Without further ceremony, Arangbar turned and spoke to Zainul Beg. The old _wazir _beckoned two eunuchs forward and passed an order. There were shouts, and torches were lighted in the upper balcony of the hall. Then, as Hawksworth watched in amazement, the tapestries at the far end of the hall were drawn away, opening the pavilion to the riverfront. Arangbar and Janahara revolved on their cushions to face the water, which was now a sea of floating candles and lamps. The guests surged forward toward the opening, and as Hawksworth passed near the royal dais, Arangbar's voice cut through the din. "Inglish, come and join us. There will be no henna on your fingers tonight." He gestured toward the carpet near his feet. "Sit here. I would have your opinion of this." "Thank you, Your Majesty." Hawksworth sensed that Arangbar was already partly drunk. "What will happen now?" "Just more tradition, Inglish, but the part I always enjoy most." He pointed toward the river, where servants were carrying torches in the direction of three decorated wheels, each several feet across, mounted atop what appeared to be small-gauge cannon. "Tell me if your king has anything to equal this." As he spoke the servants touched the torches to the center of each wheel. Lines of burning sulfur traced their spokes, then ignited the squibs attached around their perimeter. At that instant, other servants stepped forward and thrust a burning taper to the touchhole of each cannon. The cannon spewed flame, lofting the wheels upward over the river. They suddenly began to rotate, creating a whirling circle of colored flame tips in the night sky. Just as they reached the top of their trajectory, they began to explode one by one, showering sparks and fire across the face of the Jamuna. The turbaned crowd scarcely had time to exclaim its delight before a blue flame suddenly appeared from behind where the wheels had been, illuminating the palace walls in a shimmering, ghostly light. As it grew, Hawksworth realized it was an artificial tree whose branches were saturated with black powder and brimstone. Next more flames spewed from the tops of five towers that had been erected near the riverfront. There were sharp reports, as though a musket had been fired, and dense streaks of red billowed into the sky. All around powder pots began to explode, hurtling lightning, dazzling white with camphor, and writhing serpents of flame into the smoky night air. "Well, Inglish, what do you think?' Arangbar turned to Hawksworth with a delighted smile. "Have you ever seen anything to compare?"