the observatory's still here, perhaps the charts are here somewhere too.
His excitement mounted as he searched the rest of the clearing. Then he saw what he wanted.
It has to be there.
Abutting the stone wall was a small hut of rough-hewn stone, with slatted windows and a weathered wooden door that was wedged ajar, its base permanently encrusted in the dried mud of the rainy season. The wall behind was so weathered that the metal spikes along its top had actually 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 own hopes.
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 most likely written in Persian. Or Arabic.
He took hold of the rotting door, which left a layer of decaying wood on his hand, and wrenched it open wider, kicking a path for its base through the crusted mud. Then he slipped sideways through the opening.
A stifled, startled cry cut the dense air of the hut, and an oil lamp glowing in the black was smothered in a single movement. Then came a woman'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 in English and then switched to Turkish. "I thought . . ."
"The English feringhi ." The voice suddenly found control, and its Turki was flawless. "You were in the courtyard this morning." She advanced slowly toward the shaft of light from the doorway. "What are you doing here? Khan Sahib could have you killed if the eunuchs discover you."
He watched as her face emerged from the shadows. Then his heart skipped.
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 you doing in here?"
"I thought there might be charts, or a library." Hawksworth heard his own voice echo against the raw stone walls of the room. He studied her face in the half light, realizing with a shock that she was even more striking 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 was right. But there must be some charts. I thought this room might . . ."
"There are some old papers here. Perhaps he thought this place would keep you occupied. Or test you one more time."
"What do you mean?"
She answered with a hard laugh, then circled Hawksworth and examined him in the glancing morning light. Her dark hair was backlighted now from the sun streaming through the doorway, her gauze head scarf glistening 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, to amuse our debauched governor forever."
"I didn't double the Cape for his amusement. Or yours." What's the matter? 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's anyone 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 was a spark of light and the lamp glowed again. "As for this room, there's nothing here you would understand. And when you return to the palace, and to His Excellency's affion and his nautch girls, remember what happens to a man who is discovered with another's wife. I will forget I saw you here. You should forget also, if you wish to see the sun tomorrow."
Hawksworth found himself watching her
His excitement mounted as he searched the rest of the clearing. Then he saw what he wanted.
It has to be there.
Abutting the stone wall was a small hut of rough-hewn stone, with slatted windows and a weathered wooden door that was wedged ajar, its base permanently encrusted in the dried mud of the rainy season. The wall behind was so weathered that the metal spikes along its top had actually 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 own hopes.
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 most likely written in Persian. Or Arabic.
He took hold of the rotting door, which left a layer of decaying wood on his hand, and wrenched it open wider, kicking a path for its base through the crusted mud. Then he slipped sideways through the opening.
A stifled, startled cry cut the dense air of the hut, and an oil lamp glowing in the black was smothered in a single movement. Then came a woman'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 in English and then switched to Turkish. "I thought . . ."
"The English feringhi ." The voice suddenly found control, and its Turki was flawless. "You were in the courtyard this morning." She advanced slowly toward the shaft of light from the doorway. "What are you doing here? Khan Sahib could have you killed if the eunuchs discover you."
He watched as her face emerged from the shadows. Then his heart skipped.
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 you doing in here?"
"I thought there might be charts, or a library." Hawksworth heard his own voice echo against the raw stone walls of the room. He studied her face in the half light, realizing with a shock that she was even more striking 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 was right. But there must be some charts. I thought this room might . . ."
"There are some old papers here. Perhaps he thought this place would keep you occupied. Or test you one more time."
"What do you mean?"
She answered with a hard laugh, then circled Hawksworth and examined him in the glancing morning light. Her dark hair was backlighted now from the sun streaming through the doorway, her gauze head scarf glistening 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, to amuse our debauched governor forever."
"I didn't double the Cape for his amusement. Or yours." What's the matter? 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's anyone 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 was a spark of light and the lamp glowed again. "As for this room, there's nothing here you would understand. And when you return to the palace, and to His Excellency's affion and his nautch girls, remember what happens to a man who is discovered with another's wife. I will forget I saw you here. You should forget also, if you wish to see the sun tomorrow."
Hawksworth found himself watching her
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