Chapter 29
Abu Abdallah screwed his squirrel features into a look of disgust. ‘And as for those Hispanic emetics of yours that they kept giving us, Lisan . . . ’
‘Galenic dietetics, master,’ Sinan said. Lisan al-Din smiled wearily . . . through the gloom of his library. ‘But master, we must tell his eminence about our discoveries. There’s no time to lose.’ Sinan knew all too well that barging straight to the point was the height of conversational bad manners. But when the point was a gunpowder plot against Granada . . . Equally well, Sinan knew that his master could be exasperatingly cool under pressure.
Abu Abdallah was looking at him as if from some icy summit of the High Atlas. ‘ “Haste is to the Devil’s taste,” Sinan; “leisure always wins, at God’s good pleasure”. As I was saying, L
