anything　from　the　illustrations。　Nevertheless；　he　couldn’t　refrain　from　drawing

Our　Sultan’s　attention　to　the　horses　in　these　magnificent　paintings：　the　way

one　reared；　the　delicate　stance　of　the　next　and；　in　the　third；　a　dignity　and　pride

matching the content of ancient books。 Meanwhile； he speculated about

which artist had made each picture； and the pageboy who’d gone door to

door　to　the　artists’　houses　confirmed　what　Master　Osman　said。

“My　Sovereign；　don’t　be　surprised　that　I　know　my　painters　like　the　back　of

my hand；” said the master。 “What bewilders me is how one of these men；

whom I indeed know like the back of my hand； could make a pletely

unfamiliar　mark。　For　even　the　flaw　of　a　master　miniaturist　has　its　origins。”

“You　mean　to　say？”　said　Our　Sultan。

“Your Excellency； Prosperous Sultan and Refuge of the World； in my

opinion；　this　concealed　signature；　evident　here　in　the　nostrils　of　this　chestnut

horse； is not simply the meaningless and absurd mistake of a painter； but a

sign whose roots reach into the distant past to other pictures； other

techniques；　other　styles　and　perhaps　even　other　horses。　If　we　were　allowed　to

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examine　the　marvelous　pages　of　centuries…old　books　that　You　keep　under　lock

and　key　in　the　cellars；　iron　chests；　and　cabis　of　the　Inner　Treasury；　we　might

be　able　to　identify　as　technique　what　we　now　see　as　mistake；　then；　we　could

attribute　it　to　the　brush　of　one　of　the　three　miniaturists。”

“You　wish　to　enter　my　Treasury？”　said　the　Sultan　in　amazement。

“That　is　my　wish；”　said　my　master。

This was a reques