Equal of the Sun (37 page)

“Good afternoon,” I said to Khadijeh, who stood at the stove stirring the pot. “I bring you a gift of pastries from my lieutenant, with thanks for your help on that charitable matter we discussed earlier.”

Nasreen Khatoon’s eyebrows shot up.

“It is always my pleasure to help,” Khadijeh replied. “Nasreen Khatoon, please bring coffee for my guest.”

“May I make it here?”

“No. Get it from the main kitchen. It will be quicker.”

Nasreen Khatoon’s lips twitched as she left.

“How are you faring?” I asked her tenderly.

She sighed. “When the Shah touches me, my belly contracts with loathing.”

I wanted to save her from him with all my heart. “One possibility has come to light.”

“What is it?”

“Digestives.”

Khadijeh put down the quince she had begun to peel. “Good idea. He ate some the last time he visited.”

“Really? What do they look like?”

“They are about the size of a grape, and they seem to be made from herbs and honey.”

“Who brought them?”

“He asked a servant to fetch them.”

“Then how does he know the medicine is safe?”

“The box was closed with a seal.”

“Whose seal?”

“Hassan’s.”

I wasn’t surprised. A shah’s closest companion would typically take care of the things he needed to have at hand—medicines, handkerchiefs, and the like.

“How does the medicine get to Hassan?”

“I don’t know. Most likely a messenger brings it to him from the apothecary, and he tastes it before adding his seal.”

“Can you obtain one of the digestives for me?”

“I can try.”

The jam was boiling delicately. She stirred it, tasted it, and added more sugar and rose water. The floral scent saturated the air, reminding me of the first time we had kissed. When Mahmood’s mother was ill with the stomach ailment that eventually killed her, I used to go to Khadijeh to request soft foods she could digest, like rice pudding. One day, after we had begun flirting, Khadijeh offered me a serving of baklava redolent of rose water and bade me eat it from her fingers. I licked them, and then—

“Javaher, please don’t.”

My hands shook with frustration. “Does he still speak of plots? Does he arise in the night and grab his dagger?”

“Not anymore. But that doesn’t mean he won’t strike again.”

I wished we had struck at him first.

“What about the jam?” she said, staring into the bubbling pot. “Do you think I could put a dose of something into it?”

I was horrified. “Where would you get such a dose?”

“I know people.”

“Don’t even ponder such a thing!” I said, angry at myself for having planted the idea in her mind. “His taster will try it, and then you will be sacrificed. No matter what happens, you can’t do that—for my sake.”

She sighed. “I wish I could help you more.”

“You are helping me more than you know. Just seeing you here makes me happy. Keep yourself safe for the sake of your future children.”

Khadijeh smiled sadly. “Insh’Allah.”

She lifted a spoon of the jam out of the pot and blew on it. When it had cooled, she offered it to me. I sucked the jam onto my tongue and held it there, feeling its sweetness flood my mouth. My eyes met hers, and I remembered the sweet taste of her tongue.

“Incomparable,” I said. “I had better go before I violate all protocol and lay you down right here.”

She looked away, and a pang in my heart prompted me to ask her a question. “Khadijeh—do you think, if you were ever free again, you and I would—”

She put down her stirrer and pressed her lips tightly together. She looked at the floor.

“I want children,” she said softly, “and besides . . .”

She made a gesture of helplessness by opening her hands to the sky. I stared at her and guessed what she meant. She preferred a fully equipped man, now that she knew what it was like to have one.

She smiled even more sadly. “I am sorry.”

“You are in my heart always,” I said, feeling another rip in that tender place.

“Javaher—” she said, and I saw pity clouding her eyes. That was something I couldn’t endure.

“I must go.”

I left the kitchen just as Nasreen Khatoon returned with the coffee. I thanked her and told her I had pressing business for Pari. She looked surprised by my abrupt departure.

I should have reported to the princess for duty, but I didn’t have the heart for the business of the palace. I sent a message that I was ill, returned to my quarters, and lay awake most of the night, watching the sky change from indigo to ash. At dawn, a weak, useless sun failed to brighten the dim sky.

Khadijeh sent me an octagonal wooden box inlaid with tiny pieces of gilded ivory that formed a pattern of golden stars against a shimmering
white background. The box had been sealed with Hassan’s red wax seal. I lifted the lid, revealing a single digestive nestled in its own compartment.

The digestive was a lemon-yellow ball about the size of the end of my thumb. The large size indicated to me that it was intended for chewing, not swallowing. It was missing a corner and bore a bite mark. I imagined Khadijeh complaining to the Shah of a stomachache in order to obtain one; then she would have had to eat some of it. I hid the medicine in a fold of my robe.

That afternoon, Pari summoned me to show me the digestives she had received from the apothecary. They had been sent in a plain wooden box that bore the apothecary’s seal. Pari lifted the lid, and I probed one with my finger. It was sticky.

“My messenger told the apothecary that I needed a digestive as good as what he makes for the Shah. He swore to my messenger this morning that he used exactly the same recipe.”

I wondered about the veracity of that. “What do they taste like?”

“Mint. Do you want one?”

“No, thank you.”

“Take them now and have them re-created by an expert who will not betray us.”

“Just a minute,” I said, thinking it wise to be cautious. “I have obtained one as well. Let us compare them.”

“From whom?”

“An impeccable source.”

I unwrapped the digestive I had received. It was larger than the others, despite its missing part, and a brighter saffron. Although it smelled of mint, the fragrance of cinnamon was much stronger.

“Look at that! Are you certain it is from the Shah’s private stash?”

“I am certain. I have the box as well. It is much finer than the one you received.”

“Who gave it to you?”

“I think it is better not to say, for everyone’s protection.”

“I need a hint.”

“Very well, then. It is one of his women.”

“Someone you trust?”

“With my life.”

“Javaher, you are worth your weight in gold.”

If we had copied the apothecary’s digestives, we would have been found out right away. Khadijeh had already saved us.

“What excuse have you used for visiting her?”

“I have requested charity for Rudabeh and the other women who petition you for favors.”

“All right, then. Can you have the digestive re-created by someone who can’t betray us?”

“I will try.”

It wasn’t an easy task. I needed a person skilled enough to know how to make poisons, but compromised enough to prevent betrayal.

I couldn’t use anyone with the slightest connection to the Shah, so I began to think about the men who had opposed him or who had suffered a grievance. The large family related to Kholafa was a possibility, but I couldn’t find any medical men or apothecaries among his kin. I didn’t wish to seek some unknown person in one of the alleyways of the bazaar who might decide to betray me in exchange for money. Finally, I remembered Amin Khan Halaki, the physician whose bright blue robe I had spotted when he was hiding in the harem—unsupervised—after Haydar had tried to take the throne. I knew he had escaped because I had seen him a few weeks later in the bazaar.

The Halaki family owned a home near the river. The servant who opened his door didn’t wish to let me in when he discerned from the fineness of my attire that I was from the court. He tried to claim that his master wasn’t home, but I pushed open the door, stepped inside, and told him he had better rouse the physician. Cowed, the servant disappeared to do my bidding, returned quickly, and showed me into his master’s public rooms with florid apologies.

Amin Khan had thick gray eyebrows that obscured his eyes. He
wore a dark gray robe that added to the impression that he was trying to disappear. His jaw clenched at the sight of me.

“So it is you.”

“You sound as if you were expecting me.”

“Of course. I knew you would want a favor in return.” His voice bled sarcasm.

“I do.”

“Well, come in. I was in the middle of making something. Follow me.”

We entered a large room that held the tools of his profession. The alcoves were stuffed with clay jars filled with herbs, as well as medical texts such as Avicenna’s immortal treatises and a smattering of books by the ancient Greeks. The room smelled of hundreds of herbs, including a pile of something dark and green whose bitter aroma filled the air. I sneezed a few times as we continued into a courtyard, where a metal pot filled with a bright yellow liquid bubbled on top of a fierce charcoal fire. Another pot contained pale roots that were steeping. Amin Khan stirred the yellow liquid.

“What are you making?”

“My work is confidential,” he replied in a tone just short of snapping.

“That is good to hear,” I replied, “since that is exactly what I require.”

“State your business.”

“I trust you can help me,” I said. “I know you will keep your promise of confidentiality, given where I last found you. No doubt you have heard that Isma‘il doesn’t take kindly to those he suspects of evil deeds.”

“I cared for his father. Was that an evil deed?”

“No, except for the small matter of the orpiment being poisoned.”

“I know nothing about that,” he replied, his face closing as if he were withdrawing behind the thicket of his eyebrows.

“You would have to persuade him. I am sure you don’t wish to have to do so, especially given all the people he has killed.”

Amin Khan dropped the metal stirrer into the pot and uttered a curse as he fished it out.

“What do you want?” He kept an eye on the pot while talking.

“I have a personal matter to resolve,” I said, “and I need some poison to settle the matter to my heart’s content.”

“Who is your prey?”

“The murderer of my father.”

“Is he a nobleman?”

“No.”

He laughed. “Don’t worry, I don’t believe a word of what you have said so far. What kind of poison do you need?”

“Something quick and tasteless.”

“That is what everyone wants. Do you need a powder, a cream, or a liquid?”

“What do you advise?”

He looked exasperated. “It depends how you are planning to use it.”

I reached into my robe and drew out the digestive I had stored there. “I need eight servings that look and taste exactly like this.”

He smelled the digestive and took a small bite, chewing it thoroughly. “Wormwood, cinnamon, peppermint oil, turmeric, honey, and a touch of ground rubies. Duplicating this will cost you plenty.”

“Ground rubies? How can you tell?”

Amin Khan smiled. “How much money do you have?”

I put a bag of silver that Pari had given me on the table. Amin Khan’s eyebrows shot skyward.

“Your life savings? The prey must be quite important.”

“I am paying for an impeccable dose—and for your silence.”

Amin Khan didn’t reply. He grabbed the pot of steeping roots and poured it through a sieve into the yellow liquid. The liquid jumped to the lip, bubbling fiercely. As it settled, it became white and opaque.

“When you need your order, send me a messenger requesting your stomach medicine. I will send a boy back to you who will tell you where to go in the bazaar to pick it up. I don’t allow my messengers to go into the palace with such dangerous materials.”

“All right.”

“Once you have it in your possession, never let it out of your sight. You can guess why.”

“Yes,” I replied. I never thought I would be pursuing such black arts, and I was surprised to discover that his work both repelled and fascinated me. A capacity for destruction seemed to lie within me. I thought about my father and wondered if he had experienced a similar feeling.