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