The Moghul Page 11

  Hawksworth was suddenly awake. The chill of early dawn penetrated hisface and hands, and his hair sparkled with light jewels of dew. Hisleather couch was moist and glistening, while the pale sky above wasblocked by a tapestried canopy. Only in the east, above the whiterailing of the rooftop, could he see the glitter of a waning Venus, herbrief reign soon to dissolve in the red wash of early sun. He lookedabout his white brick enclosure and saw only a light wooden doorleading into a second-floor apartment.

  He had no sooner drawn himself up to inhale the flower- scented dawnthan two smiling men were standing over him, bowing. Both wore turbans,pastel-colored jackets, and a white wrap about their lower torso.Squinting into their eyes, Hawksworth remembered them from the eveningbefore. They had brought the basin of water in which he had firstwashed.

  As he pulled the embroidered coverlet closer about him he noticed astrange numbness in his body. And his mind ached as he tried toremember what precisely had happened.

  There was a game on horseback with the governor, and then a banquet,with an argument in which Mukarrab Khan threatened to betray us to thePortugals, a curious evening of music. And then dreams . . .

  Pulling himself up off the couch, he started unsteadily across the hardflat tile of the roof. Immediately a servant was beside him, producinga heavy silk wrap and swathing it around his shoulders and waist. Thenthe man bowed again and spoke in accented Turki.

  "May Allah prosper you today, Sahib. May your fortunes answer theprayers of the poor." The man's expression softened to match his owncompliment. "Should it please the Sahib, his morning bath is waiting."

  Without thinking, without even hearing the words, he allowed himself tobe led through the doorway into the second-floor apartment. There, inthe center of the room, was his chest, its lock intact. He examined itwith a quick glance, then followed the servants down a set of stonestairs to the ground-floor veranda--where a steaming marble tub waited.

  Good Jesus, not again! How can I make them understand? Bathing weakensa man.

  He started to turn, but suddenly two eunuchs appeared out of nowhereand were guiding him up the two marble steps to a stone platform, wherethey seated him on a filigreed wooden stool. Silently the servantsstripped away his light wrap and began to knead his body and his hairwith a fragrant powder, a blend of wood bark and some astringent fruit.The scent was mild, pleasant, and as their hands traveled over him hefelt the pores of his skin open to divulge their residual rankness.

  This is better, he thought. Cleaning without water. With only some sortof powder. I feel refreshed already.

  His muscles loosened as the men vigorously worked the mixture into hisskin and then carefully cleansed it away with bulky cotton towels. Nextthey turned to his hair, combing and massaging more of the powderthrough it strand by strand. At last they signaled for him to rise andenter the tub. Its surface glistened with a perfumed oil, and therising steam smelled faintly of clove. Before he could protest, theeunuchs guided him down the marble steps.

  As he settled into the steam again he was surrounded by waitingservants, who sprinkled more oil over the water and massaged theemulsion into his hair and skin.

  I'm being bathed in oil, he smiled, marveling. It's absurd, yet here itseems perfectly right.

  The men worked devotedly, as though he were an inanimate utensil whosepurity was their lifelong obligation. His body now glistened with areddish tint of the oil, matching the early glow of the sun thatpenetrated the half- shuttered windows. As they motioned for him toleave the bath, he discovered to his amazement that he would have beenperfectly content to stay. Forever. But again hands were there, guidinghim, this time toward a low wooden bench covered with thick woventapestries.

  What now? What else can they do? I'm cleaner than the day I was born.What more . . .

  He was prostrate on the couch. A rough haircloth worked against hislegs and torso, sending the blood surging. At the same time, a piece ofporous sandstone in the practiced hands of another servant strippedaway the loosened calluses and scales from his boot-roughened feet. Athird man massaged still more perfumed oil, hinting of aloe and orange,into his back and along his sides and shoulders. His body had become aninvigorated, pliant reed.

  They motioned for him to sit up and, as he watched, one of the menproduced a mirror and razor. Next he opened a bottle of fragrant liquidand began to apply it to Hawksworth's beard and chest. And then also tohis legs and crotch.

  "What's the purpose of that razor?"

  "We have orders to shave you, Sahib, in our manner." The turbaned manwho had greeted him that morning bowed slightly as he signaled thebarber to begin. "You are to be shaved completely, as is our custom."

  "Trim my beard if you like. But no more. Damn you if you'll shave melike some catamite." Hawksworth started to rise from his stool, but thebarber was already over him, the blade flying across his face with amenacing deftness.

  "It has been ordered, Sahib." The turbaned man bowed again, and withoutpausing for a reply produced a short, curved metal device and began toprobe Hawksworth's ears, his face intent in concentration as hecarefully extracted an enormous ball of gray mud and encrusted seasalt. He scraped the other ear with the same deft twist. Then heflipped the same instrument and began to trim Hawksworth's raggedfingernails.

  Hawksworth turned to the mirror to discover that his beard had alreadydisappeared, leaving him clean-faced.

  At least I'll be in fashion back home, he thought, if I ever get back.Beards are passing from style.

  But what's he doing now? By heaven, no . . .

  The razor swept cleanly across Hawksworth's chest, leaving a swath ofsoft skin in its wake. It came down again, barely missing a nipple ashe moved to rise.

  "You must be still, Sahib. You will harm yourself."

  "I told you I'll not have it." Hawksworth pushed the razor away.

  "But it is our custom." The man seemed to plead. "Khan Sahib orderedthat you be groomed as an honored guest."

  "Well, damn your customs. Enough."

  There was a moment of silence. Then the turbaned man bowed, his facedespondent.

  "As the Sahib desires."

  He signaled the barber to rub a light coat of saffron-scented oil onHawksworth's face and then to begin trimming Hawksworth's hair with thepair of silver scissors he had brought. The barber quickly snipped awaythe growth of the voyage, leaving the hair moderately cropped, in theMoghul fashion.

  Hawksworth examined the mirror again.

  Damn if I wouldn't make a proper Cheapside dandy. Right in style. And Ihate being in style.

  Then the turbaned man produced a heavy lead comb and began to work itrepeatedly through Hawksworth's hair. Hawksworth watched the mirror inconfusion.

  What's he doing? It's already been combed. And it's so short there's nopoint anyway.

  Then he noticed the slight traces of gray around the sides beginning todarken, taking on the color of the lead.

  "Please open your mouth." The turbaned man stood above him holding adark piece of wood, frayed at the end and crooked. "And I will scrapeyour teeth with _nim_ root."

  "But that's insane. Teeth are cleaned with a piece of cloth and atoothpick. Or rubbed with a bit of sugar and salt ash . . ."

  The man was scrubbing away at Hawksworth's mouth-- tongue, gums, teeth--using a dentifrice that tasted like burnt almond shells. Next heoffered a mint-flavored mouth rinse to remove the debris.

  The turbaned man then inspected Hawksworth critically from severalsides, finally venturing to speak.

  "If I may suggest, a bit of _collyrium_, castor oil darkened withlampblack, would render your eyes much more striking." Without waitingfor confirmation, he applied a few quick strokes to Hawksworth'seyelids, much as an artist might touch up a canvas.

  Then one of the eunuchs stepped forward and supplied a silver tray tothe turbaned servants. On it were folded garments: a tight-fitting pairof blue trousers, a patterned shirt, and a knee-length coat of thin,peach-colored muslin. They dressed Hawksworth quickly, and
then secureda patterned sash about his waist. Waiting on the floor were leatherslippers, low-quartered with a curved toe and a bent-down back.

  "What have you done with my doublet and breeches? And my boots?"

  "They are being cleaned today, Sahib. You may have them again when youwish. But you may prefer to wear our garments while our guest." Theturbaned man bowed again, then he moved away and held a long mirror forHawksworth to examine himself.

  "Have we pleased you, Sahib?"

  Hawksworth scarcely recognized himself. He had been transformed from arank but honest seaman into a Moghul noble--youthful, smooth-skinned,smelling of spice. The soreness was banished from his limbs, and evenhis wound had all but disappeared. His hair was clean and completelydark, and his skin glowed. And his new clothes were more elaborate thananything he had ever worn.

  "Now if you will please follow us to the garden. Khan Sahib hassuggested you begin your day with some _tari _wine."

  Hawksworth followed the men through the shuttered doorway into the opencourtyard. The morning sun now illuminated the tops of a large grove ofpalm trees that circled an open cistern. He quickly surveyed thebuildings, hoping to gain his bearings.

  So I've been quartered in one of the side buildings, off the mainpalace. But there are many, many rooms. Who's living here?

  A group of servants stood waiting at the base of one of the palms. Whenthey saw Hawksworth, they mobilized to action. One young man amongthem, wearing a white wrap around his lower torso, immediately securedhis belt and began to shimmy up the leaning palm. When he reached thetop he locked his legs around the trunk and carefully detached anearthen pot that hung beneath an incision in the bark of the tree.Balancing the pot in one hand, he stretched and nimbly pulled off anumber of leaves from the tree and then lowered himself carrying hisload. The moment his feet touched ground he raced toward the verandaand delivered the pot and leaves to a waiting eunuch.

  Hawksworth watched as the eunuchs first inspected the items and thenordered them prepared. The leaves were washed thoroughly with waterfrom the cistern and then folded into natural cups. The liquor from thepot was strained through muslin into a crystal decanter and the earthenreceptacle discarded. Then one of the turbaned servants poured a largeportion of the liquor from the decanter into a palm-leaf cup andoffered it to Hawksworth.

  "It's _tari _wine, Sahib. One of the pleasures of early morning inIndia." His matter-of-fact manner could not entirely hide his pride."Palm wine makes itself overnight. It does not last out the day. Whenthe sun shines the trees only give off vinegar."

  Hawksworth gingerly sipped the newly fermented palm sap and waspleasantly surprised by its light flavor, totally unlike ale, or evenCanary wine. After the third cup, the world around began to acquire alight sparkle of its own, and he realized the sap was more potent thanit seemed.

  "Not a bad way to start the day. What do you call it?"

  "It comes from the _tari _palm, and some _topiwallahs _call it Toddy.'"

  "Toddy, it's called? It's more than passable grog."

  "Thank you, Sahib. Drink too much and you will spend the day with yourhead in a buzz." The servant giggled. "So now perhaps you should eat."

  He consulted briefly with the eunuchs, who nodded and signaled towardthe veranda. Moments later a tray appeared, piled high with honey-covered breads and glass dishes of sweet curds. Some hard cheese alsohad found its way onto the tray, and Hawksworth wondered if this was toplacate his European taste. He sipped more of the Toddy and munched thebread and curds.

  Then he saw the women.

  There were five. They seemed clustered in a group as they entered thecourtyard, but then he realized it was an aristocratic lady surroundedby four maids. They did not know he was there, for none covered herface. As he watched them they seemed preoccupied in an increasinglyanimated exchange. Then the aristocratic woman stepped determinedlyahead, turned, and curtly gave instructions whose seriousness wasclear, even if her words were foreign. Her voice was not strident, butits authority was unmistakable.

  The other women paused, then slowly, one by one, they seemed toacknowledge her orders and they bowed. The lady whirled and continuedon her way, while the other four women turned toward the direction theyhad come. Then, as though the resolution of the argument had suddenlymade them aware of their surroundings, they all seemed to seeHawksworth at once. All five women froze.

  Hawksworth smiled and tried to remember the bow he had seen performedto him so often. But he could not remove his eyes from the first woman,who was more striking than any he had ever before seen. Her skin wasfair, with a warm hint of olive, and her high cheekbones stood instunning relief as they glanced away the golden light of dawn. Her nosewas thin and sculptured, while her lips would have been full, had theynot been drawn tight in response to some unspecified innerdetermination. Yet her eyes seemed untouched by what had justtranspired. They were clear and receptive, even warm, and Hawksworthasked himself at that moment if this bespoke innocence, or guile.

  In dress and adornment she scarcely differed from her maids. All hadlong black hair, brushed to gleaming and protected from the morning airwith a transparent gossamer scarf edged in gold embroidery. At firstglance there seemed little to distinguish among the tight strands ofpearls each wore at the neck, or the jeweled bands on their wrists andupper arms. Each wore a tight silk halter for a blouse, and toHawksworth's assessing eyes the maids all seemed to have abundantbreasts swelling their halters to overflowing, some--perhaps all--withbreasts more generous than the lady herself. Then he noted in amazementthat the women actually wore a form of tapered silk trouser, a tight-legged pajama similar to that worn by aristocratic men.

  Unlike the male style, however, each woman's body was enveloped by along transparent skirt, suspended from a

  band that circled her torso just beneath her breasts. And whereas menall wore a long scarf tied about the waist of their cloaks and hangingdown the front, the women all had a long pleated panel tucked directlyinto the front waistband of their trousers and reaching almost to theground. He could not help noticing that it clung sensually to theirthighs as they walked, while its gold-embroidered hem tinkled againstthe gold bracelets each woman wore at her ankles. Their shoes were redTurkish leather, with gold decorations sewn across the top and apointed toe that curved upward.

  The only difference between the lady and her maids seemed to be in therich fabric of her lightly clinging trousers. Then, too, there wasslightly more gold thread in her long transparent skirt, and among thepearls at her neck nestled an unmistakable blue sapphire as large as awalnut.

  But her primary distinction was not merely the classic lines of herface or the perfect curve of her waist and thighs, but rather somethingin her bearing, in her assured but unmannered carriage. Her real beautylay in her breeding.

  All five women stared at Hawksworth in momentary surprise and shock.Then each maid automatically seized her transparent scarf and pulled itacross her lower face. The woman also moved instinctively to do thesame, but then she seemed to consciously stop herself and with anobvious attempt at restraint she walked on, barefaced, past thecourtyard and into the garden beyond. Alone.

  Hawksworth watched her form disappear among the clipped hedges andelaborate marble pavilions of the garden. He noticed a curioussensation in his chest as she passed from view, and he suddenly foundhimself wanting very much to follow her. When he finally turned andlooked back, the other women had already vanished.

  Only then did he realize that all the servants had been watching him.The one nearest nodded in the direction of the garden and smiledknowingly.

  "Perhaps it will not surprise you, Sahib, to learn that she was oncethe favorite of the Moghul himself. And now she is in Surat. Amazing."

  "But why's she here?" Hawksworth glanced back at the

  garden once more to assure himself she was indeed lost to its recesses.

  "She is Shirin, the first wife of Khan Sahib." He moved closer toHawksworth, so that his lowered voice would not reach th
e eunuchs. "Shewas removed from the Moghul's _zenana _and married to Khan Sahib lastyear by Queen Janahara, just before Her Majesty had him appointed thegovernor of Surat. Some believe she appointed him here to remove Shirinfrom Agra, because she feared her." The servant's voice became awhisper. "We all know she has refused His Excellency the legal rightsof a husband."

  The silence of the court was cut by the unmistakable voice of MukarrabKhan, sounding in anger as he gave some command from within the palace.There followed a chorus of women's wails.

  Hawksworth turned to the servant, but the man read his inquiringglance.

  "He has ordered the women whipped for disobeying his order to accompanyShirin at all times, even when she walks in the garden."

  Then the door opened again, and Mukarrab Khan strode into the morningsunshine.

  "Captain Hawksworth, _salaam_. I trust Allah gave you rest."

  "I slept so well I find difficulty remembering all we said last night."Hawksworth watched him carefully. Will he honor his threat to deliverus to the Viceroy, for a trial at Goa?

  "It was an amusing evening. Hardly a time for weighty diplomaticexchange. And did you enjoy my little present?"

  Hawksworth pondered his question for a moment, and the drugged dream ofthe night before suddenly became real.

  "You mean the woman? She was very . . . unusual, very different fromthe women of England."

  "Yes, I daresay. She was one of my final gifts from . . . Agra. I oftenhave her entertain my guests. If you like, you may keep her while youstay with me. I already hear she fancies you. The serving women callher Kali, after a goddess from their infidel pantheon. I think thatone's their deity of destruction."

  "Why did they give her that name?"

  "Perhaps she'll tell you herself sometime." Mukarrab Khan gestured fora servant to bring his cloak. "I hope you'll forgive me, but I regret Imust abandon you for a time. Among my least pleasant duties is amonthly journey to Cambay, our northern port in this province. Italways requires almost a week, but I have no choice. Their Shahbandarwould rob the Moghul's treasury itself if he were not watched. But Ithink you'll enjoy yourself in my absence."

  "I would enjoy it more if I could be with my men."

  "And forgo the endless intrigues my Kali undoubtedly plans for you?" Hemonitored Hawksworth's unsettled expression. "Or perhaps it's a boyyou'd prefer. Very well, if you wish you may even have . . ."

  "I'm more interested in the safety of our merchants and seamen. And ourcargo. I haven't seen the men since yesterday, at the customs house."

  "They're all quite well. I've lodged them with a port official whospeaks Portuguese, which your Chief Merchant also seems to understand.I'm told, by the way, he's a thoroughly unpleasant specimen."

  "When can I see them?"

  "Why any time you choose. You have only to speak to one of the eunuchs.But why trouble yourself today? Spend it here and rest. Perhaps enjoythe grounds and the garden. Tomorrow is time enough to re-enter thewearisome halls of commerce."

  Hawksworth decided that the time had come to raise the criticalquestion. "And what about the Portugals? And their false charges?"

  "I think that tiresome matter can be _Resolve_d with time. I've sentnotice to the court in Agra, officially, that you wish to travel there.When the reply is received, matters can be settled. In the meantime, Imust insist you stay here in the palace. It's a matter of yourposition. And frankly, your safety. The Portuguese do not always employupright means to achieve their ends." He tightened his traveling cloak."Don't worry yourself unduly. Just try to make the most of my humblehospitality. The palace grounds are at your disposal. Perhaps you'llfind something in all this to engage your curiosity." Mukarrab Khanbrushed away a fly from his cloak. "There's the garden. And if you'rebored by that, then you might wish to examine the Persian observatoryconstructed by my predecessor. You're a seaman and, I presume, anavigator. Perhaps you can fathom how it all works. I've never beenable to make anything out of it. Ask the servants to show you. Or justhave some _tari_ wine on the veranda and enjoy the view."

  He bowed with official decorum and was gone, his entourage of guards intow.

  Hawksworth turned to see the servants waiting politely. The turbanedman, whose high forehead and noble visage were even more striking nowin the direct sunshine, was dictating in a low voice to the others,discreetly translating Mukarrab Khan's orders into Hindi, the languagethat seemed common to all the servants.

  "The palace and its grounds are at your disposal, Sahib." The servantwith the large white turban stood waiting. "Our pleasure is to serveyou."

  "I'd like to be alone for a while. To think about . . . to enjoy thebeauty of the garden."

  "Of course. Sahib. Perhaps I could have the honor of being your guide."

  "I think I'd prefer to see it alone."

  The servant's dismay was transparent, but he merely bowed andimmediately seemed to dissolve into the marble porticoes of theveranda, as did all the others.

  Hawksworth watched in amazement. They really do follow orders. Now if Ican start to figure out this place. I don't need guides. All I need aremy eyes. And luck.

  The garden spread out before him. Unlike the closely clipped geometryof the courtyard he had seen the night before, this was less formal andmore natural, with a long waterway receding into the horizon. The pondwas flanked by parallel arbors along each side, shading wide, pavedwalkways. He noticed there were no flowers, the main focus in anEnglish garden, only gravel walks and the marble-tiled watercourse. Thesense was one of sublime control.

  Several dark-skinned gardeners in loincloths were wading knee-deep inthe shallow reservoir, adjusting the flow from bubbling fountains thatspewed from its surface at geometrically regular spacings, while otherswere intently pruning--in what seemed a superfluous, almost compulsiveact--the already immaculate hedges.

  As Hawksworth walked past, self-consciously trying to absorb a sense ofplace, the gardeners appraised him mutely with quick, flicking sweepsof their eyes. But none made any move to acknowledge his presence.

  The sun burned through the almost limitless sky, whose blue waspolished to a ceramic glaze, and the air was clean and perfumed withnectar. The garden lay about him like a mosaic of naturalism perfected.Through the conspicuous hand of man, nature had been coerced, orcharmed, to exquisite refinement.

  The gravel pathway ended abruptly as he reached the pond's far shore,terminated by a row of marble flagstones. Beyond lay geometrical arborsof fruit-laden trees-- mangoes, apples, pears, lemons, and even oranges.Hawksworth tightened his new robe about his waist and entered one ofthe orchard's many pathways, marveling.

  I've found the Garden of Eden.

  The rows of trees spread out in perfect regularity, squared ascarefully as the columns of the palace verandas and organized byspecies of fruit. As he explored the man-made forest, he began to findits regularity satisfying and curiously calming. Then in the distance,over the treetops, a high stone wall came into view, and from beyondcould be heard the splashes of men laboring in the moat. He realized hehad reached the farthest extent of the palace grounds.

  As he neared the wall, the orchard gave way to an abandoned clearing inwhose center stood a moss-covered marble stairway projecting upwardinto space, leading nowhere. The original polish on its steps was nowburied in layers of dust and overgrowth.

  Was there once a villa here? But where's the . . . ?

  Then he saw the rest. Curving upward on either side of the stairway wasa moss-covered band of marble over two feet wide and almost twenty feetin length, concave, etched, and numbered.

  It's some sort of sundial. But it's enormous.

  He turned and realized he was standing next to yet another stoneinstrument, a round plaque in red and white marble, like the dial of awater clock, on which Persian symbols for the zodiac had beeninscribed. And beyond that was the remains of a circular building,perforated with dozens of doorways, with a tall pillar in the middle.Next to it was a shallow marble well, half a hemisphere sunk into thegro
und, with precise gradations etched all across the bottom.

  Hawksworth walked in among the marble instruments, his astonishmentgrowing. They were all etched to a precision he had never before seenin stone.

  This observatory is incredible. The sundial is obvious, even if thepurpose of the stairway over its center isn't. But what's the roundvertical plaque? Or that round building there, and the curious marblewell? Could those be some sort of Persian astrolabe, like navigatorsuse to estimate latitude by fixing the elevation of the sun or stars?

  What are they all for? Some to fix stars? Others to predict eclipses?But there has to be more. These are for observation. Which means therehave to be charts. Or computations? Or something.

  It's said the Persians once mastered a level of mathematics andastronomy far beyond anything known in Europe. Is this some forgottenoutpost of that time? Just waiting to be rediscovered?

  He turned and examined the instruments again, finding himself wonderingfor an instant if they could somehow be hoisted aboard the _Discovery_and returned to England.

  And if the observatory's still here, perhaps the charts are heresomewhere too.

  His excitement mounted as he searched the rest of the clearing. Then hesaw what he wanted.

  It has to be there.

  Abutting the stone wall was a small hut of rough-hewn stone, withslatted windows and a weathered wooden door that was wedged ajar, itsbase permanently encrusted in the dried mud of the rainy season. Thewall behind was so weathered that the metal spikes along its top hadactually rusted away.

  This whole place must have been deserted for years. What a waste.

  As he approached the weathered stone hut, he tried to dampen his ownhopes.

  How can there be anything left? Who knows how long it's been abandoned?And even if there are calculations--or maybe even books!--they're mostlikely written in Persian. Or Arabic.

  He took hold of the rotting door, which left a layer of decaying woodon his hand, and wrenched it open wider, kicking a path for its basethrough the crusted mud. Then he slipped sideways through the opening.

  A stifled, startled cry cut the dense air of the hut, and an oil lampglowing in the black was smothered in a single movement. Then came awoman's voice.

  "You're not allowed here. Servants are forbidden beyond the orchard."She had begun in Persian, then repeated herself in Hindi.

  "Who are you?" Hawksworth, startled by the unknown languages, began inEnglish and then switched to Turkish. "I thought . . ."

  "The English _feringhi_." The voice suddenly found control, and itsTurki was flawless. "You were in the courtyard this morning." Sheadvanced slowly toward the shaft of light from the doorway. "What areyou doing here? Khan Sahib could have you killed if the eunuchsdiscover you."

  He watched as her face emerged from the shadows. Then his heartskipped.

  It was Shirin.

  "The govern . . . Khan Sahib told me about this observatory. He said I. . ."

  "Stars do not shine in the day, nor the sun in this room. What are youdoing in here?"

  "I thought there might be charts, or a library." Hawksworth heard hisown voice echo against the raw stone walls of the room. He studied herface in the half light, realizing with a shock that she was even morestriking now than in the sunshine of the garden.

  "Did he also tell you to plunder all you find in the palace grounds?"

  "He said I might find the observatory curious, as a navigator. He wasright. But there must be some charts. I thought this room might . . ."

  "There are some old papers here. Perhaps he thought this place wouldkeep you occupied. Or test you one more time."

  "What do you mean?"

  She answered with a hard laugh, then circled Hawksworth and examinedhim in the glancing morning light. Her dark hair was backlighted nowfrom the sun streaming through the doorway, her gauze head scarfglistening like spun gold.

  "Yes, you're a _feringhi_. Just like all the rest." Her eyes flashed."How many more like you are there in Europe? Enough, I would guess, toamuse our debauched governor forever."

  "I didn't double the Cape for his amusement. Or yours." What's thematter? Everybody talks in riddles. "Does this room have a library?"

  "Yes, but the writings are in Persian. Which you don't understand."

  "How do you know what I understand?"

  She looked at him with open astonishment. "Do you suppose there'sanyone in the palace who doesn't already know all about you?"

  "And what do you know about me?"

  Silence held the room for a moment. Then she spoke.

  "I know you're a _feringhi_. Like the Portuguese. Here for gold. And .. . the rest." She turned and walked back into the darkness. There wasa spark of light and the lamp glowed again. "As for this room, there'snothing here you would understand. And when you return to the palace,and to His Excellency's _affion _and his _nautch _girls, remember whathappens to a man who is discovered with another's wife. I will forget Isaw you here. You should forget also, if you wish to see the suntomorrow."

  Hawksworth found himself watching her spellbound, almost not hearingher words. He stood motionless for a moment, then walked directlytoward her, trying not to feel self-conscious in his new Moghulclothes. "I want to talk with you. To find out what's going on. I'llbegin with this place. It's an observatory, or was. What harm can therebe in looking around this room?"

  She stared at him without moving. "You certainly have a _feringhi'_smanner. If you won't leave, then I'll ask you some questions. What doyou say is your reason for coming to India? It's rumored you're herefor the English king."

  "What else have you heard?"

  "Other things as well." She moved closer and her perfume enveloped him.Her eyes were intense, almost overwhelming the jewel at her throat."But I'd like to hear them from you. There's much dismay about you,about the battle, about the letter."

  Hawksworth studied her wistfully. "You know about the letter?"

  "Of course. Everyone knows." She sighed at his naivete. "The contentsof your chest were examined very carefully last night . . . but no onedared touch the seal on the letter, for fear of the Moghul. Is it truethe English king may send an armada to attack Goa?"

  "And if it were?"

  "It could make a great deal of difference. To many people here."

  "Who?"

  "People who matter."

  "The only one who should matter is the Moghul."

  She laughed again. "He's the very last one who matters. I see youcomprehend very little." She paused and examined him closely. "Butyou're an interesting man. We all listened to you play the Englishsitar last night. And today the first place you chose to come was here.You're the first _feringhi_ ever to seek out this place, which was oncefamous throughout India. Did you truly come here this morning just tolearn?"

  "I haven't learned very much so far. At least in this room."He looked about them, noticing for the first time a small table onwhich there was a book and fresh writings. "You've not told what you'redoing here. Or why you can come here when the servants are forbidden."

  "Servants once tried to steal some of the marble steps for ahouse. But the reason I come here is not really your concern, CaptainHawksworth. . . ." She caught his startled look and laughed. "Of courseI know your name. I also know you should learn not to drink _bhang_with Kali. She's more than your equal."

  Hawksworth stifled his embarrassment and tried to ignore the barb."There surely must be charts here. What harm if I merely look around?"

  Shirin stiffened. "Not now. Not today. You have to leave."

  "But are there calculations, or charts?"

  "More than likely. But I told you they're in Persian."

  "Then maybe you could translate."

  "I could. But not today. I've told you, you have to leave.Really you must." She pushed the door open wider and stood waiting.

  "I'll be back." He paused in the doorway and turned. "Will yoube here tomorrow?"

  "Possibly."

  "Then I'll be back for sure
."

  She looked at him and shook her head resignedly. "You trulydon't realize how dangerous it is for you to come here."

  "Are you afraid?"

  "I'm always afraid. You should be too." She studied him in thesunshine, examining his eyes, and for a moment her face softenedslightly. "But if you do come, will you bring your English sitar? I'dlike very much to hear it once more."

  "And what will you do for me in return?"

  She laughed. "I'll try to excavate some musty Persian books herethat might tell you something about the observatory. But remember. Noone must ever know. Now, please." She urged him out, then reached andpulled the door tightly closed.

  Hawksworth suddenly realized the heat had grown intense, and now thesun cut a sharp line down the face of the red marble dial, telling thatmidmorning approached. He examined the dial quickly and then turned tolook again at the stone hut.

  With the door closed, the ramshackle hut again looked completelydeserted.

  What in Christ's name can she be doing? No matter, she's astonishing.And there's something in the way she handles herself. Little wonder shewas the favorite concubine, or whatever they call it, of the Moghul.And it's easy to see why his queen married her off to Mukarrab Khan andsent them both here to get her out of the way. A clever way to banish .. .

  Hawksworth froze.

  That's the word the pilot Karim used! From the Quran. "As for womenfrom whom you fear rebellion, banish them to . . . beds apart."

  Could this be the woman he meant? But what rebellion? Whatever's goingon, nobody's talking. All I see are armed guards. And fear. This palaceis like a jewel-set dagger-exquisite, and deadly.

  He stared again at the moss-covered marble instruments.

  But I'll be back. If she'll be here, absolutely nothing could stop me.