"A wonderful feeling," he said, stretching out beside her.
She stared up at the ceiling. "I wonder if I am dreaming, if all this is nothing more than a sleep-vision, and that I will wake in the morning and it will fade; I will forget it all, and you will have no notion what I mean when I say that you lifted me out of the world." She smiled her contentment. "Even if it is only a dream, it is a splendid one."
Sanat Ji Mani touched her nearer hand. "It is no dream. In the morning you may be sure of it."
Suddenly her eyes opened and she turned to him in alarm. "When we do this, it does not hurt your foot, does it?"
He chuckled. "No, Tulsi, it does not hurt my foot." In fact, he added to himself, the nourishment she provided would help to heal the lag-mending wound.
"Oh. Good." She closed her eyes once more, and sprawled back on the cushions at the head of the bed. "This had better not be a dream."
"My Word on it; it is not," he said, his voice deep and sweet. "If you doubt it, touch your neck and you will know better."
She murmured a few fragments of words as she succumbed to slumber; her breathing grew regular, her body relaxed, and her face softened. After a little while, she said, "Loving," and a bit later, she added, "Keep safe."
Sanat Ji Mani lay beside her hardly moving, his body still feeling the last thrill of their intimacy; he kept watching her and listening to the birds with their limitless improvisation; the moonlight slid across the bed and started up the far wall before the sky paled and the night-birds gave way to the dawn chorus of day-thriving creatures. All the while he could not rid himself of the conviction that he and Tulsi were under observation, a thought that made him uneasy. As dawn broke in the east, Sanat Ji Mani rose long enough to shutter the window, and to return to the bed for a morning of slumber.
When he awoke, Tulsi was busy practicing her tumbling and acrobatics in the limited space of their room. Sitting up in bed, Sanat Ji Mani watched her, admiring the limberness and strength of her body, and the expert control she had achieved.
Although she did not stop her work, she said to him, "You had better ask the servants for food. They will wonder if you do not."
"What would you like to eat?" Sanat Ji Mani asked as he rose from the bed.
"A little fruit and some fowl. I have had breakfast already, some time ago." She did a back-flip, then sank into the splits. "I need to practice in a larger space."
"I will see what can be arranged." He shed his robe and reached for the loose pyjamas of embroidered dark-red silk the Rajput had provided him. Dressing quickly, he was just buttoning the front of the long, skirted tunic when a palace servant presented himself to ask for his orders. "I would like some fruit and a leg of fowl, if you would."
The servant pressed his palms together and bowed double, saying, "At once, Honored Guest."
As soon as the servant was gone, Tulsi sighed. "I wish I knew the language they speak. I recognize a few words, but for the most part, I might as well be deaf and mute." She brought one leg up along her body and guided her foot behind her head. "In this place they are not so impressed with these postures," she said as she did the same with the other leg. "Their mystics tie themselves in all manner of knots. I
would not bother to practice them, but I must keep working to retain my flexibility."
"A sensible precaution," said Sanat Ji Mani. "It may not impress the people of Devapur, but it impresses me."
"Then I shall continue," she announced, and got herself out of her tangle of limbs. "Could you teach me to speak their tongue?"
"I do not speak it expertly," he reminded her. "But I can help you to learn a few phrases that can be useful." He sat down on the hassock farthest away from the window. "If you decide to come to my life, you will need to learn how to acquire a language, so you can travel more easily." He contemplated the air. "First, listen to the habitual words: greetings, affirmations, negations, names. This will give you a feel for the forms of the language. Then learn the words for specific things, such as the foods you like, landmarks, clothing, and all manner of things. With that much you can make yourself understood at a rudimentary level. Then you need the words of action: give, take, move, put down, and all the rest."
"I know a few words; I have figured them out. I can recognize a number of names, or perhaps titles. But I do not know enough to use them." She was walking on her hands, approaching and retreating.
"Listen carefully, and you will learn more," said Sanat Ji Mani. "When the servant brings the food, pay attention to what he says, and we will discuss it when he has gone."
"Very well," she agreed, hopping along on her hands. "You should have seen me perform for Timur-i— I would go through six hoops of fire, each one in a different way, and end up on a pole, holding myself out to the side, like a banner in a stiff wind. He gave me silver coins for doing it. I mistimed once, and set my hair on fire."
"What did Timur-i do?" Sanat Ji Mani asked, looking at her askance.
"He laughed," she said. "Timur-i finds the misfortunes of others amusing." There was no condemnation in her tone, no self-pity in her demeanor. "He gave me extra coins because I finished the performance."
"As well he might," said Sanat Ji Mani. "You were in grave danger."
"Not so much as those who work with bears, or tigers." She sat down not far from him. "I have seen a tiger swipe a man's head off
with a playful pat. The worst that has ever happened to me was a broken arm, years ago; my parents were still alive. One of the farriers set it, and it healed straight and true."
"You were lucky," he said.
"Not so very much: if the farrier had bungled the work, Timur-i would have had him stoned to death." Tulsi shrugged. "He does not accept failure."
"That is apparent," Sanat Ji Mani agreed, looking up as there came a knock at the door. "Yes? Who is it."
"I have brought your food, Honored Guest," said the servant, his voice raised only enough to carry through the door.
"How much of that did you understand?" Sanat Ji Mani asked Tulsi quietly, calling out, "I will come shortly."
"I think he said food and called you what all the servants call you," she replied.
"Very good." He got up and went to the door where the servant was waiting with a brass tray. "I will take that."
"Let me, Honored Guest," the servant protested.
"You are kind, but among those of my blood, eating is a private thing. I thank you for bringing this. I will return it when I am done," Sanat Ji Mani said as he took the tray from the servant's hands. He was about to step back into his room when something occurred to him. "Why is the foundry so busy?"
"The foundry?" The servant seemed mildly surprised by the question. "They are making weapons. I thought you knew."
Sanat Ji Mani shook his head. "Why are they doing that?"
"In your honor." The servant bowed deeply. "We are preparing for war."
* * *
Text of a report from Azizi Iniattir at Sirpur to Rustam Iniattir in Fustat.
* * *
To my most excellent kinsman and worthy uncle, the greetings of your obedient nephew at Sirpur, and the prayers of my family for the welfare and happiness of your own.
The goods you shipped to me have arrived and I am eager to get them to the markets around me and on to those our caravans can
reach, particularly the textiles and the fine vessels. These are unlike most seen in this region, as you know, and for that reason alone should fetch a good price. I shall set my older sons to making arrangements for the sale of these items. As to the jewelry from Venice— wherever that may be— I do not know what market we may discover for them. They are unlike what is worn here, but their novelty may be enough to create interest in the pieces. As you say, they are small and can bring a good price for each piece— providing someone wants them.
I am waiting for the arrival of our caravan to Assam, for there should be goods in those chests that will be most useful to you. I would like to think that you will be able to sell jade where you are, and the brass bells that so many caravan-drivers like. I have also been told that there will be some fine knives and daggers in that load, and those most surely will be good items for you to offer to the merchants of Fustat.
I anticipate sending a new shipment to you after the dark of the year, which is coming more rapidly than I would like to admit. Soon it will be a full year since Timur-i sacked Delhi and all our of family was thrown into confusion. I cannot yet grasp the enormity of that event, although I have seen for myself its impact upon the land and on the people. I will include in the shipment as much information as I have been able to piece together about what has befallen those who were residents of Delhi and have been scattered to the winds as if they were seeds in a field. I have asked the caravan-leaders to make inquiry wherever they go, and I am gradually assembling enough information that it could be useful, and that I will gladly pass on to you.
The rains are heavy this year; since they began in midsummer, we have had to deal with flooding. Already we have been taxed to help pay for a replacement bridge and to clear a landslide from the road. I do not often want to lay our money, but in these instances, the results will benefit me and our family, and so I have sent double the amount to the Rajput here, with the request that half of it be held in reserve against other emergencies. I am certain this degree of participation in the welfare of this region will stand us in good stead at other times.
We are beginning to hope that our fortunes will be restored in part before another two years pass— that is, if there are no new battles or plagues to impinge on our business and to rob us of our caravans. I have made offerings to gain us the favor of Light, as I know you must
have done. I do not want to see us in such straits as we have been, and I am prepared to devote myself to bringing about our complete restoration of wealth and reputation. I ask you to join me in this venture, for without you, I cannot do any of this without placing myself beyond the family, which it is not my intention to do. When you have decided, send me word, and I will abide by your edict; I also pray that your thoughts are in accord with mine, so that all our family may prosper and flourish once again.
With all respect and devotion, I dispatch this to you with the ardent hope that you will have it in hand before the dark of the year is sixty days gone.
Azizi Iniattir
Merchant of Sirpur
2
On the west side, the garden was deep in shadow, and it was there that Sanat Ji Mani found Vayu Ede sitting through the slow afternoon; the poet held a writing-board on his lap and was putting verses down on a scroll.
"Oh," he said, looking up as Sanat Ji Mani approached him in his garments of mulberry-colored silk that blended with the flowers on the shrubs; he rolled the scroll closed at once.
"The ink will smear if you do not let it dry," said Sanat Ji Mani.
"If it is fitting that the words be lost, then so much the better," said Vayu Ede. "Verse is always struggling to escape its words in any case." He set the writing-board aside and put a lid on his ink-well.
"Very true," said Sanat Ji Mani, preparing to take a seat on the opposite bench. "You told the servants you wanted to see me? Here?"
"Yes; yes, I did," said Vayu Ede. "I believe it is time we spoke of— oh, any number of things."
"What might those things be?" Sanat Ji Mani said, finding himself on guard and concealing it. "What do you want to tell me?"
Vayu Ede shrugged. "What might
you
want to tell
me?
You are a man with a secret, that much is established."
"Everyone has secrets," Sanat Ji Mani countered with a cordial smile. "Who among us reaches the end of childhood without a host of his own?"
"You prefer the shadows, I see," Vayu Ede observed, as if he had not changed the subject. "Is there anything that bothers you about the light?"
"I burn readily," said Sanat Ji Mani. "For that reason and many others I find the sun can be exhausting."
"Yes; it can." Vayu Ede gestured an invitation to sit. "I have not seen you outside the palace during the day, or at least not since you arrived."
Sanat Ji Mani sank onto the marble bench, choosing the end where the shadows were deepest. "I have preferred to remain indoors, and since Rajput Hasin Dahele has been kind enough to allow me this favor, I have been able to keep from exposing myself to the sun, for which I am very much grateful. Is that why you asked me to come to the garden during the day: to see how I would fare in sunlight?"
"I did not have any presuppositions, but it does appear you are hiding," Vayu Ede observed.
"Does it seem so to you? Then why did you require my presence here— to establish that I fear discovery?" Sanat Ji Mani spoke lightly enough, but his eyes were intent, the blue that flickered in their black depths like a flame.
