"Are you afraid?"
"I'm always afraid. You should be too." She studied him in the sunshine, examining his eyes, and for a moment her face softened slightly. "But if you do come, will you bring your English sitar? I'd like very much to hear it once more."
"And what will you do for me in return?"
She laughed. "I'll try to excavate some musty Persian books here that might tell you something about the observatory. But remember. No one must ever know. Now, please." She urged him out, then reached and pulled the door tightly closed.
Hawksworth suddenly realized the heat had grown intense, and now the sun cut a sharp line down the face of the red marble dial, telling that midmorning approached. He examined the dial quickly and then turned to look again at the stone hut.
With the door closed, the ramshackle hut again looked completely deserted.
What in Christ's name can she be doing? No matter, she's astonishing. And there's something in the way she handles herself. Little wonder she was the favorite concubine, or whatever they call it, of the Moghul. And it's easy to see why his queen married her off to Mukarrab Khan and sent them both here to get her out of the way. A clever way to banish . . .
Hawksworth froze.
That's the word the pilot Karim used! From the Quran. "As for women from whom you fear rebellion, banish them to . . . beds apart."
Could this be the woman he meant? But what rebellion? Whatever's going on, nobody's talking. All I see are armed guards. And fear. This palace is like a jewel-set dagger-exquisite, and deadly.