Hawksworth pulled himself up and reached behind him. The chest was there. He fingered the cool metal of the lock and his mind began to clear even more. Quickly he began to search his jerkin for the key. Its pockets were empty.
Of course. If I was tied over a horse it.. .
Then he remembered. For safety he had transferred it to the pocket of his breeches the second day out. He felt down his leg, fighting the ache in his arm.
Miraculously the key was still there.
He tried to hold his excitement as he twisted it into the lock on the chest. Once, twice, and it clicked.
He quickly checked the contents. Lute on top. Letter, still wrapped. Clothes. Then he felt deeper and touched the metal. Slowly he drew it out, holding his breath. It was still intact.
The light from the lamp glanced off the burnished brass of the Persian astrolabe from the observatory. It had been Mukarrab Khan's parting gift.
He carried it to the slatted window and carefully twisted each slat until the sun began to stream through.
Thank God it's late in the year, when the sun's already lower at midday.
He took a quick reading of the sun's elevation. It had not yet reached its zenith. He made a mental note of the reading and began to wait. Five minutes passed—they seemed hours—and he checked the elevation again. The sun was still climbing, but he knew it would soon reach its highest point.