"Your Majesty." He quickly moved between Arangbar and Kamala, who stood motionless. "The paintings have arrived. I'm ready for my horse. Let the English ambassador see them now." Arangbar looked up in confusion, his eyes half closed from the opium. Then he saw the painters and remembered. "Bring them in." Suddenly his alertness seemed to return. "I want to see five Inglish kings." The paintings were brought to the foot of Arangbar's dais, and he inspected them drunkenly, but with obvious satisfaction. "Ambassador Inglish. Have a look." Arangbar called toward the hushed shadows of the seated guests. A path immediately cleared among the bolsters, as hookahs were pushed aside, wineglasses seized. Hawksworth walked unsteadily forward, his mind still stunned by the imminent death sentence waiting for the woman. As he passed her, he sensed her powerful presence and inhaled her musky perfume. There was no hint of fear in her eyes as she stood waiting, statuesque and defiant. By the time he reached the throne, eunuchs were waiting with candles, one on each side of the board, bathing it in flickering light. On it was a line of five English miniatures of King James, each approximately an inch square. Good Jesus, they're identical. Am I so drunk I can't tell a painting of King James? He looked up shakily at Arangbar, whose smile was a gloat. "Well, Ambassador Inglish. What say you? Are the painters of my school equal to any your king has?" "One moment, Majesty. Until my eyes adjust." Hawksworth grasped one edge of the board to steady himself. Behind him there were murmurs of delight and he caught the word "_feringhi_." As he walked along the board, studying each painting in turn, he suddenly noticed that the reflection of the candlelight was different for one. The paint is still wet on the new portraits. That's the difference. Or is it? Are my eyes playing tricks? Damn me for letting Nadir Sharif fill my wineglass every chance he had. "Come, Ambassador Inglish. We do not have all night." Arangbar's voice was brimming with triumph. Hawksworth studied the paintings more closely. Yes, there's a slight difference. The colors on the one painting are slightly different. Duller. They didn't use varnish. And there are fewer shadows. Theirs are more two-dimensional. "I'm astounded, Your Majesty. But I believe this is the one by Isaac Oliver." Hawksworth pointed to the painting second from the right end. "Let me see them again." Arangbar's voice was a husky slur. "I will tell if you have guessed correctly." The board was handed up. Arangbar glanced at the paintings for only an instant. "You have guessed right, Ambassador Inglish. And I realize how you did it. The light from the candles." "The portraits are identical, Your Majesty. I confess it." "So we have won our point. And you won the wager, Inglish. Still, you won only because of my haste. Tomorrow you would not have known. Do you admit it?"