"Your sword is not permitted in the banquet room."
Hawksworth froze. Then he remembered the knife strapped inside the top of his boot and the thought gave him comfort.
He unbuckled his sword slowly, deliberately, pausing to meet the eunuch's defiant stare as he passed it over.
The eunuch seemed to ignore Hawksworth's look as he continued.
"You will also remove your boots. It is against custom to wear them in the banquet room."
Hawksworth moved to protest, then sadly concluded there would be no point. Of course the room would be filled with carpets. And that must be the reason everyone I've seen here wears open shoes with the backs folded down: they're constantly being removed at doorways.
He bent over and unbuckled his boots. The eunuch stiffened momentarily when he saw the glint of the knife handle in the lamplight, but he said nothing, merely swept up the boots with his other hand.
As they walked slowly down the marble hallway toward the bronzed door of the banquet room, Hawksworth tried to rehearse what he would say to Mukarrab Khan.
He has to petition the court in Agra to grant safe conduct for the trip. He just has to send one letter. How can he possibly refuse? Remember, you're an ambassador. . . .
The eunuch shoved wide the bronzed door, and Hawksworth was astonished by what he saw.