bark. Then he turned and rolled over onto a bale of cloth. The sky was
flawless and empty.
"Just trust what feels right," she had said, and for no reason at all
she had reached out and touched his lute. "Learn to trust your senses.
Most of all"--she had taken his hand and held it longer than she should
have--"learn to open yourself."
They were underway.
The Shahbandar watched from the _maidan_ as the bark of English woolens
moved in short spurts toward the steps below him. Oars sparkled in the
sunshine, and the faint chant of the rowers bounced, garbled, across
the waves. Behind him two short, surly-eyed men held the large umbrella
that shaded his face and rotund belly. A circle of guards with poles
pushed away traders who shouted begs and bribes for a moment of his
time injtheir tent, to inspect their goods please and render them
salable commodity with his chapp and an invoice stating their worth,
preferably undervalued. The 2 1/2 percent duty was prescribed by the
Moghul. The assessed value was not.
Mirza Nuruddin ignored them. He was calculating time, not rupees.
His latest report was that four weeks more were needed for the Viceroy
to outfit the galleons and fireships. But the single-masted frigatta
bringing the news from Goa was two weeks in travel. Which means the
galleons will be here within three, perhaps two weeks, he told himself.
A Portuguese armada of twelve warships. The Englishman's luck has run
out. They'll be caught unlading and burned.
He fingered the shred of dirty cloth tucked in his waist. It had been
sent by Shirin, wrapped with a gift of aga of the rose. Her cryptic
note had told him all he had needed to know. When his spies reported no
one recently injured among the servants of the Portuguese Jesuits, the
search had begun in the horse bazaar. They had found the man the next
day. The truth had come quickly when Mirza Nuruddin's name was
mentioned.
And nothing had been learned. The man had been given the knife by
Hindi-speaking servants. Their master's name was never divulged. But
they knew well the routine of the Englishman, and the location of the
observatory.
And now I must tamper with your destiny, English captain. We are all--
you, I, the prince--captives of a world we no longer can fully control.
He asked himself again why he had made the choice, finally. To take the
risks Jadar had asked, when the odds against the prince were growing
daily. It was stupid to support him now, and Mirza Nuruddin had always
held absolute contempt for stupidity, particularly when it meant
supporting a hopeless cause.
If the queen crushes him, as she very likely will, I've jeopardized my
position, my holdings, probably my life.
The prince does not understand how difficult my task is. The infidel
Englishman is almost too clever.
I had planned it perfectly. I had shown them the opportunity for great
profit, then denied it to them. They were preparing to leave, but
surely they would have returned, with a fleet. Then Mukarrab Khan
approved their trade, after waiting until he was certain the Portuguese
preparations were almost complete. So now they remain, awaiting their
own destruction, never to leave again. And when these frigates are
destroyed, will any English ever return?
The Englishman will surely be dead, or sent to Goa. There'll be no trip
to Agra. And Arangbar will never know why.
But the silver coin will soon be ready. And the prince's cipher today
said Vasant Rao himself will arrive in ten days to escort the
Englishman and the silver as far as Burhanpur. Time is running out.
There's only one solution left. Will it work?
The barge eased into the shallows and the porters slid into the water,
each already carrying a roll of cloth.
"I expected this difficulty, Captain Hawksworth. But your
path is of your own making. You yourself chose to unlade at that
distance from the port." They were in Mirza Nuruddin's chamber, and the
Shahbandar faced Hawksworth and Elkington with his rheumy, fogbound
eyes. The chamber had been emptied, as Hawksworth had demanded. "I
propose you consider the following. Unlade the woolens from your
smaller frigate immediately, and let me oversee their transport here."
He drew nonchalantly on the hookah. "My fee would be a small commission
above the cost of hiring the carts. One percent if they are delivered
here within two weeks. Two percent if they are delivered within one
week. Do you accept?"
Hawksworth decided not to translate the terms for Elkington.
"We accept." It seems fair, he told himself. This is no time to
bargain.
"You show yourself reasonable. Now, the lead and ironwork you have
cargoed is another matter. Bullock carts are totally unsuitable for
those weights in this sandy coastal delta. The weights involved require
they be transported by river bark. And that means unlading at the river
mouth."
Hawksworth shook his head. "We'll dump the cargo first. We can't take
the risk now."
"Captain, there is risk and there is risk. What is life itself if not
risk? Without risk what man can call himself alive?" Mirza Nuruddin
thought of his own risk at this moment, how his offer of help to the
English would immediately be misconstrued by the entire port. Until the
plan had played through to its ending. Then the thought of the ending
buoyed him and he continued, his voice full of solicitude. "I can
suggest a strategy for unlading your ironwork at the river mouth in
reasonable safety, after your frigates have been lightened of their
wool. With an experienced pilot, you can sail along the shoreline,
south to the bar, and anchor under cover of dark. Barks can be waiting
to unlade you. If the lead and ironwork are ready for unlading, perhaps
it can be completed in one night. You can unlade the smaller frigate
first, return it to the cove you call Swalley, and then unlade the
other vessel. That way only one frigate is exposed at a time."
As Hawksworth and Elkington listened, Mirza Nuruddin outlined the
details of his offer. He would hire whatever men were needed. He
normally did this for foreign traders, and took a percentage from them--
as well as from the meager salary of the men he hired. And he already
had a pilot in mind, a man who knew every shoal and sandbar on the
coastline.
As Hawksworth listened his senses suddenly told him to beware. Hadn't
Shirin told him to trust his intuition? And this scheme was too pat.
This time his guts told him to dump the lead in the bay and write off
the loss. But Elkington would never agree. He would want to believe
they could unlade and sell the lead. His responsibility was profit on
the cargo, not the risk of a vessel.
So he would take this final risk. Perhaps Mirza Nuruddin was right.
Risk exhilarated.
He smiled inwardly and thought again of Shirin. And of what she had
said about trusting his instincts.
Then, ignoring them, he agreed to Mirza Nuruddin's plan.
And the Shahbandar produced a document already prepared for their
signature.