Assassins - Ian Watson & Andy West Read Online Free PDF

accursed antagonists
of Allah, surely this didn’t apply!
    Dissections of abandoned or unclaimed corpses
needed to be carried out from time to time, otherwise how could one
truly learn anatomy? By pretending that a dead pig is a human
being? Ay, the vital work was carried out in utmost secrecy, in
case the religious authorities heard that the body of a servant of
Allah was being abused! A doctor soon learned to keep secrets.
    It was the duty of a doctor to heal, if
possible. To bring relief. To limit suffering. This he solemnly
swore when he was finally granted his licence to practise
medicine.
    Yet below a calm exterior, always a tempest
of ambition raged within Hakim…
    To be a doctor was to practise the art which
brought one closest to God. Surely God wished the world purged of
those who denied and offended Him, such a host of infidels and
heretics! Surely it would be Godly to use not the clumsy
sword forged by Man, but the subtle instruments created and
therefore legitimised by God Himself, if those could be
sufficiently understood and applied. The ultimate instrument, for
instance, of plague…
    Armies had catapulted corpses over the
battlements of besieged cities, yet no general had ever used
disease itself in his armoury with any true understanding. Sickness
often trailed behind the ravages of war. Why should disease not
precede, and itself ravage enemies, thus sparing many faithful
servants of God from being sent to Heaven prematurely by their
infidel enemies? A doctor who could assist in this would be saving
lives. Hakim dreamed of a future when war might be fought not with
swords but with deadly sickness, to the glory of God and the
salvation of the faithful, so that true faith might dominate the
world, and its higher initiates might unlock the secrets of
creation and apprehend the mind of God. Surely for this higher
purpose God granted him exemption from his licence, the writ of
well-meaning but limited men…
     
    Radcliffe
Institute for Advanced Studies, Cambridge, Massachusetts:
April
    Two days after Jack Turner’s visit, Abigail was
winnowing a crop of almost uniformly negative replies to urgent
emails she’d sent to colleagues and contacts all over the world,
requesting any further information whatever on Safiyya bint Yusuf
al-Ballisiyya. The only glimmer of light came from an old friend
now resident in Oxford, England.
    Abigail, how’s the new book coming on? How
is your charming bartender? Has your masterful father done away
with him yet?
    I have a snippet for you. Not much I’m
afraid, but hard-won after mining the Bodleian, so you owe me!
    It turns out that the long-term lover of
Safiyya bint Yusuf al-Ballisiyya was one Sinan al-Din ibn Nasir. An
Ismaili and a man ‘of rank’ apparently.
    Sorry, no other details. Hope it’s
useful,
    Love Jen XX
    Abigail smiled. Jen admired older men,
especially those with power and money. When introduced five years
ago or so, Abigail’s own father had evoked a blush in her friend’s
cheeks just by his presence. Typically, Jen hadn’t even offered a
polite denial of her attraction.
    Rising, Abigail gazed at the vibrant
inspiration of tulips, mulling over Jen’s snippet. This could
indeed be useful. The once powerful Ismailis formed a sect within
the Shi’a wing of Islam, recognising Ismail son of Jafar as-Sadiq
as the disputed seventh Imam, the seventh divinely inspired and
infallible religious guide for Muslims after the death of the
Prophet. Ismailis had spawned a rich poetic tradition of their own.
Maybe Safiyya al-Ballisiyya had borrowed from them some convention
whereby a teacher of many lessons would indeed be an Imam,
which might in turn explain the religious context in which death swells and overflows .
    This was off the edge of her field. She’d
need help. The Ismaili connection teased her memory, touching upon
something unsavoury at the edge of recollection.
    Movement in the yard below caught her
attention. A young man, black coat, grey scarf, ducked