‘Iron filings,’ Abu Abdallah said, tapping his nose. ‘Guaranteed to stiffen your, um, resolve. Taken internally, of course, with a little crocodile-suet. But, hang on, that’s what did for my brother-in-law in India, the sultan of Coromandel. Caused a nasty accident, it did . . . ’ Sinan held his breath; he had heard the details. To his relief, Abu Abdallah refrained from describing them. ‘Hmm,’ he went on, stroking his beard, ‘there’s that funny fish from the Aral Sea. But you’ve got to eat it fresh – raw, in fact. Ah, I know! Skinks’ kidneys. Just the job.’
‘Skinks’ kidneys?’ Lisan al-Din exclaimed. Abu Abdallah nodded vigorously. The Grand Vizier threw his head back and emitted a creaking sound that Sinan realized was an expression of amusement. ‘Oh, Abu Abdallah,’ he wheezed, ‘God be p
