Orson Scott Card's InterGalactic Medicine Show Read Online Free Page B

further than his adopted children. Rabiah had cared for the Empress, most likely day and night, ever since her attacks had left her stricken. Rabiah would have become part daughter, part mother. And when the Empress died, Rabiah’s bright young life would be forfeit. How could the Empress not try to protect her?
    Al-Ashmar regarded Rabiah with new eyes. She had cared for the Empress in life, and she was willing to do so in death, no matter what it might mean for her personally.
    “You are noble,” Al-Ashmar said.
    Rabiah turned to him, a confused look on her beautiful face. “You don’t believe that.”
    Al-Ashmar smiled. “I may not understand much, Rabiah of No Mother, but I know devotion when I see it.”
    Rabiah stared, saying nothing, but her eyes softened ever so slowly.
    “I will need to come for a week, to ensure Bela’s restoration is complete. Perhaps we can come here and talk. Perhaps play a hand of river.”
    “I don’t play games, physic.”
    “Then perhaps just the talk.”
    Rabiah held his gaze, and then nodded.
     
    The next week passed by quickly. Al-Ashmar’s oldest son, Fakhir, was forced to take the summonses Al-Ashmar would have normally taken himself; Tayyeb, his oldest girl, did what she could for those who brought their cats to his home; and though they hated it, it was up to Hilal and Yusuf to watch over the young ones, Shafiq and Badra and Mia.
    The family conversed each night over dinner. Al-Ashmar helped them learn from things they did wrong, but in truth his pride swelled over their performances in tasks he had thought them incapable of only days ago.
    Most of his time, however, was spent creating the tonic for Bela and the Empress, administering it, and teaching the technique to Djazir. Bela continued her uncanny acceptance of the tonic, as Djazir continued his complaints, but the cure progressed smoothly.
    Rabiah held true to her word. She accompanied him to the roof, sometimes for nearly an hour, and spoke to him. She was reserved at first, unwilling to speak, and so it was often Al-Ashmar who told stories of the south, of his travels, of his early days in the capital. It was uncomfortable to speak of Nara, but to speak of his children, he had no choice but to speak of his wife.
    “You loved her?” Rabiah asked one day.
    “My wife? Of course.”
    “You couldn’t have children of your own?”
    Al-Ashmar smiled and jutted his chin toward the city. “She knew what it was like, out there. Why have our own when there are so many in need?”
    Rabiah regarded him for a long time then, and finally said, “You wanted one of your own, didn’t you?”
    Al-Ashmar paused, embarrassed. “Am I so shallow?”
    “No, but such a thing is hard to hide when you speak of subjects so close to the heart.”
    He shrugged, though the gesture felt like a clear betrayal of Nara. “I did want my own, once, but I regret nothing. How would I have found my Mia if I hadn’t? My Fakhir and Tayyeb?”
    The silence grew uncomfortable, and Al-Ashmar was sure he’d made a mistake by discussing his children. But how could he not? They were his loves. His life.
    “ You are the noble one,” Rabiah said, and left him standing near the railing.
     
    Al-Ashmar, hugging Mia against his hip, stood before the palace, unsure of himself with the palace so near.
    The eighth day had come—the last day Al-Ashmar would be allowed into the palace. Djazir had mastered the tonic well enough, and he’d grown increasingly insistent that no one, least of all the Empress, needed to take such a distasteful brew any longer.
    Al-Ashmar could hardly argue. The snake-like trails in Bela’s eyes were gone, and her feces had returned to a proper level of density.
    “Let’s go, ” Mia said.
    “All right, pet, we’ll go.”
    They entered the palace. The guards were a bit disturbed by the unexpected addition of Mia, but Al-Ashmar explained to them calmly that Rabiah had permitted it. He made it to the Empress’s garden, where