Nadir Sharif smiled. "On the contrary, Ambassador. It's far from abandoned. But it appears so, does it not?"
Then Hawksworth saw a figure approaching them, gliding noiselessly across the red sandstone pavement of the court. The figure carried an oil lamp, which illuminated a bearded face framed in a white shawl.
"You are welcome in the name of Allah." The figure bowed a greeting. "What brings armed men to our door? It is too late now to pray. We long ago sounded the last azan."
"His Majesty has sent a feringhi here, to be cared for by you for two days." Nadir Sharif stepped forward. "He was injured today during shikar."
"Our hands are always open." The figure turned and moved across the plaza toward a building that looked, in the new moonlight, to be a mosque. When they reached the entrance, the man turned and spoke to the Rajputs in a language Hawksworth did not understand.
"He says this is the house of God," Nadir Sharif translated. "He has commanded the Rajputs to leave their shoes and their weapons here if they wish to follow. I think they will refuse. Perhaps it would be best if we all left you now. You'll be well cared for. Day after tomorrow I'll send a horse for you."
"What's going on? You mean I'm going to be here alone?" Hawksworth suddenly realized he was being abandoned, at an abandoned city. He whirled on Nadir Sharif. "You suggested this. You brought me here. What the hell is this for? I could have returned to Agra, or even stayed with the hunt."
"You're a perceptive man, Ambassador." Nadir Sharif smiled and looked up at the moon. "But as far as I know, you're here entirely by coincidence. I cannot be responsible for anything that happens to you, or anyone you see. This is merely the hand of chance. Please try to understand."
"What do you mean?"
"I will see you in two days, Ambassador. Enjoy your rest."