Chapter 17
The weeks waiting to depart again were torture. After some minor delays with correspondence, finally things had been set in motion and Francis had the all clear from his brother the king’s court to be the Stormburg royal ambassador to King Omar.
Granny had told him that as far as they were all aware, Francis would be overseeing the engineering trade between Stormburg and Türkiye.
Meanwhile the real ambassadors would do all the work, leaving Francis free to consort with King Omar, Hasim, to his heart’s content.
A deal Francis was more than happy with.
When his date to depart finally arrived, Francis had never been so pleased to be back on a ship in his life, sailing toward his new home: Istanbul.
The journey this time seemed to pass far too slowly, and without his friends’ company, though they had promised to visit.
Gustav was his only companion, holed up in the royal suite with him as they both read as much as they could.
Some evenings Captain Lenaert joined them for a game of cards, and Francis lost many hands, distracted as he was.
All he wanted was to see Hasim again.
And the cats, of course. But most of all Hasim.
After an excruciatingly slow voyage, with many hours spent in longing, when the crew finally called out sight of their destination, Francis risked the wrath of the noon day sun to rush up on deck and see for himself.
They had finally arrived. The coast of Türkiye was now faint in the distance, with Greece on their left. Captain Lenaert reminded Francis they still had a way to go before they left the Mediterranean Sea and passed through the Dardanelles and into the Sea of Marmara, then onto Istanbul.
“Just a few short hours, sir,” Lenaert said. “We’ll arrive in no time at all.”
“And just when it’s hottest,” Francis said, glancing at the clear blue sky, not a cloud in sight.
“If I may, sir?” Gustav said. “I took the liberty of procuring a new wardrobe for your arrival. In fact, the clothes are gifts from his majesty, King Omar.”
“Oh?” Francis was delighted to hear this. “I do hope it is those nice breezy linens. I rather liked those.”
“I should be happy to show you, sir,” Gustav replied. “Let us return to the suite, you can freshen up before we arrive.”
“Excellent idea,” Francis said, then added, “I much prefer this sort of surprise, Gustav, as opposed to a surprise tournament. I trust there will be no more of those?”
He’d only been joking, but Gustav apologised profusely.
“No more tournaments that I’m aware of, sir,” the older man said. “My deepest apologies for the miscommunication.”
Francis smiled and put his arm around Gustav’s shoulders. “Come now, Gustav!” he said cheerily. “Were it not for that ridiculous tournament that both Hasim and I were hiding from, we may never have had the chance to meet.”
They descended below, where Gustav opened a silk lined chest to reveal neatly folded bundles of exquisite clothes in the softest linen fabrics.
All in the Turkish style with the baggy trousers, delicate slippers, fitted shirts, nipped in waistcoats, and a variety of other outfits that Francis had come to love.
“These will do nicely,” Francis said, selecting his garments. “Hasim will be pleased, I’m sure. Well done, Gustav!”
“Thank you, sir.” Gustav bowed his head. “Do you need any assistance dressing?”
Francis shot him an unimpressed look. “I can manage quite well, thank you. These clothes are much less of a fuss than all our layers.” He took his garments behind the screen and began to change.
“Yes, sir,” Gustav agreed. “I shall remain on hand to offer assistance, if you wish?”
“Well, you can give me your opinion,” Francis said, throwing off his woollen trousers and shirt with too many buttons. “I want Hasim to be pleased with the look.”
“No doubt he will, sir.”
Francis chose an outfit of pastel blue, white with gold detail, and some divine gold and blue slippers. He let Gustav help him accessorise, picking a small circular hat with a white scarf attached; perfect for protecting his face from the afternoon sun.
Gustav changed into a Turkish outfit as well, in hues of red and green. He pulled from the trunk a generous parasol, brandishing it with the intent to shield Francis from the sun once they returned to the deck.
“I think I shall manage, my friend,” Francis told the older man. “Or, perhaps, I will hold it?”
Gustav hesitated. “Are your sure, sir?”
“Quite sure.”
Gustav handed him the parasol, and now Francis really was ready.
And all of a sudden, he was nervous.
Before they exited the suite, Francis stopped Gustav to confess his worry. “What if Hasim…what if the king has changed his mind?”
“About what, sir?”
“About me!” Francis hissed.
Concern knitted Gustav’s greying eyebrows. “That would be doubtful, sir. Much has gone into your appointment. It was all done through the official channels. To call it off now would win him no favours.”
“But there is still a chance,” Francis said, his throat dry. He swallowed. “He may keep my appointment but choose not to see me. Maybe he found someone else? It’s been over two months, Gustav. What if he met someone else?”
Gustav was silent a moment, then gently took hold of Francis by his arm. “There is nothing for it, I’m afraid, sir, but to go and find out. I’m sure all will be well. Come along.”
“But Gustav…!”
“Come along, sir,” Gustav said firmly.
Francis let himself be led up to the deck, just as the city of Istanbul came into view, and their ship entered the Bosphorus Strait.
Francis was silent, panicking internally.
The sun was hot but thankfully there was a cool breeze on the water.
Gustav prised the parasol from Francis’s frozen hands and opened it up.
“I’ll hold it for now, sir,” he said.
Francis barely heard him, barely saw anything until they approached the royal dock.
“Look, sir!” Gustav said, pointing. “I do believe you have a welcome party.”
Francis looked, and sure enough saw a riot of colour on the quay; a royal party awaiting his arrival, dressed in their finest clothes, shaded under large parasols, splendid rugs spread out for them to stand on.
Queen Fatima and her ladies spotted him and began waving.
Servants with instruments struck up a lively tune, several more lined up next to royal guards bearing trays of refreshments.
All of it was a blur to Francis as his eyes sought the only face that mattered.
He spotted his king in the thick of it, surrounded by his family. A big smile played on his handsome face as soon as he saw Francis, and Francis breathed a sigh of relief.
He was here.