"They will want gold, whatever you do."
"That they will," said Sanat Ji Mani. "Unlike her husband."
"As pious as Lum and as ready to leave the world," said Rojire. "She has asked Lum to explain it."
"And has he?" Sanat Ji Mani wondered aloud, expecting no answer. "She must be protected. It will be arranged."
Rojire inclined his head. "Then I will leave you, my master."
"For now. Summon me when Hirsuma is ready to depart." He went toward the door with Rojire and let him out. "You have done well."
"I might have done better, had I realized what Hirsuma was doing when he began; I put his actions to spite, not to malice," said Rojire. With that, he was gone, leaving Sanat Ji Mani to restore order to Avasa Dani's garments and to place a scroll near her, so that it would appear she had fallen asleep over her studies. That done, he returned to his
own quarters to dress for seeing Hirsuma off the premises.
By the time Rojire came to escort him from his apartments, Sanat Ji Mani presented his usual self-contained appearance, but in a grander presentation than was his habit: his black brocade Persian kandys was perfectly draped, his wide, dark-red-leather belt neatly in place, his black-silk Hungarian gatya tucked into low Persian boots. The silver collar around his neck was studded with rubies and held his eclipse sigil displayed in silver and black sapphire, as did the ring on the Saturn finger of his left hand. His foreignness added to his dignity, as he intended.
Bohdil was clearly distressed, wringing his hands and saying, "How will I explain? How will I explain?" over and over again.
"Hirsuma is a kinsman of Bohdil's," said Garuda, to account for this uncharacteristic behavior. "It is a disgrace for all his family." The oil-lamps in the servants' dining hall were lit, casting a brassy light over everything, and making the night beyond the windows seem darker by contrast.
"Why?" Sanat Ji Mani asked, although he knew the answer. "Only Hirsuma spied on me. The rest are blameless."
"That is not our way, my master," said Garuda, clapping his hands to silence the servants. "Where is Hirsuma?"
Rojire moved away from the main table to avoid being an interloper among the others.
"He is still in his quarters," said Javas, who tended the horses. "He must be summoned."
"I'll do it," said Sipati, the inventory-master. "Since he is to be dismissed, he must be brought from his quarters so that no one can say he did any roguery on his way out of the house."
Sanat Ji Mani shook his head once. "Very well. Garuda, if you will? Go fetch Hirsuma from his quarters."
Garuda did not quite smile, but he squared his shoulders at this granting of authority and left the dining hall at once for other parts of the house. An awkward silence descended at his departure, which was broken only when Daltil, the under-cook, brought a pot of mint tea from the kitchen.
"Very good," Sanat Ji Mani approved, and stood back so that the servants could fill their cups without fear of insulting their master.
No one spoke as they drank their tea, but some began to fidget when the time passed that Garuda should have returned with Hirsuma. The time dragged on, and Bohdil began once more to wring his hands.
"Rojire," Sanat Ji Mani said softly, "if you please, see what has become of Garuda?"
Rojire did as he was asked, slipping out of the room almost soundlessly. He returned quickly, his ususal calm demeanor disturbed; all those in the servants' dining hall turned toward him. "My master, you must come. Garuda has been struck unconscious, and Hirsuma is gone."
* * *
Text of a report from Azizi Iniattir at Sirpur to his uncle, Rustam Iniattir, carried by Askari Daitya, caravan leader, to Delhi.
* * *
To my most esteemed uncle, the leader of our family, the respected Rustam Iniattir, your nephew and factor in the city of Sirpur sends his most dedicated regards, and takes this opportunity to report on our business in this place.
Your caravan from Rajmundri and Hanamkonda will bring this account to you. I will entrust it to your caravan leader Askari Daitya, who has much to present to you of his own industry. His caravan has done very well, and, barring trouble on the road, should arrive in good time to add to the fortunes of our family. He secured some fine silks from China, which were traded for the Turkish goat-hair yarns he took to Rajmundri. He has also bought rare woods, which he traded spices to get, and pearls, which he received in exchange for the carded wool bales from Trebizond. He has been astute in his dealings, and I have complied with his request for two more mules to carry these goods to Delhi.
I have also spoken with the leaders of caravans from Assam and Malabar. There is concern among them all that prices in the northern ports and cities may increase sharply as Timur-i's forces continue to harry about the world, destroying all in their path. I have also heard that many believe that Timur-i has been overthrown and cast out, and a younger man now leads his murderous horde. I have seen no proof of this, nor have I discovered a convincing denial. Whatever may be
the case, from the Black Sea to Kashmir, all merchants go in fear of what Timur-i's horsemen will bring. It matters little if Timur-i is in the van or no.
For that reason I would recommend that for the next several years, you concentrate your efforts to the south and east and leave the north and west to Timur-i. I do not say this for my advantage alone, although I do acknowledge that what may be misfortune for many others would be advantageous for me. Situated as I am, I can bend my efforts to the family's benefit, so that while others are forced to risk much for an increasingly unsatisfactory return, we may profit from these unsettled times and make the most of this opportunity. I am not indifferent to the suffering of those in the path of Timur-i's fury, but I would be foolish not to see how it could work to our family's advantage. If you will send your next two caravans in my direction, I will see to it that they go to places where they may trade safely, and where they will have full value for their goods.
The caravan of Manah Spentas has not yet returned from Jajpur, but I am not yet alarmed, for the weather has been severe, and that may cause delays as much as more dire events. I will send out scouts to look for them if I do not see them in a month. Manah Spentas told me, on his way out to Jajpur, that he anticipated doing good business this time, for the merchants in Jajpur have come to trust him and are eager to see what he brings. I would recommend you marry one of your daughters to him, so that he will continue to work for our family and not be lured away by promises others might make to him. I have only two daughters and both are promised already, or I would venture to make such a marriage myself. You, as I recall, have three daughters who will need husbands. Manah Spentas is Parsi, and he comes from a family in good standing. Consider it, I ask you, for the sake of the family and of the business we do in the eastern cities. One day, you might install him as factor in Jajpur, which would be a most advantageous arrangement for us all.
The caravan of Ismalli Heitan, our rival, arrived yesterday from the south; it was well-laden and Ismalli Heitan was boasting of his achievements. I paid him little notice, but I did glean one bit of information which may prove useful to you: there has been a ruction among the brass-workers in the south, and as a result, the quality of the brasses has suffered. It may take some time before order, and
quality, has been restored. I mention this as a caution to you, for it was the one disappointment Ismalli Heitan mentioned in his otherwise fulsome chronicle of his journey.
In the fervent hope that more Light than Darkness fills your life, and that our family prospers as a result, I apologize if I have written anything that gains your displeasure, and I beg you will consider it is the plight of any man charged with the task of providing accurate information.
Azizi Iniattir
At Sirpur, seven weeks past the Summer Solstice
7
Lum tested his foot and nodded. "Yes. This is very good," he said. "The pain is completely gone and the wound is healed cleanly. Who would have thought it would take so long? Nearly nine weeks." He walked around the garden courtyard of Sanat Ji Mani's house, practicing for his return to the road. Over their heads rain pattered on the broad parchment screens that had been put in place against the weather; weak afternoon light lent a milky glow to the garden.
"Feet are slow to mend, and your infection went deep. There is a small scar," said Sanat Ji Mani, reminding the pilgrim that the incision which drained the infection would mark the place all his life.
"Better than a lost foot; or worse than that. I have realized that my injury could have killed me, and most painfully. For all that the suffering of life should not dismay those of us who follow the Buddha, I am grateful I was spared such an end," said Lum. "You have been most kind to me, although I have no claim upon you and cannot repay all you have done, in this life. Perhaps Lord Buddha will show me how to succor you in another reincarnation."
"Perhaps," said Sanat Ji Mani.
"You may rest assured that the Wheel will turn for all of us," said Lum. "I know I should not intrude upon you for another day, but—"
"I understand your concerns for the weather," said Sanat Ji Mani. "You may leave when it suits you."
"It is inappropriate for me to accept aid I do not require," said Lum a bit stiffly.
"But you will travel more safely once the rains have slacked off," Sanat Ji Mani pointed out. "They will begin to decrease in a month."
"That is too long," said Lum, a bit unhappily. "I cannot justify remaining here another month when I am capable of walking without pain."
Sanat Ji Mani said nothing for a short while, then remarked, "You are bound to the south, are you not? where the rains linger longer than they do here in Delhi. If you wait even three weeks, the worst of the weather should be over, and you will not have to fear flooding, or mired roads."
"I fear nothing of the hazards of the world," Lum said piously.
"You believed that with your foot, and you see how well it served you," Sanat Ji Mani responded, smiling to take the sting out of his words.
Lum bit back a sharp rejoinder. "I have no right to question you, after all you have done for me. Yet I hope you do not think poorly of my devotion to the Buddha."
"Quite the contrary," said Sanat Ji Mani. "You have shown a devotion that is most unusual in religious men: few of them would have walked so far with an infection raging in them to show how little the world could touch them." He looked about the courtyard at the lush plants. "You say you do not wish to remain because you are capable of leaving. I have no doubt there is work you can do here— you could help tend the garden, if you would like something to justify remaining until the summer rains are over."
"It is not suitable that I should," said Lum with a hint of regret in his voice. "I should take my begging-bowl and my staff, and be on my way."
"Whatever you wish," said Sanat Ji Mani. "You are healed and you have your wits about you. No doubt you will know what suits you best."
"It would be an easy thing to become accustomed to luxury," said Lum. "The Buddha warned against it, specifically. I did not compre
hend the reason for His strictures until I came to your house, and learned for myself how insidious ease can be, and how readily one can be seduced by it, even while enduring pain." He sat down on the small stone bench in the corner of the courtyard. "As there can be a too-great attachment to the body, so there can be a too-great attachment to comfort, and that will pollute the spirit of the most devout."
"Lord Buddha was a Prince," Sanat Ji Mani said.
"So He was. He knew the snares He taught." Lum took a deep breath. "I will pray for you, but I cannot remain here. Rain or clear, I will depart in the morning at dawn, bound southward."
"Then I will wish you safe travel and pleasant companions on the road," said Sanat Ji Mani, putting his hands together and inclining his head.
Lum returned the courtesy automatically, but said, "I cannot make up my mind: you are either the most generous of worldly men, or you are the most accomplished seducer."
Sanat Ji Mani's smile was fleeting. "Perhaps I am both," he said.
"I doubt it," said Lum, and turned to leave the courtyard.
"Lum," Sanat Ji Mani said, stopping the red-haired Chinese in his tracks. "I am going to prepare a packet for you, containing medicinal supplies for you to take with you. You may need it."
"I must not accept such things for myself," said Lum.
"Then use it for the relief of others," Sanat Ji Mani said gently before turning away and giving his attention to the boxes of aloes that stood at the end of his courtyard garden. He was still tending his plants when Rojire came upon him toward day's end.
"Lum has announced he is leaving," said Rojire in the Latin of his youth as he came up to his master and bowed, Roman-style.
