This was gracious enough to reassure the others that this was not going to be a trial, nor was it to be as unpleasant as Hirsuma's departure had been. Many of the men visibly relaxed, and sat back, anticipating an interesting evening.
"I will not leave," Bohdil, the head groom, announced, breaking the anticipatory silence.
"Thank you for that," said Sanat Ji Mani. "I would not like to have to tend to all the horses and the goat by myself." His smile flashed again, and eased the men's minds further.
"I should like to leave," said the kitchen supervisor, who bought all the food and kept track of its use. "My family wishes to depart for Baran; my mother is from there, and we believe it may be safer there."
"I will see you have your pay at first light tomorrow. You may leave before the end of the day," said Sanat Ji Mani, adding carefully, "As your final task, I would like to have your kitchen inventory before you go, so the work may be taken up by another. I am certain you have kept excellent records, and that bringing them up-to-date will not be an onerous duty."
"Certainly," said the kitchen supervisor, relieved that this went so well. "I will present a catalogue of all supplies and foodstuffs in the kitchen before I leave. Is this to include the crock of moldy bread?"
"Yes, it is," said Sanat Ji Mani, who used the moldy bread to make his sovereign remedy for fevers and infections. "You need not do it this instant. So long as I have it before you go, I will be satisfied."
"I will stay," said the bedroom steward, a slim young man named Dapas. "I am glad to stay."
"Thank you," said Sanat Ji Mani, looking up in time to see the cook arrive with the evening meal.
"I will go," said the cook. "But my assistant, Shudra, will remain." He indicated this youth, coming behind him with a large basket filled with a variety of fried breads. "You will not need to find another to make your meals. He will do well enough." With that, he sat down and prepared to eat.
"As you wish," said Sanat Ji Mani, then looked at Mukhi, the carpenter.
"I will stay, at least until the dark of the year passes," he said. "I may go then, but not now."
"I appreciate your dedication to my house," Sanat Ji Mani told him carefully, and waited to hear what was said next.
In the end, Sanat Ji Mani was left with five servants to staff his house: a steward, a cook, a groom, a carpenter, and a messenger. He
paid the rest, and provided each a bonus for his service, and allowed three days for those leaving to pack their belongings and depart.
Dapas, who at sixteen now found himself steward of the household, took Sanat Ji Mani aside the following morning after wages had been paid, saying, "I am told that this house is watched."
"I am not surprised," said Sanat Ji Mani. "I became aware of it some months ago, and given the current state of affairs in Delhi, I suppose it is to be expected."
Somewhat nonplussed by this response, Dapas did what he could to recover his dignity. "I thought you should know that I am aware of it, too."
"Yes," said Sanat Ji Mani. "Very good. I am pleased that you are attentive."
Relieved to hear this, Dapas went on, "What would you like me to do about it?"
"Why, nothing," said Sanat Ji Mani. "That would only lead to more surveillance and increased suspicion, and in these times, such attention is dangerous. If you want to keep an eye on the man who watches this house, I would not object, providing it does not interfere with your other duties."
Dapas nodded a bit stiffly. "I will do. I will report what I see to you before the evening meal."
"Thank you," said Sanat Ji Mani, wondering how many of his departing servants would talk to the emaciated man who had been observing the house for many months.
"I will tell the other four to have nothing to do with him," Dapas said, as if sensing Sanat Ji Mani's concerns.
"That would be appreciated," said Sanat Ji Mani, deliberately obliquely. "I know you are prepared to do more, but in this case, it is not necessary."
"As you say," Dapas murmured, touching his hands together and bowing.
"I am going to my quarters to rest," Sanat Ji Mani said. "I will rise in the afternoon and bathe. Have the bath ready for mid-afternoon. I will call you when I am ready."
"Very good, my master," said Dapas, bowing again.
"And, if you will, send Nayakar to me," Sanat Ji Mani added. "I have a message for him to carry to the nephew of Rustam Iniattir."
"At once, my master," Dapas assured him as he left the study.
Nayakar appeared so promptly that Sanat Ji Mani supposed he must have been listening at the door. "What do you want me to do, my master?" he asked, bowing over his hands. He was aware of his advancement within the household and clearly intended to make the most of it; his self-satisfaction colored his whole demeanor.
"I am going to write a note. I would like you to carry it to the house of Rustam Iniattir and give it into the hands of his nephew— no one else." He took a sheet of vellum and a trimmed quill pen, pulled the ink-cake from its drawer, poured water on it, ground it until there was a pool of black in the shallow well, dipped the quill into it, and began to write.
"Am I to bring a reply?" Nayakar asked.
"No. Only see Zal and put the letter into his hands," said Sanat Ji Mani, sounding a bit remote as he continued to write.
"Shall I deliver any other message? Is there some additional news you wish me to impart?" Nayakar's eagerness reminded Sanat Ji Mani of an unridden colt.
"No; delivering the letter to him will be sufficient, thank you," said Sanat Ji Mani, hoping to curb some of Nayakar's enthusiasm. "It is a simple task."
"As you wish; I will take the message to Zal Iniattir, and no other," said Nayakar. "Am I to return directly, or are there other errands you wish me to perform for you?"
"Come back as soon as you are done," said Sanat Ji Mani, reading over the page, then sanding it before he rolled it and secured it with a band of silk.
"As you wish, my master," said Nayakar, taking the vellum into his hands.
"Nayakar," Sanat Ji Mani asked in an off-handed way, "Can you read?"
"A few words, my master, no more," he said. "Rice. Street. Cost. Delhi. Father. Truth. Caste." He ticked off his list with pride.
"Still, better than most," said Sanat Ji Mani. "Thank you for telling me."
"I know the banners of most of the shop-keepers," Nayakar added. "You may send me to any of them if you need goods purchased."
"Excellent," Sanat Ji Mani approved. "I will keep that in mind." He motioned Nayakar away. "You may leave now. I believe you will find Zal Iniattir at his uncle's home; he has moved his wives and children there since Rustam Iniattir departed. If he is not there, ask his steward where he has gone, seek him out wherever he may be, and give this to him."
"As you wish, my master," said Nayakar, and withdrew from the study. He went through the house holding the rolled vellum as conspicuously as possible, wishing that more of the few remaining servants could see him in his newly exalted role. At the side-door, he said to Dapas, "I am bidden to take this to Zal Iniattir, and to return at once."
"Then be off with you; use the clapper when you return," said Dapas, not willing to be impressed by Nayakar's boasting. He held the door open, and closed it as soon as the young man stepped out. "Do not be laggard in your work; do as you have been instructed— nothing more and nothing less." He peered out the slit in the door to see if Nayakar went the right direction on the Street of Brass Lanterns and was relieved as he watched the young messenger turn and go toward the shortest route to Rustam Iniattir's house. Satisfied, he stepped back from the door and went to report to Sanat Ji Mani that Nayakar was on his way. Had he continued to watch he might not have been so pleased, for as Nayakar reached the corner, a scrawny man in a loincloth and shawl stepped out of the shadows.
"So you are leaving, too," Josha Dar said in what he hoped was an encouraging tone.
"For a short while. I have this message to carry to the house of Iniattir," Nayakar declared, not quite bragging, but showing off nonetheless.
"You are not leaving the household?" Josha Dar asked in a tone of astonishment.
"Of course not. I am not afraid of Timur-i, or his ghost." Nayakar smoothed the front of his clothing, doing his best to present a good appearance.
"Very commendable," said Josha Dar. "Would more persons in Delhi were as brave as you."
"Only a fool would be frightened. Look at the Sultan's army. How can a pack of wild horsemen stand against archers and war elephants?" He grinned. "We shall see the end of Timur-i if he should be foolish enough to come here. Then the ones who have left the city will be chagrined, for they will see their cowardice for what it is. Even the Sultan will know he should have remained here. Those of us who are loyal to Delhi must stand by the city now, or be disgraced."
"Fine sentiments," said Josha Dar, falling into step beside Nayakar. "I do not mean to keep you from your duties, but you impress me with your convictions."
"You are good to say so," Nayakar told him, accepting this praise with an inner sense of vindication that made him smile a little.
"Most of your comrades in the foreigner's house did not have the same faith you do," Josha Dar prompted, hoping to learn more.
Nayakar did not need much encouragement. "I am ashamed of many of them. It is one thing when a family decides they all must go, but only a few had that excuse— most of them were just frightened, and they let themselves be ruled by their fright. It is not as if they were driven off by abuse, or want. They have been treated well by Sanat Ji Mani, who is a most generous and worthy man, for all he is a foreigner, and they still left without hesitation." He spat. "Cowards and unbelievers, all of them."
"But you have remained," Josha Dar said approvingly.
"And four others." Nayakar smiled. "Sanat Ji Mani has given each of us two pieces of gold for staying with him. That is something the others have forfeited." He reached the next corner and turned right. "Iniattir lives in this street."
"The Parsi?" said Josha Dar as if unfamiliar with the name.
"Yes. My master has done business with the uncle and now sends word to the nephew." He held up the vellum once again. "The Parsi are strange folk, but my foreign master is not troubled by them."
"Perhaps their foreign ways are similar," said Josha Dar, who knew this was not so. "They may find understanding, one with the other."
"I do not know," said Nayakar. "Sanat Ji Mani is not of the Parsi: he comes from a much more distant place, called the Land Across the Forest."
"An odd name," said Josha Dar, shrugging even as he rejoiced inwardly at this tidbit of information that should please Firuz Ihbal bin Tughluq.
"It is of the West," said Nayakar, as if that explained everything. "In their tongue, it is Transylvania."
"Transylvania," Josha Dar repeated, tasting the word.
"He is known as a great healer there," Nayakar went on as he approached the side-door of Rustam Iniattir's house.
"He has healed the sick here, I have heard," Josha Dar said, and realized he had gone too far, for Nayakar turned toward him, his eyes alive with misgiving. Hoping to repair the damage his remark had done, he added, "It was gossip in the market for many days when he healed the foreign pilgrim's foot." Looking at the young messenger, Josha Dar saw he had made matters worse, not better.
"You have been spying on my master," said Nayakar firmly. "You are one of those who seek to harm him."
"No," said Josha Dar. "Nothing of the sort. He is interesting. All foreigners are interesting." He could hear the desperation in his voice but was powerless to stop it.
"Tell me, how long have you been watching my master, and for whom?" Nayakar demanded, his skin darkening as indignation mounted in him.
"I have not watched him," Josha Dar protested, holding up his hands to show his innocence. "I have done nothing that deserves your scorn."
"Hah!" Nayakar exclaimed. "You may have fooled me at first, but I comprehend now what you are doing, and I am ready to hold you accountable. I will tell my master what I have seen, and what you asked, and then we will find out what will happen next." He tried to make this sound as threatening as possible, for he was beginning to be frightened.
"You misunderstand me, young man," said Josha Dar. "I mean nothing to your master's discredit. If you would only believe that."
"How can I, when you have—" He stopped talking, made a gesture of disgust, and approached the side-door of the Parsi's house. "Be off with you," he shouted over his shoulder, and could not help but look to see if Josha Dar obeyed him.
The steward who opened the door looked harried; he heard Nayakar's errand and informed him that Zal Iniattir was at the storehouse on the Street of Foreign Merchants. "You will know it by the white crane on the banner. My master will receive you there."
