Pandora Gets Angry by Carolyn Hennesy

a few dark glass bottles from hidden pouches in the sleeves of his robes. He emptied tiny measured amounts of the oddly colored, foul-smelling contents of the jars into the dish: powders; blue, milky white, and amber liquids; seeds; crushed dried leaves. Occasionally, he would murmur an instruction to his son, or ask what the youth thought would be the next step. At last, he added some hot water and quickly mixed together a greenish-white paste. Then, opening Iole’s mouth, he coated the inside of her cheeks and her tongue with the concoction.
    â€œDo you see what I am doing?” Douban asked his son. “Mixing this with this. Do you understand why?”
    â€œYes, Father,” said the youth.
    Then Douban brought out a small role of white gauze.
    â€œKnife,” he asked of Mahfouza.
    â€œHere,” she said, fetching a petite blade.
    Douban cut several strips of the gauze and dipped them into the rest of the hot water, then laid them carefully across Iole’s mouth and nose. As his son found a place to sit behind his father, Douban settled back onto a large black cushion and closed his eyes.
    â€œSo … ,” Pandy began after many moments had passed.
    Douban opened his eyes.
    â€œIs she going to be all right?” Pandy asked.
    â€œOf course,” Douban said. Then he shook his head. “I humbly ask your forgiveness. I did not mean to keep you in suspense regarding your friend. I was simply giving in to a momentary love of the art of healing … and thinking how much I shall regret having to give it up. But of course, your friend will be perfect come sunrise. The poultice is being absorbed through the wet membranes of her cheeks and into her blood, where it will have a restorative effect, I promise you.”
    â€œBut the food?” Homer said.
    â€œYes,” Douban said. “Let me explain. You have left your native homeland of Greece, ruled by your own gods. You are now crossing the Arabian desert on your way to …?”
    â€œBaghdad,” answered Pandy.
    â€œAh. As are we,” he said, his face falling slightly. “Oh! Be merciful! Again, forgive my rudeness: allow me to introduce my son Douban.”
    The youth nodded toward Homer, who greeted him back. Then he looked at Pandy and smiled … and didn’t look away.
    â€œAre you called Douban the Younger?” she asked. “I mean … doesn’t it get confusing?”
    â€œAt home we call him Dou-dou,” said the elder man.
    At this, the youth pursed his lips and looked at the ground.
    â€œDo not fret, my son,” said Douban. “Shortly, you shall have my name all to yourself. And my work shall become yours as the art of healing is handed to you as my father handed it to me, and his before that. It is only a little sooner than I expected.”
    â€œI am sorry, Father,” said his son.
    â€œI can’t bear this,” said Mahfouza, causing Pandy to look at her with curiosity.
    â€œAt any rate, Pandora,” said Douban, with a wave to calm Mahfouza. “You need to know that the rules, the gifts, the enchantments of your lands and your gods have no sway here, and what was once beneficial can often become deadly. There is still an enchantment on your pouch and should you ever return to Greece, or someplace where your gods hold power, your pouch will start producing nutritious food once again. Until that time, well, we have our own higher powers here, and they must be respected.”
    â€œBut it gave me a lot of food just a few weeks ago when I was in the Atlas Mountains,” Pandy said. “That’s not Greece!”
    â€œIndeed,” Douban answered. “And those of us who have been hearing of your exploits were most impressed by the way you handled your uncle and captured Laziness.”
    Pandy was suddenly aware that the younger Douban was again gazing at her.
    â€œBut you see,” his father continued, “Zeus banished your uncle to