Lorenzo shook his head. "What is that stuff?"
Daoud pointed to the two Africans, who stood calmly by, awaiting orders. "They know. In the jungle below the great desert, where it is very hot and wet, a body can rot in hours. Tiny men, less than half our size, live there, and they hunt large animals for their meat. They smear this stuff on their darts. It comes from a mushroom that grows in their forest. The animal struck is paralyzed and unconscious, but it lives. They have time to carry it back to their village, which may take days, and then they can slaughter it and butcher it."
"But what a blessing this could be for the wounded and the sick," said Lorenzo. "Why does the world not know of it?"
Daoud shrugged. "The tiny men kill those who venture into their forests. What little is brought back by Arab traders is kept as a precious secret. Only sultans may permit its use." He turned to the two blacks. "Take him upstairs now."
XXX
Well satisfied with what Tilia had accomplished, Daoud gazed about at the frescoed moons, stars, and suns scattered across the dark blue walls of the apartment. A cool night breeze blew through the rooms from windows hidden by screens and gauzy curtains. In the large central chamber an oval pool gave off a scent of roses. Hangings of violet, silver, and azure turned the rooms into a maze that baffled the eye.
Everywhere Daoud looked he saw beds and divans and cushions. The floors were covered with soft rugs and the tables laden with pitchers of wine and plates of peaches, grapes, and melon slices.
In a corner of a smaller room, its walls covered with maroon and black drapes, the flame of a large candle warmed a solution of wine and hashish in a green earthenware bowl. A single silver cup stood beside the candle.
"All this for one lousy traditore?" said Lorenzo.