A glowing pink flush suffused the room on the top floor of the fine house of red granite in the Street of the Brass Lanterns. It was a splendid building, handsomely proportioned; its twenty-three rooms and two gardens were built to the highest standards and as lavishly appointed as the law allowed foreigners to adorn their homes; the smallest windows were of costly glass, the larger ones of thin-sliced alabaster, slightly milky and diffusing the shine of first light; the furnishings were of fine woods and silks, the lamps were of brass, and the fragrant odor of incense perfumed the air. Now that dawn had arrived at Delhi again, the Muslims were at morning prayers, and the followers of Zarathustra hailed the returning light with song. A breeze came up, adding to the activity; the first odor of cooking fires blended with the aroma of flowers rising into the sky where birds greeted the rising sun, calling and fluttering. In the streets sudden industry erupted, people of all ranks and stations bustling to make the most of the morning before the heat became oppressive.

"In my homeland, the mountain passes are filled with snow," Sanat Ji Mani remarked in the Greek of Byzantium to Rojire as he put away the glass vessels with which he had worked all through the night; he was dressed in a black Egyptian kalasiris of fluted linen, his head uncovered, revealing short, wavy hair that was almost black but shot with auburn high-lights that were emphasized by the angular, brilliant luminance. "Yet here is an almost perpetual summer."

"True enough," said Rojire in the same language, his thoughts distracted by the task of separating the myriad small jewels spilled into the tray before him, like so much colored sand. He frowned with concentration, his faded-blue eyes narrowing in support of his effort.

"Not that I am complaining," Sanat Ji Mani went on, shutting the cabinet doors and putting a bar-lock in place to keep them closed.

" ... sixteen, seventeen, eighteen-eighteen small rubies," Rojire said, maintaining his concentration. He put these stones into a carved wood box with others of similar size, then started in on the topazes.

"A pity I did not have time to grow them larger," said Sanat Ji Mani, then lifted one shoulder philosophically. "Well, next time."

"These are not paltry," said Rojire as he made a pile of the topazes and began to count.

"No, but they are not lavish, and the Sultan prefers large stones to small." He stretched his linked hands upward. "Sometimes my back is stiff after such a demanding night."

"Small wonder," said Rojire, then held up one finger as he began to count.

Sanat Ji Mani went to inspect the athanor, the bee-hive-shaped alchemical oven that stood in the center of the large chamber which occupied most of the top of his grand house; the tile-like bricks were no longer glowing, but they were warm to the touch. Sanat Ji Mani walked around the chamber making sure all the windows remained closed, for an errant draft at this time could cause the athanor to crack, and it would take him several months to build another one. "I will open the windows before noon," he said to Rojire.

"Please," said Rojire. "The heat will be stifling if you do not." He swept the topazes into another small wooden box. "Twenty-nine."

"It will be stifling in any case." Sanat Ji Mani waved his arm as if to try to banish the increasing warmth. "Not too bad for a night's work," said Sanat Ji Mani.

"Yes." Rojire began to pick out emeralds, separating them from amethysts with great care. "Twenty-three peridots, thirty-one amethysts," he said as he prepared to sweep each group into its own box.

"Take out ten peridots for the Sultan; the largest ones," said Sanat Ji Mani, adding thoughtfully, "Or, more precisely, his deputies."

"Ten," Rojire agreed, and selected the best of the little jewels. "Where do you want them kept?"

"In the cedar box, with the dragon on the top; there are beryls and emeralds in it already," said Sanat Ji Mani. "I must see his kinsman tomorrow, and I will need to bring them both a suitable gift if he is to listen to me, and send my petition on to his nephew, along with a smattering of jewels to demonstrate my sincerity. A shame the Sultan has abandoned Delhi."

"It is," said Rojire. "But he must improve his fortifications throughout his territory."

"Um," said Sanat Ji Mani, skepticism giving his utterance a rising inflection. "And I must hope that he will see my petition in good time."

"You will need gifts for his ministers and secretaries as well as his deputies, if you want his attention," said Rojire, making no excuse for his cynicism as he retrieved the box Sanat Ji Mani had described.

"How many emeralds?" Sanat Ji Mani asked; the sun was intense, and he was beginning to feels its effects in spite of his native earth lining the soles of his shoes.

"Sixteen, I think," said Rojire. He placed the emeralds in one of the empty cubicles of the box.

"Give the Sultan seven of them; he likes emeralds."

Rojire nodded. "He likes anything costly and beautiful," he remarked. He straightened up. "Do you want something more in the box?"

"How many of the cubicles are empty?" Sanat Ji Mani inquired as if he did not know.

"Two," said Rojire. "What shall I put in them?"

Sanat Ji Mani paused thoughtfully, considering the gems he had stored in his simple wooden chest. "Perhaps the chalcedony egg and the pale-blue sapphire, the one with the elongated star; it is impressive and the color is unusual," he said at last. "Yes, that should complete the offering well enough."

"The sapphire is a fine gift on its own," said Rojire.

"Yes. And the Sultan will know that, when the box is finally presented to him." Sanat Ji Mani ran his hands through his hair, this action acknowledging the increasing heat.

"You may rouse the jealousy in many of the Sultan's relatives, and your generosity may cost you dearly," Rojire warned.

"It is a risk I am prepared to take," said Sanat Ji Mani, nodding to show he understood. "I will bathe when I have rested, and then I suppose I must prepare for my meeting with the Sultan's kinsman. I will need to decide how best to present myself. Firuz Ihbal is not a man to stint on ceremony."

"Particularly when the ceremony adds to his wealth," said Rojire sharply.

"True enough," Sanat Ji Mani agreed.

"And you are willing to make concessions to him," Rojire accused.

"As long as we are foreigners here, of course I am willing," said Sanat Ji Mani. "I am grateful to you for bearing my indignation, old friend. Otherwise, I might not be able to speak to that rogue Firuz Ihbal without being galled."

"I am pleased to be of service," said Rojire sarcastically. "I would prefer to waken you to the hazard of your circumstances."

"Oh, do not fear: I know them well enough. Yet I am grateful for your concern on my behalf." Sanat Ji Mani looked around the chamber. "It would be unfortunate if the Sultan should receive an unfavorable report of me. He may be a weak man, but that makes him dangerous, for he is more likely to strike out than a stronger man; he would need to see proof of his power as another, confident of having it, would not. I, being a foreigner, am weaker than he by definition, and therefore I am apt to be a target of his spite." He glanced toward the door. "Avasa Dani is supposed to come this afternoon."

Rojire nodded, aware that Sanat Ji Mani would not discuss the Sultan any longer. "I will have her taken to the library."

"Yes; if you will." He sighed once. "If only all this were easier," he said quietly.

"How do you mean easier?" Rojire asked, trying to keep any criticism out of his question.

"I mean that we are hemmed about with sets of laws and customs on all sides, and often they contradict one another; what the Hindu accepts, the Moslem will not; what the Buddhist venerates appalls the Zarathustran. We, being foreigners, and no part of any of their causes, are caught between them all." He turned toward Rojire. "Oh, I know, I know. We could return to the West, or go east, into China. It might be safer to leave while we can, or it might be changing one set of difficulties for another. But the very things I chafe against also interest me. There is a vitality here that commands my interest, and a satisfaction that makes me endure the difficulties. Difficulties are everywhere."

"True enough," said Rojire. "But you are willing to accept more of them than most."

"Because one of my nature must," Sanat Ji Mani reminded him. "I have not the luxury of the living, to be at home among humanity."

Rojire shook his head. "No one knows."

"I should hope not," Sanat Ji Mani said with feeling. "Avasa Dani may guess, but even she is not certain." He stared at the windows. "I will retire now. If I am not awake by noon, rouse me."

"Noon. I will," said Rojire, continuing to prepare the box with its gifts.

As he went to the door, Sanat Ji Mani said, "You are very patient with me, old friend. I am most grateful, but occasionally I wonder why."

"Whomelse should I serve in this world, my master?" Rojire asked mildly.

"You might not need to serve at all," Sanat Ji Mani pointed out.

"Possibly," said Rojire. "But it is my habit, and a task I know how to perform, and it pleases me to think myself useful. You ask none of the questions any other master would: you know why I never age, and why I eat only raw meat." He took a step back from the table. "I don't know what to make of these fits of humility you sometimes indulge in."

Sanat Ji Mani laughed once. "Yes, they are fits, are they not, my friend?" He managed a rueful smile.

"There is no other way to describe them," said Rojire. "Go. Rest. You will be more yourself when you waken."

"That I will," said Sanat Ji Mani, and went down the narrow stairs into the cool, dim recesses of his great house. His private quarters were at the rear of the building, shaded by the upper floor, and somewhat apart from the rest of the house. A sitting room made for receiving guests, elegantly furnished with fine woods and glowing silks, was the first of a suite of three rooms; the second contained a small Roman bath, ten hand-spans deep, ornamented with mosaic tiles and elaborate brass fittings as well as a marble couch beside the pool piled with pillows and cushions for resting after bathing; the third was his bedroom, and it was as austere as the other rooms were lavish: a narrow bed atop a long chest of his native earth and an old red-lacquer chest were the only objects in the room, which was significantly smaller than the other two. No paintings adorned the walls, no carpet lay on the floor. The small window over the bed was screened with woven reeds, reducing the illumination to twilight. Three clotheshooks on the back of the door were simple, utilitarian objects, where Sanat Ji Mani hung his kalasiris before he climbed onto his bed and pulled the single cotton sheet up to his chin. In a moment he had fallen into a profound slumber that was more like dying than rest.

By noon all Delhi sweltered; in the markets the vendors pulled down the curtains of their stalls and began the mid-day rest after the followers of Islam had completed their prayers. Near the river half a dozen gangs of older children left off their rough-housing to seek the shade of the trees along the bank, where asses drowsed, their long ears drooping in the stultifying heat. A humming stillness enveloped the city under the remorseless glare of the sun.

In his chamber, Sanat Ji Mani wakened easily and suddenly, alert without being alarmed. He rose, went into the outer room, and took a loose Roman dalmatica of black cotton from his clothes-chest, tugging it on over his head as he made his way to his bath, a mosaic-lined room with high, shaded windows and a large polished-granite bathing-pool sunk into a foundation of his native earth. He stood on the edge of the pool for a short while, his dark eyes fixed on the middle-distance. Then he removed the dalmatica and let himself into the pool, welcoming the still waters as they rose half-way up his chest. He extended his arms and leaned back, floating on the tepid water in the pleasant gloom of the bath-chamber; as he rested in the stillness, he thought about his present situation and considered the possibilities open to him: he could leave Delhi and go any number of places; he could remain in Delhi and continue to accommodate the increasingly greedy demands of the Sultan's deputies; he could join the caravan he and Rustam Iniattir were assembling, leave the city, and return to it; he could venture deeper into India, toward the south where the Sultans had not conquered and where he might find a more congenial place to settle for a time. He sighed, and let his feet drop to the floor of the bath. He did not want to return to Europe, still devastated by Black Plague; China was intriguing but offered too immediate a reminder of T'en Chih-Yu, dead less than two centuries; to the west and north-west was the turmoil of Timur-i's campaigns; in Africa, his alienness would be too pronounced to provide him any measure of safety-his years in Tunis had shown him that; the Land of Snows was remote enough to offer him some protection, but the routes there lay through disputed territory, and he had no wish to become embroiled in local wars; the south was filled with rivalries and machinations that exhausted the peoples and led the lords to see enemies at every turn. "So Delhi it is, for now," he said to the empty air.

A moment later a servant appeared in the outer doorway. "Did you summon me, my master?"

Sanat Ji Mani looked up from his place in the pool. "No, Hirsuma, I did not. But thank you for being so alert."

Hirsuma bowed and closed the door.

This time Sanat Ji Mani kept his thoughts to himself; when he rose from the tub a short while later, he had made up his mind on several points and was preparing to put these decisions into action. He used a drying-cloth, pulled on his dalmatica once more, then went to his own rooms to get his sandals with the earth-filled soles and to drop a silver chain studded with rubies around his neck before going to the library to meet with Avasa Dani.

She was seated on a low rosewood chair piled with silken cushions; in her hands she held an open scroll, and she studied it with singular intensity, her concentration so intent that she did not hear him enter the library. When he spoke her name, she looked up sharply, her face darkening slightly. "I'm sorry, Sanat Ji Mani. I did not know you-"

"You have nothing to apologize for, Avasa Dani," he replied as he went to her side. "I did not mean to interrupt you."

She smiled up at him. "Still, I must thank you for your kindness to me, and not just for allowing me to study with you. You are a most generous man. So many would chastise me for failing to do them honor at once." Today she was dressed in gauzy silks the color of Egyptian lapis lazuli, and she wore silver rings on her fingers and had three of them hanging from both of her earlobes.

"So you have told me," he said, returning her smile fleetingly. "Yet you are the more generous of the two of us, I think."

Closing the scroll, she regarded him in bemused satisfaction. "We are not going to argue about this, are we?"

"If it would please you," he replied, and sank down on his knees at her side.

"Oh, my foreign friend, you are much too good to me," she said, a bit of regret in her voice.

"And how can that be?" he asked gently.

"My father would say you have indulged me beyond all reason, if he still lived. I have heard my half-sisters say it." She ran her finger along the edge of the scroll. "You have let me learn anything I wanted to learn."

He rested his hand on her arm. "Why should I not?"

"Because most men would not; it is not seemly for a woman to learn too much," she said, more abruptly than she had intended. "My husband was not entirely pleased when he discovered I was literate and had a gift for numbers. His family is very traditional, and they did not bargain on such a bride for him. But my connections were such that they could not refuse the match, and so, we were married." She shrugged. "When he decided to become a monk, a few of his relatives said I had driven him to it."

"Do you think you did?" Sanat Ji Mani could see the trouble in her eyes; he waited for her answer with no sign of impatience.

"Sometimes I do," she admitted. "But mostly I believe it is his Path to be a monk, his karma, and I do not challenge his inclinations, though I do not entirely understand them." She put the scroll aside, onto a table ornamented with lavish inlays of wood making a pattern of flying birds. "He would have liked me to withdraw from the world, but I am no Buddhist, and such an act would have been unacceptable to the Buddhists."

"You say he is amenable to our arrangement," Sanat Ji Mani prompted her.

"Yes. You do not compromise his family or mine. You do not offend those who worship the traditional gods, nor do you offend the Buddhists." She turned her arm so that she could take his hand in hers. "I know I am very much in your debt, Sanat Ji Mani."

"No, Avasa Dani," he countered. "It is I who am in your debt."

She regarded him skeptically. "Why do you say that?"

His dark eyes met hers. "You know why," he told her, his voice low, melodic.

"No," she said, shaking her head so that her earrings rang softly against one another. "If you used me as men use women, that might be different, for you would be doing a wrong, but what is between us is not of that nature."

He held her hand more protectively. "Does it satisfy you? that which is between us?"

"Oh, yes," she said with suppressed passion. "How can you ask?" She felt her face flush, for she had not yet been permitted to rouse him as he had her.

"I know you are fulfilled at the time, but later, you may have doubts, or regrets." He did not like to speak these words aloud, but they expressed the apprehension he had been sensing in the nine weeks since her husband had come and gone from her life.

"Not I," she said emphatically, then added with less certainty, "What of you? Do you have doubts?"

"No," he said, and knew it was not quite the truth, for they had lain together four times, and she would soon be in danger of becoming one of his blood when she died; one more encounter and he would have to explain this before they embraced each other again, or expose her to a risk she might not want to accept.

"But you are troubled," she said, aware that he was not wholly at ease.

"Yes," he said.

"Because your servants may spy on us and report to my relatives that I am not maintaining my chastity?" She touched his cheek with her slender fingers. "You need not worry on that account. I have spoken to my half-sisters and have said you are affectionate-and being a foreigner, your ways are unlike ours-but you do nothing that would give my husband a moment's qualms. They need not fear I will bring an incorrect child into the world on your account, and unless I do, what is said of me by servants is nothing more than envious rumor. No one will find us together in your house. Everyone knows that servants gossip, and that they often exaggerate. My relatives will not bring you before the Sultan's deputies for debauching a married woman."

"Have your half-sisters granted you so much?" He found it difficult to believe, although he did not want to contradict her.

She smiled, a roguish glint in her eyes. "Let us say they will believe me until I am with child, and then they will be happy to denounce me and seize my husband's goods for the sake of the family honor." Her smiled broadened. "Since that will never happen, they will have to continue to believe what I have told them."

He uttered a single chuckle. "You are a very clever woman, Avasa Dani."

Her suddenly demure manner was belied by her laughter. "I would not be here otherwise, and my life would be the poorer for it," she reminded him, and leaned over so that she could kiss him. Their lips met softly as a whisper, but ardor flared in them both; she slid from the chair, pulling three cushions with her, to kneel in front of him, their bodies pressed together, their arms circled around each other, each supported by the other. A sound between laughter and a sob rose in her throat and she loosened her silken garments in order to give him access to her body, then reached for his hand and slid it under the shining fabric. "Do not deny me," she murmured before resuming their kiss once more.

For an answer, he slipped his other hand underneath her clothing and began to caress her shoulders, her back, her flanks, her breasts. He felt her desire mounting with every nuance of touch he offered her. His fingers sought out the curve of her side, where she was especially sensitive, and awakened greater voluptuousness in her with his coaxing touch that heightened her yearning for more of his tantalizing fondling. As she leaned against him, moving her body to ignite his carnality still more, he stroked her arms, sliding the silk from her shoulders. "Slowly, my dove. There is no need to hurry."

She surged her flesh the length of his body. "Do not wait." She took his ruby-studded silver necklace and lifted it over his head, dropping it onto the table beside the scroll.

"There is time," he said, more gently still, and bent his head to kiss her shoulders, the declivity at the base of her throat, the swell of her breasts. "Enjoy all that you can."

"But you-" She broke off. As was true of most women of her caste and station, she had been instructed since childhood in the art of pleasing a man; she was still surprised that Sanat Ji Mani put her pleasure before his own, and showed little respect for the teachings of the scriptures.

"I will be better satisfied if you are more completely fulfilled," he said before he touched her nipple with his tongue; she hissed in breath in intense pleasure. "There is so much more you can know of your exultation; let yourself achieve it. You will give me the greatest gift if you will do this."

She shivered as he continued his ministrations, her eyes half-closed so that she might feel his every contact with her body; it was as if she were being riven with light, as if her whole being was burning as the hands of holy men were said to burn. From her head to her thighs, she quivered with growing frenzy as Sanat Ji Mani evoked responses from every part of her; she wondered if this wonderful frenzy could melt her bones, for they seemed to be softened within her. As much as she had been pleasured by him before, it had been nothing so splendidly consuming as this. She had not suspected there was so much rapture in her. When his lips touched the cleft at the top of her thighs, her trembling became a shudder, and she felt a little spasm shake her. She caught her hand in his hair. "That was-"

"There is more," he said, and continued his exploration, using his hands to summon greater sensation from her body than she had ever known.

"Ah." There was something gathering within her, centered at where his mouth and hand were most tantalizing. She could feel a delicious tightening in her loins. "Ah." It was almost impossible to breathe, for she might send herself over the brink; she swayed as if she were about to fall, and felt his arm come up to support her even as he rose and his other hand performed some unimaginable magic between her legs. "Ah. Ah. Ah." The cries were soft, but they came from the very root of her being. For a long, dizzying moment, she was caught up in the enormity of the release that went through her in deep pulsations, like a superb instrument played flawlessly. Then, as she came back to herself, she felt Sanat Ji Mani's lips on her neck, and she smiled. It was difficult to speak, but she knew she had to tell him. "There was more."

He kissed her again, his lips soft on hers, completing their joining as he had begun it. "You have been most kind, Avasa Dani."

She sank down onto the cushions, a marvelous lassitude coming over her. She was vaguely aware that she should dress herself again, but she could not bring herself to close her body away from all that had just transpired. "Will anyone come?"

"Rojire is the only one, and he will not until I call him." Sanat Ji Mani put his silver necklace back on, adjusting it to hang properly, then stretched out beside her.

"How did you know?" she asked, looking over at him. "I did not know."

"I have lain with you before, and I have learned much from you," he said, stroking her shoulder and arm.

She thought about his answer and decided she would have to be content with it for now. With a sigh she rolled onto her side. "I had better dress."

"Not on my account," he said, and took her hand in his so that he could kiss each of her fingers in order.

"No; on mine," she said with a hint of sadness in her voice.

He nodded and moved aside so that she could rise and pull her silken clothes about her, as if she were wrapping herself in a gorgeous cloud. Watching her, he knew it was now imperative to tell her the whole of his nature before they had another such encounter; he wondered if his revelation would blight the passion between them-it had happened before with others, and he told himself he would endure it happening again, but he could not pretend such a response would not cause him anguish. Long ago he might have tried to convince himself that her reaction was not important to him, but those times were long in his past. He decided he would have to talk to her in the next few days; not now, while her gratification made her movements liquid as dance-in a few days, before her need rose again. With a wry smile on his lips, he got to his feet and went to the door to call Rojire.

Text of a letter from Rustam Iniattir to Sanat Ji Mani, written in Parsi and delivered by an escorted slave.

My greetings and good wishes to the foreigner, Sanat Ji Mani, who abides in the Street of Brass Lanterns in the city of Delhi: may light shine upon him and all his endeavors.

I have today received word that the caravan we have sponsored has arrived in Shiraz and been received by your factor there with the cordiality and upon terms that you guaranteed would be the case. This is a most welcome confirmation of the agreement into which we have entered. I am pleased to tell you that it is most likely that the caravan will move on in a month, having traded in Shiraz such goods as we have agreed are to be traded there, and other goods procured for the next phase of the journey.

There are reports of activity on the part of Timur-i Lenkh that trouble me, for they are saying he is taking his men and striking off toward more wealthy cities than he has previously done. That may bode ill for Shiraz, or for Delhi. Delhi is far away, but it is said he and his men travel on the winds and can advance faster than anything but a storm. I am worried that this might lead to problems for our caravan, and I wish to consult you in case you are of the opinion that it would be wiser to permit the caravan to choose other routes in its travel to the west. You have knowledge of that part of the world, and I would like to draw upon what you have learned, in case it becomes necessary for the caravan to alter the route it follows.

I have also been informed that there is illness in the cities of Ormuz and Damascus, and that is bound to have impact on all trading along those routes. Sickness is oftentimes unavoidable in this dark world, but it does not mean that it is prudent to put oneself in its path. I would favor turning the caravan toward the Mameluke Empire and the ancient land of Egypt, for surely our goods will find willing buyers in that place as they would in Aleppo or Trebizond. The Western traders come to Egypt as well as to the Black Sea, and they will deal with our men in either place, to our advantage.

In that two of my cousins are the leaders of the caravan, you may be certain they will do as I instruct them. As they rest at Shiraz, a message, carried by sea, and then ridden inland by courier, would reach them before they are intending to set out again. So that we may have a better understanding of our business in this difficult time, I propose to visit you in two days, when you have had an opportunity to reflect on all I have told you, so that we might have a frank exchange of our thoughts in these matters.

You have far more money invested in this caravan than I have, and you have supplied camels, asses, and horses for the trek. You will not want to endanger so much of value without having time to reflect on these various matters and deciding where your interests lie. As you have discerned from my remarks, I am inclined to send the caravan toward the Mameluke Empire, but you may have other preferences, and it is fitting, given your high investment, that your thoughts be included in our deliberations.

It is most distressing to me that this first venture of ours should have such a hindrance imposed upon it, particularly at this time, when we agreed there was much promise. I would not be offended if you reconsidered the caravan we discussed for China, as it is possible that travel eastward may be no safer than travel westward. You spoke of Tirhut, Kamaru, and Assam as being the most protected route: I do not disagree with you, but I question how much protection is possible at this time.

I am not averse to modifying the terms of our agreement, so that our current problems need not be added to by a reckless adherence to conditions that do not actually apply to circumstances at large. Do not doubt that I am as inclined as ever to undertake these journeys, but we may wish to shift our plans for departures to a time when our success is more assured than appears to be the case now. You tell me that you are not wholly dependent on the profits of our trade to keep you and your household, which may be just as well if our present enterprise encounters any more thwarting.

Let us consider the winter as a better time to commence our next venture, when the world is less active. If our eastern-bound caravan does not go high into the mountains, but keeps to the roads of the foothills, it should not be delayed by snows, and by the time the passes into China are reached, it will be late enough in the spring that the way will be open, and there will be a swift passage possible.

Until we have agreed on these points, I propose that we do not consider any new caravans, not even one to Russia, which we discussed as a possible speculative trek for the year to come. If we cannot resolve any disagreements we may have with our current plans, it would be sensible to wait before adding anything more to our shared obligations, for that would only result in disputes that would be unsatisfactory to us both, and to our traders as well. I ask you to consider all these things before we meet to evaluate our projects.

Rustam Iniattir

Parsi merchant of Delhi