Abu bin Malachi smiled at the Conte. My dear Count of Foscari, as a friend of the Ustath, Aldo Stern -- he who is like a brother to me and who has saved my own unworthy life more times than this poor wanderer can count -- you are thus my friend also.

I am indeed honored, replied the Conte in a tone that conveyed genuine humility and respect. Perhaps at some point we may have met each other before...I spent some years in Istanbul when I was young. My father Francesco Foscari was ambassador there.

Bin Malachi's face lit up. Ah yes! The respected emissary of the Venetians...I did indeed know your father! The Ottoman envoy laughed and added, he drove a bargain well.

The Conte nodded, smiling. He did indeed understand the art of the deal. But I did not appreciate it back then as much as I do now. I and my brother Ferigo were with him those years, however, we really were just boys when we arrived.

The professore gestured towards a chair at the table. My old Friend, will you take coffee with us?

Bin Malchi bowed slightly and took the offered chair. The two Italian gentlemen once again took their seats, and Don Aldo signaled for Aph's helper to bring more coffee. No sooner had Abu bin Malachi settled in with his cup of strong, sweet coffee, when Signor Gatto, the orange-striped feline lord of the coffee house, jumped down from his usual perch on the window sill, pranced over and jumped into the Ottoman envoy's lap. Bin Malachi started to gently scratch Signor Gatto's ears and chin, and the cat began purring as loudly as anyone had ever heard him purr.

The Ottoman gentleman looked back at the Conte. I was not much in Istanbul in those days...but I may have some recollections in this old gray head of your father and his young sons, and your time among our people of the Sultan's capital. Something about two young Christian boys who managed to get in a bit of harmless trouble now and then, perhaps?

The Conte and Don Aldo laughed.

After a bemused pause, the Professor gestured at bin Malachi's clothing. My friend, I cannot but help notice that you are not dressed in your usual finery as befits an envoy of the Great Sultan. Instead you are dressed in the traveling garments of desert people...have you been visiting among them?

Bin Malachi nodded. Aye...for I go to see how the plague has affected their trade and well-being on behalf of the Great Sultan, He who loves all his children and cares deeply for their health and happiness...

The Ottoman Envoy paused and sighed before continuing. And it was then I learned of the death of the noble lady who was being held for the ransom...the ransom of bronze, not gold.

Is it bad? asked the Conte.

A plague is never good, my new friend, answered bin Malachi. However, it is not a great plague...perhaps it will pass faster than it might have. We pray that it will not spread like the fires in the dry grass of summer. But...it will be as Allah wills it. Praise be to Allah.

The three men thoughtfully sipped the their coffee. Signor Gatto had now curled up in the folds of bin Malachi's desert cloak and seemed to be in no hurry to relocate. Finally the Ottoman envoy spoke again in a subdued tone. I do regret the death of the noble lady...I feel considerable disappointment that we were not able to affect a different outcome.

Conte Foscari nodded and said softly, alas, the poor woman. He was about to say something about hoping she had not suffered much, but he knew that with plague, such a hope was pointless to express. By its nature, death from the plague, even if it happened swiftly, did not happen soon enough.

Bin Malachi gently scooped up Signor Gatto and placed him on the floor. The cat yawned and stretched, rubbed his head on the Ottoman envoy's legs and sauntered off in the direction of the kitchen.

Bin Malachi watched him go and then turned back to the Italian gentlemen. When he spoke again, his voice was still soft and low, but there was an edge of iron to it.

Understand this, I shall help our friend Achille the tavernkeeper, who even now works to repatriate the lady's bones to the land of her fathers. Upon the lives of my grandchildren, I avow I shall not fail you in this, Ustath Aldo.

That will be of great comfort for the family, who will be able to give her a Christian burial in their family mausoleum, answered Don Aldo. We can do no more...and it is no one's fault. It is the hand of Providence.

Bin Malachi nodded. As a people of the Book, I know such things matter to the Christians.

Conte Foscari added, Yes and it will give them comfort to have her remains brought home...they would suffer to think of her final rest being far away in a foreign land...

Bin Malachi looked thoughtful for a moment and then shrugged. That is very true, my dear Count of Foscari. But... there is also some small profit in the task as well, I suspect. Of course such considerations are secondary...mostly...after all, there was more profit in bringing her back alive and well. But these things happen, and we will cut our losses.

The three gentlemen all nodded their agreement. It struck the Conte that he was in presence of men who were very much like himself. Men who, at the heart of it, largely tried to follow a path of honor and decency, but who also were very realistic and practical: honorable pragmatists, if there was such a thing.

Bin Malachi glanced down at the paper on the coffee house table.

Ah...is that a new Journal of Paris ? he asked.

Yes...just from a few weeks ago, in fact. The Conte passed the paper across to his new friend. You will find some articles that may be of interest about the situation in Paris and at Versailles these days, but one must read a bit between the lines to get the true significance.

Bin Malachi began flipping through the Journal de Paris , which bore a publication date from late April.

Might I borrow this?" he asked. "Since I am here, it would not be a bad thing to get some news...you know, my dear Count, the Ustath Aldo helped me with my command of French and Italian, and it is yet another thing for which I am indebted to him. He nodded appreciatively at Don Aldo.

"But of course," answered, the Conte. "Please keep it with my compliments."

Oh...and there is an interesting piece in this issue by Dottore Franklin, added Don Aldo. He has an idea for changing the hours of the day so that the start of the day is adjusted to the time of year...and candles will be saved by the alteration..saving money for people and workers who must do their activities with artificial lighting at times.

Bin Malachi thought about this for a moment. Very interesting. I shall be curious to see what he proposes...but most people I know of rely only on the sun rising and setting to tell them when to work and to rest, especially in the countryside. And speaking of the time, I must excuse myself to go and perform my prayers. Even in the land of the infidel I must do my duty to my faith...

He looked at Aldo and grinned. No offense meant, my infidel friend.

None taken, my barbarian colleague, laughed Don Aldo.

Abu bin Malachi rose, bowed, and said his goodbyes to the Conte and the Professore. After complimenting the coffee house girl on the quality of the brew and giving Signor Gatto one last scritch of his ears, he tucked the Journal de Paris under his arm, and the Ottoman envoy slipped back into the street as silently he had arrived.

After the man had left, the Conte looked at the Professore and commented, what an interesting fellow. One day when there is time, I would be most curious to hear the story of how you two met. Have you known each other long?"

Don Aldo smiled. Over 20 years. You know...I was first sent on diplomatic missions to north Africa as punishment after my failure in Paris...well that, and some other things I had done that annoyed some important people. But I considered it a blessing -- one of the best things I ever embarked upon -- to be truly useful. And I could not have been so useful without having made friends like Abu bin Malachi.

The Conte nodded. I cannot remember for certain if I was ever introduced to your friend when I was with my father in Constantinople: I was very young and wasn't always paying attention as I should have.

Oh, you may have seen him around, but he probably wasn't being introduced to many people back then...he started his career more as a spy than as an envoy... and he still functions as a key intelligence officer for the great Sultan. That is why he wants to read the news in that recent Journal de Paris and other papers he can get here. There may be helpful information that he can send back to Istanbul.

HAH! laughed the Conte. I did suspect this...oh, and speaking of news and information....Devi gave me the news that my Father, his valet and nurse also travelled on the ship from Ravenna, but stopped off to visit in Napoli.

Don Aldo arched an eyebrow. I would imagine they have already worn out their welcome in Napoli?

Oh most certainly. Absolutely and utterly. Their arrival here is imminent, replied the Conte with a hint of resignation in his voice.

~