"Think he can do any better?" Elkington's skeptical eyes squinted against the sun. "These damn'd heathens all appear similar."
"I think he'll make a difference. They all seem terrified of him. We have to try." Hawksworth started for the barge.
"You don't have much time left." Shirin had said. "Try to understand what's happening."
The porters were loosening the lines on the pegs. The bark was ready to get underway.
"Don't assume you know who'll aid you," she had said. "Help may come in a way that surprises you. It can't be known who's helping you."
He waded through the mud and pulled himself onto the
bark. Then he turned and rolled over onto a bale of cloth. The sky was flawless and empty.
"Just trust what feels right," she had said, and for no reason at all she had reached out and touched his lute. "Learn to trust your senses. Most of all"—she had taken his hand and held it longer than she should have—"learn to open yourself."
They were underway.
The Shahbandar watched from the maidan as the bark of English woolens moved in short spurts toward the steps below him. Oars sparkled in the sunshine, and the faint chant of the rowers bounced, garbled, across the waves. Behind him two short, surly-eyed men held the large umbrella that shaded his face and rotund belly. A circle of guards with poles pushed away traders who shouted begs and bribes for a moment of his time injtheir tent, to inspect their goods please and render them salable commodity with his chapp and an invoice stating their worth, preferably undervalued. The 2 1/2 percent duty was prescribed by the Moghul. The assessed value was not.