Then he realized it had been concealed in the decorations on the wall.
When he did not move, the porters surrounded him.
No, they're not porters. They're the guards who held back the crowds
from the steps. And they're armed now.
"I think you will find your lodgings suitable." The Shahbandar watched
Hawksworth's body tense. "My men will escort you. Your chest will
remain here under my care."
The Shahbandar returned again to his gurgling hookah.
"My chest will not be subject to search. If it is to be searched, I
will return now to my ship." Hawksworth still did not move. "Your
officials will respect my king, and his honor."
"It is in my care." The Shahbandar waved Hawksworth toward the door. He
did not look up from his pipe.
As Hawksworth passed into the midday sunshine, he saw the Shahbandar's
own palanquin waiting by the door. Directly ahead spread the city's
teeming horse and cattle bazaar, while on his right, under a dense
banyan tree, a dark-eyed beggar sat on a pallet, clothed only in a
white loincloth and wearing ashes in his braided hair and curious white
and red marks on his forehead. His eyes were burning and intense, and
he inspected the new _feringhi _as though he'd just seen the person of
the devil.
Why should I travel hidden from view, Hawksworth puzzled?
But there was no time to ponder an answer. The cloth covering was
lifted and he found himself urged into the cramped conveyance, made
even more comfortless and hot by its heavy carpet lining and bolster
seat. In moments the street had disappeared into jolting darkness.