The Moghul

tightened his white robe and moved easily down the stone staircase toward the courtyard below.
    Hawksworth had sensed the autumn light begin to fall rapidly as they approached the gates of the fortress-city. Already there was a pale moon, promising fullness. In size and grandeur the portals of the gate reminded Hawksworth of the Red Fort in Agra, only the walls themselves were considerably less formidable. The palace itself sat atop a wooded hill, and already the stones of the abandoned roadway leading up the hill were becoming overgrown. There was a small village at the bottom of the hill, where smoke from evening cooking fires had begun to rise, but from the fortress itself there was no smoke, no hint of life or habitation.
    He alighted from the palanquin at the bottom of a steep stairway leading to the palace gate and together with Nadir Sharif passed slowly up the abandoned steps. The Rajputs trailed behind them as they reached the top and passed under the shadow of a tulip-curved arch that framed the gateway. The dark surrounded them like an envelope, and the Rajput guards pushed forward, toward the black outline of two massive wooden doors at the back of the recess. They pushed open the doors, and before them lay a vast open courtyard, empty in the moonlight.
    "Is this place completely abandoned? I still don't understand why I'm here."
    Nadir Sharif smiled. "On the contrary, Ambassador. It's far from abandoned. But it appears so, does it not?"
    Then Hawksworth saw a figure approaching them, gliding noiselessly across the red sandstone pavement of the court. The figure carried an oil lamp, which illuminated a bearded face framed in a white shawl.
    "You are welcome in the name of Allah." The figure bowed a greeting. "What brings armed men to our door? It is too late now to pray. We long ago sounded the last azan ."
    "His Majesty has sent a feringhi here, to be cared for by you for two days." Nadir Sharif stepped forward. "He was injured today during shikar ."
    "Our hands are always open." The figure turned and moved across the plaza toward a building that looked, in the new moonlight, to be a mosque. When they reached the entrance, the man turned and spoke to the Rajputs in a language Hawksworth did not understand.
    "He says this is the house of God," Nadir Sharif translated. "He has commanded the Rajputs to leave their shoes and their weapons here if they wish to follow. I think they will refuse. Perhaps it would be best if we all left you now. You'll be well cared for. Day after tomorrow I'll send a horse for you."
    "What's going on? You mean I'm going to be here alone?" Hawksworth suddenly realized he was being abandoned, at an abandoned city. He whirled on Nadir Sharif. "You suggested this. You brought me here. What the hell is this for? I could have returned to Agra, or even stayed with the hunt."
    "You're a perceptive man, Ambassador." Nadir Sharif smiled and looked up at the moon. "But as far as I know, you're here entirely by coincidence. I cannot be responsible for anything that happens to you, or anyone you see. This is merely the hand of chance. Please try to understand."
    "What do you mean?"
    "I will see you in two days, Ambassador. Enjoy your rest."
    Nadir Sharif bowed, and in moments he and the Rajputs had melted into the moonlight.
    Hawksworth watched them leave with a mounting sense of disquiet. Then he turned and peered past the hooded figure, who stood waiting. The mosque looked empty, a cavern of flickering shadows against intricate plaster calligraphy. He unbuckled the sheath of his sword and passed it to the man as he kicked away his loose slippers. The man took the sword without a word, examined it for a moment as though evaluating its workmanship, then turned to lead the way.
    They moved silently across the polished stone floor, past enormous columns that disappeared into the darkness of the vaulted space above them. Hawksworth relished the coolness of the stones against his bare feet, then ducked barely in time to avoid a hanging lamp, extinguished now, its polished metalwork almost invisible against the gloom.
    Ahead a lamp flickered through the dark. They passed beneath it, then stopped at a closed door at the rear of the mosque. The man spoke a word Hawksworth did not understand and the door was swung open from the inside, revealing an illuminated passageway.
    Four men were waiting. As Hawksworth and his guide passed through, the door closed behind them and the men silently drew