A while later the steward came to the study. "He is gone, Lady."
"Yes," she said, nodding.
"He took two lentil-cakes and a round of onion-nan made yesterday; nothing but bread, and none of it fresh-made. He would not have any meat or cheese." The steward was at a loss to know what more information he should provide. "I offered him raisins and cucumbers, but he refused."
"Yes," she said quietly.
"He took water from the fountain; he would accept nothing more." The steward rubbed his hands in distress, as if he thought he should have done more.
"Yes," she said, as if to soothe him. "I know."
"Shall we ever see him again?" the steward implored.
"If his Lord Buddha wills," she replied, and thought she had better burn incense to Ganesh tonight, and— in case Ganesh was too worldly a god— to Varuna and Vishnu in the morning, in case Lord Buddha should fail Nararavi on his travels.
"What will the Sultan's Deputy say?" the steward exclaimed, plainly with some idea in mind what that might be.
"What can he say? The terms were set out and agreed to four years ago and nothing has changed." She was becoming impatient with the man, and did not want to share his apprehension. "Adri, we will do all that we must, and trust to the gods that my husband will remain safe as he goes about the world."
"But Timur-i—" Adri said, and broke off.
"Timur-i will not bother himself with a lone mendicant Buddhist," said Avasa Dani, hoping it was so.
"He may not," said Adri as if he was certain of catastrophe. "But where Timur-i has been, devastation remains, and there are no alms to be had."
Avasa Devi held up her hand. "Adri: no more. It is beyond any help of mine but prayer. My husband has chosen his path, and we are bound to honor it. You have nothing to fear, for you, and the rest of the household, are provided for. Whether he returns or not, you will not be put out into the streets to beg and you will not have to give up your religion in order to be employed." She pointed to the door. "I am sure everyone is in an uproar. You are to reassure them. And see that is what you do, not raise new fears in their breasts."
"But it is very dreadful—" Adri began.
"You're not to say that. You may think that, but you will keep it to yourself." She stared at him until he looked away from her. "If the household wishes to keep a fast on Nararavi's behalf, they may do so tomorrow. Tell Chol he need not prepare a meal until sundown."
Adri scowled. "Not all will be satisfied, Lady."
"Perhaps not," said Avasa Dani, "but it is enough for now." She started to leave the room, then said, "Sanat Ji Mani has given the Sultan's Deputy enough money to pay all of you your living for more than ten years, in accordance with his agreement with my husband. He has done that for all the household, beyond the monies my husband set aside for all of you; none of you will starve, whether or not my husband returns. Tell them that, and they will be less worried."
"You do not think they are worried because of money, do you?" Adri said with feeling.
"I think it is a good part of your fears, yes," said Avasa Dani calmly. "You would not be provident if you did not think of such things. The world is more filled with beggars, who yearn for the gifts of the world than with mendicants, who have turned away from them."
"It may be so," Adri said, not willing to make a concession on this point. "And some will find it reassuring to know that they have been provided for."
"Very good," said Avasa Dani, feeling suddenly very tired although the night was young. "Now leave me. You have what you came for."
Adri bristled. "I was not merely seeking—"
"I know," she said, cutting him short. "Were my husband here, you would not have to speak to me at all. I have no father or brother or uncle to stand in his place, and Sanat Ji Mani is a foreigner. You had reason to be concerned." She had a sudden, baffling impulse to weep, but she kept her emotions in check; she would not behave so poorly before a servant, not even one she had known as long as Adri.
"The household is… irregular," said Adri, willing to grant that much.
"Yes. And my husband is aware of it. If he is not troubled by that, you should not be." She motioned him away from her and stood still while the steward obeyed her, leaving her alone with her lamp in the dark corridor.
* * *
Text of a letter from the manservant Rojire to the spice-merchant Tas Sarnga.
* * *
To the most excellent merchant Tas Sarnga who has long sold spices and other rare plants, woods, and medicinal substances in the city of
Delhi, this order given on behalf of my master, the distinguished foreigner Sanat Ji Mani, who lives in the Foreigners' Quarter near the North-Eastern Gate. This brings with it six measures of gold and two of silver, in fulfillment of our agreement.
Ten vials of lotus-oil
Ten vials of quicksilver
Ten measures of myrrh, powdered
Twelve measures of camphor-gum
Twelve measures of musk-flowers, powdered
Fifteen measures of longevity root, dried
Sixteen measures of bellweed, dried
Sixteen measures of thirst berries, dried
Sixteen measures of black-flower, dried
Eighteen measures of cured century-dung, powdered
Eighteen measures of flax-seed oil
Eighteen measures of saffron
Eighteen haws
Twenty measures of hemlock
Twenty measures of pheasants' eggs, dried and powdered
Twenty measures of milkweed thistle, dried
Twenty measures of cardamom seed
Twenty measures of rose-hips, dried
Twenty measures of willow-bark
Twenty measures of royal-face, stems and flowers, dried
Twenty-one tamarind pods
Twenty-two measures of beggars-cowl, dried
Twenty-five measures of poppy syrup
Twenty-five measures of grain-pod, powdered
Twenty-five measures of juniper berries
Twenty-five measures of spider-breath preserved in honey
Thirty large hands of ginger
Thirty measures of ease-root, preserved
Thirty measures of tiger-spike, dried and powdered
Thirty measures of syrup of aloe
Thirty measures of spirits of grape wine
Thirty measures of olive oil
Have these delivered to my master's house at the end of the Street of the Brass Lanterns, and you will receive another token for your service
Rojire
2
Prostrated before his sacred lamp, Rustam Iniattir prayed to Ormazd to keep him safe through the night that had just fallen. A Parsi, and a follower of Zarathustra, he was keenly aware of being alone in a strange country, one of a small community of Parsi living among those who did not share his language or his faith, his ties to Persia stretched to the breaking-point, in a place that was increasingly dangerous. He tried to think of his family, of his wife and four children, but when he did, panic began to rise in him and he was unable to keep his mind on his rite.
"What is it that comes out of darkness, but Ahriman, and all that is given to evil?"
he asked ritualistically, and made reverence to the lamp again.
"O you Soul of Light, guard me from the perils of darkness, lest I am lost."
He looked up, hoping to see the little flame brighten as a sign his prayers had been heard, but instead he saw it waver as a door was opened somewhere in the cave-like shrine. Iniattir rose to his knees, shivering from what he told himself was cold.
"Rustam Iniattir," said a pleasant voice behind him; he had to be inside the shrine, for his words echoed hollowly and made it difficult for Rustam Iniattir to locate this intruder who was beyond the reach of the half-dozen lamps hung around the disk of the altar.
Terrified, the Parsi turned, almost stumbling as he rose to his feet.
"O Ormazd, give me your beams of light for swords, and your brilliance to put the manifestation of Ahriman to flight. Guard me with your luminous presence."
"And bear me to your realm where darkness is banished forever,"
said the voice, finishing the prayer and surprising Iniattir almost into silence; he went on in the old Persian tongue, "I mean you no harm;
you have nothing to fear from me." The voice was mellifluous, reassuring, in an accent that Rustam Iniattir could not quiet identify; his pledges were accompanied by the purposeful sound of his boots on the stone floor, augmented by echoes, as he approached Rustam Iniattir.
"So we are told evil always promises us," Rustam Iniattir muttered, his hand going to the hilt of his dagger.
"As do those with beneficent intentions as well." The stranger spoke calmly, as if to quiet a startled child.
"If that is your purpose, why do you come at night? This is a time of Ahriman." Stating his apprehension so plainly made Rustam Iniattir clench his teeth.
"Do you think evil would dare to enter this shrine, even at night?" the voice inquired lightly. "You have said this is your sanctuary. You have made this a place of Light."
"And so it is," said Rustam Iniattir, trying to convince himself that the shrine was strong enough to protect him.
"Not everything abroad at night is of Ahriman's nature," said the voice, and finally its man of origin came into the circle of light.
Rustam Iniattir stared at the man. "Who are you?" he demanded. "I do not know you. You are not one of us."
"No, I am not," said the stranger, then added cordially, "I am called Sanat Ji Mani, at present."
"Is it your name?" Rustam Iniattir demanded, relieved that the face, illuminated by the lamps, was human— the features were Western: having the look of middle years, with dark hair, slightly curling, a wide brow, nose not quite straight, and eyes that were deep as the sea and dark as a starless night— and his manner respectful.
"It is close enough," said Sanat Ji Mani. He took a step closer and revealed himself; he was somewhat taller than Rustam Iniattir, dressed in a loose kandys of heavy black silk, with neat boots of red-tooled leather rising to his calves. He carried no weapons, and his only ornament was a small fibula of a silver-winged black disk worn at the neck of his garment. Simple though his clothing was, it was clearly of the highest quality.
"What are you doing here?" Rustam Iniattir made himself ask.
"I came to find you," said Sanat Ji Mani, as if the answer were obvious.
"For what reason?" Rustam Iniattir felt suddenly bold.
"Because I hope you and I might work together," said Sanat Ji Mani. He made a deep, reverential bow to the circular altar. "This may not be the place to talk of such matters, but I hope you will not refuse to deal with me because I sought you out in this shrine."
Reassured, Rustam Iniattir regarded Sanat Ji Mani with interest. "Why do you say this? You came here; it was your decision to come here."
"Yes, so you would know I am seeking you out in good faith. In another place, you might dismiss me, but here, you may be willing to hear me out." He had a quick smile that was gone before Rustam Iniattir was certain he had seen it.
"You have shown you understand my ways, at least a little. As to the rest, we shall see," said Rustam Iniattir, his manner more forceful than before. "Tell me what you want me to hear and then leave me to finish my devotions."
"Of course; I did not intend to disturb you, but I could think of no other means of meeting with you that would not put one of us at a disadvantage," said Sanat Ji Mani, and took a moment to be silent before saying anything more to Rustam Iniattir. "I have no desire to offend you, but I must tell you I have learned something of your business dealings."
Rustam Iniattir blinked at the effrontery. "How could you have done this? And why?"
"Your associates were willing to part with information in exchange for gold and silver," said Sanat Ji Mani without apology. "I am sorry I had to resort to such methods, for it may distress you and your business partners, but I am concerned that there may not be enough time to approach you through more usual channels, you and I being foreigners in Delhi, and our opportunities restricted on that account."
"There is much in what you say," Rustam Iniattir allowed neutrally, reserving judgment.
"Also, I have in the past dealt with one of your people, and he has disposed me kindly to you," Sanat Ji Mani said, remembering Kozrozd and his True Death in the Roman arena, more than thirteen centuries ago.
