"I know you don't, Captain, and that's one of the things I like most about you. But I'm sending you away, ordering you to go. I'll always remember it was against your will." Jadar looked up to see a eunuch entering with a tray of cups. "Now for your drink. I ordered my kitchen to make panch for you—I understand the topiwallahs in Surat think it's called 'punch.'"
"Punch? What is it?"
"An Indian delicacy. A special blend of wine, water, sugar, lemons, and spices. Five ingredients. Actually, panch is just the Hindi word for five.' Try it."
Hawksworth tasted the perfumed red mixture, slices of lemon rind floating on its surface. It was so delicious he almost drank it off at one gulp. Jadar watched him, smiling, then lifted a cup of sharbat from the tray and gestured the eunuch toward Shirin. "I gather you find it acceptable."
"It's perfect to watch a sunset with."
"I thought you'd like it. You know, Captain, I've rather enjoyed seeing you grow to understand and love India. That's rare among feringhi. That's why I absolutely insist your king send you back as his next ambassador."
"Nothing would please me more."
"I think you mean it. And I want you to believe me when I tell you that nothing would please me more. Together we'll rid India of the Portuguese scourge forever." Jadar lifted his cap in a toast and Hawksworth joined him.
"And here's to ridding India of one Portuguese in particular."
Jadar paused. "Who do you mean?"