A Feast In Exile (Saint-Germain #14)

A Feast In Exile (Saint-Germain #14) Page 8

Lum tested his foot and nodded. "Yes. This is very good," he said. "The pain is completely gone and the wound is healed cleanly. Who would have thought it would take so long? Nearly nine weeks." He walked around the garden courtyard of Sanat Ji Mani's house, practicing for his return to the road. Over their heads rain pattered on the broad parchment screens that had been put in place against the weather; weak afternoon light lent a milky glow to the garden.

"Feet are slow to mend, and your infection went deep. There is a small scar," said Sanat Ji Mani, reminding the pilgrim that the incision which drained the infection would mark the place all his life.

"Better than a lost foot; or worse than that. I have realized that my injury could have killed me, and most painfully. For all that the suffering of life should not dismay those of us who follow the Buddha, I am grateful I was spared such an end," said Lum. "You have been most kind to me, although I have no claim upon you and cannot repay all you have done, in this life. Perhaps Lord Buddha will show me how to succor you in another reincarnation."

"Perhaps," said Sanat Ji Mani.

"You may rest assured that the Wheel will turn for all of us," said Lum. "I know I should not intrude upon you for another day, but-"

"I understand your concerns for the weather," said Sanat Ji Mani. "You may leave when it suits you."

"It is inappropriate for me to accept aid I do not require," said Lum a bit stiffly.

"But you will travel more safely once the rains have slacked off," Sanat Ji Mani pointed out. "They will begin to decrease in a month."

"That is too long," said Lum, a bit unhappily. "I cannot justify remaining here another month when I am capable of walking without pain."

Sanat Ji Mani said nothing for a short while, then remarked, "You are bound to the south, are you not? where the rains linger longer than they do here in Delhi. If you wait even three weeks, the worst of the weather should be over, and you will not have to fear flooding, or mired roads."

"I fear nothing of the hazards of the world," Lum said piously.

"You believed that with your foot, and you see how well it served you," Sanat Ji Mani responded, smiling to take the sting out of his words.

Lum bit back a sharp rejoinder. "I have no right to question you, after all you have done for me. Yet I hope you do not think poorly of my devotion to the Buddha."

"Quite the contrary," said Sanat Ji Mani. "You have shown a devotion that is most unusual in religious men: few of them would have walked so far with an infection raging in them to show how little the world could touch them." He looked about the courtyard at the lush plants. "You say you do not wish to remain because you are capable of leaving. I have no doubt there is work you can do here-you could help tend the garden, if you would like something to justify remaining until the summer rains are over."

"It is not suitable that I should," said Lum with a hint of regret in his voice. "I should take my begging-bowl and my staff, and be on my way."

"Whatever you wish," said Sanat Ji Mani. "You are healed and you have your wits about you. No doubt you will know what suits you best."

"It would be an easy thing to become accustomed to luxury," said Lum. "The Buddha warned against it, specifically. I did not comprehend the reason for His strictures until I came to your house, and learned for myself how insidious ease can be, and how readily one can be seduced by it, even while enduring pain." He sat down on the small stone bench in the corner of the courtyard. "As there can be a too-great attachment to the body, so there can be a too-great attachment to comfort, and that will pollute the spirit of the most devout."

"Lord Buddha was a Prince," Sanat Ji Mani said.

"So He was. He knew the snares He taught." Lum took a deep breath. "I will pray for you, but I cannot remain here. Rain or clear, I will depart in the morning at dawn, bound southward."

"Then I will wish you safe travel and pleasant companions on the road," said Sanat Ji Mani, putting his hands together and inclining his head.

Lum returned the courtesy automatically, but said, "I cannot make up my mind: you are either the most generous of worldly men, or you are the most accomplished seducer."

Sanat Ji Mani's smile was fleeting. "Perhaps I am both," he said.

"I doubt it," said Lum, and turned to leave the courtyard.

"Lum," Sanat Ji Mani said, stopping the red-haired Chinese in his tracks. "I am going to prepare a packet for you, containing medicinal supplies for you to take with you. You may need it."

"I must not accept such things for myself," said Lum.

"Then use it for the relief of others," Sanat Ji Mani said gently before turning away and giving his attention to the boxes of aloes that stood at the end of his courtyard garden. He was still tending his plants when Rojire came upon him toward day's end.

"Lum has announced he is leaving," said Rojire in the Latin of his youth as he came up to his master and bowed, Roman-style.

"Yes. He told me earlier he would," Sanat Ji Mani agreed in the same language.

"While the rains are in full pelter," Rojire went on.

"He is determined to go," Sanat Ji Mani said. "He does not want to be seduced from his religious vocation."

"He never said so," Rojire exclaimed in disbelief.

"Not precisely, no; but something very like," Sanat Ji Mani responded.

Rojire shook his head. "And you-you had nothing to say about this absurd scheme?"

"My old friend, what could I say?" Sanat Ji Mani paused for an answer; when none was forthcoming, he went on, "Lum is a grown man, and he has chosen a purpose in his life to which he adheres with tenacity. That you or I might not agree with his decision has nothing to do with what he is committed to doing. If you are certain you have the right to do so, you may try to dissuade him if you wish. For my part, I will make up a box with ointments and tinctures for him to take with him; I will instruct him in their use, and I will hope, for his own sake, that he has no occasion to use them on himself."

"You are not going to try to change his mind, are you," said Rojire.

"No," Sanat Ji Mani said. "I am not."

There was a silence between them as the rain beat its tattoo on the parchment screens. Then Rojire shrugged. "I will have a water-skin made ready for him, and have lentil-bread prepared."

"He may not accept it," Sanat Ji Mani warned.

"He may not," said Rojire. "But it will be offered in any case. He may share it with beggars or feed it to goats."

"He may," Sanat Ji Mani said, a trace of amusement in his dark eyes.

"You could insist," Rojire went on. "You've saved his life: he would have to listen to you."

At this Sanat Ji Mani chuckled. "Given his opinion of me, I doubt it." He took a pot of fox-glove and moved it to another part of the courtyard. "Let him do as he must, Rojire."

"He could die. He is not as strong as he thinks he is," Rojire declared.

"Then he will discover it for himself, and he will decide what to do." Sanat Ji Mani paused in his activities. "What is it about Lum that makes you so protective of him? You have seen many others who have endured as much, or worse, than he, and you did not try to keep them from harm as you have Lum."

"I cannot say what it is," Rojire admitted. "He rouses my sympathy. It may be that he has undertaken so thankless a pilgrimage, or that he has given up his family."

"You have not been impressed by other pilgrims we have known," Sanat Ji Mani reminded him.

"Not generally, no," said Rojire. "But most of them were Muslim or Christian."

"Do you feel sympathy for Avasa Dani's husband?" Sanat Ji Mani asked.

"Hardly," Rojire said with a single snort of laughter. "I think he has behaved ... shabbily."

"Yet you admire Lum, who has done the same thing," Sanat Ji Mani pointed out.

"He has not left a wife behind in precarious circumstances," Rojire said.

"Are you certain of that? He has said nothing of the conditions of his life before he became a pilgrim: in fact, he has conspicuously avoided giving any information about himself. Perhaps even now there is a family in Kua-chou that is begging or sold into slavery because of Lum." Sanat Ji Mani watched while Rojire considered this. "He could be using his pilgrimage as an excuse for desertion."

"He may, but I will not believe it: he is no Frater Paulinus," said Rojire at last. "I will grant you that there is some secret in his past that weighs on him, but I will not account him a coward because of it."

"You are always a staunch ally," Sanat Ji Mani said with genuine feeling.

At last Rojire shrugged. "Well, no matter what accounts for it, I am concerned for Lum's welfare, and I cannot be at ease with his departure."

Sanat Ji Mani nodded. "Tell him, if you think it will make a difference."

Rojire shook his head. "No. It would seem a slight to his faith, wouldn't it?"

"Very likely," said Sanat Ji Mani. Picking up without effort a tub containing a young willow, he added, "You will do as you think best."

"If I can determine what that is," said Rojire; he glanced up at the screens. "It will be dark soon. Do you want lamps brought out to you?"

"It would probably be wiser than not," Sanat Ji Mani decided aloud. "Have Garuda do it. He has been trying to show his reliability since Hirsuma left, to make up for his lapse in dealing with Hirsuma."

"All right." Rojire paused. "Have you learned anything about him?"

"Hirsuma? only that his family refused to take him in when he came to them. I have been told he applied to the Sultan's household for work, but was not given any."

"He is not a reliable man," said Rojire, as if that settled the matter.

"On the contrary: he is most reliable. He will always strive to do that which will bring him influence over others." Sanat Ji Mani left off his labor and motioned to Rojire to come nearer. "I have noticed that the scrawny man Hirsuma spoke to is still watching this house from time to time."

"As have I," said Rojire. "And I have once sent him about his business."

"That might not be entirely advisable," Sanat Ji Mani said. "But it's done."

"Why is it not advisable?" Rojire asked.

Before Sanat Ji Mani could answer the clapper sounded outside the courtyard door. "I am not expecting anyone."

"Shall I admit him?" Rojire knew that only men would present themselves at the door in this fashion.

"Yes, if you would," said Sanat Ji Mani in the Delhi dialect. "Then ask Garuda to bring lamps out here."

"As you wish, my master," said Rojire in the same tongue; the call to sunset prayers came from the mosques of Delhi. He opened the gate, bowed a welcome, and went to issue the order for lamps.

Standing in the doorway was Rustam Iniattir, his garments wet, his boots muddy, his stance dejected. "I have been visited by the Sultan's Minister for Taxes, Rents, and Revenues," he said miserably, not bothering with a greeting.

"Murmar bin Tughluq," said Sanat Ji Mani. "What did that camelthief want?" He did not hesitate in using such an epithet for Murmar bin Tughluq, who, in his youth, had been branded a thief for stealing asses and camels.

"Money, of course. The excuse is Timur-i. They say he could well attack this place, and that they must improve the fortifications and improve the army. As a foreigner, I am expected to contribute more than the Muslims or the followers of the Brahmin gods. If I do not give what he asks for, he will call me a spy and confiscate everything my family has." He stepped inside and closed the gate behind him, but not before Sanat Ji Mani caught sight of the furtive, gaunt figure he had seen so often before.

"Then I would reckon he will pay me a visit for the same purpose," Sanat Ji Mani said with unruffled calm.

"Does it not outrage you?" Rustam Iniattir asked, more downcast than indignant.

"If I dwell upon it, it probably will," said Sanat Ji Mani. "But I have long ago accepted that the world is full of injustice, and there is little I do to change it."

"We will have to pay most of our profits from our caravan in taxes," said Rustam Iniattir. "It had such promise, and now this."

"The caravan will not return until next spring," Sanat Ji Mani reminded him. "By then, the tax may have been suspended."

"I have never known a tax, once levied against foreigners, to be lifted," Rustam Iniattir said wearily. "If the Sultan is going to take so much of my money, I will have no choice but to go elsewhere, so that I might profit from my efforts and keep enough of the profit to live in reasonable comfort." He stared at the screens in the last gloom of day. "Ingenious. Where did you learn such a trick?"

"In a place called Gaul," said Sanat Ji Mani. "Many years ago." It had been when he had accompanied Gaius Julius Caesar on campaign and seen the Roman troops use such screens to shelter in their earthworks; he smiled a little. "There the rain was cold."

"As it is in the mountains to the west of here," said Rustam Iniattir. He paced the courtyard, his countenance drawn with worry. "Ever since the Sultan's officers came, my thoughts have been in turmoil and I cannot decide what is best to do. I have no wish to leave, but if I remain, I must pay the Sultan's taxes, by which I will be ruined and my family will suffer greatly."

"You have factors in other cities, do you not? You do not have to remain here, do you?" Sanat Ji Mani asked, although he knew the answer.

"I have factors in six cities, and all of them are my relatives." Under happier conditions this would have been a boast; now it was only a forlorn admission.

Sanat Ji Mani spoke slowly but with increasing persuasion, "Then consider changing your abode to a place less demanding upon you. Why not appoint one of your nephews to be your factor here and take your family to another place until the danger of Timur-i is past and there is another Sultan in Delhi? You will still have to pay taxes, but you will only have to support your nephew and his family, not your wife and her children, and your concubines and their children."

"But travel just now is not safe," Rustam Iniattir said with uncharacteristic timorousness.

"It is rarely safe," Sanat Ji Mani reminded him. "You are a merchant, and you know that better than most."

Rustam Iniattir sat down on the little bench. "I do not want my family to suffer. If we travel and find worse than what we have left, I will have failed them."

"It is an honorable concern you have," Sanat Ji Mani assured him. "But if you find a safer haven, will you not rejoice that you had the foresight to leave when you could? I am not advising you lightly, nor do I want you to go for my own welfare; you are no longer secure here, and that will impinge on all you do, to your detriment." He approached his Parsi friend. "Delhi has been your home, and the home of your father, and his father, for generations. It is hard to leave a place when it has become as much home to you as your own country was."

"You may say so," said Rustam Iniattir with a slight shake of his head. "But your situation is not like mine. You came here only a few years ago, you have no wife or concubine or children to protect, so you may gad about the world without care, and have no worry beyond the soundness of your horses."

"It may seem so," Sanat Ji Mani allowed. "And yet, do you know, I would not recommend this course of action to you if I believe it would not benefit you, no matter how inconvenient it may be. Live in another city until you are sure you may return here without losing all you have labored so long to acquire." He stood still. "Rojire," he called out. "Where is Garuda with the lamps? It is getting quite dark." This very ordinary request broke the tension building between the Parsi and the foreigner.

"You are being sensible," Rustam Iniattir said. "I know it; I almost agree with it."

"Ah," said Sanat Ji Mani. "Almost."

"I have seventeen people dependent upon me. What am I to do? Even if I put my nephew Zal in charge of our affairs here, where are we to go?" He began to wring the water from his sleeves. "There are members of our family scattered throughout the world, but none are beyond the reach of Timur-i, if his sights are set upon them. Where may we be protected against him?"

Sanat Ji Mani considered briefly. "You have a factor in the Mameluke Empire, have you not? At the end of the Red Sea?"

"Yes. My cousin Rozdin is there, with his family." Rustam Iniattir coughed as if trying to loosen his chest. "I have thought of them. But how can I reach them? To get there we would have to cross through Timur-i's lands, and who knows what misfortune would befall us?"

"You would not have such trouble if you went by sea," said Sanat Ji Mani gently. "You could travel away from the Jagatai clan. I have ships that ply the waters of the Arabian Sea. If you are willing to travel south to Cambay in Gujerat at the mouth of the Sabarmati River, I could arrange for a ship to be at your disposal." As he spoke, he became more certain that this was the most provident thing to do. "You have little to fear once you are aboard my ship. Timur-i cannot ride his cavalry after you."

Rustam Iniattir gave another short, tight cough and began to knead his left shoulder with his right hand. "There are pirates." He looked up at Sanat Ji Mani, who noticed that the color had drained from his face. "There are storms. This is the season of rain and wind."

"Yes," Sanat Ji Mani allowed, a slight frown forming between his fine brows. "And so you must go on one of my largest and strongest ships."

"Why have you said nothing of your ships before?" Rustam Iniattir demanded suddenly, and interrupted himself with a series of sharp, barking coughs.

"Rojire!" Sanat Ji Mani called out as he went to examine Rustam Iniattir. "Go to my room in the top of the house and bring me the chalcedony flask. Quickly." He laid his hand on Rustam Iniattir's forehead. "You are clammy."

"I am in wet clothing," said Rustam Iniattir. "You have no reason to fuss over me."

"On the contrary; I am not fussing, I am guarding my respected associate," said Sanat Ji Mani, now touching the Parsi's neck and feeling his racing pulse. He concealed the distress he felt with a calm, steady manner. "You have worried yourself into a dangerous state. I have a tincture that will help you."

"You need not bother," said Rustam Iniattir, a bit testily.

"Well, that may be," said Sanat Ji Mani, "but your family would not thank me if you were to collapse here, so I ask you to permit me to avoid that possibility; the Sultan's deputies might find it questionable and decide I am holding you prisoner. If you would recline on the bench?"

"This is foolishness," said Rustam Iniattir as he did what Sanat Ji Mani asked; he stifled a moan as he lay back.

Belatedly Garuda arrived with the lamps, stood shocked for a long moment, then asked tentatively, "Do you want these hung, my master?"

"Of course I do," said Sanat Ji Mani as he loosened Rustam Iniattir's belt. "Most of them need to be here, where they can illuminate what I am doing." He did not need the lamps to see, but was aware that his lack of them would cause comment in his household.

"Shall I fetch the pilgrim?" Garuda inquired, reluctantly going about his task.

"Why?" Sanat Ji Mani countered; he could see that Rustam Iniattir was having trouble breathing.

"To pray for him," Garuda said. "Each of them has linked his karma with the other. The pilgrim's prayers will help him."

"Do not bother Lum for the time being. Rustam Iniattir is not in mortal danger," said Sanat Ji Mani with a confidence he did not possess. "I will need some tea made of turmeric and ginger. Go to the kitchen and order it, then bring it to me as soon as it is ready." This was as much to give Garuda something to do as to get the tea. He snapped off one of the young willow's branches, pulled back a length of bark and held it out to Rustam Iniattir. "Chew this. It will help you."

Rustam Iniattir, still doing his best to control his coughing, did as he was told. He tried to speak but could not keep from coughing his dry, hacking coughs. He chewed more vigorously to show he was making an effort.

Garuda finished hanging the lamps and hurried off toward the kitchen, going at a more rapid pace than was his wont; Rojire passed him in the corridor as he returned with the chalcedony flask.

"There you are," Sanat Ji Mani approved. "In good time." He took the flask, opened it, and, raising Rustam Iniattir's head with one hand, held the flask to his lips with the other. "Drink this. You need not spit out the willow-bark."

"How much?" Rustam Iniattir asked, wheezing a little with the question.

"Not too much. I will stop you if you take too much." Sanat Ji Mani watched carefully as the opalescent liquid trickled into his mouth.

Rustam Iniattir sputtered as he strove to drink the tincture, straining it through the chewed willow-bark in his mouth. At last he licked his lips as Sanat Ji Mani removed the flask. "The taste is ... strange."

"So it is," Sanat Ji Mani agreed. "But it will do you good, in spite of that." He eased Rustam Iniattir's head back onto the bench. "If you will lie there and chew on the willow-bark until Garuda brings the tea?"

"If that is what is required," said Rustam Iniattir in a tone of great concession; his little coughs had lessened and his skin was no longer whey-pale.

Rojire tugged Sanat Ji Mani's sleeve. "What is wrong? What happened?" he asked in Latin.

"His pulse was too rapid and he could not breathe fully. The tincture will slow his pulse and he will recover. The willow-bark is useful, too." Sanat Ji Mani answered, still in the Delhi dialect. "He has become over-anxious and as a result, he has reached a point where his sinews are too tight to work properly."

"I recall you have dealt with this condition before," Rojire said, keeping his tone neutral.

"And not always successfully," Sanat Ji Mani agreed, this time in Latin. "Still, I think he will be himself again if he does not continue to fret."

Rojire glanced over toward the place where Rustam Iniattir lay. "What has troubled him so much?"

"He is being subjected to ruinous taxes. I suppose I will also soon have higher demands made on me as well. The Sultan wants to increase his army." Sanat Ji Mani sighed. "I am glad of the warning: I will spend the next few days making more jewels. You, old friend, must prepare to leave."

"Are we going away?" Rojire asked without any sign of surprise.

"You are going to escort Avasa Dani away from here while I can still arrange passage for you both. I will pay her uncles enough to keep them from protesting. You will go with Rustam Iniattir and his family to Cambay, and there go aboard either the Silken Wind or the Eye of Night, whichever is departing for the Red Sea, and you will go to Alexandria and wait for me there."

"You are telling me to leave you here?" Rojire asked with some heat.

"I depend upon you to deliver Rustam Iniattir, his family, and Avasa Dani to such safety as can be found away from this city. You will have to depart quickly, and I cannot do that, for a number of reasons, the first being that if all of us should leave at once, the Minister of Taxes, Rents, and Revenues would probably seize everything we have; I would prefer to keep title to this place if I can, and I know Rustam Iniattir does not want to sacrifice all his family has striven to achieve for the last two centuries. I will tend to the business of settling our affairs, and as soon as I have put all in order, I will come after you." Sanat Ji Mani sighed. "I can pay the higher taxes for a while, but Rustam Iniattir cannot. And his nephew may need some help before he is ready to manage his work as factor."

"When you say quickly, what do you mean?" Rojire was still suspicious. "I know you of old, and I know your ways. I remember Leosan Fortress, as you should, as well."

"This is nothing like Leosan Fortress, or Karmona." Sanat Ji Mani looked up at the screens above the courtyard, noticing the shine of the lamps on the parchment. "Ten days, I should think, would be time enough for Rustam Iniattir to make ready, and you as well. Then go south."

"You can instruct me on the route later," Rojire said irritably, then relented. "I will make the arrangements."

"Thank you," said Sanat Ji Mani with such simplicity that Rojire was moved in spite of himself.

"Should I ask Lum to delay his departure so he can travel with us?" Rojire proposed, his demeanor unchanged, although he once again spoke the Delhi dialect.

"I doubt he will accept such an offer, but make it, if you wish to," Sanat Ji Mani said, also in that language, handing the chalcedony flask back to Rojire. "Now, if you will, go and fill a vial with this tincture and bring it to me. Garuda will be here with tea in a moment, and I will have to tend to Rustam Iniattir as soon as he returns."

"As you wish, my master," said Rojire, going toward the door.

"And Rojire," Sanat Ji Mani said after him.

"Yes?" He waited to hear what Sanat Ji Mani might say.

"To answer your question before Rustam Iniattir arrives, about the scrawny man: I must assume he is a spy, and anything that can be turned to my disadvantage will surely fuel his purpose." Sanat Ji Mani made a philosophical gesture, then walked across the courtyard to continue his ministrations to Rustam Iniattir, accompanied by the steady murmur of the rain.

Text of a letter from Kanwar Gotanipi, military commander of the north-western quadrant of Delhi to the Sultan's Leader-Commander of the Army.

To the most potent, honorable, and just Leader-Commander Ahdin bin Daulat, your most loyal and sincerely devoted lieutenant Kanwar Gotanipi submits his report at the Autumnal Equinox, with the heartfelt prayer that it will find favor in your esteemed eyes.

I have, in accordance with your orders, conducted an inspection of the walls of my quarter of the city, and I submit to you now my estimations of what I have seen. First, the repairs ordered by the late Sultan Firuz-may your Allah show him favor in your Paradise-and may I be pardoned for writing his illustrious name-are substantial enough, although the material used was not of the highest quality nor the workmanship of the strictest standards. Still, I must tell you that I am satisfied that all but the most ruinous attack might be withstood behind the walls here. There are undoubtedly other parts of the city that are in more urgent need of shoring up than this quarter.

The gates in the walls are generally in good repair, although one, made of thick planking and iron staples, has a few rotten places in the wood, which may cause you to decide to replace the planking. The frame is also not as strong as it might be-if it were reinforced, it would be more able to withstand any attack. I do not say this is required, but it may be advisable. The archers' walk high on the wall is in reasonable condition, although the stones are loose in three places: I have marked those places on the enclosed chart.

You made specific reference to the foreigners who live in this part of the city, and to that end, I will tell you that Shighriz of Bukhara has brought more sheep- and goat-skins into his warehouse. He has paid the tax on them grudgingly, but he has paid it in full, and so cannot be denied the right to sell his wares. He has informed me that he will have another caravan arriving, bringing skins and wool, and some tanned leather as well, in the next month or so, all of which should be acceptable to the Sultan's deputies. Also he reports that one of his wives has died and her ashes have been sent back to her father in Bukhara.

Maliq Keral, the merchant of Sind, has reduced the size of his household. He claims it is because his taxes are too high, and that he is being singled out for unjust claims because he is not a Muslim or a devotee of traditional native gods. That he has taken up the teaching of the Satvas has brought him under scrutiny from Muslim and Brahmin alike, for the Satva sect is looked upon with suspicion by many. His complaints have been passed on to the Minister for Taxes, Rents, and Revenues for his review. Also, I have noted that he was so disrespectful of the Sultan that he actually called the Sultan by his name, showing how far he has strayed from the conduct expected of a resident of Delhi. He might as well be living among the Turks, or the Chinese if he has so little regard for our great Sultan.

The family of Taray Sroashar is in arrears with payment of their taxes, and he claims that he cannot put his hands on the amount required before his grace period has expired. I have perused his house, and I am persuaded that he has funds he has not admitted to possessing. He claims his holy books teach that the End of the World is near, and that paying taxes now is useless, for himself and for the Sultan. Such an unorthodox teaching is open to question, and I believe that this may be nothing more than a ruse to avoid the taxes he owes. I have informed him he will not be allowed to leave Delhi until at least three-quarters of his tax obligations are discharged. He may try to be forgiven this debt, but it is my belief that if he leaves the city, none of the money will ever be paid.

The Parsi, Rustam Iniattir, has departed the city, as you know, leaving behind his nephew Zal to tend to the family's affairs. Rustam Iniattir paid the departure tax without argument and so was allowed to go on his way. He was accompanied by the manservant of the foreigner Sanat Ji Mani, Rojire, who is escorting Avasa Dani to a safer place, in accordance with the terms for guardianship left by her husband when he took up the life of a mendicant.

As to Sanat Ji Mani, he has declared his intention to depart from Delhi after the Winter Solstice to return to his homeland. He has paid an advance on his departure taxes and has signed a pledge to deed his property to the Sultan for his use. He continues to offer his medical skills to those in need, and for that reason he has been excused from the secondary foreign-residents' tax. He has not asked for any greater reduction of his taxes, and I am certain he will not renege on his commitments now.

The family of Raghavan Chayn has lost three children in as many weeks, and they have honored the dead in accordance with their traditions. The observances he has requested to make are incomplete, and it is his obligation to continue the ceremonies for the dead; any lack of diligence on his part will meet with dishonor to his family and disgrace to the memory of his children. Raghavan Chayn has also asked that he might have his taxes reduced until the dark of the year so that he may abide by the period of mourning his faith requires. In this instance, since two of the dead children were boys, the request is not unreasonable, and it is my recommendation that you grant him the relief he seeks. Not to mourn within the dictates of his beliefs would be a most reprehensible act, and one that would not redound to the Sultan's credit.

I have included my evaluation of holdings of all the foreigners keeping household in this quarter, some one hundred sixteen of them, not just the ones singled out above; most of them have made no changes in the conduct of their lives over the last six months, and for that reason, I have not included any specific reference to them. If you would prefer a more comprehensive, individual itemization of particulars for each, you have only to ask me, and I will undertake the inquiry at once. You will want to review those amounts before I pass them on to the Minister of Taxes, Rents, and Revenues, in case you wish to assess a higher amount for the cost of your defenses. Whatever that amount may be, append it to my report, and I will see that it is brought to the Minister's attention at once.

The Travelers' Camp, inside the North-West Gate, is not very full just now. Not many want to be abroad in the rains. I do anticipate that more travelers will come as soon as the weather changes, and then we shall have the revenues from them as well as from the other foreigners who live here to bolster your depleted coffers. I shall be certain that some of my men mix with the travelers to learn their news and to apprehend any spies that may be sent among us. In two to four weeks, we will be busy again at the Travelers' Camp.

Submitted to you in the hope that it will fulfill your mandate, and with every assurance of my continued dedication to the Sultan,

Kanwar Gotanipi

In the Foreigners' Quarter, sent by messenger