In the Palace of the Khans by Peter Dickinson

Two serving maids wearing dazzling white aprons over high-collared purple tunics with silver buttons brought them a series of dishes with half a dozen different sauces to try. Taeela didn’t know the English words for most of the food, and her stiffness broke up into laughter as they tried to work out between them what everything was. At the same time her rather anxious English relaxed and she started talking much more as she used to when Nigel came to the palace. They were getting along fine when the President came in.
    â€œSit, sit,” he said, as he strode to his place and settled into his chair. “I must apologise for having deserted you.”
    â€œOf course you had to,” said Nigel’s mother. “Taeela has looked after us beautifully. I hope your men are all right.”
    â€œIt is hard to tell. The Sikorski came down in the water close to the entrance to the gorge and was blown onto the rocks on the far side. The men are all out and ashore. Their radio was damaged in the landing, but from their hand signals we understand that some of them are sufficiently injured to need medical attention. They have first aid supplies and my doctor was aboard, so he will be able to do what he can for them, unless he himself is injured. We will send down one of our inflatables as soon as the storm eases. The forecast is that it should do so briefly later in the day.”
    The maids had been offering him food while he talked, and he’d helped himself without apparent thought and started to eat, talking between mouthfuls.
    â€œForgive me,” he said. “There are urgent arrangements to be made. It was as well we left the helicopters when we did. Both of them suffered damage on landing. With our extra weight it could have been much worse. One can perhaps be repaired, the other will need specialist equipment. Furthermore a section of the roadway has been washed into the lake. The place is passable on foot, but not by motor vehicles, so we shall have to wait until the storm system has blown past. If the forecasts are right this should be in two days’ time, so it should be possible to watch the fish-owls on Monday, along with your visit to the dam site, if you can stay the extra day, and then return to Dara Dahn by road. I must in any case be back in time for the ceremony on the Thursday, which I trust you will also be able to attend.
    â€œThe alternative would be to skip the fish-owls and arrange for cars to meet us the other side of the landslip. That would gain us an extra day, or perhaps two, but in storm-weather the journey would be considerably more than the standard eight hours. The choice is yours. Mrs Ridgwell?”
    â€œOh, it won’t be any hardship to stay, Mr President. I’d give anything to see the fish-owls, and if it means Nick gets a bit more fishing …”
    â€œIf I may just call the embassy, if that’s all right, sir,” said Nigel’s father. “I doubt my mobile will work in the mountains.”
    â€œThere is a secure telephone line. The major domo, Mizhael, will show you. But I must ask you, Ambassador, to say nothing that gives any indication of my movements, nor that our security guard is currently depleted and the helicopters out of action.”
    â€œNo problem, sir. We arrived safely, and because of the weather are staying on an extra day. Of course I shall have to make a report of our visit to the dam site, but there’s no reason I should say anything about the journey, except perhaps to mention the skill of the pilots in difficult conditions.”
    Ambassador-talk, thought Nigel. He’s really laying it on.
    He caught Taeela’s eye and winked. She pursed her mouth, suppressing a smile, and glanced at her father. He must have noticed the exchange, for he paused with a forkful of fish half way to his mouth and looked at her severely.
    â€œA lesson in diplomacy, my dear,” he said. “You are going to have to play