"They are being cleaned today, Sahib. You may have them again when you wish. But you may prefer to wear our garments while our guest." The turbaned man bowed again, then he moved away and held a long mirror for Hawksworth to examine himself. "Have we pleased you, Sahib?" Hawksworth scarcely recognized himself. He had been transformed from a rank but honest seaman into a Moghul noble--youthful, smooth-skinned, smelling of spice. The soreness was banished from his limbs, and even his wound had all but disappeared. His hair was clean and completely dark, and his skin glowed. And his new clothes were more elaborate than anything he had ever worn. "Now if you will please follow us to the garden. Khan Sahib has suggested you begin your day with some _tari _wine." Hawksworth followed the men through the shuttered doorway into the open courtyard. The morning sun now illuminated the tops of a large grove of palm trees that circled an open cistern. He quickly surveyed the buildings, hoping to gain his bearings. So I've been quartered in one of the side buildings, off the main palace. But there are many, many rooms. Who's living here? A group of servants stood waiting at the base of one of the palms. When they saw Hawksworth, they mobilized to action. One young man among them, wearing a white wrap around his lower torso, immediately secured his belt and began to shimmy up the leaning palm. When he reached the top he locked his legs around the trunk and carefully detached an earthen pot that hung beneath an incision in the bark of the tree. Balancing the pot in one hand, he stretched and nimbly pulled off a number of leaves from the tree and then lowered himself carrying his load. The moment his feet touched ground he raced toward the veranda and delivered the pot and leaves to a waiting eunuch. Hawksworth watched as the eunuchs first inspected the items and then ordered them prepared. The leaves were washed thoroughly with water from the cistern and then folded into natural cups. The liquor from the pot was strained through muslin into a crystal decanter and the earthen receptacle discarded. Then one of the turbaned servants poured a large portion of the liquor from the decanter into a palm-leaf cup and offered it to Hawksworth. "It's _tari _wine, Sahib. One of the pleasures of early morning in India." His matter-of-fact manner could not entirely hide his pride. "Palm wine makes itself overnight. It does not last out the day. When the sun shines the trees only give off vinegar." Hawksworth gingerly sipped the newly fermented palm sap and was pleasantly surprised by its light flavor, totally unlike ale, or even Canary wine. After the third cup, the world around began to acquire a light sparkle of its own, and he realized the sap was more potent than it seemed. "Not a bad way to start the day. What do you call it?" "It comes from the _tari _palm, and some _topiwallahs _call it Toddy.'" "Toddy, it's called? It's more than passable grog."