A large figure walked slowly toward him from the opposite end of the corridor as he approached his room. With the candlelight behind him, the man's face was in darkness, and Daoud tensed himself.
"Messer David, it is Riccardo."
Now they stood face-to-face, Daoud having to look up a little.
"I searched everywhere. Questioned everyone I know. I would stake my life that Sordello is not in Orvieto. He went out the Perugia gate after talking to Madonna Sophia. I do not think he ever came back."
Dismissing Riccardo, Daoud went into his room to think and to pray. He felt baffled. He would have staked his life that no man bound by the powers of the Hashishiyya would ever turn against the one who showed him the delights of paradise.
But I did threaten him with death, and he saw that I wanted to kill him. That might have been enough to break the bond.
And I did wonder, even when I initiated him, whether there might not be some part of him that remained free.
Daoud bolted the door of his room. He needed to be alone, to think and to refresh his mind.
He faced the charcoal-marked spot on his wall that marked the direction of Mecca and, with care and thought, went through the sequence of the salat, standing, bowing, kneeling, striking his head on the floor again and again until he was done. He asked God, as he did every night, to favor his efforts here in Italy with success, out of His love for the people of Islam.
I place all in Your hands.