The Moghul Part 34

"Then he's supporting Prince Jadar?"

"Samad does not concern himself with politics. But it's the duty of the others of us, those who understand what is happening, to help Prince Jadar. Because we know he will stop the Persians and their Shi'ites who are now spreading their poison of hate in India, and he'll also rid India of the Portuguese. I'm sure of it." She paused for a moment. "You know, it's always seemed ironic that the Persians and the Portuguese should actually work together. But in a way each needs the other. The Portuguese have made the Persians, particularly the queen and her brother, Nadir Sharif, very rich, and in return they're allowed to send their Jesuits to preach. So both the Persians and the Portuguese want to prevent Prince Jadar from becoming the next Moghul, since they know he'd like nothing better than to rid India of them both."

"But what does this have to do with me? I just want a trading _firman_ from Arangbar. He's still alive and healthy, and he should know the Portugals can't stop English trading ships from coming here. Why shouldn't he give us a _firman_?"

"Can't you see? The English can never be allowed to trade here. It would be the beginning of the end for the Portuguese. It would show all the world they no longer can control India's ports. But what I'm really trying to make you see is that it's not only the Portuguese who want to stop you. It's also the people who support them. So no one can aid you openly. The Persians are already too powerful. Still, there are those here who would protect you."

"Who do you mean?"

"How could I possibly tell you?" She held him with her eyes. "I scarcely know you. But you should listen to your intuition. Samad says we all have an inner voice that tells us what is true."

This time she did reach and touch his hand, and her touch was strangely warm in the chill of the room. "I can't tell you any more, really. So now will you play for me? Something tender, perhaps. A song you would play for the woman you left behind you in England."

"I didn't have all that much to leave behind." He picked up the lute.

"But I'll be happy to play for you."

"You have no one?"

"There was a woman in London. But she married while I was . . . gone."

"She wouldn't wait while you were away?" Shirin sipped again from her cup and her eyes darkened. "That must have been very sad for you."

"It could be she didn't think I was worth waiting for." He hesitated.

"I've had some time to think about it since. In a way it was probably my own fault. I think she wanted more than I was ready to give."

She looked at him and smiled. "Perhaps what she wanted was you. And you wouldn't give yourself. Tell me what she was like."

"What was she like?" He looked away, remembering Maggie's face with a strange mixture of longing and bitterness. "Well, she's like n.o.body I've seen in India. Red hair, blue eyes . . . and a salty tongue." He laughed. "If she was ever anybody's fourth wife, I'd pity the other three." He felt his laugh fade. "I missed her a lot when I was away before. But now . . ." He tried to shrug.

She looked at him as though she understood it all. "Then if you won't play for her any more, will you play just for me? One of your English ragas?"

"What if I played a suite by Dowland, one of our English composers?

It's one of my favorites." He found himself smiling again, the lute comfortable and rea.s.suring in his grasp. "I hope you won't think it sounds too out of place."

"We're both out of place here now." She returned his smile wistfully and glanced at the papers on the desk. "You and me."

Hawksworth saw George Elkington approaching and dropped the dagger quickly into his boot.

"'Twill take a lifetime the rate these heathens dawdle." Elkington wiped a sweaty arm across his brow. Deep bags sagged under his bloodshot eyes. "An' we'll be months movin' the lead and ironwork with these d.a.m.n'd rickety carts. Not to mention the silver bullion for buyin' commodity. We'll have to get a barge."

"How many more trips do you need to bring in the wool?"

"Can't say. But 'tis clear we'll need more of these d.a.m.n'd carts, for what little they're worth." As Elkington turned to spit, he spotted a porter who had let a roll of woolen cloth dip into the river, and his neck veins pulsed. "Hey, you heathen b.a.s.t.a.r.d, mind the water!" He stumbled after the terrified man trailing a stream of oaths.

Hawksworth leaned against the wooden spokes of a bullock cart and quickly pa.s.sed the stiletto from his boot back to his belt. As he watched, the bark tipped, beginning to list dangerously, and then he heard Elkington command the porters to stop the loading and prepare to get underway. Only five of the twenty-five bullock carts had been emptied, and the sun was already approaching midafternoon. As Hawksworth had watched the men at work, some corner of his mind had become dimly aware of a curious anomaly. Whereas the Shahbandar's porters were working at full speed, the drivers of the bullock carts seemed actually to be hindering the unloading--moving the carts around in a confused way that always kept the work disorganized. And a number of answers began, just began, to fall into place.

"Captain-General Hawksworth, do you expect to be joinin' us?" George Elkington stalked up and began to sc.r.a.pe his muddy boots on the spokes of the bullock cart

"Elkington, I want you to dismiss these drivers." Hawksworth ignored his sarcastic tone. "I want the Shahbandar to supply all our men from now on."

"What the b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l for?" Elkington tightened his hat and hitched up his belt.

"Something's wrong. Did you have any accidents coming in from Swalley?"

"Accidents? Nay, not a bleedin' one. Unless you'd call the axle of a cart breakin' the first day and blockin' a narrow turn in the road, with mud on both sides so we couldn't pa.s.s and had to unload the whole bleedin' lot and look half the mornin' for another cart to hire. An'

then the drivers had a fight over who was responsible, and who'd pay for what, and we couldn't start till after midday. And yesterday one of their d.a.m.n'd bullocks died, right in the road. Which is scarce wonder, considerin' how worn out they are. Nay, we had no accidents. The whole bleedin' trip was an accident."

"Then let's get rid of them all. Men, carts, bullocks, the lot. And hire new. Let the Shahbandar hire them for us. We pay in silver, and give him his commission, and I'm sure he'll provide us what we need."

"Think he can do any better?" Elkington's skeptical eyes squinted against the sun. "These d.a.m.n'd heathens all appear similar."

"I think he'll make a difference. They all seem terrified of him. We have to try." Hawksworth started for the barge.

"You don't have much time left." Shirin had said. "Try to understand what's happening."

The porters were loosening the lines on the pegs. The bark was ready to get underway.

"Don't a.s.sume you know who'll aid you," she had said. "Help may come in a way that surprises you. It can't be known who's helping you."

He waded through the mud and pulled himself onto the

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 a.s.sessed 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.