The Ottoman Empire
Click.
When the lavishly adorned box opened, a shabby cloak and a crude sword came into view.
As was usually the case with relics, the objects themselves were not special. It was the one who had used them who was special.
“Al-Mutawakkil.”
“Yes, Your Caliphate.”
What did it feel like to address another by a title one had been using oneself only moments ago?
Even without asking, even without the power of his trait, the sense of deprivation he felt was plain to see.
“Do not regret it. It was not as though all that came of that excessive title was good fortune.”
Using religious authority as a means of rule was common, and Islam had not been able to avoid that history either.
The caliph, who ruled Islamic society, had begun as an elected office, but it became hereditary, and eventually degenerated into a puppet that had lost all political power.
Even the Mamluks, a slave dynasty, had kept a caliph on hand to serve as a figurehead in order to strengthen their legitimacy.
‘Even if all he did was play the puppet, it won’t be easy to let go of his lingering attachment.’
Now that the title of caliph and Muhammad’s relics, the outward symbols of it, had been taken from him, it did not matter even if he had complaints.
“Return and prepare to depart for Kostantiniyye. It will be where your family lives from now on.”
“…I understand.”
At the heart of the empire, if he did not wish to be implicated in treason, never mind enjoy his former glory, he would have to behave quietly. Resigned, Al-Mutawakkil withdrew in a wretched state.
For an occasion where the title of caliph was formally obtained, the small gathering bowed at Yusuf’s gesture and withdrew.
It was because he had already been using the title of caliph even before acquiring legitimacy, and because, for the dynasty, it was not a title to which they attached any great meaning.
“With this, I have gathered most of what will be useful when ruling Muslims.”
Besides the title of caliph and Muhammad’s sword, there were many of Muhammad’s relics to take back to the capital.
In addition to the sword and cloak, there was even a footprint bearing the impression of his sole, as well as his beard and teeth.
If one also considered the keys to the holy sites that would be brought from Mecca, it would be enough to turn the hearts of Muslims who harbored dissatisfaction.
“All that remains is to retrieve the plunder seized by Venice.”
“They will not hand it over meekly.”
“To them, it must be spoils of historical value, so they will hardly be willing to part with it easily.”
Even in modern times, it was commonplace for looted cultural artifacts not to be returned under all sorts of excuses, and things were no different now.
Moreover, including the four bronze horses, the stolen plunder was not limited to one or two items, and even the marble panels of the Venetian Basilica of San Marco were objects looted at that time.
It was obvious they would strain every nerve not to return them.
“If they insist on refusing, then I need only hold them accountable for the crime of daring to print books containing my story without permission. I hear they are selling quite well?”
It was no ordinary book, but one managed and published directly by the dynasty, and moreover, a book containing the story of the current Padishah. Publishing it without permission was enough to cause friction between states.
‘It must have been delightful when they were copying and selling it as they pleased.’
When the situation ripened a little more and it came time to collect the bill, they would learn just how dangerous a game they had been playing with fire.
In the middle of a war, when every coin mattered, souring relations with the Ottomans, who had devoured half the Mediterranean, would surely be burdensome.
Yusuf rose from his seat and walked to the office with Shemsi.
“If we can retrieve the plunder, we should be able to gain the support of the people of Rum. It was a painful history for them.”
No matter how cruelly and coldly he himself acted, he still fell short compared to the Fourth Crusade that had plundered Constantinople back then.
People of every status, men and women, old and young alike, were exposed to every manner of brutality—rape, kidnapping, violence, murder—and noblewomen and nuns had not escaped that calamity either.
The tombs of former emperors were dug up, and not content with looting their grave goods, they had even discarded the corpses in the streets.
Of course, as it had been nearly three hundred years ago, the pain from then might have faded considerably.
‘Then I need only make the atrocities committed by the Crusaders at that time widely known and remind them of it.’
There was an organization created for exactly that purpose, so was this not the time to use it?
“More importantly, Shemsi Pasha, you do not look well.”
He never looked especially healthy to begin with, thanks to his excessive workload, but today he seemed particularly haggard.
At Yusuf’s question, Shemsi looked at him with a hint of resentment.
“Is it not because of the drink Your Padishah gave me?”
“It must have been familiar, yet with an even livelier flavor. Were you satisfied?”
His mistake had been drinking it without any resistance because the aroma and taste were familiar, as he often drank orzo, barley coffee.
For he had found himself strangely unable to sleep, and had stayed wide awake, burying himself in paperwork.
Inside the office whose door had opened, the noticeably diminished stacks of documents indirectly displayed the labor of the previous night.
“Before discussing the flavor, it was enough to make me afraid to drink it again. What in the world was that?”
“Do you mean qahwa? It is a drink gaining fame in Mecca as something that wards off drowsiness.”
Coffee berries, native to the Ethiopian highlands, had only recently crossed the Red Sea and settled in Mecca.
“It is a drink the imams are likely to dislike.”
“They are so conservative, after all. I hear it was even banned for a time in Mecca.”
Yusuf sat at his desk and inhaled the aroma of the coffee beans.
Compared to the varied and advanced coffees of modern times, there were many rough edges, but the familiar scent strangely stirred his heart.
It also brought back memories of how he had once been unable to forget his modern life and had even made barley coffee. To think that had already been ten years ago—he was struck anew by how quickly time passed.
As Yusuf brewed the slightly reduced amount of coffee, Shemsi asked with a somewhat dubious expression.
“Do you intend to bestow it upon your retainers?”
“Did you not see its effects for yourself? It will be of great help to retainers who always say they lack time.”
“…That is not what we meant when we said we lacked time, is it?”
At the very least, it could not have been said with the intention of working day and night.
At this point, rather than working in the capital where the Padishah resided, suffering in Cairo felt preferable.
At least there, when he lamented his lack of time, he would not have to see someone offer him qahwa as though doing him a favor.
Feeling Shemsi’s impious gaze, Yusuf rolled a coffee bean around in his hand.
“I did not prepare this solely with the thought of tormenting you. I am thinking of making it one of the empire’s main products going forward.”
“I am not sure it will go well. As I said, is it not a drink conservative people will dislike?”
“It will go well.”
Shemsi’s concerns were not entirely meaningless.
Conservative opponents of coffee had attacked places that, in modern terms, would be cafés, and had condemned coffee by saying its effect on the mind was similar to alcohol.
In Europe, too, it had been called the drink of Satan and persecuted because it was a drink consumed by infidels.
Of course, despite all manner of interference, it had ultimately become a drink modern people could not live without, so there was no need to worry about its success.
“And as it happens, is there not a perfect situation for selling qahwa?”
“Do you mean that examination to be held nationwide?”
“Yes, that.”
Word had already spread quietly that retainers would be selected through an examination, and not only nobles but also merchants and others with means were preparing to place their children in government office.
It was said that the palace was already piled high with inquiries asking what kinds of things would appear on the examination.
In particular, Christians and Jews, who had found it difficult to obtain official posts and had had to be content as merchants, were filled with great longing.
‘In the early examinations, whatever happens, those with substantial financial leeway will be the ones who step forward.’
This was similar to the limitations of the civil service examination system of Joseon.
The number of commoner successful candidates was large enough to account for a third of the total, but most of those commoners were wealthy men who could devote themselves to study without laboring.
In an age when most people were poor and there was no public education, it could not be helped.
“There will be no shortage of people who buy qahwa for the sake of their children’s studies.”
“Since it concerns their children, even if conservatives try to stop them, they will not listen.”
Was caffeine not an inseparable friend to examinees by nature?
He felt no pangs of conscience for bringing that era forward by several centuries.
After pondering for a moment, Shemsi nodded.
“First, we will have to examine the climates where it can be grown, but we must increase the yield above all.”
“And we must manage it thoroughly so that it does not leak to other countries. If necessary, we must also occupy the highlands where it is said to have first been discovered.”
The commercial potential of coffee was so outstanding that even Ethiopia in East Africa, its place of origin, had to be occupied.
Even if he could not block it forever, he had to avoid having the pie he had worked so hard to grow stolen from him.
At Yusuf’s words, Shemsi frowned slightly.
“It seems the matter is growing larger and larger.”
“Think of it as killing two birds with one stone, since it is land worth occupying in order to keep Portugal in check. If eastern trade expands and we begin trading farther afield, it will become an even more necessary commodity.”
The reason Britain had waged the ugly war known as the Opium War, when examined closely, was because of its trade imbalance with the Qing dynasty.
There were many goods imported from the Qing dynasty, including tea, silk, porcelain, and medicinal ingredients, but Britain’s products amounted to little more than woolen cloth that did not sell well.
As silver flowed into the Qing dynasty due to the trade deficit, what Britain sold to stop that was opium.
It could not be called a good deed, but for Britain, it had been important enough to start a war and sell opium.
‘If I want to avoid such a situation, I must prepare various export goods, starting with coffee.’
In this era, Asia, including China, was by no means inferior to the West.
Yusuf smiled mischievously and handed Shemsi the pouch containing coffee.
“This is a gift. It will be more useful to you than to me.”
“…I am truly honored. I tremble with emotion at the grace of the Padishah.”
Shemsi received the qahwa with trembling hands.
Contrary to his desire to refuse, his body, which felt its necessity, carefully tucked the pouch away.
“You will soon be returning to the capital, then.”
“This place has stabilized, and the remaining conquests are lands for which I need not personally take the field. It is earlier than planned, but I should return.”
If he had not killed the sultan at the negotiating table, he might still have been bogged down by the Mamluks even now.
Once the Mamluks were destroyed, there would be no Islamic power left whose opinion he had to consider.
It was a bold action he would not have attempted had he not been the Ottomans, whose reputation in the West was already so foul that atrocities of this level were dismissed with, “Of course they would.”
He had saved time, troops, and supplies, so he did not regret that choice.
‘Still, it’s about time I diluted this infamy.’
When someone thought to be a villain acts even a little kindly, it always feels far more significant.
He was more than willing to greet the envoys who would come in the future with a smile instead of swords and guns.
“What do you intend to do if you return to the capital?”
“Well, perhaps I’ll start by making something to replace those expensive candles.”
What was the point of making people forget night and day with coffee if it was too dark to read?
“Padishah?!”
“It was a joke. A joke. Even for me, that would be difficult right away.”
To replace those with something cheaper, he would have to dig up petroleum and refine it into kerosene, and that was not something that could be done overnight.
He had acquired several oil-producing regions, including Romania, but everything from drilling to refining was far from easy.
“When we return, we should formally announce the name of the empire.”
“At last, that time has come.”
Until now, the empire had been called many things, such as the Well-Protected Realm, the Islamic Kingdom, and the Roman Kingdom, but now there was a need to unify it under one name.
“Yes. The name of the empire will officially be Ottoman.”
It was a name taken from the founder, Osman Ghazi, and it was not an unfamiliar expression, to the point that subjects were referred to as Ottomans in official documents.
It could be called a state name emphasizing that the empire was the land of the House of Osman.
In addition, at the same time the name Ottoman was proclaimed, the national flag symbolizing the Ottomans was scheduled to fly across the entire Ottoman realm.
It would be much like the moment a nation was newly born, and it was set to become an extremely important national event.
“If that matter is national, then personally, I would like to have a family portrait made.”
“A family portrait, you say?”
Şemsi looked surprised, and Yusuf slowly walked over to the window and gazed outside.
The city, dyed in the red sunset, told him that another day was passing like this.
“Yes. The present is not eternal, but would it not be good to have even a painting to remember that time by?”
“When you put it that way, it seems like a fine idea.”
At Şemsi’s agreement, Yusuf lightly twitched an eyebrow.
“But there is a problem. The one who will paint the portrait is a man.”
In Islamic culture, where the hijab was imposed so that women would not show their faces to other men, this was a serious issue.
Yusuf, deep in thought, took out a sheet of letter paper.
∗ ∗ ∗
Clang!
Fragments of marble fell in a shower, and the dynamic form of a man’s body became clearer.
As Michelangelo swung his hammer with intense concentration, a deep voice reached his ears.
“Michelangelo, a letter sent by the Padishah.”
“I don’t know what this is about all of a sudden, but leave it there.”
Michelangelo, who had been focused, answered irritably, but soon a cold voice followed.
“No matter how much the Padishah favors you, I will not forgive rudeness.”
“Hoo.”
When Sinan, his guard, instead began to radiate killing intent, Michelangelo set down his hammer with a sigh.
He was a man who had even defied the pope, but in a palace overflowing with people who followed the Padishah like fanatics, such a thing was unthinkable.
Michelangelo respectfully received the letter and carefully read it.
As he read the contents, which praised his skill as a sculptor and offered a light greeting, he gave a bitter smile at the mention that he must paint a portrait.
Even before he was captured, he had painted pictures for money, so it would be ridiculous to hesitate now by saying he was a sculptor.
But as he read what followed, cold sweat began to run down his face.
-I wish to ask you for a family portrait, but there is the problem that you are a man. I have heard rumors that you keep your distance from women. Have you perhaps considered castration?
The letter Michelangelo had been reading slipped from his hand and fell.
∗ ∗ ∗
Three ships drifted over the sea.
In the sea breeze, an emblem of a white cross over a red shield fluttered, and the knights on deck had their eyes gleaming.
“Admiral, a ship!”
“Whose ship is it?”
“A galley of those infidels!”
At the words that it was an infidel ship, the admiral opened his eyes and shouted.
“Unfurl the sails! We capture those infidels!”
At the admiral’s command, the flag fluttered, and the three ships spread their sails wide.
The ships turned with a lurching motion and moved without hesitation, and when they had drawn even closer to the approaching galley, a scream-like shout burst out.
-I-it is the Ottoman fleet! The fleet has appeared!
Not long after the lookout’s cry was heard, the admiral saw the fleet surging in behind the galley and shouted in astonishment.
“Turn about! Turn about!”
“Turn about at once, you bastards!”
Even firing warning shots at the galley that was trying to cling to them and keep them from escaping, the ships of the Knights of Rhodes fled in a rout.
Standing atop the carrack and watching the three ships hastily flee, Yusuf clicked his tongue.
“Those are the Rhodes bastards, aren’t they?”
“This area is near their base, so that is likely, Padishah.”
“Truly irritating fellows.”
The territory of the Knights of Rhodes lay on the route from the Syrian region, where goods were carried overland from the Persian Gulf, and from Egypt to the capital, Kostantiniyye.
Since both Christianity and Islam shared the common notion that sins committed against infidels did not matter, to the Ottomans they were practically pirates who sold Muslims into slavery.
“I think so as well, Padishah. Before I step down from my post, it is my dream to drive them out.”
Since Kemal Reis’s usual duty was to suppress the activities of the Knights of Rhodes, a rather deep hostility could be felt in his words.
Kemal was already an old man and did not have much time left, but Yusuf lightly tapped the gun he was using like a cane against the deck.
“You need not worry. Your wish will be fulfilled.”
The island fortress that served as the headquarters of the Knights of Rhodes had been reinforced after the conquest of Constantinople, so it was well prepared against bombardment.
So much so that, in the original history, Süleyman mobilized one hundred thousand troops and three hundred ships to capture a castle defended by seven hundred knights and seven thousand residents.
And in the siege that continued for six months, he suffered tens of thousands of casualties.
In the end, the knights did lose the island, but they withdrew after negotiations, then went to Malta and became an even greater source of trouble.
‘It will not be an easy fight, but it is true that they must be driven out.’
That was how much of a thorn in the side the Knights of Rhodes were.
“When the empire finishes its rest and takes another step forward, the first land to bear its footprint will be that place.”
Yusuf made that vow as he looked at the island of Rhodes passing by.
As time passed, the Sultan’s banner was raised at the palace.
It was a banner announcing that the great conqueror had returned to the heart of the empire.
∗ ∗ ∗
The brush, bending even under light pressure, expressed anger, and the wide-open, glaring eyes stared daggers at the panel being painted.
At the sight of anger and sulking mixed together, Yusuf spoke in a gentle voice.
“It was not compulsion, merely a suggestion. I am not Satan enough to castrate someone who refuses.”
“…Please consider the difference in our stations.”
A suggestion made to a slave was no different from an order, and if someone else had seen the contents of the letter, they would have quietly dragged him away and enlisted the help of a skilled craftsman.
Michelangelo, who had broken into a cold sweat stopping Sinan from showing interest in the letter’s contents, let out a sigh.
“Is this indeed what Valide Hatun and the Hatuns look like?”
“Yes. Astonishing skill. There is no artist under the sun with talent greater than yours.”
Yusuf exclaimed in admiration.
A crisis could make a person surpass their limits, and Michelangelo, whose manhood was on the line, had surpassed those limits.
Not using something and being unable to use it because it was gone were different matters, and to avoid castration, he had racked his brains with all his might.
The best method would have been to train a talented female disciple, but he had no time to spare for that.
In the end, what he had done was closer to drawing composite sketches, and the result had come out as five portraits.
“It is as if you painted them after seeing them with your own two eyes.”
“It was not an easy task.”
They were the result of hearing descriptions of their features and appearances, even referring to drawings made by the women of the harem that came close to insulting the royal family, and then revising them tens and hundreds of times.
Michelangelo could be certain that, among all the works he had done in his life, this had been the most difficult.
“Now that I know all their faces, it will be fine if they come wearing hijabs when I paint the portrait.”
Michelangelo answered confidently, but the reply he received made him break out in cold sweat.
“I intend to ask for a family portrait every year. Would it not be difficult to continue with the same method as now? How about reconsidering, even at this point?”
“…It is all right, Padishah. I shall try to train an excellent disciple.”
Michelangelo, who had never once thought of taking in a female disciple rather than a beautiful boy, changed his mind.
It seemed it would be better to train a disciple with outstanding painting skills so that he could focus only on sculpture.
As he made that resolution, a light knock and a voice were heard.
-Father!
-Princess, you must call him Padishah. Valide Hatun and the Hatun may scold you.
-Padishah!
-If you call him so rudely…
At the flustered maid’s voice and the child’s clumsy speech, Yusuf lightly shook his head and said,
“Come in.”
The door opened, and a child came pattering in.
The child, whose shimmering blond hair resembled her mother’s, ran over and clung tightly to Yusuf’s leg.
“Hasna, what is it?”
“I came because I missed you, but you weren’t there! So I came here!”
Yusuf sat the brightly smiling Hasna on his knee and roughly stroked her hair.
Even as her head swayed from side to side under his rough hand, Hasna, as if finding it wonderfully delightful, smiled brightly and swung her feet.
“…Who is that person?”
“She is my daughter, Hasna.”
Not every woman wore a hijab from the moment she was born.
In Islam, the hijab was imposed because of a verse in the Quran saying that nothing that could entice should be shown, but it was generally not applied before puberty, when issues with the opposite sex were absent.
Having seen Hasna’s face, Michelangelo stared intently at her.
“I think I understand why the Padishah said he wished to leave a painting behind every year.”
“And why do you think that is?”
“Is it not because you fear that, should she grow older, she might lose the way she looks now?”
Considering that Michelangelo, who had regarded women as beings that defiled him, was worried about her looks changing for the worse, it seemed certain that Hasna was attractive.
Since Michelangelo had engaged in platonic homosexuality, he might have shown a different reaction had Hasna been an adult, but it was still quite an exceptional response.
Yusuf tousled the hair of Hasna, who was looking up at him.
“A needless worry. Whatever happens to her appearance, the fact that she is my daughter will not change.”
“Do you think the same of the other princes?”
No matter how he might be praised by later generations as a great artist, for now he was nothing more than a captured slave.
It was an insolent question, but since there were things Yusuf felt sorry about, he answered lightly.
“I, too, possess the emotion called familial love. It is merely that, as the master of the empire, there are things I place before familial love.”
If the empire could become more prosperous, then even if they were his sons, it was only right that they suffer for it.
‘If they truly want to rest, they can either become the Padishah or beget sons they can work just as hard. They have to do one of the two.’
Princes who failed to become king were meant to suffer.
“I shall keep that in mind when painting. However, may I make one request?”
“Speak.”
“May I create a statue modeled after the princess?”
An artist’s inspiration was usually something vague and elusive to ordinary people, but seeing Michelangelo’s eyes gleam, Yusuf could indirectly sense what inspiration was.
Feeling that blazing emotion, Yusuf nodded.
“If all the family portraits are completed, I shall permit it.”
“Thank you, O Padishah.”
Watching Yusuf leave with Hasna, Michelangelo burned with fervor.
He intended to present to the world the finest statue, one that would fully capture that charm.
Michelangelo harbored a dangerous thought.
∗ ∗ ∗
In nearly half a century, the atmosphere of the capital had never been as good as it was now.
As if a heart were beating, countless crowds came and went through the heart of the empire, bringing it prosperity.
Merchant ships bound for Cairo, now Ottoman territory, continuously loaded goods and weighed anchor, while Muslims gathered to see the relics of Muhammad kept in Hagia Sophia.
With people gathering, the economy was invigorated, and this seemed to symbolize the prosperity of the Ottomans.
“O Padishah. Though I am stepping down from the position of Grand Vizier, I shall always wish for the empire’s prosperity from behind the scenes.”
“Ahmed Pasha. I will not forget the many things you have done until now.”
Hersekzade’s expression, as he relinquished the post of Grand Vizier, was not very good.
It was not because he had stepped down from the position of the empire’s second-in-command.
Yusuf rose from his seat and looked down at all the officials in the council chamber.
“Until now, there have been far too many people with the same names in the empire. Even among my officials, it has been difficult to distinguish one name from another, and the subjects have faced the same problem.”
“Indeed, O Padishah!”
“From now on, Ahmed Pasha will become the head of the newly created Bureau of Family Relations, and he will grant the subjects a second name.”
“A most reasonable thought!”
“I shall follow your will.”
Thinking that the time had finally come, Hersekzade’s face darkened.
No matter how he thought about it, giving surnames to the entire population was no ordinary task.
A census would naturally be required as a foundation, and because of the high illiteracy rate, the subjects could not choose their own names, so they would have to be named directly.
Fear washed over him as he wondered whether he could finish it all before dying of old age.
“Ahmed Pasha, I trust you, but there is something you must keep in mind.”
“What is it, O Padishah?”
“These are names the subjects will use for generations to come, so I hope you will choose them carefully.”
This was not a needless concern.
The Ottoman culture of having no surnames continued into modern Turkey, and in the twentieth century, family law created surnames for the entire population.
The problem was that, in assigning surnames to a population of over thirty million, officials gave out names carelessly, and even attached surnames with strange meanings like “fool” or “lunatic.”
“Surely we should not have those who enter my service called by names that are vulgar words or insults.”
“…I shall keep that in mind.”
“Yes. If you fail to give them proper names, you will have to listen to countless people curse you at Allah’s side.”
At the words that he could be cursed for generations to come if he made a mistake, the Grand Vizier broke out in a cold sweat, and Yusuf smiled faintly.
“It might even be better to create surnames in various languages, or attach words that have no meaning at all.”
“I shall proceed with that in mind.”
“And if you need personnel, request them from Hadim Ali Pasha, who has returned to the post of Grand Vizier.”
Ali Pasha, who had laid down the post of Grand Vizier and been serving as a palace eunuch, had returned to the position at Yusuf’s request.
It was because, in order to properly move the empire that would rapidly develop over the next few years, someone with abundant experience was needed.
At the mention of requisitioning personnel, Ahmed Pasha’s eyes shone, and the officials quickly lowered their gazes.
After that brief farce passed, Yusuf rose from his seat.
“Now the time has come.”
The year 1514 dawned, and the army began its advance toward the last remaining target, Baghdad.
Once the Persian Gulf had been secured, the empire intended to stabilize the territories it had occupied.
“When news arrives that we have occupied the areas around the Persian Gulf, I shall proclaim the empire’s name and flag.”
It would be the moment when the name Ottoman Empire was formally made known to the world.
∗ ∗ ∗
Yusuf lightly embraced a woman’s body from behind.
Feeling her fragrant scent and soft touch, Yusuf asked tenderly,
“Were you playing with Mustafa, Tajlu?”
“Yes, O Padishah.”
Seeing Mustafa flail his short arms and legs, perhaps delighted to see his parents, Yusuf smiled.
He was the fourth prince born after Mehmed, Murad, and Kasim, and before Yusuf’s eyes his plump baby fat jiggled.
Tajlu, who had become a Hatun after bearing a son, turned to Yusuf with a bright face.
“O Padishah, something wondrous happened.”
“What do you mean?”
“Please look at this.”
Tajlu held up a small bead and shook it in front of Mustafa, and the child’s eyes moved this way and that, following the bead.
Having captured the child’s gaze, Tajlu moved her hand behind her back, then suddenly held out both clenched fists to him.
“Mustafa, where is it?”
Whether he understood Tajlu’s question or not, Mustafa smiled brightly and placed his chubby hand on her left hand.
At that, Tajlu broke into a radiant smile and opened her hand wide, showing Yusuf that the bead was in her left hand.
As Yusuf watched the scene without much thought, unbelievable words reached his ears.
“This is already the thirtieth time. He hasn’t been wrong once; he’s guessed correctly every single time!”
Yusuf looked down at Mustafa, who was merely smiling without knowing what he had done.
Another strange but seemingly useful son had popped out.