminous petticoats that western woman wore. Ann noticed that beneath the long tunics and overlayers, the women wore baggy pants that were gathered at the ankle, and flat slippers.

  Only the western women who stepped off the train showed their faces here, she realized.

  Beggars and merchants surrounded every passenger as soon as they climbed onto the platform, waving their wares, or tugging at sleeves and holding out their hands for coins. Porters shoved people aside in order to load luggage upon trolleys. Station staff, wearing the tunics of the Orient Express and fezzes, too, were also shouting and pushing as they fought to clear a path for the passengers.

  It was noisy and chaotic. Above the swirl of humanity upon the platform, the air was thick with dust motes which danced in the bright, late afternoon sunlight piercing the narrow horizontal windowpanes far up at the edge of the enormously high domed roof of the station.

  Ann realized she was leaning away from the window, shrinking from the madness and disarray. She was glad she did not have to emerge into the middle of it just yet.

  She was even more glad that Adam was here. She would have been completely helpless, on her own. Now she understood better what Adam meant about Constantinople and the East being dangerous for a lone western woman. A bareheaded woman in English clothing stood out among these people like a lighthouse, drawing attention.

  When Adam returned nearly an hour later, the morass of people on the platformed had not diminished in the slightest, even though most of the passengers had made their way through them to the station entrance, and into the city beyond.

  Adam carried a hessian bag, which he hoisted onto the bed and shut the door. “Quickly. I saw at least one man in a European suit lingering by the entrance, scanning everyone who passes.” He opened the bag and emptied the contents upon the bed.

  “I have been watching through the window. I didn’t see anyone like that,” Ann said, her heart thudding.

  Adam moved over to the window and pulled the blind closed with a sharp tug. “Take off your clothes.”

  “I just put them on…” she pointed out.

  “You look like an Englishwoman,” he said. “We must change that.” He sorted out the piles of folded cloth upon the bed as he spoke.

  “You look nothing like the men out there, either,” Ann pointed out, as she reached behind her for the hooks on her dress.

  Adam turned her and unhooked the dress with swift movements. “The men in the tweed suits are Sorensen’s men, for sure. They linger by the entrance, which is sensible. It is the one bottleneck through which all passengers must pass.”

  With a speed that had nothing to do with lust, Adam removed her dress and tugged the petticoats free. He even released her corset and dropped it on the bed. “Take off your shoes and stockings, too,” he told her and turned to the small piles of cloth on the bed and began to shake the items out.

  As soon as Ann had removed the items, Adam began to dress her once more with the garments on the bed, over the top of her camisole and pantalets. First was a pair of the baggy pants, in a fine gauze that was nevertheless quite opaque, for rich embroidery and beading covered the bottom six inches of the legs. A drawstring pulled them in around her ankles.

  The slippers, on the other hand, were utterly plain brown leather. They were a tight fit, but at least they would not fall off.

  Next, a glorious dark green tunic which fell almost to the floor. Gold embroidery embellished almost every inch of it. A cummerbund in an even darker green wound around her waist, holding the tunic in. It also had the effect of raising the heavily beaded hem, to reveal an inch or two of her trousers. The sleeves of the tunic came down over the back of her hands, so that only her fingers were displayed.

  A sleeveless waistcoat, nearly as long as the tunic, went over the top of it. It was a light, simple garment, with no embroidery or embellishments, for it was made of a dark purple silk.

  Ann fingered the delicious fabric, as Adam titled his head, studying her. “Loosen your hair, too,” he said, and reached for a small pouch sitting on the bed beside even more folded garments.

  Ann pulled out the pins, this time dropping them into a neat pile on the writing desk and shook out her hair.

  Adam lifted locks of it aside, dropping them over her shoulders, and hooked long, elaborate gold earrings to her ears. The earrings swung down by her shoulder and tangled with her hair. She could hear beads knocking together with dull metallic sounds.

  “And finally, the entire point of all of this…” Adam murmured. He fitted a red fez-styled hat upon her head, only it was larger that those the men she had seen on the platform wearing. The edge sat on her forehead, and just above her ears.

  She raised her hand to the cap and felt more of the heavy gold embellishments and beads upon the front of it. From the center of the crown of the hat, a long white veil spread around Ann’s back and waist. There were masses of the fine material. Along the edge of the fabric, even more of the golden beads and embroidering wound and sprang in sprays and patterns.

  Adam lifted the top layer of the veil up and over her head. Before he dropped it to cover her face, he bent and kissed her. “No one but me will know it is you,” he assured her.

  He let the veil fall over her face.

  Then he swiftly removed his own outer layers and shrugged into a long tunic that was too tight across his shoulders—were there any Ottoman men as large as Adam? To judge by the fit, there was not.

  The cummerbund pulled the tunic in tight around his waist. He did not add a sleeveless jerkin, but instead slid his arms into a coat with a hood, that hung open at the front and fell all the way to the floor.

  He lifted the hood up over his head. It was large and deep and one would have to stand directly in front of Adam to see his face.

  He held out his hand. “Time to go.”

  Ann got to her feet, accustoming herself to the freedom of pants, and the voluminous layers of veil, which caught at her elbows if she moved them too swiftly. “Our luggage…?”

  “I have asked Bellerose to collect it and have it sent to the warehouse on the docks. We cannot walk through the station carrying a valise. It will be instantly spotted.” He opened the compartment door. “Stay behind me, especially if someone talks to me,” he told her. “Women here never speak to strange men.”

  She nodded, her heart racing and her belly cramping.

  They moved out of the compartment and down the corridor, heading toward the lounge car at the far end of the train, the last passenger carriage before the service coaches with their supplies and baggage.

  “We’re leaving the same way we arrived,” Adam added as he turned the heavy key in the lock on the door that separated the two sections, then opened the other door.

  The noise of the station leapt in volume as the door opened, for the big sliding doors on the car were open.

  They moved through the narrow corridor made by piles of crates and baggage and stepped out onto the platform. Adam paused and dropped her hand, so that she could stand behind him.

  No one took any notice of them. Most of the people milling upon the platform focused their attention upon the doors of the passenger sections.

  Adam moved forward and Ann followed him as closely as she could. Because he was such an imposing figure, and the hooded coat made him even more so, most people naturally gave him room. Those who did not notice him, Adam pushed out of the way, just as everyone else was doing to other people to make their way through the crowd. Ann’s progress was smooth as long as she remained as close as possible behind him.

  The noise was an assault upon Ann’s ears, and she realized she was wincing—but no one could see her do that beneath the modest veil.

  Adam did not sneak toward the entrance, for an innocent local would not. He instead strode through the crowd as directly as possible to the main entrance, keeping his head down so the hood hid much of his face. He also hunched his shoulders, and she suspected he had bent his back beneath the coat, too, for he suddenly seemed shorter and smaller than before. He was now merely a larger Ottoman, rather than a very large European.

  Ann nearly cried out her dismay when she saw the men in western styled suits standing at the entranceway. They looked odd and out of place in their tweed and worsted wool.

  They actively scanned every face which passed.

  Ann reached out and gripped a fold of Adam’s coat, her heart hammering.

  He didn’t stop, but he did not disengage her hand, either, as they approached the wide archway.

  Ann could safely stare at people from behind the veil, so she watched the nearest European man without turning her head. His gaze drifted over Adam and her and moved on. He had not noticed either of them.

  Adam did not stop once they had moved onto the very wide street beyond the station. The street was cobbled, and tall buildings lined it in both directions. The traffic thicker, louder and far more confused than it ever was on Park Lane or Pall Mall.

  Adam turned and moved down the pavement, putting the sun at their backs. They were heading east.

  “Hey! Hey you! Davies!” The shout came from behind them.

  Adam didn’t look around. He reached back, plucked her hand from his coat and gripped it, then hastened his pace until Ann had to jog to stay with him. Jogging in the flat slippers and trousers was far easier than it would have been in a corset and petticoats.

  “Hey! Davies! Stop that man!” The shout was closer.

  “Can you run?” Adam asked her.

  “Yes.”

  He squeezed her hand and began to run. A street opened to the left and he dived into it.

  A little farther on, he turned into another, narrower street.

  Ann quickly lost track of where they were or even what direction they were moving in. She knew nothing of the city, and every sight was strange and sometimes alarming. There were people everywhere, many of them sitting or lying upon the pavement, or the cobbles themselves if there was no pavement. Some sat against the buildings, their eyes closed.

  They moved through narrow lanes were only a single man could walk, and wider streets where the cobblestones had been ground down into twin tracks by generations of carriage wheels passing over them.

  Buildings sprang up right from the edge of the streets themselves, with few footpaths for pedestrians. Through open doors and shutters, Ann caught glimpses of domesticity, Constantinople style—rugs and pillows, gauzy curtains and elaborate screen dividers.

  Soon, her breath labored as she fought to keep up with Adam and the sharp, unexpected changes of direction.

  The buildings around them changed. The street widened. Aromas were thick in the air—hot, savory meat and strange spices.

  An arched, open doorway appeared, and Adam dodged into it, bringing her with him.

  Inside the building was a wonderland of exotic sights and sounds. Everywhere, there were stalls selling a bewildering array of goods. Fruit and vegetables, spices, carpets, clothing, jewelry of the same dull gold as the earrings she wore and even more goods which Ann could not name nor guess their purpose.

  There was no time to study them. Adam dropped to a fast walk, which let her catch her breath, but he did not stop. They wound through the stalls and Ann found herself stepping over and around baskets for sale, more baskets holding goods for sale, and rich oriental rugs upon which stall owners had spread even more wares.

  “What is this place?” Ann breathed.

  “Use French,” Adam replied in French, just loud enough for her to hear him. “It draws less attention than English, here.”

  She nodded.

  “This is the bazaar,” Adam told her. “The central city marketplace. There has been a marketplace here since before the city became known as Byzantium. I buy carpets here to ship back to France, where I can sell them for ten times what I pay for them.” He glanced over his shoulder, one blue eye the only thing visible beyond the edges of the hood. “Damn,” he muttered and quickened his pace and turned into another narrow passage through stalls.

  A half-dozen changes of direction later, Adam turned to her, dropping his hood about his shoulders. “Take off the veil,” he said. “They are looking for it, now and the white draws the eye.” He helped her removed the hat and veil, and handed it to the nearest stall owner, who sat cross-legged on his carpet, watching them curiously.

  Adam said a few words. The man nodded, smiling, and tucked the veil away.

  When Adam moved through the narrow alley once more, Ann caught at his arm. “I cannot go much further.” She could not breathe deeply enough. Her chest ached with the effort. Her limbs shook.

  He instantly turned back to her. “We have only to cross the bazaar, only a little farther.” He pointed behind him. “Then, across a few streets. The family business office is by the wharf and the warehouses. I need funds, Ann. I can acquire money from our agent here, and…” He gave her a small smile. “I can arrange a wire to be sent to your father. So…just a little farther, yes?”

  Ann gave a trembling sigh. “It is just…now I have stopped, I’m not certain I can start again.” Her eyes ached and she realized she was close to hysterical tears, which would be mortifying. “Perhaps I should just wait for Dahl to find me and take me back to him.”

  Adam pulled her against him. Hard. “Is that truly what you want, Ann?” He spoke softly, as if it was just the two of them alone, and they were not surrounded by dozens of customers browsing stalls, and shop owners who watched them avidly.

  Ann could not pull her gaze away from his. It was as if he held her attention physically.

  She swallowed. “I can barely think…” she breathed.

  “Then let me remind you.” His voice was gentle. “You wanted time to adjust to your decision before you faced the man once more. And you wanted…” He paused and for the first time, he glanced around him, as if he had only now become aware of everyone who watched them. Then he shook his head. A tiny movement that negated their witnesses. “You want a reason to marry me that is not pressed upon you—to marry me because you want to.” He gave her a little shake. “So do I, Ann. With all my heart and soul, I want that.” His voice was low and deep, rich with honest emotion.

  Ann’s breath halted. So did her heart.

  “But to win that prize, we must go on,” Adam added. “Only a little farther, then you can stop, yes?”

  His eyes! How had she thought Adam to be a cold, friendless and silent man? He had spoken words that even an eloquent man would shy from speaking and she could read everything in his eyes which he had not said.

  Ann nodded. “A little farther…yes, I can do that.” As long as he was with her.

  Adam brushed the hair from her face and kissed her, right there in the depths of the bazaar, while the locals laughed and offered what Ann could only assume were encouragements and suggestions spoken in their strange language.

  Adam let her go only after her heart had begun to thunder and her body to throb. Humor showed in his eyes. “Fortified, now, yes?”

  Ann took his hand. “Oh, yes!”

  The offices of Davies & Davies, Exporters of Fine Goods, was actually on the Karakōy dock, which the largest and busiest of the many docks and wharves that edged the great city. The cobbled apron of the wharf was a hundred paces deep, with office buildings lining one side and the ancient stone edge of the dock with its equally ancient stone boles built along it on the other.

  The Galata pier laid directly opposite the building where the offices were located, with dozens of tall masted ships tied up beside it. Carts heavily loaded with crates and barrels stood beside all of them, either unloading the cargo from the ships, or loading it.

  The sea spread to the horizon, a deep blue in the late afternoon sun, which bounced upon wavelets, sparkling and making Ann’s eyes water to look at it. There were even more ships anchored out in the bay, with steamboats plying between them and the land, while the ships waited for their turn to dock.

  The noise and activity was as frantic here as it had been at the station, but with no roof containing the volume, it was less harsh upon the ears. Too, the gulls squawked and screamed overhead as they fished for their supper or looked for morsels to scrounge.

  Ann’s feet ached with tiredness and the pressure of the rounded cobbles digging into her soles through the thin slippers, as they moved toward the green-painted offices she could see over Adam’s shoulder.

  She rammed into Adam when he halted without warning and clutched at his arm. It wasn’t possible for her heart to work any harder.