"But why is there no harmony?" "I don't understand what you mean by 'harmony.'" "Striking several notes together, so they blend to produce a chord." Mukarrab Khan studied him, uncomprehending, and Hawksworth continued. "If I had my lute I'd show you how harmony and chords are used in an English song." Hawksworth thought again of his instrument, and of the difficulty he'd had protecting it during the voyage. He knew all along it was foolish to bring it, but he often told himself every man had the right to one folly. "Then by all means." The governor's curiosity seemed to arouse him instantly from the opium. "Would you believe I've never met a _feringhi_ who could play an instrument, any instrument?" "But my lute was detained, along with all my belongings, at the customs house. I was going to retrieve my chest from the Shahbandar when you intercepted his men." "Ambassador, please believe I had good reason. But I thought I told you arrangements have been made." He turned and dictated rapidly to one of the eunuchs. There was an expressionless bow, and the man left the room. Moments later he returned through the bronze entry doors, followed by two dark-skinned servants carrying Hawksworth's chest, one at each end. "I ordered your belongings sent from the customs house this afternoon. You would honor me by staying here as my guest." Mukarrab Khan smiled warmly. "And now I would hear you play this English instrument." Hawksworth was momentarily startled, wondering why his safety was suddenly of such great interest to Mukarrab Khan. But he pushed aside the question and turned to examine the large brass lock on his chest. Although it had been newly polished to a high sheen, as had the entire chest, there was no visible evidence it had been opened. He extracted the key from his doublet, slipped it into the lock, and turned it twice. It revolved smoothly, opening with a soft click. The lute rested precisely where he had left it. Its body was shaped like a huge pear cut in half lengthwise, with the back a glistening melon of curved cedar staves and the face a polished cherry. The neck was broad, and the head, where the strings were wound to their pegs, angled sharply back. He admired it for a moment, already eager for the touch of its dark frets. During the voyage it had been wrapped in heavy cloth, sealed in oilskins, and stored deep in his cabin chest. Not till landfall at Zanzibar had he dared expose it to the sea air. Of all English music, he still loved the galliards of Dowland best. He was only a boy when Dowland's first book of galliards was published, but he had been made to learn them all by heart, because his exacting tutor had despised popular ballads and street songs.