The boy led us through the narrow alleys of Istanbul, weaving through dimly lit streets where the scent of bread, damp wood, and sea air mixed with the unmistakable stench of poverty. The further we walked, the more the cobblestone roads turned to dirt paths, and the once-grand Ottoman buildings gave way to dilapidated shacks.
Finally, we reached a small, weathered hut at the edge of a forgotten district. The boy hesitated at the door, then pushed it open, revealing the sight within.
Inside, the space was cramped and cold, with only a thin curtain separating the sleeping area from the main room. A young girl, no older than six, sat on a tattered rug, clutching a worn wooden doll. Nearby, a frail woman stirred a pot over a dying fire, her face lined with exhaustion.
The moment the boy stepped inside, the woman spun around. "Ahmet!" she gasped. "Where have you been, you little—"
Without warning, she smacked him on the head with a wooden spoon. "Ow! Ana! Stop, stop! We have guests!" the boy—Ahmet—whined, rubbing his head.
It was only then that his mother noticed us. Her eyes widened in horror as she took in our fine Ottoman garments, the rich embroidery, and the armed Janissary escort standing behind me. "Shehzade…?" she whispered in disbelief before falling to her knees.
The little girl, unaware of what was happening, simply stared, her big brown eyes blinking curiously at me. I sighed. "Please, there is no need for that."
The woman kept her head bowed. "My shehzade… if Ahmet has wronged you, I beg for your mercy! He is just a foolish boy—"."Oh, he is foolish, indeed," I muttered, glancing at Ahmet. "But I have not come to punish your son. In fact, I am here to help him."She hesitated, clearly conflicted between gratitude and fear. Ahmet, still rubbing his sore head, muttered, "See, Ana? I told you I brought guests."The woman immediately pinched his ear.
"You stole from the shehzade?! What were you thinking, you little devil?!"
"Ow, ow, ow! I didn't know he was royalty! I swear!"
Cemil chuckled at the scene while I simply crossed my arms, watching the exchange with amusement. Finally, she released Ahmet and turned back to me. "My shehzade… you said you wish to help?"
I nodded. "Your son has talent. He could be more than just a street thief. And your family—" I gestured to the crumbling home "—should not be living like this." She looked down, ashamed. "I am a widow, my shehzade. My husband died years ago, and without a protector, we… we do what we must to survive."
Her voice cracked, but she quickly composed herself. The little girl clung to her mother's skirt, looking at me with a mixture of fear and fascination. "I will not allow you to remain in this place," I stated. "Come with me. I will provide you with a new home—one where you do not have to wonder where your next meal will come from."
Her eyes filled with emotion, but she hesitated. "My shehzade, we cannot possibly live in the palace…" Cemil, sensing the dilemma, stepped in. "Perhaps not inside the palace," he suggested. "But near it. There are residences beside the royal quarters meant for trusted servants and aides. It would not be unusual for them to live there."
I nodded. "Yes, that would be perfect. Ahmet would stay close, under my watch, and your family would be safe." The woman looked at her son, then at her daughter. Finally, she exhaled, as if releasing years of burden. "If it pleases you, my shehzade… we will accept your kindness."
"Good," I said. "Then we leave immediately." As we turned to go, I glanced at Ahmet. "By the way… what is your full name?"
He hesitated before replying. "Ahmet… Ahmet Karamir, my shehzade."
I smirked. "Ahmet Karamir," I repeated. "I have a feeling we'll make great use of you."
As we stepped out of the shack, I had the distinct feeling that this might be just the beginning.
~~~
As we walked through the dimly lit streets back toward the palace, Cemil finally spoke, his voice laced with curiosity. "My shehzade, I had some ideas, but why the kid?"
I glanced at Ahmet, who was walking a few steps ahead, still wide-eyed from everything that had happened. He had potential, but raw talent meant nothing without purpose. "I have plans," I said simply. "To build an espionage unit."
Cemil furrowed his brow. "But your father already has his own network of spies. And when you become Sultan, that system will be handed to you. Why build something that already exists?" He had a point—but he didn't understand. Not yet.
I turned to him, slowing my pace. "The spies my father has? They work in the courts, among diplomats, whispering behind closed doors. They manipulate treaties, gather intelligence on alliances, and report on shifting loyalties."
Cemil nodded. "And that's not enough?"
I smirked. "No. That is politics. What I seek is something different. A specialized organization that moves in the shadows, independent of the palace's bureaucracy. Something systematic, disciplined—an unseen force that operates not just in noble courts but in the streets, fortresses, and even enemy war councils. There's more to it actually but maybe I'll put it into the book first."
Cemil fell silent, deep in thought. "My father's spies prevent war. But I will have spies that win wars before they even begin."
Cemil exhaled slowly. "That… is an ambitious plan, my shehzade." I could tell he was skeptical. He admired my father's intelligence network—as did I. But I was thinking beyond what already existed.
So, I let him ponder. In time, he would see.
~~~
Later, I decided to send Ahmet to Edirne first to start his first training with Muhtasin Pasha to get him used to the physical training first. While his family remained here in Istanbul. And now, its time to show it to father.