"The servants will provide whatever you require." Mukarrab Khan bowed perfunctorily to Hawksworth and disappeared through one of the arched doorways leading off the courtyard, followed by the eunuchs. Then Hawksworth turned to see a dark-skinned man bearing a large silver basin down the veranda. Behind him a second man carried a red velvet cushion, shaped like a long cylinder, and placed it on a stool next to the canopied pavilion, gesturing for Hawksworth to sit. As Hawksworth seated himself and turned toward the basin the servant held waiting, he caught the fresh aroma of a full bouquet, as though the fragrances of some tropic Eden had been distilled into the water. He looked down to see flower petals floating on its shimmering, oil- covered surface. How curious, he thought. English countrywomen sometimes distill toilet water from the flowers in their gardens, but never in such quantities'that it can be used merely to wash hands. And while English toilet waters are cloying and sweet, violets and gilliflowers, this aroma is light and delicate. War elephants and perfumed waters, in the same palace. It's incredible. He gingerly splashed his hands, and looked up to find a steaming towel being proffered. He sponged away the remaining mud of the playing field and watched as one by one the servants began to melt into the darkened recesses of the marble galleries. The last was an old withered gamekeeper, who wandered through the garden berating a sullen peacock toward its roost. And then the courtyard fell austerely quiet. Illuminated now only by lanterns and pale moonlight, it became a fairyland almost outside of time. He smiled as he thought of where he had been only the previous night--fending off an attack by Portuguese infantry. And now, this. His thoughts began to drift randomly, to float in and among the marble latticework of the veranda. And he thought once more of Roger Symmes and his bizarre stories of India. He was right. It's a heaven on earth. But with an undertow of violence just beneath the serene, polished surface. All this beauty, and yet it's guarded with war elephants and a moat. It's a world that's . . . artificial. It's carved of marble and jewels, and then locked away. Now I'm beginning to understand why he found it so enticing. And frightening. God, for a brandy. Now. "Khan Sahib awaits you." Hawksworth looked up to see the eunuch standing directly in front of him, freshly attired in a long robe of patterned silk. As he rose, startled from his reveries, a pudgy hand shot out and seized his arm. "Your sword is not permitted in the banquet room." Hawksworth froze. Then he remembered the knife strapped inside the top of his boot and the thought gave him comfort. He unbuckled his sword slowly, deliberately, pausing to meet the eunuch's defiant stare as he passed it over. The eunuch seemed to ignore Hawksworth's look as he continued.