Butterfly and Black arrived in t; tures on to tell tration. It reminded me of turban” o play ary and try to matcten on ots.

    I told told its story to toryteller. I said t gentle Butterfly, , must’ve dra of tly. I remembered t Olive an  entory irely by ted storyteller. I’d started tree  nigory as  oo: Some red ink tered onto a page and tingy storyteller asked if ure of it. e dribbled some more red ink onto tcold tory of oryteller mig it. Olive made te alent—and I t terfly terfly removed t and told Black t, yes, ributed to t of Kalenderis e t’s sacred book 250 years ago, revealing in verse t ion manifested in beautiful faces.

    I asked ter artist bretate of our

    coffee nor s oranges because my ill asleep in t barge in t o ring clots and dolmans in ts and trunks ts and cused pages I’d prepared for various books, and he pages of bound volumes.

    Nevert confess t it gave me a certain pleasure to behem. An

    artist’s skill depends on carefully attending to ty of t moment, taking everyto test detail seriously ime, stepping back from takes itself too seriously, and as if looking into a mirror, alloance and eloquence of a jest.

    Accordingly, upon t, yes,  forty in tant illustrators, ts ice of unsurpassed beauty, oto t of poets, drunks, s and dervisor into alloo join tty group. I explained or for some baertainment began to leave in a panic, no one t to mount a defense of tablis or of toryteller dressed as a y? “Yes! I, Mustafa ter, also knoork,“ ed my entire life to illumination, find it necessary, eac, to sit togetist brets, recite poems and speak in innuendos,” I confessed, looking directly into tted Butterfly, s-eyed boy plagued by envy. Even as an apprentice, tterfly of ours, y.

    Again, upon t toryteller, may y and neigrade in turists, perure on to be amusing; toryteller took notice and, as a joke of ure,  success; t inued to feature pictures draer miniaturists and to tell ty tales to  t once exed tists, omers to tor from Edirne encouraged the performances.

    terpretation of tures toryteller , ty  terpretation because tor, like Olive c Effendi, terrified of ations, and especially of one Friday sermons, must’ve complained of to t o stop in tor and Olive, botemperament, conspired to cruelly do aed gilder. ted by Elegant’s murder, and per Effendi e’s book to te responsible for t’ve raided to complete their revenge.

    tention erfly and grave Black () paying to ing every lid and leaving not a stone unturned? s, armor and  trunk, a look of

    envy blossomed on Butterfly’s c everybody already knee  Muslim illustrator to set out on campaign  to carefully study and depict nessed in various victory Coles, the order and charge of armored cavalry!

    terfly asked me to s embarrassment took off my overs, my black rabbit-fur-lined unders, my trousers and my underc of tove, I pulled on my clean long under of red broadclots of yelloers. Removing it from its case, I  on my breastplate, turned my back toterfly and as if ordering a pageboy, igo attaces. As I ting on my vambraces, gloves, t and finally t t I  tle scenes ed as t is no longer permissible to depict ttern as a guide and simply flipping it over to dratle scenes made in ttomans umult of armies, horses, armor-clad warriors and bloodied bodies!”

    Seized by envy, Butterfly said, “tor dra w  w Allah sees.”

    “Yes,” I said, “ed Allaainly sees everything we see.”

    “Of course, Alla   perceive it tterfly as if cising me. “ttle scene t , wo opposing armies in an orderly array.”

    Naturally, I ed to say, “It falls to us to believe in Allao depict only   quiet because Butterfly ating tlessly striking one end of  my  and back, supposedly to test my armor, but because I calculated t only if I restrained myself and ty-eyed oaf could we deliver ourselves from Olive’s scheming.

    Once t find old me er. ture t t my , t certainly ure  did trils and an ed Master Osman rils, Black told me, looking straigo my eyes, er Osman, analyzing them

    to Olive, alted me even more, being no stranger to my ambitions.

    At first, it appeared to believe t I o find proof of it, but in my opinion, t t. t my door out of loneliness and desperation.  Butterfly pointed at me s only errified, t tity t suco uncover, migly cut ts, t Master Osman migan and treasurer to turn to torturer—not to mention treets,  Master Osman illed in te notion. It  obligation to ser Osman aken, hey’d hoped for deep down anyway.

    Simply declaring t t master aken and t terfly’s enmity. For in tery eyes of tor,  ill make out t for t master, er and apprentice,  tare into eac lengt of everybody; later still, Master Osman actlessly t Butterfly  agile pen and t mature color brusion—often quite true—became turists using pens, bruss and pen boxes in vulgar allusions, devilis metap t Master Osman s Butterfly to succeed ood from talks to ot my belligerence, incompatibility and stubbornness t t t master ifiably, t I tend far more toterfly, and could never resist Our Sultan’s ne masters of old  this way.”

    I kneo cooperate closely ’ve ed to complete e’s book, not only to conquer beautiful S and s  also, most probably, to ingratiate an by t means possible.

    troduced tter quite unexpectedly by saying t Enis equal in terpiece ed, in keeping an’s decree and te Enistoman Sultan’s poalent, elegance and ability of us, er miniaturists. Not only lessness, tole from ters,  buoyant colors and test of details; and ultimately, terror  intelligent sultans understood: t uated botings and far far aers.

    Butterfly riking me all along, first like a co determine , like a friend o test its strengted to do me rutood t I alented t Master Osman kneoo. italent, Butterfly er, and er trengt by er’s, and I sensed t I could force o accept my superiority.

    Raising my voice, I explained iful it  ted to undermine Our Sultan and te Eniser Osman o us all; , after tracing tan’s treasury, for some unknoer Osman tried to conceal ion t Olive ain t Olive,  ed Kalenderi dervise. tan’s grandfat because it ion and immorality, but rat of time   trust me, suspecting some ruse beo mete out my punis there.

    Butterfly landed t armor could not ood. urned to Black, old t  my armor-plated arm around Butterfly’s neck and dree struggling, nor irely playing. I recounted a similar, little-knohe Book of Kings.

    “On tation beturanian armies fully equipped in armor and  t of Mount uranians sent to to learn tity of a mysterious Persian uranian ly in ternoon sun, ced breatal singed t uranian s arroerious Persian felled turanian after catcail of eed. er Srying to escape, and grabbed aking ed , turanian, still curious about tity of terious   everybody o you,“ replied terious ell me then, my friends, who was he?”

    “tem,” said Butterfly h childlike glee.

    I kissed rayed Master Osman,” I said. “Before es out ,  find Olive, rid ourselves of t and come to an agreement so and strong against ternal enemies of art and to send us directly to dungeons of torture. Per Olive’s abandoned dervis t even one of our lot.”

    Poor Butterfly uttered not a sound. Regardless of alented, confident or ed  be, just like all illuminators e tual loat alone in to hell.

    On te to te, t above us, but it  t of t, ttime appearance of Istanbul comprised of cypress trees, leaden domes, stone s ravaged by fire aken by an unfamiliarity suc be caused by an enemy fortress. As ance  burned somewhe Bayazid Mosque.

    In t oy ing  docwo raindrops fell upon my .

    After a long journey, as o be abandoned. Alt lamps one o our clamor, it  opened to us, and a man in skullcap, gaping at us by t of ions to ted dervis even sticking  into t once ts.

    In ted by t to tencting leaves. I brougo one of ter, to tter of a small ending, for our sake, to pray.