Chapter 23 – Silent Steps on Stone Streets
Murad, Balibey, Cafer, and Kasım descended together down the stone steps.The inn's main hall was dimly lit.A stove crackled in the corner, filling the room with a faint smell of soot, while a few travelers sitting at tables turned their heads briefly to glance at the newcomers.
Murad stepped forward, approaching the elderly innkeeper behind the counter.
"Master, do you have any hot food left?"
The old man straightened his hunched back slightly.Sensing the weight and authority behind this stranger's manner, he hid his instincts and answered respectfully:
"Sir... unfortunately, the evening meal has already run out.It was a busy night, many guests came.But if you wish, there are a few taverns still open two streets down.Simple places, but clean and honest."
Kasım sighed softly behind them.Balibey smiled faintly.Murad nodded gently.
"Then our path is clear."
The four of them stepped out into the Rodos night.The stone streets were damp, the wind was cool, and the shadows stretched long and motionless.
They turned onto the second street after the first corner.Dim lanterns scattered faint pools of light, barely illuminating the narrow alleys.Ivy climbed up the stone walls, and the glow of oil lamps slipped through some windows.
Murad walked silently at the front.His steps were firm but his eyes remained vigilant.
Cafer, leaning on his cane, came alongside him.
"These parts…" Cafer muttered,"can be a grave for the lone traveler at night, my Lord."
Balibey was scanning the shadows carefully.As the alley deepened, a blanket of darkness fell over them.The narrow spaces between the stone walls seemed perfect for whispered conspiracies.
After a while, amidst the fading lights, they reached a more lively place.The air smelled of smoke and roasted meat — a sign that they had found what they were looking for.
It was a small but lively tavern tucked inside an old stone building.A worn wooden sign hung over the door.
Laughter, clinking cutlery, and the soft rhythm of a darbuka spilled into the street.
As they entered, a wave of warmth hit their faces.
Inside, the tavern was wrapped in stone walls.Copper pots hung from the high ceilings; fisherman figures and thick rugs adorned the walls.Locals, both Greeks and Turks, mingled freely — drinking, laughing, sharing meals.
A spit roasted slowly over an open hearth; fat from a roasting goose dripped onto glowing embers.
Balibey scanned the room and spotted an empty table by the wall, near a window.He signaled to a young waiter:
"Boy, have you got a table for four?"
The young man bowed slightly.
"Of course, sirs. Please follow me."
He led them to a table tucked against the wall, a cozy corner where they could still glimpse the outside through the window.
The warmth of the wall behind them eased the travel-weariness from their bodies.Kasım sighed in relief; Cafer leaned his cane against the wall.
Soon, the young waiter returned with a wooden board in his hands.
"What would you gentlemen like?"
Murad lifted his gaze and met the boy's eyes directly.
"Do you have roasted goose?"
The boy answered without hesitation:
"Yes, sir."
Murad nodded slightly.
"Then bring four."
The waiter bowed and walked away.
Silence fell over the table — but it was not a silence of fear; it was the hush of much-needed comfort.
When the food arrived, the steam rising from the roasted geese filled the air.The smell was mouthwatering, filling the space with the richness of roasting fat.
The waiter placed the plates with careful precision.He then took a wooden jug and began pouring water into their bowls.
The four men raised their hands for a quiet prayer.Murad started softly:
"Bismillah..."
Kasım closed his eyes, Balibey kept a watchful glance on the other tables, and Cafer stared intently toward the farthest lantern.
When the prayer ended, Murad reached for his roasted goose.He took his knife, carefully sliced a thick piece, and was just about to lift it to his mouth when—
Murad turned slightly toward the boy again and casually asked:
"How many years have you lived in Rodos, boy?"
The server, still holding the jug, replied smoothly:
"I was born here, sir."
Murad nodded slowly, accepting the answer without comment.He shifted his gaze back to his food and was about to lift the piece to his mouth when—
Clink!
Kasım's hand shot out, slapping the fork from Murad's grip.The meat fell to the ground.
Silence swallowed the table.Even the waiter froze, staring.
Balibey frowned sharply.
"Kasım, what are you doing?"
But Kasım stood up abruptly, his voice loud and clear:
"My Sultan!I did not hear the boy's answer to your question!"
Murad's eyes widened.The ring on his finger — Sultan Süleyman's ring — trembled slightly.
The ring had awakened.The boy had lied.
The waiter appeared momentarily stunned.But his eyes — that tiny, traitorous glance — flicked toward the back corner of the tavern.
Instantly—
Shing!
Balibey leapt to his feet.His dagger flashed like lightning.
A clean, silent slash.
A thin red line opened on the waiter's throat — and he collapsed, gasping, to the floor.
Balibey roared:
"My Sultan! IT'S A TRAP!"
The smell of roasting meat still filled the air —but now it was joined by the sharp, metallic scent of blood