Chapter 28 Chapter Twenty Seven

Barry sat in the car, thinking, "Well," he said, "there are two possibilities, as far as I can see. Either you are stupid, so I have to follow you and bring you home safely; or you are not stupid." , so you got into a lot of trouble, so I have to follow you. I have a class tomorrow, but I know how to deal with it." He sighed, glanced at me, and leaned back in his chair. "I have a feeling that Paris won't be the end of your trip. Can you give me some hints on where to go next?" "If Professor Borah slapped each of us around that pleasant table in Istanbul, I knew we were in the right place when he told us about his quirky 'hobby'."Maybe—maybe Dracula's tomb is in Turkey.

"But I'm still wondering if we can trust Turgut as a man. He seems sincere, but he comes to our table himself and introduces his 'hobby', which is a bit out of the ordinary. "Young man," said Turgut, "if you are interested in the history of Istanbul, you can go with me tomorrow morning to see the collection of Sultan Mehmet. He is a distinguished old tyrant in history - except for my favorite He also has many interesting collections. I have to go home, my wife must have lost her temper." He smiled, as if his wife's anger was contrary to what people expected, and it was a pleasant thing. Things like, "She sure wants you guys to come to our house for dinner tomorrow, and so do I."

I waited for Helen to say no, but she just sat quietly, watching us both. "How about it, my friend—" Turgut was about to leave.He took some money out of nowhere, stuffed it under his plate, then raised his cup to us one last time, drank the rest of the tea, "See you tomorrow." "Where shall we meet you?" I asked. "Oh, I'll be here to show you. How about ten o'clock tomorrow morning? Good. Hope you have a good night." He bowed and left. It took me a while to find out that he had barely touched the food, paid the bill in full, and left us the talisman that wards off evil, shining on the white tablecloth.

Tired from travel and sightseeing, I slept like a dead man that night, as they say.It was half past six in the morning when the hustle and bustle of the city woke me up. "The professor won't be here in two hours," said Helen, adding sugar to her coffee and stirring it vigorously. "What are we doing?" "I think we can walk back to Hagia Sophia," I said, "I want to see that place again." "Okay," she whispered, "Since we're here, it's okay to go sightseeing." She looked serene. Helen looked around with that bewildering, bewildering smile, as if these strangers amused her, but as if she knew them all too well.

For me, the scene was entertaining, but it also made me wary.In less than a week, I had developed this alertness, and whenever I was in a public place, I had this feeling of wanting to check the crowd, to look back, to scan faces, be it good or bad, or to feel followed.This feeling is unpleasant and incompatible with the lively laughter and laughter around me.More than once, I wondered if I had been infected with Helen's cynical attitude.I also wondered if she was born with this mentality, or just because she lived in a country with a high-pressure policy. We came to a stall, which was actually a shack huddled under an old fig tree by the market.A young man in a white shirt and black trousers is pulling open the store door and curtains, putting the table outside, and spreading out his merchandise—books.Books stacked in stacks on wooden tables, rolled out of crates on the floor, or stood in rows on shelves inside.

I stepped forward eagerly, and the young man nodded and smiled, as if he fell in love with any book lover at first sight, no matter what country he was from.Helen followed, walking more slowly.We stood there, flipping through books in about a dozen languages.I found a tome in Hebrew, and a whole shelf of Latin classics. "Byzantines also love books," Helen murmured, what she read looked like a collection of German poetry, "maybe they bought books here." Young people, ready for business, came over to say hello to us, "Speak English? German?" "English," Helen didn't answer, so I answered quickly.

"I have books in English," he told me, smiling cheerfully, "and newspapers from London and New York." I thanked him and asked if he had any old books, "Yes, very old." He handed me a nineteenth-century edition—it looked cheap, and the wrappings were worn out. Out of politeness, I flipped through it and handed it back. "Not old enough?" he asked, smiling. Helen looked over my shoulder, and she checked her watch deliberately.We haven't even made it to Hagia Sophia yet, "Yeah, we have to go," I said. The young bookseller took the book in his hand and bowed politely.I stared at him for a while, feeling familiar.He had turned away, however, to serve another customer.This is an old man, very similar to the old man who played chess in front of the chess booth we passed by earlier.

There was no one in the bistro when we entered, but a few minutes later Turgut appeared at the door, nodding and smiling, and we followed him across the street. He explained to us that the archives of Sultan Muhammad, although still under state protection, are not in the main building of the National Library, but in an annex.It used to be a traditional madrasah there.Ataturk closed these schools as he secularized the country.The building now houses the National Library's rare and ancient books related to the history of the empire.In addition to the sultan's library, we'll also find other objects harvested by the Ottoman Empire over the centuries of expansion.

The annex building of the library turned out to be an exquisite small building.We entered through a wooden door decorated with copper nails, and the windows were openwork marble latticework. The sunlight filtered into the room through delicate geometric patterns, casting stars and anise onto the dark floor of the doorway.Turgut led us to the register, which was on the counter at the door (I found Helen's name very scribbled), and Turgut's own signature was fancy. The librarian, a thin man of about fifty, with a rosary on his wrist, left his work and came up to hold Turgut's hands.They talked for a while - I heard Turgut mention the name of our university.

The administrator smiled at us, bowed and spoke to us in Turkish. "This is Mr. Erozan. He welcomes you to come and see the collection." Turgut told us with satisfaction, "He is willing to act as a killer for you." I flinched involuntarily, but Helen smiled smugly. "He'll get you Sultan Muhammad's documentation on the Dragon's Command right away. But we'll have to sit here comfortably and wait for him now." We picked a table away from the other researchers.They looked at us curiously and went back to work. After a while, Mr. Erozan came back with a big wooden box.The front of the wooden box is locked and engraved with Arabic letters.

"What does that say?" I asked the professor. "Ah," he touched the top of the box with the tip of his finger, "it says 'here is evil'—er—here holds—contains—evil. Locked up with the holy Koran." My heart skipped a beat.It was more like the words Rosie had seen in the margin of the mysterious map, which he had read out in the archives where it was kept.He didn't mention the box in his letter, but if the librarian only showed him documents, then maybe he never saw it, or maybe they put things in the box after Rosie left of. "How old is the box?" I asked Turgut. He shook his head, "I don't know, and neither do my friends here. Since it's made of wood, I don't think it could have been from Muhammad's time. My friends told me"—he said to Mr. Elozan Xiang Xiang smiled, and the man didn't know what he was talking about, so he smiled back—"For safety, these documents were boxed in 1930. He knew this because he talked to the previous administrator .He is a very serious man, my friend." 1930!Helen and I glanced at each other, perhaps when Rosie wrote the letter to the Unknown—December 1930—the literature he had studied had already been placed in this box.An ordinary wooden box may already be able to prevent rats and moisture, so what prompted the administrators to lock the documents related to the Dragon's Order into a box with the holy decree written on it? Turgut's friend took out a bunch of keys and used one of them to open the lock.I almost laughed, remembering the domestic modern index card, the way the university's library system searches thousands of rare books.It never occurred to me that my research would involve an ancient key that clicks to open a lock. "Yes," Turgut murmured, and the administrator stepped back. Turgut smiled at us both - very sadly, I think - and opened the lid. "It's the station!" shouted a conductor.The train had slowed down, and a few minutes later we could see the Brussels station outside the window.Customs officers are boarding the vehicle for inspection.Outside the car, people hurriedly boarded the car, and pigeons were pecking at the platform. Maybe I like pigeons in my heart, and I keep my eyes on the crowd.Suddenly, I noticed a motionless figure.A tall woman with a long black coat stood quietly on the platform, her hair was tied up by a black scarf, and her pale face was set off.She was some distance away, and I couldn't see her features clearly, but the dark eyes and almost unnaturally red mouth—bright lipstick, perhaps—flashed by.Seen from the side, her clothes are a bit odd.In an age of miniskirts and ugly platform shoes, she wore narrow black high-heeled pumps. But it was her alertness that caught my attention first, and was still impressive when the car drove away.She went up and down to inspect our train.I instinctively turned my head back, and Barry gave me a suspicious look.The woman took a hesitant step in our direction, but obviously didn't see us.She seemed to have changed her mind and turned to look at the other train, which was coming in and stopped on the opposite platform.Her stern look and straight body kept attracting my attention until the car got out of the station and she disappeared into the crowd, as if she had never existed.