Crossing the pass had been grueling, requiring most of the day to accomplish; the heat had left the men and animals staggering, and the long descent was steeper than the climb had been. Nine men had fallen to their deaths, six of them taking their horses with them, as they tried to keep on the expanse of broken rocks that were the footing on the road just past the crest. The wagons had slithered on the polished stone, and the elephants had had to be led carefully across the swath, fidgeting every step of the way.

"We lost our chance," said Tulsi as she pulled her wagon to the side of the road as they made it to the first safe place; many other wagons were gathered there, more than half of them needing attention to wheels and harness.

"We have one remaining," Sanat Ji Mani reminded her; he was lying in the bed of the wagon, out of the inexorable sun; the skin had begun to peel off the backs of his hands and his forehead and cheeks had blackened.

"Do you mean dying? They are watching you constantly: how do you plan to convince them you are dead when you are not?" she asked, glancing around as if she feared being overheard by one of their escorts, although neither man spoke the dialect of Timur-i's troops.

"But I am," he said gently.

"Not like that," she said, unwilling to be cajoled.

"I do not know, yet. I have the glimmer of a plan, but nothing more." He pulled a length of heavy cotton over him. "I think my foot may provide the answer."

"Your foot? How?" Tulsi secured the reins, then prepared to get down to examine her mules. "Tell me when I return."

"Remember to check their legs for heat. They could come up lame if-" Sanat Ji Mani called after her.

"I will," she promised, interrupting him before she swung down to the ground, going to the mules and starting with the off-side one; the animal was sweating and fussing, still edgy from mincing across the slick slabs of rock. The off-side mule was the more fretful of the two, laying back his ears and champing at his bit as Tulsi began to check him over, noticing only that he was showing signs of over-exertion; although he had been standing for a while, the mule's breathing was still labored. The on-side mule was not in much better shape, being only a bit calmer than his partner; sweat flecked his coat and clung to the harness, and darkened his coat. He was fussy when Tulsi rubbed down his legs, seeking out hot tendons and joints; at one point he bared his teeth and tried to swing his head around to bite, but was thwarted by the harness.

"How are they?" Sanat Ji Mani asked as Tulsi came to the rear of the wagon, trying to get out of earshot of their escort.

"Worn out," she answered. "The on-side mule may have a splint forming. I will look again in an hour or so, to see if the bone is still tender."

"That could be a real problem," said Sanat Ji Mani as he listened to the shouts around them. "The Rajput does not have many mules to spare."

"No doubt he will find one for you," said Tulsi. "He does not want you to fall behind."

"You are angry," he said.

"Are you not?" she countered. "We are caught in a dangerous game. What will become of us when the Rajput decides that he has been fooled, and you are not Timur-i? Do you think he will forgive you your deception?"

"I have told him I am not Timur-i from the first he spoke of it," said Sanat Ji Mani, but in a tone that lacked conviction.

"Do you think he will remember? or care?" Tulsi demanded. "If you are going to get us away from here, it must be soon, before he has lost a battle and holds you accountable for it. And do not doubt that he will."

"I know you are right," said Sanat Ji Mani, his face set in strong lines of concern which she could hardly see in the gloom of the wagon's interior.

"Then what are we to do?" Tulsi left the question between them as she went back to the front of the wagon and signaled to the two officers escorting them. "This mule," she said awkwardly in the dialect of Devapur, as she touched the on-side mule, "hurt. He cannot pull. Get another."

The two officers exchanged wary glances, and one of them said, "You cannot be left alone."

"One of you go," said Tulsi, letting the words clunk together like the toys of clumsy children. "I will not move."

"If the mule is hurt, she cannot," said the other. "You go get a replacement and I will keep guard here."

"It may take a while," said the first. "I will bring the two Kheb brothers back with me, so we will be relieved for the night."

"Very good," said the second. "I will keep on guard here. There are other wagons here, as well, and it should suit the Rajput's purpose to have a soldier or two on duty."

"So it might," said the first as he prepared to start down the incline to where the greatest part of the army was regrouping after their harrowing day.

"Tell the Rajput where we are, and why," the second reminded him. "Do not leave it to some subordinate to do."

"I will," said the first, and sat back as his dark-chestnut began to pick his way down the hill.

"You should have another mule by sundown," said the second officer to Tulsi.

"Then we will stay here," said Tulsi.

"Through the night, of course," said the officer. "It would be too dangerous, trying to get down that road in the dark." He regarded Tulsi for a long moment. "You do not understand half of what I am saying, do you?"

Tulsi cocked her head. "The road is hard," she agreed as if trying to figure out the rest, which she comprehended perfectly.

"Yes," said the officer. "The road is hard." He dismounted and led his horse a short distance away to where a small rivulet sprang out of the rocky hillside. "Your mules will want water. Water," he repeated, bending to flick his fingers in the narrow stream.

"Yes," said Tulsi. "I will bring ..." She mimed a pail.

"Very good," said the officer.

Tulsi pointed to the covered part of the wagon and, seeing the officer nod, climbed inside. "I am getting a pail for water," she said to Sanat Ji Mani. "He is a dunce, that one, thinking I know nothing more than a baby," she said in her own tongue.

"Which is what you want him to think," Sanat Ji Mani reminded her. "It suits your purpose to have him think you know less than you do." He watched her pull the pail from her chest of supplies. "You might take that smaller bowl, say that you need water for me."

She stopped and looked at him. "Why would I do that? You do not need water."

"If you say my fever is up, it would be useful," he added. "Tell him my foot has swollen."

Tulsi was still for a long moment. "I think I understand," she said, beginning to smile.

"Let him think I am getting worse, and that will help us." He touched her shoulder very gently. "Sound worried."

"I will," she said, beginning to enter into his intentions. "I will not say very much, just enough to cause a little apprehension."

"Very good," said Sanat Ji Mani. "You will do well."

"That is my plan; to do it well enough that he comes to conclusions I do not tell him to." She took her pail and a large metal bowl, then clambered out of the wagon and went to get water, returning a short while later. After she had given water to the mules, she climbed back into the wagon. "He listened," she said, almost grinning. "I did not say much, only that you were hot and your foot had started bleeding again."

"Did he ask you anything?" Sanat Ji Mani wondered aloud.

"Only: was I concerned," she said, and provided her answer before he could speak. "I said I was not; very curt and emphatic in my tone."

"And he will know that you are worried," said Sanat Ji Mani.

"Of course. He will think I am afraid for you, but do not want anyone to know I am." She sat down next to him. "Here is the water. What are you going to do?"

"Let a little blood get into it," he said. "Mine, not yours," he added hastily. "Then have you dump it where one of our escort can see it. Say nothing when you do, just dispose of it as if you do not want it seen."

She managed to contain an excited giggle. "This is fun. I like fooling them."

"Tulsi, be careful," said Sanat Ji Mani, thinking back to the punishments the Rajput had described to him: dismemberment of their escorts and the scraping through a net for themselves seemed far too real to lend much savor to their deception. "As preposterous as Hasin Dahele may seem, do not forget he is a powerful ruler and his whim is etched in stone."

"Is that why you want him to think you are dying?" Tulsi asked, her demeanor changing suddenly from amused to serious.

"It is a good reason, Tulsi; I do not want anyone hurt on my account. Yet I want to get us away from here, beyond the Rajput's reach." He laid his hand over hers. "In the morning, you will say to the escort that I had a hard night. Nothing more than that."

"All right," she said, a glimmer of her humor returning.

"Do not give them any reason to doubt you," he warned her. "We are playing a very desperate game."

"I will not forget," she told him. "I will give them no reason to think I am playing with them." She sat back. "I suppose you are going to unwrap your foot."

"I am," he said.

"A pity you have none of your medicaments left," said Tulsi, turning away. "It must hurt."

"Yes," he said, and did not add that none of the powders, tinctures, or ointments could provide him succor. "Water will at least get it clean."

"Is that desirable?" She was mildly upset at the notion.

"It is," said Sanat Ji Mani, and shifted to a position where he could pull off his boot again. "Do we have any more wraps like these?"

"A few," she said.

"Then be sure to throw these out along with the water, and tomorrow ask for more of them. The Rajput should agree to supply them." He tugged his boot off with some effort. "This must not happen too quickly. Tomorrow night you should say I am not improved, but behave as if I am worse."

She was listening closely now, her full concentration on him. "How long do you plan to languish?"

"Four days should be enough," he said. "I doubt there will be an opportunity to engage an enemy before then, and I do not want to have the Rajput be able to blame you, or those four men escorting us, for what becomes of me." He closed his eyes a moment, trying not to recall Hasin Dahele's causal bloody-mindedness. "You and I must make our plans in the next two days." He began to unwrap his injured foot. "Good. There is blood enough on these wraps. It should convince Hasin Dahele that something is amiss."

"And it is not?" she asked, looking at the bloody rags.

"No. You have seen how slowly I mend." He dropped the first bandage into the water. "I will heal."

"In time," she added for him.

"In time," he agreed, and began to remove the second wrapping.

She watched, revolted and fascinated. "What shall we do when you-?"

"When I appear to die?" he asked, continuing with his task. "Why, build a funeral pyre and set me on it. Just be certain the wood is very green and that there are oil-soaked cloths in amongst the wood as well, so that there will be enough smoke to let me escape without notice. Ask to light the fire yourself, as my companion. Also say you must prepare my body. They should allow you that." He put the second wrapping in the basin and began on the innermost bandage. "This is a little sticky."

"You can soak it off," Tulsi recommended.

"So I will," he said, moving the basin so that he could put his foot into it. "About the pyre: make sure it billows smoke. There must be a tremendous amount of smoke."

"There will have to be fire," she said, her spirits somewhat dampened.

"Yes, there will," he concurred.

"Fire is dangerous-deadly to vampires," she reminded him.

"That it is," he said. "If there were time before we reach an opponent, I might be able to think of something else; we will encounter foes very soon. We have passed enough villages that someone must have sent word to their Rajput that Hasin Dahele has brought his army through the pass. So it is safer to take a chance with the fire than waiting for battle or for the Rajput to turn on us." He gave her a long, steady look. "You do not want that."

"No," she said after a thoughtful silence. "All right. A pyre of green wood with oiled rags to make for more smoke. You will get away in the smoke. What of me?"

"Come with me," he said as if the answer were obvious. "We will take a horse-just one-and go toward Chaul."

"There will be much confusion, and the Rajput may not let me ... He may not permit me to be near your pyre," she said.

"You have said you can leap through flames, that you have done it for Timur-i," he reminded her. "Then show your skill. Jump through the smoke, as if to die on the fire, but vault over and beyond, let the pyre lengthen your spring."

"Leap onto the fire? then off, through the smoke?" she asked, musing on the possibilities. At last she looked up at him. "Yes, I suppose I could-"

"Then you will seem to immolate yourself in grief," he said, smiling his encouragement. "They will not wonder what has become of you, for they will assume they know."

"It could work," she agreed after another short silence. "It is very dangerous, but it could work."

"Then make your plans, Tulsi," he said, and removed the last bandage from his foot. "We will have to act in four days, whether or not we are ready."

She nodded and studied him for a short while. "I will take the bowl now," she told him a bit later, and, taking it out of the wagon to dump it, realized she was now committed to their plan.

For the next three days, Sanat Ji Mani was thought to be getting worse. He did not leave the wagon when anyone could see him, his swift, furtive excursions limited to the darkest part of the night when he feed on the blood of animals, then returned to the wagon as silently as he had left. The black skin on his face peeled off and left pale, tender skin exposed, which made him look far more fragile than he was. When he was visited by the Rajput-very briefly during the afternoon water-stop near a small village which had sent food out in welcome-he made it seem that he had grown weak, struggling to speak, but insisting he was improving.

"It is a bad thing," said Hasin Dahele to Tulsi, speaking carefully so that she could comprehend him.

"It is," she agreed.

"He is very sick." The Rajput shook his head. "This is a bad thing, that he is so sick," as if repetition made his point more emphatically, afraid to use more difficult words with Tulsi, certain she would not understand.

"He is," said Tulsi. "Sick."

"The foot is worse." The Rajput stared at the wagon as if to tear off the cover.

"His foot is sick," said Tulsi. "Very bad."

"You must watch him, and drive very carefully," said Hasin Dahele, pretending to hold the reins. "Make it easy for him."

"The new mule is good," said Tulsi, as if she did not entirely grasp his meaning.

"Not the mule: Sanat Ji Mani. Use him well," said Hasin Dahele. "Tell me how he is every morning and every night. I must know how Sanat Ji Mani is."

"I will tell," said Tulsi, her palms pressed together and her head bowed.

"Before he dies, he must make me his heir, the Lord of the World," Hasin Dahele muttered, convinced Tulsi did not know enough of his tongue to understand what he said. "Before he dies, I must be recognized."

"He will live," said Tulsi, slowly and stubbornly. "He must."

The Rajput patted her arm. "Of course," he said, raising his voice. "Take care of him. See that he does not die too soon."

"I will," said Tulsi, and watched the Rajput stroll away, his head pensively lowered.

"He is convinced you are dying," Tulsi told Sanat Ji Mani a bit later that day; the army was coming to the end of its day's march and the pace was slowing. From her place on the box, Tulsi asked, "Will it be tomorrow?"

"Yes. Mid-afternoon, I should think. Tell the Rajput not to stop until sunset, that I would not expect him to interrupt his campaign for me." He kept his voice low and sing-song, so that their escort would assume he had become delirious.

"I will," she said. "Sanat Ji Mani," she went on more tentatively, "there is one other thing. I do not know how to tell you, so I will say it directly: I have decided to stay as I am."

It took Sanat Ji Mani a while to respond. "If that is what you want, then it is my desire as well."

"You are not disappointed?" She sounded apprehensive.

"Yes, I am," he said. "But I would be far more disappointed if you let me love you a sixth time and came to my life unwillingly." He paused. "Will you still travel with me, away from here?"

"Of course," she replied, a thought too quickly.

Sanat Ji Mani lay still for a while, then said, "There will be a great deal of confusion tomorrow. Have you thought what we will do if we get separated at the pyre?"

She swallowed hard before answering. "You said we should take one horse," she pointed out. "That way we will not be separated."

"We should, but if it is not possible, then we need to agree where we will meet." Sanat Ji Mani kept his voice low and his tone kindly. "We may have to find each other later."

"Do you expect we will?" she asked crisply.

"I do not know what to expect, which is why we should be prepared for things to work out some way other than our plans," he said. "If we are separated, I will go to Chaul, to the warehouses on the harbor belonging to the foreigner Ragoczy. You will know them by the sign of the eclipse on the doors-a black disk with raised, open wings above it-and you will ask for me there. If I am not there, wait until the storms are finished, and then take one of Ragoczy's ships and go west, to the Mameluke Empire and seek out Rogerian in the city of Alexandria-"

Tulsi laughed. "Why would any of these people pay any heed to me? Would you, if I came to you saying that Sanat Ji Mani has said that I am to be given free passage to the Mameluke Empire? They would stone me from the door, and be right to do it." She turned around and looked briefly at Sanat Ji Mani. "This much I will do: I will go to Chaul. If I do not find you there after the storms have gone, I will make my way to Kiev, to find my father's family. Do not fret. I should be able to do that. If I reach the Arabian Sea, I should be able to reach the Black Sea. It is only a matter of finding a caravan that has entertainers; or a troupe in need of a tumbler." She said this as if it were a simple thing.

Sanat Ji Mani heard this out with dismay. "You have never met your father's family."

"All the more reason to find them," she said.

"You will have to pass through Timur-i's Empire," Sanat Ji Mani reminded her. "Unless you go east, into China and come through the Russian Principalities and Dukedoms."

"What does that matter if I cross Timur-i's land? Timur-i is still in Samarkand, they say, when they do not claim he is a beggar on the roads, or here. What would they care about a single female tumbler?" She kept the mules moving with a slap of the reins. "The team is tired, and so am I. I am glad this is going to end."

"Are you," he asked, the anticipation of loss sweeping over him.

She heard the sadness in his voice and added, "I do not mean you, Sanat Ji Mani. You have taken me away from a hard life-"

"And given you a harder one," he finished for her.

"No," she said. "I would never have known what it is to be able to make my own way in the world. I would have gone on believing that I could not manage without a troupe around me and a master to decide for me. I would have assumed that I could not fend for myself, or help another on my own." She saw that the wagons ahead of them were pulling off the road at the base of a bluff. "I think we are stopping for the night." She was busy with the wagon for a short time, finding a place for it, with room enough for a grazing-line for the mules. "You have given me ... myself," she said, and prepared to begin their evening routine.

Sanat Ji Mani was silent while she got down from the driving-box, then he said, very quietly, "Thank you, Tulsi Kil."

"Tomorrow shortly after mid-day, I will send word to Hasin Dahele that he must attend you at once." She seemed not to have heard him thank her. "Then you may deal with him as you wish. I will ask that your funeral pyre be made tomorrow night, before the heat turns you rotten."

"A wise precaution, since I will not putrefy." He could feel her draw away from him, and it saddened him as nothing else she had done had.

"I think so," she told him before she took out the brushes to groom the mules.

The next day, she followed her plan to the last detail; she ordered one of their escort to fetch the Rajput, saying it was urgent. She had reddened her eyes by rubbing them and maintained a stoic calm that served to convince Garanai Kheb that something was very wrong; he rode off at a gallop and returned a bit later with Hasin Dahele, who brought his horse up beside the wagon.

"Is something wrong? Has he-?" He could not bring himself to ask the question.

"He is worse," said Tulsi, her voice so flat that the Rajput was afraid he had come too late.

"Can he speak?" He mimed a moving mouth with his hand.

"He talks," she said, and pursed her lips. "Very sick."

The Rajput made up his mind. "Take your wagon to the side of the road," he ordered, pointing, and added to the Kheb cousins, "Get this thing out of the way of the others. In shade." He pointed to a cluster of trees nearby where the undergrowth was thinner than in other places near the dusty, rutted road.

The escorts obeyed, taking the heads of the mules and tugging them out of the column of wagons and guiding them toward the trees; the wagon bounced and swayed, and with each movement, the cousins winced. As they drew up in the shade of the tree, Hasin Dahele dismounted and climbed into the rear of the wagon.

Sanat Ji Mani had made an effort to create a scene that would be fixed in the Rajput's memory; he had used charcoal mixed with berryjuice to darken the hollows of his eyes and to lend a subtle emphasis to the lines in his face. He had put a thin film of oil on his forehead and rolled a saddle-pad around his right leg to make it appear swollen under the blanket, and he had taken an old fowl-leg and put it under his cot to provide the unmistakable odor of decaying meat. His breath wheezed in his chest and he seemed to have trouble focusing his eyes.

Hasin Dahele crouched at the side of his cot. "This is a terrible thing, Great Lord," he exclaimed as he stared down at Sanat Ji Mani's supine figure.

"It is what comes to all men," said Sanat Ji Mani in a thread of tone.

The sounds of the army moving was all around them, the shouts of men and the neighing of horses, the blare of elephants, the braying of donkeys and mules, but all of them were as nothing to the two men in the wagon.

"But you-" Hasin Dahele shook his head. "The Gods sent you to me. How can they take you away again, before I have truly begun my conquests?"

"They are gods," said Sanat Ji Mani. He plucked at the blanket covering him with quick, febrile movements. "Do as my companion tells you when I am dead."

"Very well," said Hasin Dahele impatiently.

"Obey her," he insisted, grabbing for the grimy silk of Hasin Dahele's pyjama-tunic. "Swear by your gods!"

"If you will make me your heir, I will do all that she asks. Otherwise I will leave you beside the road for vultures." He glared down at Sanat Ji Mani. "Well?"

Sanat Ji Mani sighed. "If anyone is the heir of Timur-i, you are," he whispered. "You have made yourself worthy of that legacy."

The irony of Sanat Ji Mani's words was lost on the Rajput, who threw back his head and exclaimed. "I am! I am the heir of Timur-i!"

"Swear," Sanat Ji Mani demanded on what appeared to be the last of his strength.

"I swear. She will direct the disposal of your body." His concession was graceless, hastily given as if to show his lack of concern now that he had what he wanted.

"Then your gods reward you," murmured Sanat Ji Mani.

From her place on the driving box, Tulsi listened, astonishment tinged with repugnance at this display. She looked at the two escorts, who remained immobile, their faces set and their expressions stem. "Not good," she said in the language of Beragar.

The Rajput was getting out the back of the wagon, not caring about how he did it. As he reached the ground, he called to the escorts, "Get back in the line, at the rear. Stay with this wagon until he dies, then come and tell me." He remounted his dark-bay. "Oh, and do with the body whatever she wants, so long as it does not lose too much time. We have much to do!" His features set in a hard grin, he set his horse for the front of the lines, leaving Tulsi's wagon beside the road, under the trees.

Text of a letter from Zal Iniattir in Asirgarh to Rustam Iniattir in Fustat, carried aboard the Iniattir ship, Evening Star.

To the most fortunate, most esteemed, most capable merchant, Rustam Iniattir, the respectful greetings of Zal Iniattir from our House's center in Asirgarh, with apologies for the delay in sending you word of all that has transpired of late.

The height of the year is not far-off, and I am pleased to tell you that I have sent a caravan to the east coast, to the city of Rajmundri, for the purpose of gaining a foothold in the markets there. If we have stations here in Asirgorh and in Sirpur, it is useful to take advantage of trading in the Indian Ocean as well as in the various islands to the south. I have pursued other ventures as well, and I have reason to hope that within five years, your dream of a network of markets from the West to the East will be made real. So long as there are no more invasions, or trade routes are not compromised, we should continue to flourish.

But peace may be ending to the west of Asirgarh. The Rajput of Beragar has begun his campaign by moving north and west, which does not impose upon this city directly, but may interfere with our trading with the west coast, which is a great disappointment now that we have ships of our own to cross the Arabian Sea. War is never good for commerce, and if half of what is said of this man is true, we must be prepared to fend off worse than a few attacks on small villages. I have heard that Deogir is moving to intercept the Beragar army, which could mean fighting within the month.

I have hope of concluding an arrangement with Azizi Iniattir, who has been in contact with a merchant of Lhasa, calling himself Lonpah ST' amloatohr; this merchant is a most enterprising fellow, with many interesting items to bring to market. Azizi Iniattir has initiated trade with this fellow and has recommended that I become part of their association, for the man appears to be able to handle goods enough to do business with all of us. If this continues to be the case, I will, of course, extend the markets to you; I do not imagine there have been many goods in the markets of Fustat that came from the Land of Snows.

It has been a profitable spring, I must inform you, one that has exceeded my expectations and that gives me optimism for the future. We have increased our goods in the warehouse we purchased by nearly fifty percent in the last four months. Much of what we have stored will be gone before the stormrs come, which is as it should be. We Parsi may have been driven out of our homeland because we continue to follow Zarathustra rather than later prophets, but we may yet make a place for ourselves in the broader world, and in a manner that does credit to all of us, as well as bringing good things to all of us.

I am pleased to say that I have found another wife and I am completing my arrangements with her family to bring her to my house. It will be a useful thing to have her here, for it will be to our advantage to have more children to run our enterprise as it grows larger. I am already considering sending one of my sons to learn to be the master of a ship, so that in time we may have our own Captains as well as the ships themselves. You may think this is too much, but I am certain that it would benefit our House to have a few men experienced with the seas to advise us, and to watch after our cargos as no one else could.

The signs are for heavy storms when they come, or so I hear from the herdsmen, who know how to read the sky and earth better than any priest. If that is the case, we should be sure our caravans are instructed to be cautious in their travels; I have already ordered many leaders to be wary of the weather, for it is better that they remain in a town for three months than that they be caught in tempests on the road, and lose half of what they are carrying, as well as ponies, donkeys, oxen, and camels. You may disagree with me, but I am sure that we are better served by circumspection than by rashness.

I hope this may be in your hands before the storms strike. If it is not, then I hope that you have good fortune and that after the dark of the year, you may show even more profit and trade than you have done so far, to the advancement of our fortunes and our House.

Zal Iniattir