"They're cameras. They record pictures and sounds and smells."
The inspector seized the cases with a glittering smile of triumph. "They resemble no cameras of my experience; I fear I shall have to impound ..."
A young man in loose white pantaloons, a pink vest, pale green cravat and a complex black turban strolled up. The inspector made a swift obeisance, with arms spread wide. "Excellency."
The young man raised two fingers. "You may find it possible to spare Mr. Murphy any unnecessary formality."
"As your Excellency recommends...." The inspector nimbly repacked Murphy's belongings, while the young man looked on benignly.
Murphy covertly inspected his face. The skin was smooth, the color of the rising moon; the eyes were narrow, dark, superficially placid. The effect was of silken punctilio with hot ruby blood close beneath.
Satisfied with the inspector's zeal, he turned to Murphy. "Allow me to introduce myself, Tuan Murphy. I am Ali-Tomás, of the House of Singhalût, and my father the Sultan begs you to accept our poor hospitality."
"Why, thank you," said Murphy. "This is a very pleasant surprise."
"If you will allow me to conduct you...." He turned to the inspector. "Mr. Murphy's luggage to the palace."