"One thing more, Captain." Karim pressed a hand against Hawksworth's arm, holding him back. "One thing more I will tell you. Many _feringhi_, foreigners, who come to India are very unwise. Because our women keep the veil, and dwell indoors, foreigners assume they have no power, no influence. Do not act as other foolish _feringhi _and make this mistake. In Surat . . ." "What women do you mean? The wives of officials?" "Please, listen. When you reach Surat, remember one last admonition from the Quran. There it is written, 'As for women from whom you fear rebellion, admonish them and banish them to beds apart.' But sometimes a woman too can be strong-willed. She can be the one who banishes her husband, denying him his rights. If she is important, there is nothing he can do. Remember. . ." "Damn it to hell," Elkington's voice roared again, "I'm not likin' these moonlight ventures. Tis full risk aplenty when you can see who's holdin' a knife to your throat. But if we're goin', I say let's be done with it and have off." Hawksworth turned back to Karim, but he was gone, swinging himself lightly over the side of the _Discovery _and into the pinnace. Across the moonlight-drenched swells the _Resolve_ lay quiet, her stern lantern reassuringly aglow, ready to hoist sail for the cove. And on the _Discovery_ seamen were at station, poised to follow. Hawksworth looked once more toward the abandoned shore, troubled, and then dropped quickly down the side into the pinnace. There was no sound now, only the cadence of the boards as the _Discovery's _anchor chain argued against the tide. And then a dull thud as the mooring line dropped onto the floor planking of the pinnace. Hawksworth ordered Mackintosh to row with the tide until they reached the shelter of the river mouth, and then to ship the oars and hoist sail if the breeze held. He had picked the ablest men as oarsmen, those not wounded and least touched by scurvy, and next to each lay a heavy cutlass. He watched Mackintosh in admiration as the quartermaster effortlessly maneuvered the tiller with one hand and directed the oarsmen with the other. The moon was even more alive now, glinting off the Scotsman's red hair. As the hypnotic rhythm of the oars lulled Hawksworth's mind, he felt a growing tiredness begin to beg at his senses. Against his will he started to drift, to follow the moonlight's dancing, prismatic tinge on the moving crest of waves. And to puzzle over what lay ahead. Half-dozing, he found his thoughts drawn to the Shahbandar who waited in Surat, almost like a gatekeeper who held the keys to India. He mulled Karim's words again, the hints of what would unlock that doorway, and slowly his waking mind drifted out of reach. He passed unknowing into that dreamlike state where deepest truth so often lies waiting, unknown to rationality. And there, somehow, the pilot's words made perfect sense . . .