As he approached, Hawksworth studied his face carefully. He was pudgy but still athletic, with a short, well-trimmed moustache and a tightly wound turban secured with a large red stone that looked like a ruby. He carried himself erect, with a confidence only full vigor could impart, yet his face was incongruously debauched, almost ravaged, and his eyes deeply weary. There was no hint of either triumph or pleasure in those eyes or in his languorous mouth, although he had just executed a sensational block of an almost certain score. He reined his wheezing mount only when directly in front of Hawksworth, sending up a cloud of dust. "Are you the English captain?" The voice was loud, with an impatient tone indicating long years of authority. "I command the frigates of the East India Company." Hawksworth tried to keep his gaze steady. What sort of man can this be, he asked himself? Is this the one who can demand the Shahbandar's signature and seal whenever he wishes? "Then I welcome you, Captain." The dark stallion reared suddenly for no apparent reason, in a display of exuberance. The man expertly reined him in, never removing his gaze from Hawksworth, and continued in an even voice. "I've been most eager to meet the man who is suddenly so interesting to our Portuguese friends. Although I have a personal rule never to dabble in the affairs of Europeans, as a sportsman I must congratulate you on your victory. A pity I missed the encounter." "I accept your congratulations on behalf of the East India Company." Hawksworth watched him for some sign of his attitude toward the Portuguese, but he could detect nothing but smooth diplomacy. "Yes, the East India Company. I suppose this company of yours wants something from India, and I can easily imagine it might be profit. Perhaps I should tell you straightaway that such matters bore me not a little." The man glanced impatiently back toward the field. "But come, it's growing darker as we talk. I'd hoped you might join us in our little game. It's elementary. Should be child's play for a man who commands at sea." He turned to one of the men standing by the side of the field. "Ahmed, prepare a stick for Captain ... by the way, I wasn't given your name." "Hawksworth." "Yes. Prepare a stick for Captain Hawksworth. He'll be joining us." Hawksworth stared at the man, trying to gauge his impulsiveness. "You, I presume, are the governor." "Forgive me. I so rarely find introductions required. Mukarrab Khan, your humble servant. Yes, it's my fate to be governor of Surat, but only because there's no outpost less interesting. But come, we lose precious time." He pivoted his pawing mount about and signaled for a new ball to be ignited.