"It wasn't English."
"Ah, then I suppose it was Portuguese. I assume you must have noticed."
"Not actually." Hawksworth paused. "It wasn't really my concern."
"Yes, quite so." Nadir Sharif walked again to the gallery and stood silent, still swinging his head absently to the time of the music. The pieces of the puzzle had already dropped into place.
So that's how Jadar did it. And only one man in Surat could have provided the prince the silver he needed, that contemptible son of a moneylender Mirza Nuruddin. He's uncontrollable. But even if the prince survives the Deccan, what can he do? The Imperial army . . .
Allah, it's obvious! There's only one way he can ever march north with enough men to meet Janahara's army. By the Merciful Prophet, he's mad!
Nadir Sharif coughed lightly and turned back toward the
room. "Ambassador Hawksworth, would you care for some wine? You need not be squeamish, His Majesty has always admired men who drink. I would join you, but regrettably I cannot. While His Majesty retires, the rest of us must labor on."
"A glass would be welcome."
"A glass, Ambassador? Did you say 'a glass'?" Nadir Sharif laughed. "You'll need more than a glass if you drink with His Majesty. I'll send the servants." He bowed again at the doorway of the vestibule. "I'll rejoin you when I can. In the meantime, summon the eunuchs if you require anything."