The Lions of Al-Rassan Read Online Free PDF Page A

Musa turned a despairing face towards the Cartadan courtier. “You see?” he said plaintively. “What can I do with such a doctor?”
    Ammar ibn Khairan seemed amused again. Jehane found that irritation was helping her deal with the earlier feeling of being overwhelmed by his identity. She still had no idea what the man found so diverting about all of this, unless this was simply the habitual pose and manner of a cynical courtier. Perhaps he was bored by the usual court routine; the god’s sisters knew, she would have been.
    â€œYou could consult another physician, I suppose,” ibn Khairan said, thoughtfully stroking his chin. “But my guess, based on all-too-brief experience, is that this exquisite young woman knows exactly what she is doing.” He favored her with another of the brilliant smiles. “You will have to tell me where you were trained, when we have greater leisure.”
    Jehane didn’t like being treated as a woman when she was functioning as a doctor. “Little to tell,” she said briefly. “Abroad at the university of Sorenica in Batiara, with Ser Rezzoni, for two years. Then with my father here.”
    â€œYour father?” he asked politely.
    â€œIshak ben Yonannon,” Jehane said, and was deeply pleased to see this elicit a reaction he could not mask. From a courtier in the service of Almalik of Cartada there would almost have to be a response to Ishak’s name. It was no secret, the story of what had happened.
    â€œAh,” said Ammar ibn Khairan quietly, arching his eyebrows. He regarded her for a moment. “I see the resemblance now. You have your father’s eyes and mouth. I ought to have made the association before. You will have been even better trained here than in Sorenica.”
    â€œI am pleased that I seem to meet your standards,” Jehane said drily. He grinned again, unfazed, rather too clearly enjoying her attempted sallies. Behind him, Jehane saw the steward’s mouth gape at her impertinence. They were awed by the Cartadan, of course. Jehane supposed she should be, as well. In truth, she was, more than a little. No one needed to know that, however.
    â€œThe lord ibn Khairan has been most generous with his time on my behalf,” Husari murmured faintly from the bed. “He came this morning, by appointment, to examine some silks for purchase and found me . . . as you see. When he learned I feared not being able to attend the reception this afternoon he insisted that my presence was important”—there was pride in the voice, audible through the pain—“and he offered to try to lure my stubborn physician to my side.”
    â€œAnd now she is here, and would stubbornly request that all those in this room save the slave and your steward be so kind as to leave us.” Jehane turned to the Cartadan. “I’m sure one of ibn Musa’s factors can assist you in the matter of silk.”
    â€œDoubtless,” the man said calmly. “I take it, then, that you are of the view that your patient ought not to attend upon the prince this afternoon?”
    â€œHe could die there,” Jehane said bluntly. It was unlikely, but certainly possible, and sometimes people needed to be shocked into accepting a physician’s orders.
    The Cartadan was not shocked. If anything, he seemed once more to be in the grip of his private source of diversion. Jehane heard a sound from beyond the door. Velaz had arrived, with her medications.
    Ammar ibn Khairan heard it too. “You have work to do. I will take my leave, as requested. Failing an ailment that would allow me to spend the day in your care I am afraid I must attend this consecration in the castle.” He turned to the man in the bed. “You need not send a messenger, ibn Musa. I will convey your regrets myself with a report of your condition. No offense will be taken, trust me. No one, least of all Prince Almalik, would want you