"You will also remove your boots. It is against custom to wear them in the banquet room." Hawksworth moved to protest, then sadly concluded there would be no point. Of course the room would be filled with carpets. And that must be the reason everyone I've seen here wears open shoes with the backs folded down: they're constantly being removed at doorways. He bent over and unbuckled his boots. The eunuch stiffened momentarily when he saw the glint of the knife handle in the lamplight, but he said nothing, merely swept up the boots with his other hand. As they walked slowly down the marble hallway toward the bronzed door of the banquet room, Hawksworth tried to rehearse what he would say to Mukarrab Khan. He has to petition the court in Agra to grant safe conduct for the trip. He just has to send one letter. How can he possibly refuse? Remember, you're an ambassador. . . . The eunuch shoved wide the bronzed door, and Hawksworth was astonished by what he saw. The governor of Surat lounged against a purple velvet bolster at the far end of a long room whose walls were a cool expanse of flawless white and whose marble floor was softened with an enormous carpet in the thick Persian style. His skin glistened with light oil, and he had donned a fresh turban, patterned in brown and white, tied in intricate swirls, and bound with a strand of dark jewels. A single large pearl hung over his forehead, and two tassels, each also suspending a pearl, brushed his shoulders. He wore a tight-fitting patterned shirt in pale brown, and over this a heavy green vest lined in white satin and embroidered in gold. It was bound with a woven cinch decorated with brocade. Around his neck were two strings of pearls, the shorter suspending a large ruby from its center. He had put on heavy bracelets, and intricate rings circled the first and fourth fingers of both hands. Hawksworth also noticed for the first time that he wore earrings, each a tiny green emerald. The eunuchs stood behind him, and around the sides of the room servants and slaves stood waiting. Along a back wall two men sat silently poised, one behind a pair of small drums and the other holding an ornate stringed instrument, its polished body glistening in the light. The only women in the room mingled among the servers. "Captain Hawksworth, our fare tonight will be simple and unworthy, but please honor my table by your indulgence." Mukarrab Khan smiled warmly and motioned Hawksworth to enter. "At least we can talk freely." "Is this an official meeting?" Hawksworth did not move, but stood as officiously as he could muster. "If you wish. Our meeting can be considered formal, even if we are not."