Dark of the Sun by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro Page B

Kuo pursued.
    “Yes, it has, or I would not recommend trying it,” Zangi-Ragozh replied, doing his utmost to remain respectful, but growing impatient with Kuo.
    The physician bent over Jong and smelled his breath. “If you can administer your remedy so that it will not keep this man from drinking the tea I will prepare for him, then I will not oppose your using it. I will call tomorrow to see what progress has occurred.” He straightened up. “If there is no improvement, it will not be on the account of my tea.”
    “Certainly not,” said Zangi-Ragozh, realizing that Kuo did not expect Jong to survive and was seeking the chance to lay the reason for his demise at Zangi-Ragozh’s door.
    “So long as you tend to him yourself, I will not send any of my apprentices to treat this man,” Kuo announced as much for the benefit of the innkeeper as Zangi-Ragozh. “By midday tomorrow, I will call here again, to see how he is responding. If he takes a turn for the worse, have one of the servants here inform me of it.”
    “I will be most grateful to you,” said Zangi-Ragozh, and took a string of silver cash from his sleeve, removing six of the coins and handing them to Kuo. “This should cover the cost of the tea.” It was half again as much as such teas usually cost, and both knew it.
    Kuo slipped the money into his wallet and almost smiled. “I will need a large pot,” he informed the innkeeper. “And it must be filled with fresh-drawn water.”
    The innkeeper hastily retreated to the kitchen to follow Kuo’s instructions.
    “He has been ailing for four days that I know of,” Zangi-Ragozh told Kuo.
    “When did he begin to cough?” Kuo asked.
    “I first noticed it in the evening, three days ago. He may have had trouble during the day, but it was not sufficiently severe to alarm me.” Zangi-Ragozh was chagrined by this admission. “With the weather so harsh, coughs are not so uncommon.”
    “And not all indicate heat in the lungs,” Kuo agreed. “Do you have others with you?”
    “Three other men,” Zangi-Ragozh said.
    “Do any of them show signs of the illness?” Kuo had started toward the door. “Should you like me to see any of them while I am here?”
    Zangi-Ragozh fitted one hand into the other. “I would be most appreciative,” he said, thinking of the extra fees Kuo would earn for this effort. “My men are in the dining room still, lingering over their suppers. You can find them there, all but my manservant, who is a foreigner like me; he is in the stable seeing to our horses and the wagons.”
    “He sounds to be in good health if he is doing such work,” said Kuo, almost out the door.
    “I would venture to say that he has less need of your skills than the others,” said Zangi-Ragozh, laying his hand on Jong’s forehead. “I’ll remain here while you prepare your tea.”
    “That will suit me very well,” said Kuo, and left Zangi-Ragozh alone with the suffering Jong. Only when the physician returned with his tea did Zangi-Ragozh slip away to fetch a vial of his sovereign remedy, an opalescent liquid that seemed clear when held up to the light. Kuo was just finishing tipping some of the hot tea down Jong’s throat. “Let me look at that,” he ordered, holding out his hand for the glass vial.
    Zangi-Ragozh held it out. “The stopper has to be unscrewed.”
    “A good precaution,” said Kuo, twisting the stopper and sniffing the liquid. “Nothing noxious, but still, an unusual odor.”
    “That it has,” Zangi-Ragozh agreed, and waited while Kuo made up his mind.
    “I can find no harm in it,” the physician announced. “But administer it only after the tea is taken.”
    “Certainly,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “I’ll keep a record of when anything is given to Jong.”
    Kuo nodded. “A wise precaution.” He made a polite gesture of farewell and went to the door. “I will look in on your other men. If I find nothing to alarm me, I will depart. If either of the two is sick, then I