Part 66 (1/2)

Arangbar looked up in confusion, his eyes half closed from the opium.

Then he saw the painters and remembered.

”Bring them in.” Suddenly his alertness seemed to return. ”I want to see five Inglish kings.”

The paintings were brought to the foot of Arangbar's dais, and he inspected them drunkenly, but with obvious satisfaction.

”Amba.s.sador Inglish. Have a look.” Arangbar called toward the hushed shadows of the seated guests. A path immediately cleared among the bolsters, as hookahs were pushed aside, winegla.s.ses seized.

Hawksworth walked unsteadily forward, his mind still stunned by the imminent death sentence waiting for the woman. As he pa.s.sed her, he sensed her powerful presence and inhaled her musky perfume. There was no hint of fear in her eyes as she stood waiting, statuesque and defiant.

By the time he reached the throne, eunuchs were waiting with candles, one on each side of the board, bathing it in flickering light. On it was a line of five English miniatures of King James, each approximately an inch square.

Good Jesus, they're identical. Am I so drunk I can't tell a painting of King James?

He looked up shakily at Arangbar, whose smile was a gloat.

”Well, Amba.s.sador Inglish. What say you? Are the painters of my school equal to any your king has?”

”One moment, Majesty. Until my eyes adjust.” Hawksworth grasped one edge of the board to steady himself. Behind him there were murmurs of delight and he caught the word ”_feringhi_.”

As he walked along the board, studying each painting in turn, he suddenly noticed that the reflection of the candlelight was different for one.

The paint is still wet on the new portraits. That's the difference. Or is it? Are my eyes playing tricks? d.a.m.n me for letting Nadir Sharif fill my winegla.s.s every chance he had.

”Come, Amba.s.sador Inglish. We do not have all night.” Arangbar's voice was br.i.m.m.i.n.g with triumph.

Hawksworth studied the paintings more closely. Yes, there's a slight difference. The colors on the one painting are slightly different.

Duller.

They didn't use varnish. And there are fewer shadows. Theirs are more two-dimensional.

”I'm astounded, Your Majesty. But I believe this is the one by Isaac Oliver.” Hawksworth pointed to the painting second from the right end.

”Let me see them again.” Arangbar's voice was a husky slur. ”I will tell if you have guessed correctly.”

The board was handed up. Arangbar glanced at the paintings for only an instant. ”You have guessed right, Amba.s.sador Inglish. And I realize how you did it. The light from the candles.”

”The portraits are identical, Your Majesty. I confess it.”

”So we have won our point. And you won the wager, Inglish. Still, you won only because of my haste. Tomorrow you would not have known. Do you admit it?”

”I do, Your Majesty.” Hawksworth bowed slightly.

”So, you did not really win the wager after all. We lost it. But I am a man of honor. We will release Nadir Sharif from his pledge. I am the one who must pay. What would you have? Perhaps a diamond?”

”The wager was only for a horse, Your Majesty.” Hawksworth was stunned.

”No. That was the wager of Nadir Sharif. You have won a wager from a king. Yours must be the payment of a king. If not a jewel, then what would you have?”

Before Hawksworth could reply, Nadir Sharif stepped forward and bent toward Arangbar.