Equal of the Sun A Novel - By Anita Amirrezvani Page 0,105
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.
“Who taught you how to make such things?”
Amin Khan’s bushy eyebrows lowered in self-defense. “If you are hired to be the shah’s physician, you must know how to make everything,” he answered.
I peered at the liquid in the pot. It was cooling and reducing in size. Small islands of white powder formed on its surface. I had never seen such alchemy before.
“What is in the pot? It looks wicked.”
He smiled. “It is. In a few hours, it will turn into a fine face powder. Ladies ensnare men with it as easily as if they were the devil himself.”
Pari was getting thinner and thinner: Her drawn face made her cheeks look even more sculpted than usual, and her robes seemed to hang off her body. I knew she was worried about her brother Mohammad Khodabandeh’s safety and that of his four children, in the absence of any guarantee from Isma‘il Shah. Whenever a messenger rushed into her quarters, her eyes widened with alarm.
I offered to visit Mirza Salman and ask if he had any information about Isma‘il’s plans. So far, Mirza Salman had been my best source of information about my father. I grabbed at any excuse to see him again.
Mirza Salman’s waiting room was crowded, but I was shown in quickly.
“The princess fears for the safety of Mohammad Khodabandeh’s family,” I told him. “She wonders if you think the killings are done.”
Mirza Salman frowned. “Isma‘il must be careful not to offend Sultanam. People will become angry if they think he has wronged her excessively. Recently, though, he made some comments that were very disheartening.”