"So you come here to write poems?"
"When I feel something I want to say."
"But I've also found lists of names here, and numbers."
"I told you I can't tell you everything." Shirin's look darkened momentarily as she drank again lightly from the cup, then settled it on the table. He found himself watching her face, drawn to her by something he could not fully understand. "But I can tell you this. There's someone in India who will one day rid us of the infidel Portuguese. Do you know of Prince Jadar?"
"He's the son of the Moghul. I'm guessing he'll probably succeed one day."
"He should. If he's not betrayed. Things are very unsettled in Agra. He has many enemies there." She paused. "He has enemies here."
"I'm not sure I understand."
"Then you should. Because what happens in Agra will affect everyone. Even you."
"But what does Agra politics have to do with me? The knife was Portuguese."
"To understand what's happening, you should first know about Akman, the one we remember now as the Great Moghul. He was the father of Arangbar, the Moghul now. I was only a small girl when Akman died, but I still remember my sadness, my feeling the universe would collapse. We worshiped him almost. It's not talked about now, but the truth is Akman didn't really want Arangbar to succeed him, nobody did. But he had no choice. In fact, when Akman died, Arangbar's eldest son started a rebellion to deny him the throne, but that son's troops betrayed him, and after they surrendered Arangbar blinded him in punishment. Khusrav, his own son. Although Prince Jadar was still only a young boy then, we all thought after that he would be Moghul himself one day. But that was before the Persians came to power in Agra."