III THE LONG VERSION
Sunday 17th February 1923
Pera House
We wore our finery this morning in anticipation of our impending appointment to see the British Deputy High Commissioner. Even Lettuce was dressed to impress, wearing a full length floral gown. As promised, transport arrived at 10 o’clock outside the hotel to take us to Pera House, the British Embassy here in Constantinople. On reaching the embassy we are escorted inside without delay. The interior is cool and opulent, large artworks adorned every wall and no expense had been spared in the generous use of marble, classical architectural features and grand design furniture. We are deposited into the drawing room to await our host. Soon enough, a tall, wiry man with crooked nose and grey whiskers bounded into the room. He looked tired and agitated. He introduced himself as Sir Douglas Rutherford, Deputy High Commissioner and then came straight to the point as to why we had been summoned. Sir Douglas’ son, James Rutherford, a boy of nine years, went missing from the embassy gardens yesterday afternoon. Sir Douglas suspects his son has become the latest victim of the spate of kidnappings in the city. Sir Douglas punctuated his speech with constant wringing and nervous clapping of his hands.
The disappearance of James Rutherford
“But why did you send for us?” we asked. Sir Douglas was somewhat vague in his reply but essentially he wants outside assistance due to his distrust of the embassy’s hired staff. The hired staff being of Turkish stock. He wrung his hands again. Sir Douglas is worried that one of the staff may even have facilitated the kidnapping. How else could intruders gain access to his son playing in the gardens? With no other children in the embassy, James wanted desperately to play outside with Turkish children. He would sometimes brown his face and don Turkish clothes in fantasy of being able to join with them. Alas, protocol denied this and the boy had to make do with his own company in the relative safety of the embassy grounds. Ludwig requested permission to inspect the ground, but his Bavarian accent and Sir Douglas’ tiredness combined to make the request incomprehensible. “What did you say old chap? I can’t understand you man!” barked Sir Douglas. Banks stepped in – “Don’t worry sir. We don’t understand him either.”
Kuradeth
We visited the grounds but discovered no clues. Returning to the drawing room, we find the household staff has been assembled for us to interview. In the line-up, one man immediately drew our attention. He stood still, staring blankly ahead, curious scars marked his face around his eyes. Ludwig was overcome with an eerie feeling—that those eyes did not belong to that man. Suddenly, the man makes a break for it but Pierre is quickly upon him. The man screams. Tattoos come alive on his arm. Inked vipers writhe and raise themselves from his skin. Sir Douglas shouts out, “Kuradeth! What are you doing man? What’s going on?!”
Death in the Embassy
Kuradeth cries out, “The Brothers have the boy……..and all the children! You are doomed! The Skinless Beast will come! Soon will come the Skinless One!” At that, Kuradeth’s head jerks back violently and the skin of his face sloughs down his face. The skin slides into his mouth and begins to choke him. The rest of the staff, and some of the investigators, scream as hysteria takes hold in the room. Ludwig rushes forward wielding a scalpel, and in a maniacal fashion tries to retrieve the sloughed skin to prevent Kuradeth suffocating. Alas it is to no avail. The servant stops struggling for air and stares blankly ahead again. This time in death.
The Red Mosque
After calming down, Sir Douglas tells us what little he can that may help us find his son. There have been reports of strange activities near a place called the Red Mosque. A hive of villainy, the whispered name of the Red Mosque is known, but its location is not. There is a man in Constantinople who deals in information. If anybody knows anything about the kidnappings and the Red Mosque, it’s Baylab the Perspirer, a Turk who frequents the Sultan's Bath House in Stamboul. This is the second time we’ve heard the name in the last twenty four hours.
An afternoon of research
Investigation into the background of Kuradeth—the cultist spy in the Embassy—yields us nothing of use. We decide to take the ferry across the bay from Pera to Stamboul to further our investigations there. We take a cab to the Sultan's Bath House. Front of house staff refuse us entry. Baylab the Perspirer does not accept unsolicited callers, so we arrange to come back tomorrow afternoon, at 4 o’clock. Its mid-afternoon and we decide to conduct research—specifically into references to the Red Mosque, Selim Makryat and Garaznet the Thief. To make best use of the remaining opening hours, we split up to divide ourselves between the University library and the Topkapi once more.
Results
The name Makryat doesn’t yield any useful result. Of the Red Mosque however, we learn that there are more than four hundred active mosques in Constantinople, the Red Mosque is no longer one of them. It fell into disuse and disrepair at sometime but the building still exists—in a notorious part of Stamboul. Finally our afternoon’s research yields us information on the name Garaznet. Garaznet was a Kurdish scholar who lived four hundred years ago. Not much is known of his life, and he has no descendants. He is buried in the Usküdar Cemetery in Scutari.
Back to our warm, comfy hotel, or off to a cold, unwelcoming graveyard?
The museum and library both closed at 5pm. It’s an hour later that we join forces once more and grab a light dinner from a street seller. If we want to check out the Usküdar Cemetery we either have to catch the last ferry across the Bosporus strait to Scutari now, or wait until tomorrow. We’re still in our fine clothes and have no flashlights. Letty in particular, in her long floral gown, is not sporting the most suitable attire for a spot of after-dark grave-robbing, should it come to that. Regardless, we decide we need to act.
Scutari
The last ferry to Scutari leaves the Stamboul dockside at 8 o’clock in the evening. We enjoy a calm moonlit crossing. It’s after 8.30 when we arrive at the cemetery gates. The taxi cab that brought us up from the Scutari docks, after receiving payment, promptly vanished from the street. The driver making it clear he had no intention of waiting for us at the gates after dark. The fastened iron gates prove no barrier to Banks who picked and discarded the padlock and its chain. The night sky is a patchwork of bright stars and a waxing moon served as our only light to navigate the cemetery pathways. We spend several hours searching one of the oldest sections of the cemetery until finally we found what we had come here for. We stared down at Garaznet’s burial place. The Kurd’s sarcophagus was sunken into the ground. The earth here is not compacted as it should be; a sign that this centuries old burial has been disturbed in recent days or weeks. We had no tools with which to dig and a search for a gravedigger’s hut proved fruitless. We had no choice but to leave for now.
Monday 18th February 1923
Sleeping the day away
It was now three o’clock in the morning and we were not dressed for the cold. We were forced to walk the streets back to Scutari docks and then settled down in a huddle for scant warmth to wait out the next three hours until the first ferry of the day. Once back at the Pera Palace Hotel we took a light breakfast and retired to our rooms to sleep the morning away. After rising for lunch, Ludwig was hiding a new bandage under his sleeve, Cartwright was suffering one of his migraines and Mika was so stricken with his reoccurring chest condition, that he went back to bed for the day. Despite his affliction, Cartwright did manage to venture out with Percy to procure us some shovels, a pry bar and a couple of oil lamps.
The Sultan’s Bath House
Another ferry. This time back to Stamboul. We had a four o’clock appointment to keep at the Sultan’s Baths. The attendants at the baths were pleased to admit us this time. Ludwig stayed outside in the street—laden down with sacks containing shovels and equipment. He was reluctant to undress and thereby reveal the Mims Sahis. Ludwig was in no doubt he would be required to hand over the Mims Sahis for safekeeping; something he could never agree to do. Inside everyone else undressed. Letty was directed to the female hammam (steam room). She was offered no towel and walked naked. Percy, Cartwright, Banks and Pierre entered the men’s steam room—with nothing but a towel each.
The sweaty fat man on the block
The floor and walls of the steam room were of wet marble. The ceiling was carved with patterns of stars and moons. Large marble blocks—naval stones— were spaced around the room. The vapour of steam was thick. There was a small knot of patrons and attendants present. Reclining on one of the naval stones was a grotesquely fat and hirsute man, slick with sweat. He raised a fat hand and beckoned us over. Baylab speaks matter-of-factly in good English; “You wanted to see me. I know much. Ask me your questions.” Banks gushes questions about cults, kidnappings and Garaznet.
Baylab the Perspirer
Baylab speaks. “There is a cult, a gang of maniacs, in the city that worships a lost statue. I hear this statue is imbued with power that might serve good or evil. Garaznet the Kurd was an enemy of the cult. He knew much about the statue. He knew the good path down which it might lead. Garaznet also knew how to put an end to the power of the statue. A magical ritual. The means to perform the ritual lie with his remains. If you seek to challenge the cult beware. The cult has eyes and ears everywhere, Their spies have infiltrated every level of officialdom of the city. Nowhere is safe.”
Baylab the Expirer
There was the sound of shuffling feet and then a figure leapt up onto Baylab’s naval stone, directly behind the fat man. The assassin swept the curved knife blade across the folds of flesh at Baylab’s throat. Blood spewed forth. The assassin jumped clear and in an instant was gone. There was a deep rumble below the floor and gouts of flame leaped from the vents around the naval stones. In horror we watched, transfixed, as Baylab’s corpulent flesh melted from his skeleton. The lifeless bones fell apart but the flesh oozed like a living thing, pouring itself to the floor and spreading out—an amorphous viscous blob. Pierre, Cartwright, Banks and Percy screamed like little girls. The living flesh tried to wrap itself around their ankles; to grip and drag them down. The touch of amorphous flesh burned. The investigators were still screaming when they hurtled headlong through the baths towards the exit. Only Cartwright still held onto his towel for modesty.
Missing out on the fun
Letty, having heard the commotion, rushed to the dressing room to collect her clothes as the naked men dashed through. Meanwhile, outside, Ludwig checked his pocketwatch again and hummed an old Bavarian folk tune. “I bet everyone is enjoying a hot sauna now,” he mused. “And here’s me, Ludwig von Brunveldt the III, left standing outside in the cold street to look after the bags. How come everyone else gets to relax and enjoy themselves without me? Outrageous.”
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