r　not；　people　would　heed　them；　hoping　that　they

would prove true about miserable creatures other than themselves。 Many

rumors　like　this　about　Enishte　Effendi　had　begun　to　fly　due　to　the　secrecy　of

the　book　he　was　making　and　the　money　he　was　willing　to　pay—and　because

Master Osman； the Head Illuminator； despised him。 It occurred to me that

perhaps my brother gilder； Elegant； had with sly intent used these facts to

buttress　his　false　accusations。　To　what　degree　was　he　being　honest？

I had him repeat the claims that pitted us against each other； and as he

spoke；　he　didn’t　mince　his　words。　He　seemed　to　be　provoking　me　to　cover　up　a

mistake；　as　during　our　apprentice　years；　when　the　goal　was　to　avoid　a　beating

by Master Osman。 Back then； I found his sincerity convincing。 As an

apprentice；　his　eyes　would　widen　as　they　did　now；　but　back　then　they　hadn’t

yet　dimmed　from　the　labor　of　embellishing。　But　finally　I　hardened　my　heart；

he　was　prepared　to　confess　everything　to　everyone。

“Do　listen　to　me；”　I　said　with　forced　exasperation。　“We　make　illuminations；

create border designs； draw frames onto pages； we brightly ornament page

after page with lovely tones of gold； we make the greatest of paintings； we

adorn　armoires　and　boxes。　We’ve　done　nothing　else　for　years。　It　is　our　calling。

They