"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?"