Karim studied Hawksworth in silence, fingering his jeweled earring in thought as he recalled the morning's battle. Two small English merchant frigates had prevailed over four Portuguese warships, galleons. Never before, he told himself, have the Portuguese been humiliated before our eyes. Pigeons must already be winging word of this incredible encounter to Agra. Separately, no doubt, to the Moghul and to the queen. But Queen Janahara will know first. As always. And she will know her Portuguese profits are no longer secure. And what about Prince Jadar? Yes, the prince will already have heard, hours ago. What will Prince Jadar decide to do? That's the most important question now. "Just tell me about the navigation of the river," Hawksworth continued unable to decipher Karim's distant expression. "How long will it take for our pinnace to reach Surat? We cast off at sunset." "The tide will be running in tonight, and that will aid your oarsmen." Karim instantly became businesslike. "There will also be a night breeze off the sea. But the Portuguese have no authority on our river. Once you are inland you are under the rule of the governor of Surat. . . . and, of course, Prince Jadar, whom the Moghul has appointed to administrate this province." Hawksworth heard the first bell and walked to the stern windows to monitor the slant of the dying sun and to inhale the fresh evening air. Then he wheeled and examined Karim, the pilot's face shadowed in the half light. "And who are these officials? This governor and prince?" Karim smiled and carefully secured the fold of his turban. "The governor administers the port of Surat. He collects trading duties of the Moghul's court in Agra. Prince Jadar is the son of the Moghul and the military ruler of Gujarat, this province." "Then who will I meet in Surat?" Hawksworth groped for a pattern. "The governor or the prince?" Again Karim paused, wondering how much to tell, before continuing evenly, "Neither of these need concern you now. The first official you must satisfy will be the Shahbandar, what the Moghuls call the _mutasaddi_. The Shahbandar controls the customs house, the portal for all who would enter the Moghul's domain. His power over the port is absolute." Hawksworth slapped one of the bronze cannon to punctuate his dismay. In India also! Good Jesus, every Muslin port in the world must have this same petty official. I've heard that Shahbandar is Persian for "Lord of the Haven," and if that's true the office is named perfectly. Every one I've known has had the right to refuse entry to anyone, at his whim, if bribes are insufficient and no more powerful official intervenes. "Who does the Shahbandar here answer to? The governor? The prince? The Moghul himself? Or somebody _else _you haven't told me about yet?" Hawksworth tried to push back his rising anxiety.