"I'll believe you." Hawksworth studied her, not quite sure it was true. "But if you're dedicated to a temple in the south, why are you here in Agra?"
Kamala's dark eyes grew lifeless, and then she turned away. "I'm no longer a true devadasi. In truth, I have not danced at my temple for many years. The first time the Moghul’s army invaded the south, a Rajput officer who had deserted came to our temple to hide. He fell in love with me and forced me to come with him when he returned to Agra, telling me I must dance for him only." Her voice hardened. "But I never danced for him, not once. And three years later he was killed in a campaign in Bengal. Since that time I have had to live by my own hand. For many years now I've lived by teaching dance to the tavaifs in Agra."
"Who?"
"Tavaifs. Muslim dancing girls. Courtesans who live in beautiful houses here and entertain men. There are many in Agra and in the city of Lucknow to the east." Kamala's tone grew vague. "And I teach them other things as well."
"But why did you insult the Moghul tonight? Do you really believe all the things you said?"
"What I said was not a 'belief.' I don't understand what you mean by that. Things either are or they are not. What does it matter whether we 'believe' them? But what I did was foolish, I agree. Impulsive. I so despise the Moghuls. You know, I told the Moghul’s prime minister this afternoon I would never dance for Arangbar, that nothing could make me, but he forced me to come anyway."
Hawksworth's eyes narrowed, and he dropped the shank of lamb he was holding. "What did you say! Nadir Sharif knew all along you would refuse to dance for Arangbar?"
"Of course he knew. And I knew Arangbar would order me killed. That's why I wore all my diamonds. I thought if I was to die, it must be my dharma."' She paused. "And you know, it's strange but I felt nothing. Except perhaps pity for my pretty little courtesans. Some of them are only girls, and I wondered who would teach them after I was gone."
Hawksworth was no longer listening. He was trying to remember the exact sequence of what had happened in the Diwan-i-Khas.
He arranged it, the bastard. Even the paintings. Nadir Sharif played with me like a puppet. Just so he could send her here. He knew I'd try to save her. But why would he do it, and in such a way I was never supposed to know? Is this so--called dancer supposed to be another of his spies?