The Indian turned and gestured quickly across the maidan, the square, toward the large windowless stone building that sat on the water's edge opposite the fortress. Hawksworth looked at the cluster of armed guards and realized this must be the mint. This was the building, he now remembered Karim telling him, where foreign money was "exchanged." All foreign coins, even Spanish rials of eight, were required to be melted down and reminted into rupees before they could be used for purchase. Supposedly a protection against counterfeit or base coin, this requirement produced months of delay. The Shahbandar gave only one alternative to traders in a hurry: borrow ready-made rupees at exorbitant interest. "After he has authorized the beginning of today's work at the mint, he will verify the seal on the door of the customs house"--he pointed to the squat building adjoining their lodge--"and open it for today. All goods must be taxed and receive his _chapp _or seal before they can enter or leave India." The men had begun to stir, and Hawksworth turned to translate. The English assembled warily, and the air came alive with an almost palpable apprehension as Hawksworth led them into the bustling square. "We must wait." The tall Indian suddenly paused near the center of the maidan, just as a group of guards emerged from the mint. Each wore a heavy sword, and they were escorting a large closed palanquin carried on the shoulders of four bearers dressed only in white skirts folded about their waist. The guards cleared a path through the crowd of merchants, and made their way slowly to the door of the customs house. The crowd surged in behind them, blocking the view, but moments later the tall doors of the customs house were seen to swing open, and the crowd funneled in, behind the palanquin and the guards. Then the Indian motioned for them to follow. The interior of the customs house smelled of sweat, mingled with spice and the dusty fragrance of indigo. As oil lamps were lighted and attached to the side walls, the milling crowd grew visible. Through the semi-dark porters were already bearing the English goods in from the _maidan_ and piling them in one of the allotted stalls. The tall guide turned to Hawksworth. "You and all your men must now be searched, here in the counting room." "I'll not allow it." Hawksworth motioned the English back. "I told you I demand to see the Shahbandar." "He'll receive you when he will. He has not granted an audience." "Then we'll not be searched. Tell him that. Now." The Indian paused for a moment, then reluctantly turned and made his way toward a door at the rear of the large room. Elkington pressed forward, his face strained. "Tell the bleedin' heathen we're English. We'll not be treated like this rabble." He motioned around the room, a bedlam of Arab, Persian, and Indian traders who eyed the English warily as they shouted for the attention of customs inspectors and competed to bribe porters.