The room fell silent and a way suddenly cleared through the center, as the Hindu clerks fell back along the walls. They all wore tight, neat headdresses and formal cotton top shirts, and Hawksworth felt a sudden consciousness of his own clothes—muddy boots and powder-smeared jerkin and breeches. For the first time since they arrived he found himself in a room with no other Europeans. The isolation felt sudden and complete.
Then he saw the Shahbandar.
On a raised dais at the rear of the room, beneath a canopy of gold-embroidered cloth, sat the chief port official of India. He rested stiffly on a four-legged couch strewn with cushions, and he wore a turban of blue silk, narrow- patterned trousers, and an embroidered tan robe that crossed to the right over his plump belly and was secured with a row of what appeared to be rubies. He seemed oblivious to Hawksworth as he cursed and drew on the end of a tube being held to his mouth by an attending clerk. The clerk's other hand worked a burning taper over the open top of a long-necked clay pot. The tube being held to the Shahbandar's mouth was attached to a spout on the side. Suddenly Hawksworth heard a gurgle from the pot and saw the Shahbandar inhale a mouthful of dark smoke.
"Tobacco is the only thing the topiwallahs ever brought to India that she did not already have. Even then we still had to
devise the hookah to smoke it properly." He inhaled appreciatively. "It is forbidden during this month of Ramadan, but no man was made to fast during daylight and also forgo tobacco. The morning sun still rose in the east, and thus it is written the gate of repentance remains open to God's servants."
The Shahbandar examined Hawksworth with curiosity. His face recalled hard desert nomad blood, but now it was softened with ease, plump and moustachioed. He wore gold earrings, and he was barefoot.
"Favor me by coming closer. I must see this feringhi captain who brings such turmoil to our waters." He turned and cursed the servant as the hookah continued to gurgle inconclusively. Then a roll of smoke burst through the tube and the Shahbandar's eyes mellowed as he drew it deeply into his lungs. He held the smoke for a moment while he gazed quizzically at Hawksworth, squinting as though the air between them were opaque.
"They tell me you are English. May I have the pleasure to know your name?"
"I'm Brian Hawksworth, captain of the frigate Discovery. May I also have the privilege of an introduction."
"I will stand before Allah as Mirza Nuruddin." He again drew deeply on the hookah. "But here I am the Shahbandar." He exhaled a cloud and examined Hawksworth. "Your ship and another were in our bay yesterday. I am told they weighed anchor at nightfall. Do English vessels customarily sail without their captain?"