Chapter 5 – The Trap Closes
The tavern sat quietly in one of Karaköy's narrowest alleys. On the surface, it looked ordinary.
But nothing about this night was ordinary.
Sultan Murad IV had summoned his three men and met each of their eyes.
"Tonight, the veil will be lifted.
We will see who Recep Pasha truly serves."
He issued his commands with precision.
"Cafer, you will infiltrate the tavern. They'll be upstairs. Listen. And strike if needed."
"Understood."
"Balibey, the perimeter is yours. Watch both alleys. Tell your men to stay sharp—Recep is cautious. He won't come alone."
"We'll lay traps on every corner, my Sultan."
"Kasım, take the rear. If there's an escape or retreat, you are the blade in the dark.
There's word of a tunnel beneath the tavern.
No one leaves without passing your judgment."
"It shall be done."
The three bowed and disappeared into the night.
—
Darkness blanketed the city like ink.
This side of Istanbul breathed silence—a silence too deep for streetlamps.
The tavern was full downstairs, but the upper floor was sealed off.
Only a single servant moved through it.
And upstairs...
Recep Pasha limped in, leaning on his cane. He entered a room where a single chair sat waiting. Moments later, a figure dressed entirely in black—his face unseen—entered and sat across from him.
"The Sultan is growing watchful," Recep Pasha began.
"He's begun investigating your enemies.
Balibey. Cafer. Kasım. They're all in the field now."
The figure's voice was smooth and eerie.
"That should please you.
Even shadows can cast flaws when exposed to light."
Recep chuckled, a venomous sound.
"I've stationed fourteen men around the tavern.
Anyone the Sultan relies on… they're already under surveillance.
If anyone moves, we shoot for the knees first."
—
Outside, Balibey crouched atop a rooftop opposite the tavern.
A bow on his shoulder. Sword on his back.
Eyes scanning every shadow.
"Fourteen men…" he muttered.
"Still, there are fools who underestimate Recep."
In the alley below, Kasım waited beside a boarded-up warehouse.
Two men at his back.
Breaths shallow.
Eyes alert.
And inside the tavern, someone moved with the crowd unnoticed.
Cafer.
Hood drawn, face hidden.
The moment the innkeeper met his eyes, a silver coin dropped onto the table.
That meant only one thing: "The upper floor is mine."
Cafer moved toward the rear stairwell.
Each step was a vow to the dark.
This night would end in revelation—or death.
He reached the stairs.
His fingers brushed the string of Tomris's bow.
He was almost there when—
BOOM!
A thunderous crash shook the cobblestone streets.
Screams followed.
Steel clashed.
A man howled in pain.
Cafer froze.
He knew that sound.
Balibey.
His eyes sharpened.
Plans shattered.
Mission or loyalty?
The decision took less than a breath.
His body chose for him.
Like lightning, Cafer turned.
In three bounds he cleared the stairs.
His bow was already in hand.
He kicked the tavern door open and vanished into the night like a wraith.
—
At the mouth of the alley, a battle raged.
Balibey had his back to a wall, fighting with brutal precision.
Fourteen men swarmed him.
Blades, daggers, arrows—every weapon drawn.
But Balibey wielded only one:
The Sword of Yavuz.
His eyes gleamed—not with rage, but purpose.
Every swing dropped another man.
Every step radiated power.
But numbers were against him.
His breath shortened.
His circle closed.
A blade raised behind him—
ZING!
An arrow, silent and swift, pierced the attacker's chest.
He dropped, lifeless.
Balibey turned.
In the shadows—Cafer.
Hood still up.
But the eyes were unmistakable.
"You're late," Balibey grinned.
"Right on time," Cafer replied.
Another arrow flew. Then another.
The night no longer belonged to silence.
It belonged to war.
—
Upstairs, Recep Pasha heard the chaos.
His face twisted with fear and fury.
The man across from him—featureless and cloaked—was already gone.
Only a half-finished glass of wine and an empty chair remained.
As if he'd never been there at all.
Recep staggered to the window.
He couldn't see the battle—
But the sounds were enough.
Something had gone terribly wrong.
He turned toward the door, limping fast.
Each step creaked beneath his weight.
Sweat poured down his face.
His heart beat faster than every betrayal he'd ever planned.
He reached the bottom of the stairs.
Opened the door.
And saw—
Sultan Murad IV.
Framed by moonlight, the Sultan stood in the doorway like judgment itself.
His silhouette radiant, shoulders broad, long robe trailing.
His hand gripped the hilt of his sword.
But it was his gaze…
A force that didn't belong to shadow—
But consumed it.
Recep Pasha froze.
His breath vanished.
Murad spoke, without a smile:
"Tell me, Topal…
Are you pure?"
The words hit harder than a blade.
Recep's knees buckled.
He trembled.
He knew what the words meant.
In the Ottoman Empire, that question was often the last thing one heard—
Before execution.
He reached for his sword.
A final act of desperation.
He never made it.
CRACK!
Murad's slap struck with the force of falling stone.
Recep flew across the room and collapsed like a puppet with cut strings.
He lay there—unconscious.
His treachery unfinished.
His escape, failed.
Murad looked down at him.
"This empire is not built by those who kneel.
It survives by those who make others kneel."
—
Outside, the battle had fallen silent.
Two shadows emerged.
One with a bow.
The other with a sword.
Cafer and Balibey.
They paused at the doorway, staring at the unconscious vizier and the sovereign who stood tall above him.
Murad turned to them.
They lowered their gazes.
Their knees nearly buckled.
Balibey still gripped his blade.
Cafer's bow held a final arrow.
Murad's voice shattered the silence.
"So if I hadn't come…
Topal would have escaped."
The shame in their hearts was sharp.
They lowered their heads.
Murad looked to Cafer.
"Go. Fetch Kasım. Now."
Cafer bowed and vanished into the back streets.
Then Murad turned to Balibey.
His voice no longer held anger—
But cold calculation.
"Balibey, bind this traitor.
Not just his hands—his soul.
Then disappear with him.
Lock him in Yedikule's deepest dark.
No one will see him until I interrogate him myself."
Balibey knelt.
"As you command, my Sultan."
Murad stared once more at Recep.
A man who had once walked beside him—
Now lay broken in the dirt.
Betrayal always wore a familiar face.
He said nothing more.
He turned, cloak sweeping the air behind him.
Only the sound of his boots echoed through the tavern floorboards.
At the threshold—Kasım stood, waiting.
Murad paused.
Offered a slight nod.
"The palace."
And then disappeared into the night.