Chapter 13 – Before the Journey
Chapter 13 – Before the Journey
Galata Port was bustling even in the early hours of the morning.
The cries of seagulls mixed with the creaking of ship ropes and the shouts of porters.
A group of pilgrims waiting to board a ship moved slowly, dressed in plain garments.
But among them… not all were ordinary pilgrims.
The Sultan and his men, in disguise, walked silently amidst the crowd.
Kasım carried a bundle on his back, Balibey wore a simple robe,
and Cafer—always one with the shadows—scanned the surroundings with sharp eyes.
As they moved through the crowd, Cafer suddenly paused.
Something had gently bumped against his foot.
On reflex, his hand went to his belt. But then he looked down.
At his feet was a small wooden spinning top.
He bent down and picked it up.
Its edges were carved with old patterns, likely hand-made.
He spun it between his fingers. There was a kind of rhythm in its turn… a kind of innocence.
At that moment, a shy voice spoke: "Excuse me…"
Cafer looked up.
Standing before him was a boy, around ten years old, holding a string and staring at the ground.
"That… was mine. I'm sorry. It hit your foot."
Beside the boy stood an elderly man, back slightly hunched, hair streaked with white.
He stepped forward and bowed slightly.
"Forgive us, sir. My grandson can be careless at times.
If he disturbed you…"
Cafer dipped his head in a gentle nod.
Without a word, he handed the top back to the child.
He smiled.
"Your top is sturdy. Spins well. Take good care of it."
The boy's eyes lit up.
He took the top, clutching it as though it were a treasure.
Cafer placed a hand on the boy's head, ruffling his hair lightly.
As he did, his gaze drifted to the ship moored at the far end of the port.
"Some things seem small," he thought,
"but just before a journey… they're the ones that strike you most."
Balibey called from behind:
"You ready, Cafer?"
Cafer nodded once with a final smile to the boy, then turned and walked away silently.
The top had changed hands…
but what spun now—was fate itself.
The ship had departed the port.
As it sailed steadily through the Marmara, a cool breeze passed over the deck.
The Sultan stood alone at the edge of the deck, dressed plainly.
His gaze was fixed on the horizon.
But his eyes were not watching the sea—they were watching his thoughts.
"Time is slipping…" he murmured inwardly.
"A man like Gritti doesn't flee into a void.
Leonardo, with the relics, could be on the move at any moment.
Venice…
We must reach it swiftly.
If I arrive late, what comes won't be a command—it'll be a disaster."
The wind brushed back his hair.
He narrowed his eyes.
The sea below looked calm…
but the storm inside him grew stronger.
"This is not just a campaign.
This… is a race against time.
And before I can catch the enemy's shadow—
that shadow might turn… and look straight at me."
Meanwhile, below deck, Balibey and Kasım were making their way down the stairs.
Most passengers were staying in cramped rooms divided by thin partitions.
But Balibey was headed for a private cabin, arranged in advance.
"A few extra pouches of silver," Kasım said with a slight grin,
"But we'll sleep in peace."
Balibey smirked.
"Will we really sleep?"
They reached the door.
The cabin was small but secure.
Inside were two narrow beds, a desk, and a small lockbox.
As Balibey stepped in, his eyes swept across the room.
Then he turned to Kasım:
"This room isn't just for rest.
As the Sultan said… this is where we'll both guard and prepare."
They shut the door quietly.
As the ship glided over the waves,
inside, the silence deepened…
It was the stillness before a storm.